I knew what it would feel like. I planted my foot in his chest and knocked him back, all the way across the parking lot.Russ had let go of the knife s...uck in my arm. His expression at my retaliation was something I would have considered comical, had I not been hurting.I watched him land, waited for him to get up and come at me again. I would have said he had the edge, because I would have protected my arm and he could pull out another knife and be fresh for the fight. Fortunately, he didn't get. Then I reached for a bottle of rye. “You don’t make them with bourbon?”“I don’t care for bourbon. There’s a sweetness to it I don’t like. I make my Manhattans with half rye and half cognac.”“That’s one I haven’t seen,” she replied.I added some French sweet vermouth and a dash of bitters. After a brisk shaking and straining into cocktail glasses I added maraschino cherries. “Cheers.”“Cheers,” she replied and sipped from her glass. “Oh, Eric -- this is really good. I get the peppery note of the. More

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