Davo's Little Something (24 page)

There would have been over a dozen men training, mostly wearing black or white cotton outfits, much the same as those worn by the two Koreans Davo had seen on TV. A couple were in the ring, the rest were either working out on the various bags or grimacing, grunting and snarling in front of the mirrors as they threw bursts of various punches and kicks at themselves. Davo stood there looking at them for a while and for some reason he couldn't explain the whole scene turned him off; he knew he would be glad when he'd finished what he came for and got out of the place.

A counter cum receptionist desk stood near the top of the stairs behind which sat an impassive-faced Asian, somewhere in his thirties, going bald in the front with the hair at the back pushed forward in an attempt to cover it. Davo walked over to him and placed his overnight bag on the counter.

‘Excuse me,' he said, ‘which is Lee?'

‘I'm Lee,' was the short reply.

Davo paused for a moment as he studied the guy behind the counter who seemed more interested in the magazine he was reading than talking to Davo.

‘I rang up yesterday about doing a course here.'

‘Yeah? Did they explain everything to you over the phone?' ‘Only about the money. Thirty dollars to join and $30 a month. Is that right?'

At the mention of the word ‘money' Lee closed the magazine and gave Davo an oily sort of smile. Davo could almost read his mind. Get the punter in, get his money, give him a quick course in ‘beat the bully' and get rid of him.

‘That's right,' smiled Lee, pushing his chair a bit further back from the counter. ‘What's your name?'

‘Brian.'

‘You ever done any martial arts training, Brian?'

‘Not really.'

Davo gave Lee the same spiel he'd given the others about the movie stunt work, adding that he'd done some boxing and a bit of Thai style when he was in the Air Force.

‘So you're going to do some stunt work eh. I did a bit of that when I was in Hong Kong.'

‘Go on eh?'

Lee pointed to a locker-room, told Davo to get changed, have a workout on one of the bags for around fifteen minutes, then come back and see him and he'd have one of the instructors take him in the ring and show him the basics. Davo nodded and walked over to the locker-room which was about the same size as an average bedroom only with a number of chipped wooden lockers and a small shower recess with a smelly toilet running off it. Davo put his tracksuit top in his overnight bag and took it back out into the gym, leaving it not far from the stairs; he wasn't quite sure what was going to happen but
if it was anything like the YMCA he'd be wanting a quick exit.

There was a vacant punching bag about half the size of the one in his garage. Davo slipped on his mitts and started moving around it, throwing punches at about a tenth the power and speed he normally used; now and again he'd throw a few kicks at about the same pace. The others around him appeared to be going flat out, kicking and punching like their lives depended on it. A few of them seemed to have some ability, the others looked like they'd talked themselves into how tough and deadly they were as they pranced around in their Karate gear. One man in a black outfit walked po-faced amongst them stopping to give exaggerated instructions accompanied by more shouting and grunting. The whole scene mystified and bemused Davo, the only word he could think of to describe it was ‘theatrical'.

After fifteen minutes of pussyfooting around the punching bag Davo put his mitts back in his bag which he then carried over and placed near the desk even a little closer to the stairs.

‘Well, Lee,' he said. ‘I'm, warmed up. What do you want me to do now?'

Lee was now having a cup of coffee and he took his time having a couple of sips while Davo stood there waiting.

‘You know any stretching exercises?' he asked.

‘A few.'

‘Well do them for five minutes or so then come back and see me.'

‘Yeah alright,' replied Davo slowly. He could see it was just an excuse to get rid of him while he finished his coffee. Fancy paying $30 to that clown he thought. The inscrutable oriental. Yeah balls. He found some space over near the locker-room and did the few exercises he knew. After about ten minutes he once again approached Lee.

‘Okay. I've got them done,' he said, trying to sound cheerful and enthusiastic.

Lee took in a breath and let it out. ‘Yeah alright,' he said, with obvious disinterest. ‘Well, hold on a minute and I'll get some one to fix you up.' He looked behind Davo, waited a moment then made a gesture with his hand. ‘Hey, Vittor,' he called out.

