Ten Thousand Islands by Randy Wayne White

Author:Randy Wayne White
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery & Suspense
Publisher: Berkley Books
Published: 2001-05-22T07:00:00+00:00

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Fifteen

A long time ago, in a different hemisphere, they made us take martial arts instruction. One of the weeklong evolutions was an introduction to kendo and kenjutsu, Japanese stick fighting and sword fighting, two very serious disciplines.

The martial arts were useful in that they taught pressure points and power points—unexpected places on the body where it is painful or dangerous as hell to hit or get hit. To this day, I cannot see a man wearing an open-collared shirt without looking at the third button down and thinking solar plexus.

They drove us hard, drilled us so incessantly that we learned to react without thinking.

Some of it stuck. Most of it did not.

I took away from those evolutions two memorable lessons. I learned that, nine times out of ten, a mediocre wrestler can beat a martial arts "expert" senseless, because all fights, if they last beyond the first series of blows, end up on the ground. The second important lesson I learned is that I have absolutely no talent as a swordsman or stick fighter. Zero. My peripheral eyesight is not good to begin with, and I'm at a marked disadvantage if I lose my glasses.

But even a talentless stick fighter such as myself knew more about it than Tony.

As I walked toward him, I noticed that he shortened his grip on the shovel. Unknowingly, he'd just told me something very important. He'd gone from a defensive posture to an attack posture.

Had he recovered from his fright? Seemed so. He looked not just ready to fight but eager. Lots of nervous movement. Probably because his chubby girlfriend was still watching, urging him on, yelling, "Kill 'im, Tony! See what he did to Derrick? Knock his head off, man!"

I approached him carefully. He was big enough, plus he had that look of fast-twitch quickness. A more compelling reason was that Tomlinson's paranoid assessment was probably accurate: the kid had the pinched manner of someone who enjoyed cruelty. It is a hyena furtiveness; a snap-at-the-heels, eat-them-when-they're-down demeanor that is subde but unmistakable.

If Tony got me on the ground, he wouldn't stop. That was my guess. He'd damage me and enjoy it. Maybe even kill me if he allowed it to go too far. He would probably enjoy that, too. What I had to do was find a way to hurt him badly enough so he'd no longer pose a threat to me and Nora.

At least, that's what I told myself. When emotion takes control, when the roaring comes into my ears, it is difficult to say what is true and what is justification for my behavior.

I listened to him say, "Dude, let's drop the sticks. You got the balls for that?Just you and me, using our hands."

I stopped as if considering. Let him see me relax for a moment, which is when he swung the shovel hard at my face.

It was not a surprise.

I ducked under the shovel, moving to my left, and used the tree limb to hammer him hard just above the pelvis, kidney high.

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