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Jean really didn't want Dalton involved but she sure would feel better if she knew he would agree to help her; she'd always felt so safe when she was with him.Dalton was in the middle of shooting photos for a brochure he was producing for one of the larger down town hotels; he was just about to break for lunch when his phone rang."Hello, Dalton Conrad," he said not recognizing the number."Hi, Dalton, it's Dave Quinn, how are you?" Hey, Dave, long time no see; I'm doing good, how about you?" Good, thanks; Dalton, Jean is in trouble." What do you mean in trouble, what kind of trouble?" She's gotten herself mixed up with some guy, and ... well, he beat her up, pretty badly from what Bel tells me."Dalton felt his blood coming to a boil. In his mind there was no bigger coward than a man who hits a woman, any woman!"Where is she; is she in the hospital?" No, no, he didn't hurt her that bad, she's just pretty well bruised up and sore, she missed work yesterday but she's there today," he. The moods weren’t there anymore. Sure is hard to figure out why. The way divorce came about was I had been doing a stint at the theater. It was about twenty miles from where I lived. I was on my way home when a call came across my CB saying a fight was in progress at one of the bars in the area I was in, so I called dispatch and told them I would meet the patrolman there. I arrived seconds after the patrol car and showed my badge. We all rushed in and stopped the fight that was still in progress. I looked around the bar and spotted my wife Beverly with a strange man. She saw me and tried to hide. It was too late. I walked over to their booth as Beverly screamed, ‘My God, David!’ The son of a bitch with her went to stand up and I pushed him back down. He drew a knife on me. That was all I needed. I pulled him out of the booth and took my baton and started beating the son of a bitch. All the time my wife was screaming, ‘Please, David, don’t, please, don’t hurt him.’ That was all I.
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