“Roberto, you and I need to talk.”
Bobby held his arms out from his body, shrugging. “I’m here, amigo. Talk.” He said loudly, hoping someone would hear.
Danny didn’t move, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He spoke quietly, calmly.
“You know I didn’t beat Ramon, right?”
“I know you were there. I can’t believe you’d hit him with a fucking bat. That’s not your style.”
Danny’s mouth quirked and he dropped his head. “What is my style?”
“Take a swing, kick his ass, but a bat’s bad form. You weren’t ever a cheat, Dan.”
“Really?” The reply was dry, sarcastic, not Danny’s usual style either.