Rare Lansdale Read online

  "You don’t, he’ll take it out on me. He’ll treat me rough. You see my face. You should see my breasts. Between my legs. He did things there. He can do worse. He’s done worse. What have you got to lose? You used to do it for a living. We could do all right together, you and me."

  "We don’t even know each other."

  "We could fix that. We could start knowing one another now. We knew each other, you might not want to let me go."

  She moved toward him and her arms went around his neck. He reached out and held her waist. She felt solid, small, and warm.

  Richard said, "I’ve said it. I say it again. You can leave anytime you like."

  "He’d have me followed to the ends of the earth."

  "I’d rather run like a dog, than heel like one."

  "You just don’t know," she said, pushing away from him. "You don’t know anything."

  "I know you’re still turning tricks, and Peak’s a kind of pimp, and you’re not even aware of it."

  "You don’t know a goddamn thing."

  "All right. Good luck."

  Margo didn’t move. She held her place with the bugs swarming above her head. Richard stepped inside his room, and closed the door.

  Richard lay on the bed with the note in his hand. He lay that way for a full fifteen minutes. Finally, he rolled on his side and unfolded the note and read it in the moonlight.

  MR. YOUNG:

  COME TO THE DOCK AND TAKE JONES’ BOAT BY

  MIDNIGHT. HE’LL BRING YOU OUT TO MY ISLAND.

  WE’LL FIGHT. NO RULES. WE FIGHT, IT’S BEST FOR

  MARGO. YOU WIN, I’LL GIVE YOU TEN THOUSAND

  DOLLARS. I’LL GIVE YOU MARGO. I’LL GIVE YOU A

  RESTAURANT COUPON FOR FIVE DOLLARS OFF. YOU

  DONT COME, MARGO WILL BE UNHAPPY. I’LL BE UN-

  HAPPY AND THE COUPON WILL EXPIRE. AND YOU’LL

  NEVER KNOW IF YOU COULD HAVE BEAT ME.

  HUGOPEAK

  Richard dropped the note on the floor, rolled onto his back. It’s that simple for Peak, Richard thought. He says come, and he thinks I’ll come. He’s nuts. Margo’s nuts. She thinks I owe her something and I don’t even know her. I don’t want to know her. She’s a gold digger. It’s not my problem she hasn’t the strength to do what she should do. It’s not my fault he’ll kick her head in. She's a grown woman and she has to make her own decisions. I’m no hero. I’m not a knight on a white charger. I killed a man once by accident, by not staying with the rules, and I’ll not fight another man without rules on purpose. The goddamn sonofabitch must think he’s a James Bond villain. I won’t have anything to do with him. I will never fight a man for sport again.

  Richard lay in the dark and watched the fan. The shadows the fan cast were growing thicker. Soon there would be no shadows at all, only darkness, because the moonlight was fading behind clouds. A cool, wet wind came through the open window. The smell of the fish market below was not as strong now because the smell of the sea and the damp earth had replaced it. Richard held his arm up so that he could see his watch. The luminous dial told him it was just before ten o’clock. He closed his eyes and slept.

  When he awoke, rain was blowing in through the window and onto the bed. The rain felt good. He didn’t get up to shut the window. He thought about HugoPeak, waiting. He looked at his watch. It was 11:35.

  Peak would be starting to warm up now. Anticipating. Actually thinking he might come. Peak would believe that because he would consider Richard weak. He would think he was weak in that he wanted to protect a woman who had no urge to protect herself. He would think Richard’s snipping the fishing line was a sign of weakness. He wouldn’t think Richard had done it to make things easier on Margo. He would think he did it as some sort of spiteful attack, and that Richard really wanted to fight him. That was what Peak would be thinking.

  And Richard knew, deep down, Peak was not entirely wrong.

  He thought: If I were to go, I could make it to the boat in ten minutes. It’s not that far. I could be there in ten minutes easy, I walked fast. But I’m not going, so it doesn’t matter.

