Rounding the corner towards home, I saw the car parked out front and the two men leaning against it. As I got closer, the men became all too familiar, the tattooed man and ear gauge guy from hiring day. My gut told me they weren’t hanging around to admire the house. Before I made it up the walk they stepped forward and blocked my way, causing flashbacks of middle school.

            Both men stood with legs spread and arms crossed. Standing side-by-side like that made it easy to see their similarities. They turned out to be brothers. Were they really stupid enough to confront me out in the open? With the first shove, the answer was yes.

            Doug, the tattooed man, pushed with the heel of his hand against my forehead. My head went back, but because I knew what to expect, I had both feet firmly planted in a combat stance. After arriving home three weeks in a row from fourth grade with either a bloody nose, black eye, or busted lip, Maw Maw insisted on Taekwondo lessons. I never won a fight but learning how not to get the shit beat out of me was worth the hours spent in the gym.

            “So, crazy lady’s into little people.”

            Ear gauge guy grabbed his crotch. “Just the right size for pussy eating.”

            They both guffawed. Doug shoved hard enough the second time to force me to take a step back.

            I repositioned my feet and put out both hands. “What do you want?”

            Ear gauge guy attempted to smack my head, but I blocked the blow.

            “We just wanted to see who the bitch ended up hiring.” He gestured to himself and his brother. “We didn’t much like the way that bitch disrespected us. Who the fuck does she think she is?”

            I made the mistake of shifting my focus to ear gauge guy and didn’t see tattoo man’s foot come at me. Instead of kicking, he pushed with his foot to send me sprawling onto the sidewalk. My hands scraped the rough concrete. I ignored the pain in my wrist and scrambled to my feet not wanting to get caught on the ground. A slap went for my head. I stepped back just enough to miss the full force of the blow, but the swipe sent hair into my eyes, causing me to miss the second blow. The ringing in my ear did not block the distinct sound of a shotgun being pumped.

            “You sons-of-bitches, get away from Mr. Bastien!”

            I wiped at the hair stuck to my face and caught a blur of Victoria perched at the top of the stairs.

            “Holy shit!” came from one of my aggressors.

            “Bastien! Drop!” I did not have to think about falling to the ground. My knees gave out and I collapsed spread eagle on the sidewalk.

            “Fuck you, bitch!”

            A pair of Nikes were inches from my head. My heart pounded against the hot concrete.

            “I ain’t afraid of you!”

            I threw my arms over my head in time for the first explosion. I mumbled into my arm, “God, don’t let me piss my pants.” Having grown up around firearms in Louisiana, I knew what kind of damage a shotgun could cause, even to the ones it wasn’t aimed at.

             “Let’s get outta here! That bitch is crazy!” A car door slammed. The car started up.

            A second explosion. I heard clinking against metal. The ground vibrated or maybe it was just me shaking.

            “Fuck you!” A second car door slammed. Exhaust fumes spewed as the car sped off and sent gravel flying. It took several seconds to convince my head to move. I looked towards the house half expecting to see Sarah Connor with an AK-47 standing at the top of the stairs. Instead, there stood Coco Chanel in black pumps and pearls with a 20-gauge shotgun slung over her shoulder. Mama Bear set the weapon aside and strolled casually down the steps.

            I sat up and examined my crotch.

            Victoria stood over me. “You alright?” Her voice expressed concern, but the twinkle in her eyes said, That was fun.

            “What the fuck?” My voice squeaked. “You could have killed me!” I sucked in a deep breath in an effort to stop shaking.

            Victoria squatted. “It’s just birdshot. From that distance, it’ll sting like hell, but it won’t kill you.” She brushed hair from my face. “That little bit of excitement earned us an Irish coffee. What do you think?”

            “I’m thinking a double shot of Jack Daniels.”

            She laughed and took my hand to pull me up. I winced at the pain in my wrist.

            Victoria wrapped her hand around it. “They hurt you.”

            “I’ll survive.”

            She released the wrist, and I shook it out. It wasn’t until much later, that I realized the pain had vanished. 

            I didn’t speak until we started to climb the steps. “Victoria.”

            When we reached the porch, she retrieved the shotgun. “Yes, Mr. Bastien?”

            “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

            She smiled down on me the way I pictured God smiling down on a naïve Adam and Eve.

            As we sipped our coffees at the kitchen counter, she made a call to, “My dear friend, Sergeant Cooper.”

            I about got the bucket out to catch all the honey dripping from her mouth.

            “We’ve had a little incident here. Would you mind sending over one of your boys?”

            The dear friend himself showed up at our door looking all spit and polish. Victoria greeted him with a big smile, hooked her arm through his, and led him into the kitchen. While Sgt. Cooper polished off a smoked turkey with Swiss on wheat, Victoria and I gave our statements. Victoria still had Mr. Ear Gauge’s resume, with an address. His name was Samuel Houston Walker.

            Not one word was taken down by Sgt. Cooper, nor was there any comment about discharging a firearm in the city. Welcome to Texas.

            Though I appreciated Sgt. Cooper’s discretion, something about the man roiled me. I didn’t care for his casualness with the missus of the house. Victoria could shoot like Annie Oakley and swear like Wild Bill, but she was still a lady.

            Two days after the shootout at the OK Corral, as I checked my emails, I noticed a news blurb on the internet about brothers arrested for cooking meth in their trailer. Two familiar faces stared back at me from the computer. That same afternoon, Victoria mentioned that she needed to set the date for her annual first responders’ barbeque.