F. Paul Wilson - Quick Fixes - Tales of Repairman Jack

“I hate you for making me do this,” Gus said.

Sure you do, you son of a bitch.

Jack gripped the window sill and closed his eyes. He heard Ceil’s repeated grunts and moans and felt her pain. He’d been kidney punched before. He knew her agony. But this had to end soon. Gus would vent his rage and it would all be over. For the next few days Ceil would have stabbing back pains every time she took a deep breath or coughed, and would urinate bright red blood, but there’d be hardly a mark on her, thanks to the mitten and the towel wrapped fist.

It had to end soon.

But it didn’t. Jack looked again and saw that Ceil’s knees had gone rubbery but Gus was supporting her with the arm lock, still methodically pummeling her.

Jack growled under his breath. All he’d wanted was to witness enough to confirm Schaffer’s story. That done, he’d deal with dear sweet Gus outside the home. Maybe in a dark parking lot while Schaffer made sure he had an air tight alibi. He hadn’t counted on a scene like this, but he’d known it was a possibility. The smart thing to do in this case would be to walk away, but he’d been pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do that. So he’d come prepared.

Jack hurried across the back patio and grabbed his duffel bag. As he moved around to the far side of the house, he pulled out a nylon stocking and a pair of rubber surgical gloves; he slipped the first over his head and the second over his fingers. Then he removed a .45 automatic, a pair of wire cutters, and a heavy duty screwdriver. He stuck the pistol in his belt, then used the cutters on the telephone lead, and the screwdriver to pop the latch on one of the living room windows.

As soon as he was in the darkened room, he looked around for something to break. The first thing to catch his eye was the set of brass fire irons by the brick hearth. He kicked the stand over. The clang and clatter echoed through the house.

Gus’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“What the hell was that?”

When Gus arrived and flipped on the lights, Jack was waiting by the window. He almost smiled at the shock on Gus’s face.

“Take it easy, man,” Jack said. He knew his face couldn’t show much anxiety through the stocking mask so he put it all in his voice. “This is all a mistake.”

“Who the hell are you? And what’re you doing in my house?”

“Listen, man. I didn’t think anybody was home. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

Gus bent and snatched the poker from the spilled fire irons. He pointed it at Jack’s duffel.

“What’s in there? What’d you take?”

“Nothing, man. I just got here. And I’m outta here.”

“ OhmyGod! ” Ceil’s voice, muffled. She stood at the edge of the living room, both hands over her mouth.

“Call the police, Ceil. But tell them not to hurry. I want to teach this punk a lesson before they get here.”

As Ceil limped back toward the kitchen, Gus shook off the mitten and the towel and raised the poker in a two handed grip. His eyes glittered with anticipation. His tight, hard grin told it all. Pounding on his wife had got him up, but he could go only so far with her. Now he had a prowler at his mercy. He could beat the living shit out of this guy with impunity. In fact, he’d be a hero for doing it. His gaze settled on Jack’s head like Babe Ruth eyeing a high outside pitch.

Talking to a psychiatrist was going to turn this guy into a loving husband. Sure.

He took two quick steps toward Jack and swung. No subtlety, not even a feint. Jack ducked and let it whistle over his head. He could have put a wicked chop into Gus’s exposed flank then, but he wasn’t ready yet. Gus swung the poker back the other way, lower this time. Jack jumped pack and resisted planting a foot in the big man’s reddening face. Gus’s third swing was vertical, from ceiling to floor. Jack was long gone when it arrived.

Gus’s teeth were bared now; his breath hissed through them. His eyes were mad with rage and frustration. Jack decided to goose that rage a little. He grinned.

“You swing like a pussy, man.”

With a guttural scream, Gus charged, wielding the poker like a scythe. Jack ducked the first swing, then grabbed the poker and rammed his forearm into Gus’s face with a satisfying crunch. Gus staggered back, eyes squeezed shut in agony, holding his nose. Blood began to leak between his fingers.

Never failed. No matter how big you were, a broken nose stopped you cold.

Ceil hobbled back to the threshold. Her voice skirted the edge of hysteria.

“The phone’s dead!”

“Don’t worry, lady,” Jack said. “I didn’t come here to hurt nobody. And I won’t hurt you. But this guy – he’s a different story. He tried to kill me.”

As Jack dropped the poker and stepped toward him, Gus’s eyes bulged with terror. He put out a bloody hand to fend him off. Jack grabbed the wrist and twisted. Gus wailed as he was turned and forced into an arm lock. Jack shoved him against the wall and began a bare knuckled work out against his kidneys, wondering if the big man’s brain would make a connection between what he’d been dishing out in the kitchen and what he was receiving in the living room. Jack didn’t hold back. He put plenty of body behind the punches, and Gus shouted in pain with each one.

How’s it feel, tough guy? Like it?

Jack pounded him until he felt some of his own anger dissipate. He was about to let him go and move into the next stage of his plan when he caught a hint of motion behind him. As he turned his head he had a glimpse of Ceil. She had the poker, and she was swinging it toward his head. He started to duck but too late. The room exploded into bright lights, then went dark gray.

An instant of blackness and then Jack found himself on the floor, pain exploding in his gut. He focused above him and saw Gus readying another kick at his midsection. He rolled away toward the corner. Something heavy thunked on the carpet as he moved.

“Christ, he’s got a gun!” Gus shouted.

Jack had risen to a crouch by then. He searched for the fallen .45 but Gus was ahead of him, snatching it from the floor before Jack could reach it. Gus stepped back, worked the slide to chamber a round, and pointed the pistol at Jack’s face.

“Stay right where you are, you bastard! Don’t you move a muscle!”

Jack sat back on the floor in the corner and stared up at the big man.

“All right!” Gus said with a bloody grin. “All right! ”

“I got him for you, didn’t I, Gus?” Ceil said, still holding the poker. She was bent forward in pain. That swing had cost her. “I got him off you. I saved you, didn’t I?”

“Shut up, Ceil.”

“But he was hurting you. I made him stop. I–”

“I said shut up! ”

Her lower lip trembled. “I...I thought you’d be glad.”

“Why should I be glad? If you hadn’t got me so mad tonight I might’ve noticed he was here when we came in. Then he wouldn’t have took me by surprise.” He pointed to his swelling nose. “This is your fault, Ceil.”

Ceil’s shoulders slumped; she stared dully at the floor.

Jack didn’t know what to make of Ceil. He’d interrupted a brutal beating at the hands of her husband, yet she’d come to her husband’s aid. And valiantly, at that. The gutsy little scrapper who’d wielded that poker seemed miles away from the cowed, beaten creature standing in the middle of the room.

I don’t get it.

Which was why he had a policy of refusing home repairs. Except this time.

“I’ll go over to the Ferrises’,” she said.

“What for?”

“To call the police.”

“Hold on a minute.”

“Why?”

Jack glanced at Gus and saw how his eyes were flicking back and forth between Ceil and him.