There was a solid knock on Favor’s door a little after midnight. The remorseful, scruffy-bearded face of a familiar man stared back at him. “Wishbone! What in the world are you doin’ here?” Favor exclaimed. “It’s not just me, Mr. Favor.” He stepped aside to reveal the silhouette of a badly beaten man. “Rowdy?” barely escaped Favor’s lips as the man fell to the ground.