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ground the toe of his boot against the fallen petals. “Selling flowers like a pansy. Guess you’re not going to get anyone to buy that one, huh? Not that anyone will buy from you Commies anymore.” 
    The tin screeched against the metal truck bed as Ivan slammed the flowers down. He reveled in the way Ralph flinched at the movement and scurried back a step. But Ivan didn’t care about Ralph, not really. It was Butch he hated. Butch who’d tormented Ivan in school—one of the few people who was actually considered lower than the Murphys. The best thing that’d ever happened to Ivan was Butch dropping out. He hadn’t seen the caustic man in years, but the old hatred flared inside of Ivan, hot and pulsing. It made him shake with fury. 
    No more hanging his head to Butch’s twisted insults. No more letting the brute win.
    He balled his hands into fists, and the spark of fear that flashed in Butch’s mean little eyes fanned the flames of anger. “You couldn’t afford my flowers. I’m sure you’ll need every penny to bail your useless father out of the drunk tank again.” 
    “What’d you just say?” Butch whispered, his voice low and deadly.
    Ivan hissed out a harsh laugh. “What?” Ivan mocked him. “Don’t you understand English?”
    Butch growled and sprang, lobbing his arm through the air in a heavy punch. He was a brute of a man, hard yet slower than Ivan. Ivan ducked away from the wide arc of Butch’s punch and easily stepped aside. The man’s fist rammed into the wheel well of the truck with a dull metal twang , and he hissed in pain. 
    Butch’s nostrils were flaring and his eyes were wild when he spun around and glared up at Ivan. But he was shaking out his red knuckles as well.
    “Pussy,” Butch spit. “Afraid to fight like a man. Commie coward.” Spots of red flared on his cheeks, and a fleck of spittle dribbled from the corner of his lips.
    Ivan laughed, letting Butch know he wasn’t afraid of him. Not anymore. Behind Butch, Danny flicked away the spent butt of a cigarette and shouldered past Ralph, who was nervously bouncing on his feet.
    “You’re embarrassing yourself, Butch,” Ivan said, his voice carefully flat. “Go beg for money or whatever you were doing. You’re done here.”
    Butch made to lunge forward, and Ivan tensed. But then Danny laid a hand on the brute’s shoulder.
    “C’mon,” he said, his voice low and oddly calm. “We were supposed to meet those birds from last night.”
    Butch flinched and started to push his friend’s hand away, but Danny clenched his fingers around Butch’s collarbone. 
    “Come on, Butch.”
    Butch blinked and then nodded—just slightly. But then his eyes flicked up to Ivan’s, and the glare Butch gave him was hard and cold. In that instant, Ivan knew he’d started something with Butch that wouldn’t be finished today. 
    He couldn’t bring himself to care.
    Butch grabbed the lip of the flower tin full of roses, his eyes trained on Ivan. He yanked the tin and sent it crashing to the ground, water spilling over the concrete and the flowers scattering. He planted his heavy boot against the flowers and stepped hard as he walked past Ivan.
    Ivan’s mouth twisted in a low growl, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t going to stoop to a fight, to give Butch the satisfaction.
    The man snickered—a raspy, angry sound that rumbled in the back of his throat. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Butch spit. “Why don’t you go back to your Commies. You don’t belong here.”
    Another laugh. This one wet and high. “Good one, Butch,” Ralph said, hopping around behind Butch like a dog begging for attention. 
    Danny kept his hand on Butch’s shoulder and pulled him away. But Butch spared a glare for Ivan before the three men turned a corner and disappeared. Ivan watched them go, adrenaline still pumping through him. Coming to town was a mistake. Ivan kicked at the truck tire in frustration. The last twenty-four hours seemed to be nothing