Stories (2011) (111 page)

"You’re that easy for money?"

"You bet. And remember, I didn’t make you come. Get
off."

Richard went out of the cabin and climbed down to the dock.
When he looked up through the driving rain, he could see Jones looking down at
him from the boat, the .38 pointed at him.

"You go up the dock there, toward the flagstones.
Follow those. They lead around a curve through the rocks and trees. Where you
need to go is back there. You’ll see it. Now, go on so I can cast off. And good
luck. I mean it."

"Yeah, I know. Nothing personal. Well, you know what
you can do with your luck." Richard turned and started up the dock.

The directions led him up through a cut in the rocks and
around a curve, and there, built into the side of the mountain, was a huge
house of great weathered lumber, glass, and stone. The house seemed like part
of the island itself. Richard figured, you were inside, standing at one of the
great windows, on a good day, you could look out and clearly see fish swimming
deep in the clear Caribbean waters, see them some distance off.

He followed the trail, tried to get his mind on what it was
he was going to do. He tried to think about Thai boxers and how they fought. He
was sure this was how Peak had trained. Peak’s shins were a giveaway, but that
didn’t mean he hadn’t done other things. He might like grappling too, ground
work. He had to think about all this, but mostly, he had to think about the
Thai boxing. Thai boxers were not fancy kickers like Karataka, or Kung Fu
people, but they were devastating because of the way they trained. The way they
trained was more important than what they knew. They trained hard, for
endurance. They trained themselves to take and accept and fuel themselves off
pain. They honed their main weapons, their shins, until the best of them could
kick through the thick end of a baseball bat. He had to think about that. He
had to think that Peak would be in good condition, and that, unlike himself, he
hadn’t taken off a few years from rigorous training. Oh, he wasn’t all
washed-up. He practiced the moves and did exercises and his stomach was flat
and his reflexes were good, but he hadn’t sparred against anyone since that
time he had killed a man in the ring. He had to think about all that. He had to
not let the bad part of what he was thinking get him down, but he had to know
what was bad about himself and what was good. He had to think of some strategy
to deal with Peak before Peak threw a punch or kick. He had to think about the
fact that Peak might want to kill him. He had to not think too hard about what
kind of fool he’d been for coming here. He had to not think about how
predictable he had been to Peak. He had to hope that he was not predictable
when they fought. He had to realize that he could kill a man if he wanted to,
if the opening was there. He’d already done it once, not meaning to. Now he had
to mean to.

At the top of the slope there was an overhang porch of
stone, and a warm orange light glowed behind the glass positioned in the thick
oak door. Before Richard could touch the buzzer, the door opened, and there stood
Margo. She had on the dress she had worn earlier. Her hair was pinned up now.
She looked at him with those dying cat eyes. The wind and the sea howled behind
him.

"Thanks," she said.

Richard stepped past her, inside, dripping water.

The house was tall as a cathedral, furnished in thick wood,
leather furniture, and the heads of animals, the bodies of fish. They were
everywhere. It looked like a taxidermist’s shop.

Margo closed the door against the rain and wind. She said,
"He’s waiting for you."

"I should hope so," Richard said.

He dripped on the floor as he walked. She took him into a
large, lushly furnished bedroom. She went into an adjacent bathroom and came
out with a beach towel and a pair of blue workout pants and kicking shoes.
"He wants you to wear these. He wants to see you right away, unless you
feel you need to rest first."

"I came here to do it," Richard said. "So,
the sooner the better." He took the towel and dried, removed his clothes,
except for the jock, and, paying Margo no mind, dried again. He put on the
pants and shoes.

Margo led him to a gymnasium. It was a wonderful and roomy
gym with one wall made of thick glass overlooking rocks and sea; the windows he
had seen from the trail. There was little light in there, just illumination
from glow strips around the wall. HugoPeak sat on a stool looking out one of
the windows. He was dressed in red workout pants and kicking shoes. His back,
turned to Richard, held shadows in the valley of its muscles.

"He’s waiting," Margo said, and faded back into
the shadows and leaned against the wall.

Richard turned and looked at her, a shape in the darkness.
He said, "I just want you to know, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing
this for me."