The instructor in the black outfit that Davo had noticed earlier broke away from the student he was talking to and came over. He was about the same size as Davo, probably a little bigger, with fierce brown eyes set in a wide angular face topped with short curly black hair and a droopy Pancho Villa moustache.

‘Vittor, this is, Brian,' said Lee. ‘Brian's going to be a student here, will you gear him and take him in the ring and show him what we'll be teaching him over the next few months. He's also a movie stuntman,' he added.

Vittor didn't say anything or offer to shake hands as he stood there rocking up and down on his toes with his thumbs jammed in the knot of the flat black cotton belt he had tied round his waist. The way he glowered into his face Davo quickly got the impression he was trying to intimidate him and Davo half expected him to have a sign hanging round his neck saying ‘I am a trained karate killer. Do not screw with me.' Where Davo had sort of admired Ken the boxing instructor when he first met him he found he was taking an immediate dislike to Vittor.

‘Righto, Vittor,' he grinned cheekily. ‘What's the story?'

Vittor looked Davo up and down for a moment then took in a deep breath. ‘Follow me,' he grunted.

He led Davo to a table near the wall with the windows, on which were several sets of gloves and headgear: there were also loose-fitting padded boots for your feet. The equipment, although a little dirty, seemed quite new and modern. The gloves and boots were a dense sponge rubber coated with red plastic: the headgear was made of the same stuff and shaped something like a big Balaclava which you slipped straight over your head.

‘We won't need the headgear,' grunted Vittor, as they moved across to the ring.

‘Okay,' said Davo. ‘Hey, Vittor. You done much of this martial arts caper have you?'

Vittor looked at Davo coldly as if he'd just asked him if his younger sister was still a virgin. ‘I've got a black belt for Tae-Kwon-Doe and karate. I've been an instructor for five years. And I won my last fifteen full contact bouts by knockout.'

‘Gee whiz! That's good isn't is,' replied Davo.

Vittor ignored Davo and they climbed into the ring.

For the next five minutes or so Vittor moved around Davo showing him all the different punches and kicks, but stopping them just a few centimetres before they'd land. He was quick on his feet and just as quick using them: the same with his hands. Davo was suitably impressed though all the time he got the impression that Vittor was bored shitless having to instruct what he considered to be cretins and was trying to show Davo how clever he was as much as instruct him. Vittor wouldn't have realised that Davo's unique reflexes had gone into overdrive from the word go and that he was about a minute in front of him the whole time. There were several occasions when Davo would loved to have stepped inside brooding Vittor and countered one of his punches or kicks with something of his own. After a while they stopped for a breather.

‘You're not half bad at this rort are you, Vittor?' smiled Davo. Vittor looked at him but didn't say anything. ‘How about this time you throw some more punches and kicks a little faster and I'll see if I can duck them. It'll do me good for the movies.'

Vittor looked curiously at Davo for a second or two. ‘As you wish,' he said. ‘We'll put the headgear on.'

He called for one of the students to hand it to him then give him three minutes off the clock situated above the ring, much the same as the one at the YMCA. They put the headgear on, the student called out ‘go' and away they went.

This time Davo could sense and feel the difference. Even though Vittor wasn't quite putting everything into it he was throwing plenty of kicks and punches hard enough to have knocked Davo down or hurt him if they had landed. However Davo was ducking and slipping the blows easily, quite enjoying himself, and he could sense the annoyance in Vittor and see it in his eyes through the headgear. Every now and again he would lazily poke his left into Vittor's face or give him a short right to the ribs to anger him some more. Suddenly, in what he judged to be the last few seconds of the round, Davo slipped to Vittor's left and gave him a hefty Thai kick right across his thigh which stopped him dead in his tracks. As the student called out time Davo could see Vittor's eyes glaring at him from behind the headgear like two red-hot coals.

‘You say you've never done this?' said Vittor as he stood
near the ropes while they had a breather. There was more than just a hint of both suspicion and anger in his voice.

‘Did a bit of boxing when I was a kid,' replied Davo casually. ‘That's probably why I can handle you alright.'

‘Boxing? Boxing is a woman's sport,' retorted Vittor.

