decided unless it involved physical harm, in which case there wouldn’t be enough left of Alain Babineau to fill the carry out bag he toted. But Tina clearly loved her husband and the life they led here in New Orleans. Oscar looked up to his surrogate father even if their relationship was complicated. All Cale had to do was recall his own reaction to Silas insinuating himself into his plans for a future with Kendra and there was his answer. Be supportive, but butt out.
Happy with that conclusion, he parked his bike by the office trailer where Philo Tibideaux sat on the metal steps going over some paperwork.
“Heads up!”
Philo caught the bag tossed his way.
“Afternoon snack,” Cale provided at his puzzled look.
His foreman peeked inside and smiled, genuinely thrilled with the creepy crawly meal. “Thanks.”
“Welcome. Had all I could stomach. Still feel ‘em trying to wiggle their way upstream.” He gave his chest a meaningful tap, his cheeks puffing out as if struggling to keep them down.
Tibideaux laughed and vowed, “We’ll make a homeboy of you in no time a‘tall.”
Cale didn’t burst his bubble. “Finished that inventory. What’s up for this afternoon?”
Before Philo could answer, sounds of a commotion brewing reached them. Philo set his clipboard aside with a grumble of “Now what? Those boys have been scrappy all damned day. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a full moon was a-coming.”
Purposeful strides carried the lanky Shifter down to a freighter they were loading. Cale tagged along. A group of stevedores who should have been busy working up top securing cargo containers gathered in a tight knot. Philo shoved his way through to find two of his men rolling on the ground already bloodied and intent on bodily harm.
“What the hell’s gotten into the lot of you?” he hollered. “You ain’t getting paid to throw down bets on my clock! Get them two separated, and get your dumb asses back to work!”
Several brave souls reached down to pull the battling pair apart only to be bruised and knocked back for their trouble. As the two began a renewed grappling, Tibideaux lifted one of the mop up buckets and doused them with its contents. That got their attention long enough for the others to intercede.
Just when they thought the episode ended, Amos, the bigger of the brutish pair, snatched up a pry bar and swung it at the other man. The motion halted a scant inch from breaking open the fellow’s head like a melon. Snarling, Amos whipped around to see the new guy, Mick Terry, gripping the other end.
“That’s enough.”
Terry’s cool drawl rekindled his temper. He swung, but Terry no longer stood in the same spot. He circled and turned right into the work boot that left its tread mark on his face. He stumbled but he didn’t go down, still too riled by what boiled through his system to recognize that his nose had been broken. He got in a few glancing blows then roared in frustration, charging wildly, trying to wrap the little sucker up in a crushing embrace, but with a duck and a slide, Terry got behind him. A fierce elbow chop between the shoulder blades dropped him to the ground with Terry riding his back like a bronc buster, a bulging forearm curled about his neck.
Shaking off the dazing effect of the fellow’s ham-sized fists, Cale pinned him, holding him helpless so that struggle cut off his ability to breathe. Yet still, he fought and would continue until Cale was forced to kill him. That, he couldn’t let happen. Not when the memory of his brother Michael surged in a battering tide.
“Easy, my man. I’m not trying to hurt you. We’re all your friends here. No one’s going to hurt you. Stop fighting. Stop before you hurt yourself.”
Chest heaving, the cords in his throat and eyes bulging, Amos howled and snarled until considerable pressure had him docile once more.
“I’m not your enemy. It’s okay. Relax. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”
Happy with that conclusion, he parked his bike by the office trailer where Philo Tibideaux sat on the metal steps going over some paperwork.
“Heads up!”
Philo caught the bag tossed his way.
“Afternoon snack,” Cale provided at his puzzled look.
His foreman peeked inside and smiled, genuinely thrilled with the creepy crawly meal. “Thanks.”
“Welcome. Had all I could stomach. Still feel ‘em trying to wiggle their way upstream.” He gave his chest a meaningful tap, his cheeks puffing out as if struggling to keep them down.
Tibideaux laughed and vowed, “We’ll make a homeboy of you in no time a‘tall.”
Cale didn’t burst his bubble. “Finished that inventory. What’s up for this afternoon?”
Before Philo could answer, sounds of a commotion brewing reached them. Philo set his clipboard aside with a grumble of “Now what? Those boys have been scrappy all damned day. If I didn’t know better, I’d think a full moon was a-coming.”
Purposeful strides carried the lanky Shifter down to a freighter they were loading. Cale tagged along. A group of stevedores who should have been busy working up top securing cargo containers gathered in a tight knot. Philo shoved his way through to find two of his men rolling on the ground already bloodied and intent on bodily harm.
“What the hell’s gotten into the lot of you?” he hollered. “You ain’t getting paid to throw down bets on my clock! Get them two separated, and get your dumb asses back to work!”
Several brave souls reached down to pull the battling pair apart only to be bruised and knocked back for their trouble. As the two began a renewed grappling, Tibideaux lifted one of the mop up buckets and doused them with its contents. That got their attention long enough for the others to intercede.
Just when they thought the episode ended, Amos, the bigger of the brutish pair, snatched up a pry bar and swung it at the other man. The motion halted a scant inch from breaking open the fellow’s head like a melon. Snarling, Amos whipped around to see the new guy, Mick Terry, gripping the other end.
“That’s enough.”
Terry’s cool drawl rekindled his temper. He swung, but Terry no longer stood in the same spot. He circled and turned right into the work boot that left its tread mark on his face. He stumbled but he didn’t go down, still too riled by what boiled through his system to recognize that his nose had been broken. He got in a few glancing blows then roared in frustration, charging wildly, trying to wrap the little sucker up in a crushing embrace, but with a duck and a slide, Terry got behind him. A fierce elbow chop between the shoulder blades dropped him to the ground with Terry riding his back like a bronc buster, a bulging forearm curled about his neck.
Shaking off the dazing effect of the fellow’s ham-sized fists, Cale pinned him, holding him helpless so that struggle cut off his ability to breathe. Yet still, he fought and would continue until Cale was forced to kill him. That, he couldn’t let happen. Not when the memory of his brother Michael surged in a battering tide.
“Easy, my man. I’m not trying to hurt you. We’re all your friends here. No one’s going to hurt you. Stop fighting. Stop before you hurt yourself.”
Chest heaving, the cords in his throat and eyes bulging, Amos howled and snarled until considerable pressure had him docile once more.
“I’m not your enemy. It’s okay. Relax. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”
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