"And for the money?" she said.

"That’s icing. I get it, that’s good. I’ll even take
you with me, get you away from here, you want to go. But I won’t argue with you
to go."

"You win, I might go. But ten thousand dollars isn’t a
lot of money. Not considering the way I can live now."

"You’re right. Keep that in mind. Keep in mind that the
ten thousand isn’t yours. None of it is. I said I’d take you with me, but that
means as far as the island, after that, you’re on your own. I don’t owe you
anything."

"I can make a man happy."

"I got to be happy somewhere else besides below the
belt."

"It’s not fair. You win, I go with you, I don’t get any
of your money, and I don’t get Hugo’s."

"Then you better root for Hugo."

Richard left Margo in the shadows, went over and stood near
Peak, and looked out the glass. The sea foamed high and dark with whitecaps
against the rocks. Richard saw that the dock he had walked along was gone. The
sea had picked it up and carried it away. Or most of it. A few boards were
broken and twisted on the shore, lodged between rocks. The great windows vibrated
slightly.

"There’s going to be a hurricane," Peak said, not
looking at Richard. "I believe that’s appropriate."

"I want you to write the ten-thousand-dollar check
now," Richard said. "Let Margo hold it. I lose, she can tear it up. I
win, we’ll see someone gets us off the island. Jones isn’t coming back, so
it’ll have to be someone else."

"I’ll write the check," Peak said, still looking
out the window, "but you won’t need to worry about getting off the island.
This is your last stop, Mr. Young. You see that prominent rock closest to the
house, on the left side of the trail."

"Yeah. What about it?"

Peak sat silent for a long time. Not answering. "Did
you know, in the Orient, some places like Thailand, India, they have death
matches? I studied there. I studied Thai boxing and Bando when I was stationed
there in the army. I’ve fought some tough matches. People brought here from
Thailand, champion Thai boxers. They came here to win money, and they went home
hurt. Some of them crippled. I never killed anyone though. I’ve never fought
anyone that’s killed anyone. You’ll be the first. You know I intend for this
one to go all the way?"

"What’s that got to do with the rock?" Richard
said.

"Oh, my mind wandered. At the base of it, Hero is
buried. He was my dog. A German shepherd. He understood me. That’s something I
miss, Mr. Young. Being understood."

"You’re certainly breaking my heart."

"I think maybe, since you came here, on some level, you
understand me. That’s something worth having. Knowing a worthy opponent understands
you. There aren’t many like you and me left."

"Whatever you say."

"Death, it’s nothing. You know what Hemingway said
about death, don’t you? He called it a gift."

"Yeah, well, I haven’t noticed it being such a popular
present. Shall we do it, or what? You were so all-fired wanting to do it, so
let’s do it."

"Warm up, and we shall. While you start, I’ll get a
check."

Richard began to stretch and Peak came back with the check.
He showed it to Richard. Richard said, "How do I know it’s good?"

"You don’t. But you don’t really care. This isn’t about
money, is it?"

"Give it to Margo to hold."

Peak did that, then he began to stretch. Fifteen minutes
later, Peak said, "It’s time."

They met in the center of the gym, began to move in a
circular fashion, each looking for an opening. Peak stuck out a couple of jabs,
and Richard moved his head away from them. He gave Peak a couple with the same
results. Then they went together.

Peak threw hard Thai round kicks to the outside of Richard’s
right thigh, tried to spring off those for higher kicks to the neck, but
Richard faded away from those. Thai boxers were famous for breaking the neck,
Richard knew that. He was amazed at how hard the kicks were thrown. They were
simple and looked almost stiff, but even though he managed to lift his leg to
get some give in the strike, they still hurt.

Richard tried a couple of side kicks, and both times Peak
blocked them by kneeing Richard’s shin as the kicks came in, and the second
time Peak blocked, he advanced and swung an elbow and hit Richard on the jaw.
It was an elbow strike like the one Richard had used when he killed Martinez.
It hit pretty hard, and Richard felt it all the way down to his heels. When he
moved back to regroup, he looked at Peak and saw that he was grinning.

