“Pleasure doing business with you,” Jon said to the strong man.

“Sure,” he returned. “Another?” he asked.

“No,” Jon said, “I have to go now.”

“Okay,” the strong man said.

Jon turned and started off with a slight limp, blood running down his leg; then he stopped and turned back and said, “You used to wrestle or something?”

“Not since college…,” said the strong man.

“I see, I see.”

“And where’d you learn to punch like that?” the man asked, then spit. A trail of red saliva clung to and dangled from his lip, it glistened in the brightness of the day.

Jon let a smile show clear on his face, then turned around and began to walk away.

This is exactly how Jon would do it: he would go and find the biggest and dumbest—

“Hey!” the man screamed at him then. “Hey! Who do you think you are?” Now he began to chase Jon. Jon was high-stepping, waving the money for the strong man to see. And the strong man saw and he chased Jon. He chased him and chased him. From the alley behind the bar, quick as his jab, Jon went off, ran straight across the road without looking, reached the far sidewalk nearly getting hit by a car, and then bolted to the next corner. There he turned, slowed down, and felt it was safe to walk.

So, this is how Jon would do it. He would go and find the biggest and dumbest brute he could find, make sure they were self-assured of the notion that they could beat him in a street fight, challenge them to bet and fight for fifty dollars, then when they lean in to try to grab him or take him down—

“Hey! Hey! Get over here!”

Jon made off again, this time he ran further, taking more elaborate cuts through the city. The idea was still fresh in his mind. He wondered if this plan could be improved. “Excuse me,” he said, once he had stopped running, but he was out of breath and apparently was not heard. He took another turn through a back alley and ended up back on the sidewalk proper and near a different bar. He went inside. “Excuse me,” he said to a man who looked big and dumb enough.

“Hi there!” this man replied. Perfect, Jon thought.

“What do they have to drink here?”

“Oh, I don’t know exactly what all they’ve got. But, hey, there’s a menu right up there. Looks like it’s got every—”

“You think I don’t see the menu right there? What, do you think I’m stupid?”

“Huh?”

“Would you like to exchange fisticuffs? Do you have the pluck?”

“What? No! I was just suggesting—”

It’s just not going to work, Jon considered. Leaving behind the second bar, Jon went on in search of the next one. The afternoon was over, soon it would be dinner time and no one would want to throw hands with Jon. But he would be leaving the city the next day and he knew he could make another quick fifty dollars before then.

It would be just like this, how Jon would do it: he would go and find the biggest and dumbest brute he could find, make sure they were self-assured of the notion that they could beat him in a street fight, challenge them to bet and fight for fifty dollars, then when they lean in to try to grab him or take him down, then, boom, and Jon would get the money and get the hell out of there. And if there was any trouble whatsoever with the money, or if somehow Jon’s jab-cross-hook and then his haymaker both failed, then Jon would just settle for getting the hell out of there. If, on the other hand, he won fair and square but encountered any further—

“Hey!” the strong man yelled at Jon. Again, he chased Jon, but the big, strong man was of no match for Jon’s swift-footed stride, and this was all a part of Jon’s plan.

Arriving at the third bar, after running all the way there, Jon took a seat at the bar. There he asked for a cold glass of water; then he waited, thinking. Into his hands went the glass, tall, dripping, clambering with ice. Upon receiving the water, Jon turned and dumped all of it straight onto the square head beside him.

“What the…”

“Hey, hey. Calm down. Calm down.” Jon reached into his pocket as he spoke, pulling out a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill. “I can give you money for a new shirt.” The wet man, now just as red as he was wet, reached out to take the money. “Or,” Jon said, pulling the cash back away from the man. “I’ll make you a bet.”

So, moments later, after the larger man pulled fifty dollars from the ATM, they came to the back alley behind this bar, just the two of them. The man seemed to be channeling some deep-seated, unrelated rage. He stood facing the wall, mumbling to the wall, beating on the wall with his hand. Jon stood behind him with second thoughts all on his mind.

Jon imagined having a little angel on one shoulder and a little devil on the other. He imagined what they would be saying. Maybe, he thought to himself, if I had a little angel on my shoulder right now, it would tell me to hit him from behind real quick, take the fifty bucks, and run. And Jon was certain that if there was a devil on his shoulder, it would tell him to do the same thing but take all of his money. However, just as Jon was considering this, the man turned back around. His face was cool. Stoic. He spoke to Jon like he was speaking to a brother or a very good friend. “Ah. I don’t want to fight you, man.”

“I’m sorry? What, did I do something wrong?”

“I just… I just got fired from my job; I have not been myself lately.” Now he spoke freely, bluntly, with his eyes cast carelessly down on the ground. “I don’t know what your thing is, man, but I think I’ll just go back around and have another drink or two here and then—”

Boom. Jon caught him with the haymaker. But now, according to the plan, Jon was off and running before he had the money. And he didn’t make it long before he tripped and fell on air. He picked himself up as quick as he could, embarrassed. People laughed. A voice called out: “Hey!”

Jon’s spill didn’t go unnoticed; there was a crowd of people waiting at a crosswalk not far from the last bar. They had all seen him fall, among them was the strong man. But Jon didn’t see him. Not until it was too late. Both of Jon’s knees were bloodied and he struggled to run away. Just when Jon was sure that he was free from the wet man, he kept on a little further and tried to hide behind a building, completely oblivious.

When the strong man began beating Jon, Jon screamed so that people could hear him from four city blocks away. The wet man found them, he was less wet and more red then.

Quite a while later and by some miracle, Jon returned from the black, metallic ether. He rolled over onto his stomach and spit red. He looked around. It was fairly dark by then, only the occasional car passed by. Jon winced as he stood up. He felt around in his pockets for his wallet. It was empty. There would have to be a new plan.