Elmore Leonard - The Big Bounce

“Bob,” Nancy said, “do you want a Cold Duck?”

“Not just now,” Bob Jr. said. He glanced at her. “What’re you doing out here?” As he said it, it didn’t sound right to him.

“I don’t know,” Nancy said. “He brought me.”

“Has he bothered you any?”

“Let’s see-no, he hasn’t really bothered me.” She was having fun.

“A ball bat or a stick,” Bob Jr. said, staring at Ryan again. “You got to have something in your hand, don’t you?”

Ryan didn’t answer. He stood waiting.

“Tough guy if he’s got a club in his hand. Hey, boy, don’t you want to fight fair?”

Ryan frowned now. He said, “Fair? What is this, the goddamn Golden Gloves?”

“A man fights with his fists,” Bob Jr. said.

“Yeah, well you come at me, buddy, and I’ll hit you with the heaviest thing I can find.”

“I got a tire iron in the truck,” Bob Jr. said. “Maybe I better get it.”

“If you did,” Ryan said then, “and we started swinging at each other, tell me something, what would we be fighting about?”

“Because you think you’re a tough boy and think you can take me.”

“Did I ever tell you that?”

“You didn’t have to. I know your smart-ass type the minute I see it.”

Ryan kept studying him. “You really want to fight, uh?”

“You got something coming,” Bob Jr. said.

Ryan looked at Nancy then and said, “Tell him he doesn’t have to.”

She was watching Ryan. “It’s not up to me.”

“Tell him anyway.”

“Leave her out of it,” Bob Jr. said.

Ryan shook his head. “Boy, you must be awful dumb or something. She wants a fight, don’t you see that?”

“And you want to get out of it,” Bob Jr. said.

It was coming now and Ryan knew it. Every time he had ever been in a fight since he was little, he knew this time when his stomach tightened and he could see in the other guy’s eyes they were going to go through with it. He had thought about it a lot, this moment, and he had come to realize that the other guy must be feeling and thinking the same thing, and no matter how big the other guy was, he would probably be afraid or tightened up or nervous, because nobody could ever be a hundred percent sure. This moment, Ryan had decided, when they weren’t quite ready, was the time to hit them. Hit first and hit hard and maybe end it right there.

Bob Jr. made it easier. He took a couple of steps back just as Ryan was ready to move and half turned to reach into the pickup bed. He had to look in to locate the tire iron or a wrecking bar and as he glanced around again to check on Ryan he would never have thought a man could move so fast; Ryan was rushing him, steps away, and the goddamn staff or club or whatever it was, up in the air, was coming down on him.

Bob Jr. rolled against the side of the pickup box, getting his head behind a shoulder, and took the first blow hard and solid against his forearm as he brought it up.

His arm felt numb and he must have closed his eyes. He didn’t see the club come at him again, he was guarding his head, and the goddamn thing whacked solid against his left knee. There was nothing to do then but rush the son of a bitch and he took another good one, stinging across his left shoulder, before he got in close and got both hands on the heavy tree branch and felt it hard and round and the bark coarse in his hands, straining against it to take it away from Ryan and then seeing Ryan’s face right in front of his, the face tight and straining, looking right into his eyes.

“You’re through now, boy,” Bob Jr. said, and barely finished saying it as Ryan’s left fist came off the tree branch and jabbed straight into his face.

For Ryan it was right now-as Bob Jr. went back and his face was raised and open-take it right now quick was all he could think of, now while he was pressing and had him, and he jabbed his left straight into the face again, staying with the guy as he went back, jabbing with the left and jabbing a right to the face, setting it up and now, right now, coming in with the long left hand from behind his shoulder, hitting solid, feeling it all the way up his arm and seeing the guy stumble back with blood coming out of his nose, but God-and it was an awful feeling, the worst feeling you can have-the guy didn’t go down.

He let go of the tree branch and stood there, his face bloody, looking at Ryan, breathing, getting his breath, wiping his hand across his mouth. Ryan brought up his guard as Bob Jr. came at him, his arms already heavy and tired.

Nancy took time to pour herself a little Cold Duck and she sipped it while she watched them hit each other. Bob Jr. was bigger, in fact Jackie looked sort of frail next to him, but he had drawn blood first and Bob Jr. was a mess, blood all over his mouth and down the front of his checkered shirt. He didn’t seem to care, though. She watched him move in, taking Ryan’s jabs on his shoulder, then another good one-wow-right in the mouth, but this time he didn’t stop, he came in swinging that big right fist and slammed it into Ryan’s face. It must have stunned him; he hesitated and Bob hit him again and again until Ryan dropped to his knees.

That’s it, Nancy thought. Pretty good while it lasted. She was surprised when Ryan came up, very slowly at first; then, before Bob Jr. knew it, Ryan was swinging at him. He got him hard in the face and for a moment they stood close, both swinging at each other with everything they had. Until Ryan dropped.

He went to his hands and knees, his head down, and this time he didn’t try to get up. God, his hands hurt, and his mouth. He wanted to touch his mouth and his jaw, but he was afraid if he raised either hand from the ground, he’d fall on his face. The guy could stand there if he wanted; Ryan decided he wasn’t getting up anymore.

But the guy wasn’t standing there. Ryan turned his head to the side and the guy was sitting down just a few feet away with his head back, looking up at the sky with his eyes closed and pressing a handkerchief to his nose.

Ryan rolled over to a sitting position. God, his shoulders hurt too. He sat there looking at the guy and finally he said, “That’s not the way to do it.”

Bob Jr. opened his eyes and looked over at Ryan.

“That doesn’t stop it,” Ryan said.

“Yeah,” Bob Jr. said in his handkerchief. “You put your head back.”

“That’s a lot of crap,” Ryan said. “You blow your nose and then hold it, pinch it, with your head forward.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Everybody thinks you put your head back,” Ryan said, “but you don’t, you put it forward. Go on.”

Bob Jr. leaned forward and the blood dripped out on the ground as he took his handkerchief away.

“Go on, blow it,” Ryan said. He watched him to see if he did it right.

After about a minute Bob Jr. said, “I never seen so much blood since I dressed a buck I shot right here last fall.” His voice was nasal and muffled in the handkerchief.

“There’s a lot of deer in the woods here?”

“A lot? You go look at the game trails going down to that lake where they water.”

“I never been hunting.”

“This buck I got, I walked up from the road and he was standing here waiting.”

“What’d you use?”

“I use different guns. That time I had me an old O-three, I mean old, but the son of a bitch’d shoot from here to Holden.”

“This guy Walter Majestyk,” Ryan said, “he was talking about a lodge up here.”

“You know him?”

“I work for him.”

“Hey,” Nancy said. She was still in the car. “Is this the intermission or what?”

Ryan looked at Bob Jr. “I’m going to get in that car and drive out of here. You got any objections?”