Howard Brown Badass is a Strictly Relative Term
Every place you go, there’s always a Booker Bowden was in Webster badass, someone who’s fought their way to the top of the heap and managed to hang on against all contenders. In the little town of Webster, Mississippi, that was Tommy Lee Tiller who’d been the local badass so long, he’d forgotten the rest of the premise—that there’s always someone else out there just a little bigger and a little meaner, waiting (well, maybe not even consciously waiting, but definitely able) to take you down. Ordinarily, that lapse of memory wouldn’t have mattered, not in Webster anyway, because all the local talent had long ago been vanquished. But the world is a very big place and, like everything else, badass is a strictly relative term. And on this particular night everything was about to change.
visiting his cousin. Sitting in the Dairy Crème parking lot on the hood of his ’56 Chevy, fighting was the last thing on Booker’s mind. So, when Tommy Lee sauntered over and asked: Just who the fuck are you? Booker didn’t even look up but replied, Go on, boy, I’m talking to my cousin. Don’t call me boy, sumbitch, Tommy Lee snarled, call me man. Then, without more, he reached out and slapped Booker across the face with his open palm. Booker didn’t say anything else, but motioned his cousin away as slid off the car hood. He seemed almost nonchalant, letting his arms dangle at his side, while Tommy Lee stood before him, his fists cocked. Come on, Tommy Lee taunted, let’s see what you got. Still Booker didn’t