His name was Buck and he was built like a gorilla. It wasnâ€™t an affectionate description, nor a term of endearment. It wasnâ€™t that he looked particularly simian, it was his long arms. Had they been thin they would have been called gangly, they were not.
Those arms were connected to a body that resembled a fireplug and to a brutish looking face. Dark eyes hid behind thick black eyebrows and a nose that resembled a pear.
He would never be called pretty, handsome or complimented for his looks. But neither would he ever be teased as it was apparent to even the animals that he was not to be trifled with. It was one of the things that set him apart.
Dogs avoided him. Big dogs, little dogs, Rottweiler, Pit Bull, Schnauzer, it didnâ€™t matter, they stayed away from him, as if they could sense the violence that lay just beneath the surface.
Tom had seen it surface a couple of times. They had finished their shifts and walked over to a local bar for a beer. A couple of locals had the misfortune of poor judgment. He had sneezed and knocked over their pitcher of beer. They immediately began berating him and when he didnâ€™t respond they grew more aggressive.
They mistook his inactivity for fear or who knows what. Had they looked more closely they would have noticed that his large hands were scarred and callused. A person doesnâ€™t get those marks, they earn them. And those that earn them have a certain something that they bring to the party.
Tom was surprised, really shocked was more like it with the speed at which things happened. The man closest to Buck grabbed his collar and demanded that he spring for a new pitcher of beer. One moment he was standing in front of Buck, hands wrapped in the collar of a dirty blue jumpsuit and the next he was writhing in pain on the ground, one arm dangling uselessly from his body.
The second man didnâ€™t have time to do anything before…
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