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solve. I tried. I liked him, and I got him set up in a twelve-step program run by a charitable organization near the fort. Sadly, Abraham didn’t finish, and his drinking ultimately got him kicked out of the army altogether after he got busted a third time.
    In the instant our eyes met, I saw that he recognized me, too, even from forty feet away. I started to wave, but he quickly turned away and continued on, walking with that little shuffling gait of his. My hand froze as I watched him walk away. Hmm. That was strange. I made a note to look him up later. I wanted to talk to him, see how he was making out.
    I jogged ahead and caught up with Toni just as four men came around the corner, thirty feet away. I recognized one of them from yesterday’s dustup: Mr. 49ers Cap. He seemed no worse the wear from the fight. Our eyes met, and he gave me a little smirk. I grabbed Toni’s arm. “Hold up,” I said quietly.
    Mr. 49ers Cap grabbed the arm of the tall man walking beside him. The man stopped, and then the others followed suit. 49ers Cap leaned over and started talking to the tall guy. I couldn’t quite make out what he said, partly because he was still thirty feet away, and partly because it sounded like he might have been speaking Russian. Tall Guy whispered something back to 49ers Cap, who nodded vigorously. While the two whispered back and forth, I studied Tall Guy for a few seconds. Obviously, he was the leader of this little group. He certainly had the stature: not only was he tall but also big—like linebacker big. He wore a dark leather jacket that would have made a decent-sized tent. His hands were so large that if he made a fist, it probably would have been the size of a volleyball. I was glad he’d been absent from yesterday’s fight. As Tall Guy listened to 49ers Cap, his dark eyes were focused into a piercing glare that was shooting right through me. His hair was almost black and, even before noon, he had a fierce five o’clock shadow working. The overall impression: menacing.
    After a second, he stood up straight and resumed walking toward us; the others hustled behind him. Not knowing what to expect, Toni and I both prepared for a confrontation, but he stopped when he was five feet away. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me, with a bemused look on his face. I stared right back. As we studied each other for a few seconds, his hands flexed into massive fists, then relaxed, flexed . . . relaxed. I don’t think this was a threat—I think this was more of a nervous automatic action—he didn’t look like a man about to attack. Then again, maybe he was just trying to make an impression on me. An uneasy silence ensued.
    As I looked at him, my initial read was that this was a man used to imposing his will on others because of his size and strength, probably mixed with a healthy dose of attitude. He was most likely an intimidator, maybe even a bully. But, while he was clearly not someone to be taken lightly, if his intention had been to scare me by staring me down, it didn’t work. I don’t scare easily, and usually if I do get scared, it’s not for me, but for someone else: the guy on my left or my right or, in this case, Toni. I despise bullies, and I’m sure I’ve faced down tougher guys than this dude. That said, there’s a time and place for everything. And despite my macho girlfriend tensing up at my side, clearly preparing to “kick some ass,” I wasn’t about to start a street brawl with this giant over who got to stand on a particular piece of sidewalk. So the stare down continued.
    Then, a few seconds later, he surprised me by smiling. “Mr. Danny Logan,” he said, his voice a heavily accented low rumble. He nodded politely. “I apologize to you for yesterday’s fight. It was mistake.”
    Whoa! Was I wearing a name tag or something? “I’m sorry,” I said. “Do I know you?”
    He smiled and shook his head. “No. I am Pavel Laskin. The man involved in the fight with you was one