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When the door was opened, Coach looked into the bloodshot eyes of a scruffy face he remembered from years ago, Isaac Marlow.
“Justice is justice , depending on who’s dishing it out,” Isaac said, “You dished it out your way ten years ago. Now, I’m ready to serve some justice of my own. Different ways of hurting a man. Maybe through others, like his woman-folk, or children-folk.”
The reaction was sudden and unexpected; Coach brought his knee up into Isaac’s groin like a catapult.