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“I’m tired.” English rarely admitted to any weakness, but he needed an explanation for wanting his boys gone which wouldn’t spark more questions. He had overheard them a couple of days ago discussing how much longer his age would allow him to continue with his daily grind, so playing the old man card served his purpose for now, even if it was far from the truth.

Jackson only took a moment to consider his mentor’s offer. “Yeah, it’s been a long day. We could all use a restful night. I’ll come in earlier tomorrow to finish the clean-up. East, take out the garbage, and then we’ll head out.”

Jackson was the oldest of English’s boys by a year, and he’d been the first one to come to stay with English. By default, he was the one the others looked to for direction. He wore the role of older brother well, and though Easton seemed reluctant to leave, he followed Jackson’s direction.

“I’ll get the trash. You two lock up as you head out,” English told Easton as Jackson returned his broom to the storage closet.

English disappeared into the kitchen before his boys changed their minds. He waited until he heard them switch off the lights and secure the front door behind them. In the quiet of the bar, English felt every day of his sixty-four years.

Maybe his boys were right in assuming he was too old to keep up with the life he’d built for himself. He could step down from the business. His sons were more than capable of running the show, but he didn’t know what else he would do. Nothing appealed to him, and he never wanted to stop feeling useful.

Once his boys started taking over his “errands,” he had taken a step back from that part of his life, focusing more on his other business interests. They helped him with those as well. The Fire Bar and Grille, the Barlowe Auto Shop and the Fire Creek Hardware provided legitimate cover to shield his boys. Their work outside those businesses wasn’t well-publicized, which is the way he preferred it. The less people who knew the truth about them, the better. Instead, their work lived within tall tales and legends which were often exaggerated so far from reality, no one believed them.

He’d never wanted to expose his family to his former life. He’d taken great pains to keep it separate from those he cared about. He could still remember the day the boys approached him about his past. The four of them were solemn and a little afraid. He could see it in their eyes, and it gutted him. So when they asked about his disappearances, his mysterious meetings, and his ability to take down drunks in the bar without breaking a sweat, he couldn’t lie to them.

The town considered him some type of saint, taking in his boys when they had no one else. English had never qualified for sainthood a day in his life. Taking in the boys had been his cover story for a life no one knew about, not even the government to which he once dedicated his life.

Jackson had been the first to cross his doorstep at the age of thirteen. Other than his name, Jackson had refused to tell English anything about himself. But English had seen the faded bruises on the teenager’s arms, the scars of healing cigarette burns, and the skittishness often possessed by abuse victims. He’d made discreet inquiries while allowing Jackson to stay at his apartment above the bar. English had tracked down Jackson’s parents, both meth addicts who treated their son like a slave. English couldn’t blame Jackson for hitting the road as soon as he could. His parents didn’t report him missing. No one came looking for him.

His other boys had similar stories. Easton ran away from so many foster homes, he was called Rabbit by the Department of Human Resources. No matter how many placements they made for him, he took off at the first opportunity. Some of the homes weren’t pleasant, but others were fine. In the boy’s experience, people left, and Easton wanted to the be one doing the leaving instead of being the one left behind. He came to English at sixteen looking for work, and this time, he stuck around.

Jackson brought Luke to him when Jackson was seventeen and Luke was sixteen. Luke’s father had killed his mother before turning the gun on himself. Luke had no other family, and Jackson talked English into taking the boy, so he didn’t get shuffled through the system the way Easton had. English blamed Luke for his gray hair and aching bones. The boy had caused more trouble than he was worth, but English couldn’t turn him away.

When Ben crossed his path, English swore there would be no more. But the child had been dropped off at the bar after closing. English hadn’t known he was there until he found Ben curled up on the ground in front of the door the next morning. Dirty and malnourished, his speech impediment making him choose to be silent to avoid others’ ridicule, Ben had been afraid of English and the other boys. He kept to himself and did his best not to draw attention.

No one knew Ben’s family or where the boy came from. The entire town considered Ben one of English’s boys long before English acknowledged it. It had taken years before Ben shared his story of a father who left him before he was born and a mother who prostituted herself while her young son was in the apartment. His mother eventually overdosed on heroin, leaving Ben an orphan. A neighbor heard Ben crying and, knowing English took in wayward boys, dropped Ben off at the bar and left.

English had tracked down the neighbor and considered confronting him for leaving the child out in the elements all night because he didn’t want to get involved. English had decided to leave the coward alone. What was done was done.

English shook himself out of his trip down memory lane. Closing the bag of kitchen trash, English shoved open the back door and stepped out into the alley. The dumpster was a few short steps away, and though the alley was dark, he navigated the path without a stumble. He tossed the bag inside, ignoring the rancid smell wafting from the dumpster, and turned.

English squinted, certain the shadows played tricks on his tired eyes. No, there was a figure standing by the door he’d just exited. The size of the person resembled Luke’s form, but he knew his son would have spoken to keep him from being alarmed. This person was a stranger, and considering the late hour, the stranger’s intent was probably more criminal than friendly.

“The safe is time locked. It won’t open for anyone until the morning. I can’t give you money, but I have food and booze. Take what you want and get the hell out of here.” English kept his tone neutral. The last thing he wanted was to spark a confrontation or to appear afraid.

“I’m not here to rob you.”

The figure stepped closer to him. He didn’t recognize the deep voice and couldn’t see any features to identify the man.

“So what do you need, friend?”

The stranger’s voice was cool enough to freeze the autumn air around them. “We’re not friends. I’m here for payback. Legend.”

The switch flipped. In less than a second, English slipped back to the man he once was. He straightened his shoulders, drew himself up to his full height, and pulled strength from the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His hands flexed, anticipating the fight which was to come.

“Am I supposed to know what debt you think I owe you?” English’s question was more of a challenge.

“It doesn’t matter as long as you pay with your life.”

“If you plan to make that happen, I hope you brought an army with you.”

As if English’s words opened a magic portal, three more figures stepped from the shadows. They were of varying heights and builds, but one thing was certain — English was screwed. In Fire Creek, Alabama, activity slowed down when the bar closed, so there was no one to pass by and notice him being cornered in the alley. His sons were long gone and had no reason to return. It was just him and the strangers.

His personal best was fighting off five at once. He’d been younger then. Though he was still fit and a fierce fighter, his age had taken a toll on his agility. All day he’d been worried for his boys when his foreboding was a warning for himself.

English widened his stance and braced himself for the fight. “You’re making a mistake, friend.”

“You made the mistake, Legend.”