It's been four months since the day that Plourr's husband came home with a red mark where a gun barrel had been pressed to his forehead.

You don't forget a thing like that.

A snarled "Hey, Salazar," is all the warning that Ramon gets before Plourr unleashes a pounding left hook, the kind that's designed more to take somebody's head off than to raise a welt or protect one's hand.