Honor Unraveled by Elaine Levine

threw a right hook that landed Hatchet on his back, dazed. He stared down at him, then sent a glare at the men gathered, wondering if one of them was going to take up Hatchet’s fight. None did. He was walking away when he heard Hatchet grunt as he got to his feet, then heavy footsteps as the gangbanger ran after him. Max picked up a chair and twirled around in time to slam it down over Hatchet’s back, dropping him cold.
    “Enough!” Pete shouted, breaking into the chants and jeers of the crowd. “We need Hatchet alive for the vote.”  
    Max dropped what was left of the chair. He took a beer that was being poured for one of the guys, grabbed his sunglasses back, and went to sit in the president’s booth so he could glare out at the rest of the members.

Chapter Eight

    Kit walked up the sidewalk to Sheriff Tate’s house. Thick roots from a massive cottonwood had grown beneath the path, breaking and lifting the concrete in several places. The shade from the tree’s canopy thinned the grass so it only grew in clumpy areas, which the sheriff kept trimmed. He didn’t need to knock; Tate opened his door as he walked up the path.  
    Thirteen years had passed since Kit had had any one-on-one time with the lawman. In a weird way, it was kind of like looking at a future image of himself, living alone in a run-down house, trying futilely to fight chaos.
    Kit had avoided the man as much as possible in his teenage years, but he hadn’t been a bad guy, even then. He was the one who’d negotiated on his behalf when Ivy’s dad had had a shit fit over his getting Ivy pregnant. Her dad wanted him thrown in jail for statutory rape. The sheriff got him to agree to a tour in the Army instead.  
    He’d brought Kit over for burgers when Kit’s mom was on a bender and forgot to feed him. He’d scrounged up school supplies for Kit at the start of each new school year. Kit worked at a local ranch during most summers and spent nights washing dishes at Mama Rosa’s, trying to save up as much money as he could so he could cover their rent when his mom didn’t, which was a lot of months. Very little was left over for food or clothes or fun.
    Jesus, those were bad days.
    He shoved his hands in his pockets as he looked up at the sheriff. Tate stood on his front stoop, looking down at him. “Wondered when you’d get around to a visit.” Kit didn’t answer. “I’m cooking a burger out back. I can put one on for you.”
    “That’d be great.”
    Tate held the door open. Kit went up the steps and into the guy’s small living room. The couch was leather. The coffee table was some beat-up old thing that might have been in a hotel somewhere. A comfortable-looking recliner whose arms were well worn faced the TV. Tate’s place was neat, but old. He looked around, but couldn’t find any ashtrays. The guy used to be a chain-smoker.
    “Want a beer?” Tate asked.
    “Sure.”
    The sheriff grabbed a Budweiser from the fridge, popped the cap, and gave it to Kit. He took out a bag of frozen hamburgers and headed to the backyard. Kit took a seat in one of the two white plastic chairs. He wanted to rock back on the hind legs, but the thing felt brittle as hell so he just sat still.  
    Tate’s backyard was a mirror image of his front yard. The only plantings looked like suckers that had slipped beneath the fence from his neighbors’ yards. The neatly trimmed grass was its best feature.
    “Looks like the Army did right by you,” the sheriff said as he dropped a few patties on the grill.
    “It did.”
    “You out now? Got this new gig?”
    “Yeah. Blade got shot and had to leave. I got out too. We hired on with Owen’s business.”
    The sheriff squinted at him over the smoke from the grill. “What is it you guys do, for real?”
    “We provide security services.”
    Tate lowered the grill cover. “You know, I don’t like you tearing up my town.”
    “I know. It’s not my goal.”
    “How’s Ty doing? He make it okay in the