‘Yeah? A lot of blokes I know reckon half you karate experts are full of shit. You get a decent smack in the mouth and you crap your pants. You pose more than you can fight.'

Vittor took in a deep breath and you could see him tense at Davo's remark; it was more than his ego could bear and it was time for him to squash this cockroach. ‘You think so do you?' he said slowly.

Davo shrugged. ‘I dunno. I'm only going on what these blokes told me. I'm only new to this caper.' He smiled to himself—the bait had been set.

‘What say we have one more round,' said Vittor, a sinister smile appearing through the headgear.

‘Yeah, why not,' shrugged Davo again.

No sooner had the student yelled ‘go' than Vittor sprang at Davo like a tiger. Punches and kicks of all description whistled towards his head and body that would more than likely have knocked him unconscious or broken his ribs if they'd landed. However, as soon as Davo's subconscious noticed that extra tension his reflexes zoomed into top gear again and Vittor looked like he was going in slow motion, the same as Ken. Davo easily dodged everything Vittor threw at him, while continuing to jab his left into Vittor's face and slam rights into his ribs.

Vittor tried every trick he knew. Reverse punch combinations, spinning hell kicks, front snap kicks that would have taken Davo's head off if they'd landed, but Davo just kept dancing around him, jabbing, dodging and making him seethe with indignation and hatred at being forced to look like a novice. The students had stopped their training, some were standing where they were, others had moved closer to the ring for a better view, none was quite certain of what they were seeing. Lee, who was still sitting at his desk sipping a second cup of coffee, suddenly noticed the unusual quietness in the gym and looked up to see what was going on. He was just in time to see Vittor throw a full-blooded left snap kick at Davo's
head and then watched mesmerised as Davo skipped to the side, grabbed Vittor behind the knee, pushed his leg up over his head and then effortlessly kicked his other leg away causing him to crash heavily onto his back. Vittor swore loudly and bounced back up to face Davo standing there grinning at him. With a roar of anger he tore off his sparring gloves and flung them out of the ring; Davo quickly did the same thing just as Vittor came at him with a flurry of deadly punches and kicks. Davo skipped easily to the side of the ring as they sailed past his head then, coldly, methodically, decided this had gone on long enough and it was time to take Vittor out: like he was nothing more than a pawn in a game of chess.

Davo balanced lightly on his toes in centre ring, watching as Vittor went to throw a powerful roundhouse kick with his right leg. His foot had no sooner left the floor than Davo moved forward slightly on his right foot and fired his left leg out at a slight angle catching Vittor right in the solar plexus. Davo could feel the muscles part as the toe of his gym boot sank into Vittor's stomach to almost halfway up his foot. Vittor gave a strangled gasp of pain as his eyes and tongue bulged out and he was instantly paralysed. No sooner was his foot back on the floor than Davo swung his right leg, slamming the instep against Vittor's thigh, giving him the best corked leg he'd ever had in over fifteen years of martial arts. Vittor just had time to let out another agonised grunt before Davo followed up with a right back fist that split his mouth open and rattled every filling in his head. He cannoned against the ropes and swayed there, half-crouched over, immobilised, clutching desperately at the top strand for support as his mind swam and everything went out of focus.

Davo stood there grinning at him for a moment, a little unnerved, not only by what he'd just done but also by finding out that he got a strange new kick out of watching someone else suffer.

‘So, Vittor,' he said moving towards him. ‘Boxing is a sport for women is it. Well try this on your girlfriend.' He bent slightly at the knees and swung a thundering left hook, worse than the one he'd hit Ken with, straight into Vittor's face. In a spray of blood he smashed his nose and sent him straight over the
ropes to crash heavily onto the parquet floor at the edge of the ring.

As he stood there looking down at him, Davo was surprised to find that although his adrenalin was racing he was as calm as could be and, again, not puffing in the slightest; he was suddenly startled however by the way everyone in the gym was staring up at him.

He tore off his headgear and dropped it in the ring, climbed out and quickly walked through the parting students to pick up his overnight bag near Lee's desk. Lee was glaring at him with a mixture of outrage and disbelief; he was about to say something when Davo cut him off.