The DebtThe man was tall, thin, and in his fifties, with sandy hair and green eyes. Though he seemed familiar, he didn’t look happy to see me. “You owe my father money.”
I took a step back. “Who’s your father?”
“Doyle Pike.”
That was why he looked familiar. “Perhaps there’s been some misunderstanding. I just spoke with him the other day.”
The man put his hands on his hips; a gun hung in its holster from his right side. “The only misunderstanding is what’ll happen if you don’t pay him.”
Footsteps came running up from behind, and the man’s eyes widened. I turned to see a dark-skinned man hastening forward, gun in his outstretched hand.
I moved to one side in alarm. Yet the gun seemed to be trained upon Mr. Pike’s son rather than me. I glanced behind: the sandy-haired man was gone. I kn
