ON THE STREET outside the bar, Michelle grabbed my arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She wheeled on the Prof. "And what about you? You turning back the clock twenty years? This idiot's back to being a gunfighter and you're his manager, right?"
"My man's in pain, lady. Give us some play, back away."
Michelle's eyes glittered, hands on hips. I put my hand on her arm- she shrugged it off.
"This isn't like you, baby. You're making me nervous."
"It's okay," I said.
"It's not okay. You want to go back to prison? Over some stupid argument in a bar?"
"I'm not going back to prison. Just take it easy. We'll drive you home."
She turned and walked away, heels clicking hard on the concrete, not looking back.