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Dew stepped forward and swung it low. The thick wood slammed into Dawsey’s right knee. Dawsey cried out, his throat capable of producing only a hoa.r.s.e whisper. He dropped, left knee and right hand holding his weight.

“You want discipline?” Dew said. “I’ll give you discipline.”

Dew swung the table leg in a big arc and brought it down on Perry’s head. The skin split open instantly, blood spilling out of a two-inch-long gash that stained his blond hair. Despite the cut, Dawsey barely flinched. His right lid fluttered open a bit, but his left stayed pinched shut. From his half-crouch, he lunged forward, both hands reaching out.

Dew Phillips calmly scooted backward and jabbed the table leg into Perry’s mouth, splitting his lip on impact.

Perry fell flat on his face, then put his hands down and tried to rise.

“You’re going to play ball,” Dew said. He brought the table leg around in another vicious arc, the club end whistling through the air before it landed on Dawsey’s back with a meaty thud. Dawsey let out another choking hiss and fell on his face again.

“You’re going to do it because it’s the right thing to do.” Dew whipped the table leg in a low swing that hit Perry’s right side, crunching into the younger man’s ribs. Perry rolled to his left, curling up into a near-fetal ball. He still couldn’t see, squinting eyes betraying his blindness. Blood covered his head, poured from his mouth. His knees curled up to his chest, and his hands stuck out in front of him, trying to ward off the attack.

Dew swung again, as hard as he could this time. The club head hit Dawsey’s right thigh. Dawsey managed to push a deep scream out through his choking throat.

“I don’t want any more s.h.i.+t out of you,” Dew said. He swung the leg and hit the thigh again, knowing that it would hurt far worse the second time. “Are you going to stop being such a p.r.i.c.k?”

“Stop!” Perry shouted. “Please!”

“You begging for your life, Dawsey? Like your friend Bill did? Like those triangle hosts did?”

“I was helping them!” His voice sounded like he’d gargled broken gla.s.s.

Dew jabbed the leg straight forward, hitting Dawsey in the forehead. The wood-on-wood sound accompanied another cut, this one longer than the first and bleeding even worse.

“Helping them? You psycho f.u.c.k, maybe I should just beat you to death right here!”

“No!” Still on his side, knees up to his chest, Perry waved his hands blindly.

Dew raised the table leg for another shot to Dawsey’s ribs. He wanted to make this boy hurt.

Perry’s voice was half-scream, half-cry. “Don’t hit me any more, Daddy!

Please!”

Dew stared for a few seconds, the table leg suspended in the air.

“Puh . . . please, Daddy,” Dawsey stammered. “No more.”