“We manage the Swamp Bar all the time,” Gertie said. “How bad can it be?” “Don’t ask that,” Ida Belle said. “It’s like inviting God’s sense of humor while he’s angry. The outcome is never favorable for us.” “Well, there’s probably not an angry bear inside,” I said. “So that’s a plus.” The words had barely left my mouth when a man came hurtling through a window at the front of the bar and crashed onto the sidewalk. An even bigger man stepped up to the broken window and yelled something indiscernible at the one on the pavement. Fortyish. Six foot six. Three hundred pounds solid. Shaved head. Too
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