  He sat on the side of the bed and let the rain slice into him. He got up and went around the bed and opened the closet and got out his martial arts bag. He unzipped and opened it. The mouthpiece and safety gear were there. He zipped it back up. He put it in the closet and closed the door. He sat on the side of the bed. He picked the note up and read it again. He tore it into little pieces and dropped the pieces on the floor, frightening a roach. He tried not to think about anything, but he thought about Margo. The way her face had looked, what she said Peak had done to her breasts, between her legs. He remembered the eyes of that dying cat, and he remembered Margo’s eyes. The same eyes, only she wasn’t dying as fast. She was going slowly, piece by piece, committing suicide. He remembered the horror of killing the man in the ring, and he remembered, in some hidden, primitive compartment of himself, the pleasure. It was a scary thing inside of him; inside of humankind, especially mankind, this thing about killing. This need. This desire. Maybe, he got home, he’d go deer hunting this year. He hadn’t been in over ten years, but he might go now. He might ought to go.

  Richard got up and took off his clothes and rubbed his body down with ICY-HOT and took six aspirin and downed them with a glass of water. He put on a jockstrap and cup and loose workout pants and pulled a heavy sweatshirt on. He put on his white tennis shoes without socks and laced them tight. He got his bag out of the closet. He walked to the door and turned around and looked at the room. It looked as if no one had ever lived here. He looked at his watch. He had exactly ten minutes. He opened the door and went out.

  As he walked, the ICY-HOT began to heat up and work its way into his muscles. The smell of it was strong in his nostrils. Another fifteen minutes, and the aspirin would take effect, loosen his body further. The rain came down hard as steel pellets and washed his hair into his face, but he kept walking, and finally he began to run.

  He ran fast until he came to the Anchor Inn Restaurant. He slowed there and went around the corner, and there was Jones’ fishing boat. He looked at his watch. He was right on time. He walked up to the fishing boat and called out.

  Jones appeared on the deck in rain hat and slicker. Water ran off the hat and fell across his face like a beaded curtain. He helped Richard aboard. Jones said, "It’s just that I needed the money. I owe on the boat. I don’t pay on the boat, they’re gonna take it away from me."

  "Everyone needs something," Richard said. "Take me out, Jones, and listen up. After this, you better hope I go home to Texas. I’m here, walking around, I see you on the dock, anywhere, you better start running. Got me?"

  Jones nodded.

  "Take me out."

  The wind picked up and so did the rain. Richard’s stomach began to turn over. He tried to stay in the cabin, but he found that worse. He rushed outside and puked over the side. Finally, he strapped himself into the fighting chair and rode the boat like a carnival ride, taking great waves of water full blast and watching lightning stitch the sky and dip down and touch the ocean in spots, as if God were punishing it.

  It wasn’t long before the lights of the boat showed land. Jones moved them in slowly to the little island, finally came to a dock and tied them up. When Richard went to get his bag out of the cabin, Jones came down from the wheel and said, "Here, take this. You’ll need it for strength, all that pukin’ you done."

  It was a thick strip of jerky. "No thanks," Richard said.

  "You don’t like me, and I don’t blame you. Take the jerky though. You got to have some kind of energy."

  "All right," Richard said, took it and ate. Jones gave him a drink of water in a paper cup. When Richard was finished, he said, "Water and jerky don’t change anything."

  "I know," Jones said. "I’m going back to St. Croix before it gets worse. I’d rather be docked there. I think it’s a little better protected for boats."

  "And how do I get back?"

  "Good luck," Jones said
.

  "So that’s how it is? You’re all through?"

  "Soon as you get off the boat." Jones stepped back a step and produced a little .38 from somewhere under his shirt. "It’s nothing personal. It’s just the money. Margo was pretty convincing too. Peak likes her to be convincing. But it was the money did it. Margo was just a fringe benefit. The money was enough."

  "He really wants to fight to the death, doesn’t he?"

  "I don’t ask about much of what he wants. You got to see it from my side, taking big shots out in boats all the time, getting by on their tips. It costs to take out a charter, wear and tear on the boat. I’m thinking about doing something else, going somewhere else. I might hire some goon like me to take me out fishing. I might go somewhere where the biggest pool of water around is in a glass."

  "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 thin
k 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.