Leroy didn't understand Spanish, or Argentinean, or whatever the crummy lingo was. But he understood body language and the three dockworkers ahead spelled trouble. Just the sort he was looking for.
A massive solar flare had destroyed the electronics on the icebreaker where Leroy worked. All the long day he'd waited in his cabin while podgy technicians came and went to repair the damage. Tomorrow, his ship was leaving on a secret mission, but this evening, he craved his exercise.
Brave because of their reputation, the three dock workers sneered and gestured in their greasy language. By night, they terrorised the docks. Nobody felt safe. Nobody dared venture out alone after dark. They were untouchable and supreme.
Leroy didn't falter. He marched with increased speed, sorting the strong from the weak.
Two of the gang took a nervous step back.
The gang's leader crumbled to the ground with four broken ribs. A second man pulled a knife and his wrist snapped like a twig. The third man turned to run but crashed to the ground with a smashed knee.
His exercise over, Leroy returned to his cabin and locked the door, friendless and lonely.
~*~
A shadow had witnessed the confrontation. Outlined by an eerie glow, it took the form of a short gypsy. 'You'll do,' he said, gradually fading. 'You tell me if you don't.'