Blue Moon by Laurell K. Hamilton

loose at his sides. He wasn’t in a fighting stance yet, but I knew the signs.
    His eyes flicked to us, and I knew he’d seen us. The thugs hadn’t yet. Amateur thugs. Didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous, but it meant you might be able to bluff them. Professional muscle tended to call a bluff.
    A small, elderly woman came through the screen door to stand next to Shang-Da. She leaned heavily on a cane, her back bowed. Her grey and white hair was cut very short and permed in one of those tight hairdos that elderly women seem so fond of. She wore an apron over a pink housedress. Her knee-high hose were rolled down over fuzzy slippers. Glasses perched on a small nose.
    She shook a bony fist at the men. “You boys get off my property.”
    The man with the baseball bat said, “Now, Millie, this has got nothing to do with you.”
    â€œThis is my grandson you’re threatening,” she said.
    â€œHe ain’t her grandson,” another man said. He was wearing a faded flannel shirt open like a jacket.
    â€œAre you calling me a liar, Mel Cooper?” the woman asked.
    â€œI didn’t say that,” Mel said.
    If we’d been someplace more private, I’d have just wounded one of them. It would have gotten their attention and called the fight off. But I’d have bet almost any amount of money that if I shot one of them, the mysterious sheriff would ride to their rescue. Maybe the plan was to get more of us in jail. I was too new on the scene to even make an educated guess.
    Jason and I walked up onto the grass. Mel was the closest to us. He turned, showing a stained undershirt and a beer gut beneath the flannel shirt. Ooh, charming.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” he asked.
    â€œWell, aren’t you just Mr. Smooth.”
    He took a menacing step towards me. I smiled at him. He frowned at me. “Answer the fucking question, girlie. Who are you?”
    â€œDoesn’t matter who she is,” the one with the baseball bat said. “This isn’t any of her business. Leave it alone, or you’ll get what he’s going to get.” He motioned with his head at Shang-Da.
    â€œI get to the beat the crap out of you, too?” I said. “Oh, goody.”
    Baseball Bat frowned at me, too. I had two of them puzzled. Confusion to my enemies.
    The woman shook a bony fist at them again. “You get off my property, or I will call Sheriff Wilkes.”
    One of the men laughed, and another said, “Wilkes will be along. When we’re finished.”
    Baseball Bat said, “Come down off that porch, boy, or we’re coming up after you.”
    He was ignoring me. He was ignoring Jason. They weren’t just amateur muscle. They were stupid amateur muscle.
    Shang-Da’s voice was surprisingly deep, very calm. There was no fear in it—big surprise—but there was an undercurrent of eagerness, as if under that calmness he was itching to hurt them. “If I come down off this porch, you will not enjoy it.”
    The man with the baseball bat wheeled his weapon of choice in a quick, professional circle. He used it like he knew how.Maybe he’d played ball in high school. “Oh, I’ll enjoy it, China boy.”
    â€œChina boy,” Jason said. I didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling.
    â€œNot very original is it?” I commented.
    â€œNope.”
    Mel turned towards us, and another man moved with him. “Are you making fun of us?”
    I nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
    â€œYou think I won’t hit you because you’re a girl?” Mel asked.
    It was tempting to say, “No, I think you won’t hit me because I have a gun,” but I didn’t say it. Once you pull a gun in a fight, you’ve pushed the violence level to a height where death is a very real possibility. I didn’t want anyone dead with the cops waiting to ride down and sweep us up. Didn’t want to go to jail. I have a