The Never-Open Desert Diner by James Anderson

Author:James Anderson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2016-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

If Walt had wanted to be especially polite, he might have softened me up with a little left jab or a rabbit punch to the gut. Walt Butterfield wasn’t much for pleasantries. He led with all of his best, a right fist launched as if it had come out of a missile silo. He intended every knuckle to connect with every part of my face from my chin to my forehead. The pain radiated from my nose through my jaw. The damage might have been worse if some instinct in me hadn’t half expected it. My head was turned to the side an inch before the punch landed, or my nose would have been as flat as last week’s roadkill.

He was ready with another swing. He glanced down at the floor. That was where he expected me to be. He was momentarily annoyed to see me in front of him, wobbling but still upright. He bounced a left off my shoulder. This bought him the time he needed to bring his right elbow up under my jaw. A left reappeared out of nowhere and tagged me on my right ear. The earlobe popped like a water balloon full of blood. I went down so fast I didn’t even stagger.

Walt stood over me. His fists quivered at his sides. He kicked me three times with the steel-toed tip of a motorcycle boot. A little too hard for my taste.

“She’s not for you,” he said, before placing a fourth and even harder kick, this one aimed for my left kidney.

The ear I could hear out of was ringing. I heard him loud and clear. He almost had a grin on his face. The exertion released beads of sweat that plastered some strands of white hair to his forehead. “Did you hear me?”

I mumbled incoherently and tried gamely to raise myself up on my elbows, failed, and fell back down. Walt hunched over me with his face just inches from mine, or what was left of it. He began to ask me again if I understood. I snapped my head up into his mouth. The impact loosened his teeth and tore part of his upper lip into a jagged flap. It was his turn to land on his ass.

I stood up and spit blood on his perfect floor. I liked to think I jumped to my feet. The truth is, I rolled like an amputee turtle.

“I didn’t quite get that, Walt,” I said. “Tell me again.”

Walt almost did jump to his feet. It was demoralizing. He began to throw wild punches one after another. They were easy to deflect, though at great expense to the bones in my arms. I calmly and charitably asked him if he’d like to take a little rest. It had the effect I wanted. The next flurry of punches sapped his strength. He had trouble holding his fists up. The motorcycle boots he wore were spit-shined. I had a good look at the right one when he surprised me with a kick at my groin.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.