Tom Schreck: On the Ropes

Dunston paced in front of me with the bat on his shoulder.

“Why’d you want to ruin a good thing? Now you’re going to die, and for what? To save a bunch of crack whores?” Dunston shook his head in mock disbelief and gripped the bat and took a step toward me.

I was trying to think how I could protect my head and stay alive, but I wasn’t sure I had the strength. Dunston spit into his hands like a hitter and cocked the bat.

That’s when I heard the barking.

Looking up through Dunston’s legs I saw the blur of black, brown, and white, and I heard a growl that was not of this earth. It was Al and he was airborne, teeth bared and headed for Dunston.

Before Dunston could react, Al had Dunston’s arm between his teeth and was working it like one of my sofa cushions. Dunston dropped the bat and Al scooped it up in his mouth and ran back out the side door. I was on my feet, the life was back in my veins, and the pain was on hold. Dunston stood five feet in front of me, and without a weapon in his hand he looked like an entirely different man.

“Now you’re mine, motherfucker,” I said.

I stepped toward Dunston and he threw a big right hand. It was probably the type of punch that made him legendary in bar fights or on the tough-guy bike circuit. It was hard and it would hurt, but it was way too wide and way too slow. I stepped in on it and buried a jab right on his nose. I felt it break under my knuckles and I heard Dunston let out a half moan, half whimper.

The jab sent him into the wall where he tried to cover up. I dug a punch to his solar plexus that took the wind right out of him and brought his guard down. I came back up top and drilled a left cross into his already shattered nose. The speed of my punches and the wall behind him kept him up as he tried in vain to protect himself.

I hit him again with the straight left and this time instinctively I added a right hook. With my left hand recoiling back to my chest and my lower body pivoting, I let go of my right hook and for the first time-the very first fuckin’ time-I felt the click in my hips that Smitty had been telling me about for fifteen years. It was a wonderful click.

The hook landed just over his ear and it forced Dunston into the space between the wall and the threshold. He was still standing, wedged into the wall and trapped. It wasn’t a time for mercy and it wasn’t a time for justice, it was a time for something else entirely.

Something inside of me released and I let go with a fury that transcended the physical. This piece of shit in front of me was evil, and I felt everything in me let go. With Walanda’s memory, the girls he and Tyrone were about to defile, the guys from the park, and enough of my own personal business all running through me, I beat Dunston with everything I had.

I don’t know how many more hooks I threw to Dunston’s head. Blood gushed through his mouth and his nose was in three different bloody pieces of tissue across his face. Each shot forced more blood to come out of him like water comes out of a drowning victim. I wound up for one more hook when I heard the blast and a piercing flash of heat in my left shoulder. The force of it spun me off of Dunston and on to the ground.

I had been shot in the shoulder.

I rolled back around and saw Dunston’s limp body slide down the wall and a figure step out of the darkness of the dining room. Stepping into the light of the corridor I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“Espidera, you asshole,” I said.

Espidera paced back and forth dramatically, holding the gun like a villain in Miami Vice.

“Duff, I tried to send you a message,” he said. “When Bowerman called me in about your porn activity at work, I tried to give you a break. Duffy, don’t you know all your activity on the Internet can be traced? You’ve got to become computer literate, my man.”

The door to the multipurpose room opened and out stepped Gabbibb. He was wearing his Derek Jeter Yankees jersey and flashing his big toothy smile as he walked over to stand next to Espidera.

“Doofy, du are a stupid man.” He paused for a second and looked at Dunston. “Dees people are nothing. Dey are trash you care about.”

He walked over to Dunston and put his fingers to his neck. He looked back at Espidera and shook his head.

“He’s dead, Duff. You killed him. I guess the rap on you not being able to hit is gone,” Espidera said. “Too bad for you, though, because now I can kill you and walk.”

“How do you figure that?” I said.

“I had to shoot you to keep from killing poor Dunston here.”

“You’re behind this whole thing, you scum. You’re the webmaster Walanda talked about. The whole ‘spider’ bullshit, that’s a play on your last name. You narcissistic fuck.”

“Very good, Duff. Too bad you’re going to take that one to your grave.”

“You won’t get away with this, you sick bastard.”

“Oh, I will. There’s nothing that ties this to me. Dunston did the heavy work, Tyrone and the girls took care of Walanda and recruited the kids, and the crew is just hired help. Face it, Duff, I’m a pillar of the community.”

“You’re a piece of shit.”

“Maybe, Duff, but I’m not the loser you are. You lose in the ring, you lose at work, and you’re about to lose it all right here.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“LT, I got to go for an hour or so,” Gabbibb said. “I will be back for day show.” He walked past to the door and stopped. “You are a silly person, Doofy, you waste your time with trash.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” I said.

“DAT, DAT, DAT, DAT, shit… excuse me.” His little seizure deal faded as he headed out the door.

I looked at Espidera, and I didn’t think he had any idea of what Gabbibb had in mind.

“Espidera, don’t you know what he’s about to do?” I shouted.

“What’s that, Duff?” Espidera did his best nonchalant bad guy routine.

“He’s about to call Clogger on the cell phone. He’s placed a radioactive bomb on his plane and his call is going to set it off just as Clogger does his thing in front of a full Yankee Stadium. He’s going to kill thousands and destroy the Bronx for decades,” I said.

Espidera laughed. “Duffy, I gotta hand it to you. Under stress you come up with some good ones. Too bad it’s going to be the last story you ever tell.”

Espidera lit a cigarette, mostly for effect, and steadied his arm. Dying was going to be bad. Dying at Espidera’s hands was going to be worse. He was raising the gun to shoulder length with a big happy smile.

And I heard the barking again.

From the side door came Al, growling and barking and running as hard as he could, straight for Espidera. He went airborne, his trajectory headed for Espidera’s crotch, when Espidera fired straight at Al’s head. Al landed full force into Espidera’s balls but yelped and rolled over from the violent force of the gunshot.

Al’s split-second distraction was enough. With just my right arm good, I gave all I had into my newfound hook. Twisting and torquing all the way from my ankles, I let the hook fly just as Espidera was swinging the revolver back around toward me. The gun went off the instant my fist crashed into the point of his chin. Espidera’s head whipped around and he went down hard. I’ve seen that look before, and he was out before he hit the ground. I always figured the asshole couldn’t take a punch.

I saw no sight of Al. I feared the worst but I didn’t have time to deal with it. I took away Espidera’s gun and ran to the back bedroom. By now I had lost enough blood from the gunshot and the beating to feel woozy. It didn’t matter right now.

I got to the back bedroom and slammed my body into it. I tried again and each time I hit my body into the door I had to keep myself from throwing up. Finally, the jamb splintered and the door flew open. The four girls had retreated as far as they could on the bed and pressed themselves against the wall. I could hear their muffled screams through the duct tape, and they struggled against the tape to somehow protect themselves. One of the girls stepped off the bed and fell hard to the floor. The other girls heard this and I saw them struggle even harder against the duct tape and heard their muffled screams even clearer.