"You know your trouble, fly-boy? You're chickenshit."
Kinsman grinned at him and looked around the floor for the can of beer he had been working on.
"You hear me? You're all talk. But you're scared to fight for your rights."
Looking up. Kinsman saw that Diane, the blonde smok- er, and two of the guys were the only ones left in the apartment. Plus the muscleman confronting him.
"I'll fight for my rights," he said, very carefully because his tongue was not quite obeying his brain. "And I'll fight for yours, too. But not in any stupid-ass way,"
"You callin' me stupid?" The guy got to his feet.
A weight lifter. Kinsman guessed. Pumps iron every day and now he wants to show off his muscles on me.
"I don't know you welt enough to call you anything."
"Well, I'm callin' you a chicken, A gutless motherfuckin' coward."
Slowly Kinsman got to his feet. It helped to have the wall to lean against.
"I take that, sir, to be a challenge to my honor," he said, letting himself sound drunk. It took very little effort,
"Goddam right it's a challenge. You must be some 14 goddam pig—secret police or something."
"That's why I'm wearing this inconspicuous uniform."
"To throw us off guard."
"Don't be an oaf."
"I'm gonna break your head, wise-ass."
Kinsman raised an unsteady finger. "Now hold on. You challenged me, right? So I get the choice of weapons. That's the way it works in the good ol' code duello."
"Choice of weapons?" The big guy looked confused.
"You challenged me to a duel, didn't you? You have impeached my honor. I have the right to choose the weap- ons."
The guy made a fist the size of a football. "This is all the weapon I need."