Then they really went to it. Richard threw a front kick to
get in close, nothing great, just a front kick, more of a forward stomp to the
groin, really, and this brought him into Peak’s kill zone, and he tried a
series of hand attacks, from backfist to the head, reverse punch to the solar
plexus, an uppercut up under Peak’s arm, solid to the ribs. It was like hitting
a hot water heater.

Peak hit him with another elbow shot, jumped, grabbed
Richard’s hair, jerked his head down, brought his knee up fast and high.
Richard turned his head and the knee hit him hard on the shoulder and the pain
went all the way down Richard’s arm, such pain that Richard couldn’t maintain a
fist. His hand flew open like a greedy child reaching for candy.

Richard swung his other arm outside and back and broke the
grab on his hair, but lost some hair in the process. He kicked Peak in the
knee, a glancing blow, but it got him in to use a double swinging elbow on
either side of Peak’s head, and for a moment, he thought he was in good, but
Peak took the shots and did a jumping knee lift, hit Richard on the elbow, and
drove him back with a series of fast round kicks and punches.

Richard felt blood gushing from his nose and over his lips
and down his chin. He had to be careful not to slip in the blood when it got on
the floor. Damn, the man could hit, and he was fast. Richard already felt
tired, and he could tell his nose was broken. It was hot and throbbing. He had
been a fool to do this. This wasn’t any match. There wasn’t going to be any
bell. He had to finish this or be finished.

Richard kicked twice to Peak’s legs. Once off the front leg,
followed with a kick off the rear leg. Both landed, but Peak twisted so he took
them on his shins. It was like kicking a tree. Richard began to see the outcome
of this. He was going to manage to hit Peak a lot, but Peak was going to hit
him a lot too, and in the long run, Peak would win because of the conditioning,
because he could take full contact blows better to the body and the shins.

Richard faded back a bit, shook his injured arm. It felt a
little better. He could make a solid fist again. The storm outside had gotten
busy. The windows were starting to shake. The floor beneath them vibrated.
Richard began to bob and weave. Peak held his hands up high, Thai boxer style,
closed fists palm forward, set that way to throw devastating elbows.

Richard came in with a series of front kicks and punches,
snapped his fingers to Peak’s eyes. Managed to flick them, make them water.
That was his edge, a brief one, but he took it, and suddenly he was in with a
grab to Peak’s ear. He got hold of it, jerked, heard it rip like rotten canvas.
Blood flew all over Richard’s face.

Peak screamed and came in with a blitz of knees and elbows.
Richard faded clockwise, away from the brunt of the attack. When Peak stopped,
breathing hard, Richard opened his fist. He held Peak’s ear in his hand. He
smiled at Peak. He put the ear between his teeth and held it there. He bobbed
and weaved toward Peak. Richard understood something now. Thai boxers trained
hard. They had hard bodies, and if you tried to work by their methods, fists
and feet, and you weren’t in the same condition, they would wear you down, take
you.

But that was the advantage that a system like karate had. He
was trained to use his fingers, use specific points, not just areas you could
slam with kicks and elbows. True, anywhere Peak kicked or hit him hurt, but no
matter how tough Peak was, he had soft eyes, ears, and throat. The groin would
normally be a soft target, but like himself, Richard figured he had on a cup.
That wouldn’t make it so good to hit, and there was the fact a trained fighter
could actually take a groin shot pretty well, and there was that rush of
adrenaline a groin blow could give a foe, a few seconds of fired energy before
the pain took over. It was like a shot of speed. Sometimes, that alone could
whip you.

Okay, watch yourself–don’t get cocky. He can still take
you out and finish you with one solid blow.
Richard glanced toward Margo.
She was just a shape in the shadows.

Richard spit the ear out and they came together again. A
flurry. Richard didn’t have time to try anything sophisticated. He was too busy
minimizing Peak’s attack. He tied Peak up, trapped his hands down, but Peak
shot his head forward and caught Richard a meaty one in the upper lip.
Richard’s lip exploded. Richard shifted, twisted his hip into Peak, turned and
flipped him. Peak tumbled across the floor and came up on his feet.