Chapter 4

Before Dad could retreat, Mr. McNamara jabbed a finger into his chest once, twice, and a third time. “You’d better get your black asses off mah property.”

Dad was slow to respond. It was his way. He often said “give a man enough rope and he’ll hang himself.” Then McNamara shoved a palm in Dad’s chest. Dad’s big hand wrapped around it and twisted it back, dropping Mr. McNamara to his knees. He tightened his face and squinted in obvious pain. “Ohhh.”

Dad glared. “I come here peacefully and you assault me! If you or your boys ever touch me or my son again, you’ll regret it! Ya’all have committed what California law calls ‘assault and battery.’ It’s punishable with up to a year in jail.”

McNamara spit out, “I swear, I’ll kill you.”

Still holding the wristlock, Dad glanced at a shotgun mounted over the fireplace. With his other hand, Dad pulled back his coat and showed his revolver in his waistband. “I pray for peace, but am prepared for war. Do you understand?”