here,” he said, “Both of you.”
I shook my head.
Mike smiled, and sized me up, head to toes. “How many times have you been kayoed, big boy?”
“Several times,” I said. “But never by a middleweight. I didn’t come here to fight you. I came to talk with Max.”
“Close the door on your way out,” he said. “Your turn will come.”
I shook my head again.
“You’ve got exactly five seconds. Go!”
“I’m not leaving, Mike,” I told him. “Do you want to go outside and settle this?”
He smiled again, the happy warrior. “Oh, do I ever! Let’s go.”
I almost knew what his first punch would be when we stood there on the macadam of the parking lot. It would be the big overhand right. That could be the main reason Mike never got to the crown; he led too often with that club fighter’s major weapon.
Duke Ellis had kept moving inside of it, bringing his hook along, slamming it into Mike’s belly. That fight had been fought under the Marquis of Queensberry Rules, originated long ago by the Eighth Marquis of Queensberry.
To me, that particular marquis was famous only as the creep who had tried to destroy Oscar Wilde. His rules had no validity for me, and I didn’t have a trained boxer’s hook.
I did have a hard head. I moved inside Mike’s opening haymaker and cracked several of his front teeth with the top of my head. He looked startled, and one hand went up to cover his mouth.
I stepped on his foot, to keep him from moving back, and put all I had into a right hand deep into his out-of-shape stomach. He went to his knees slowly, holding his stomach with both hands, flecks of blood from his torn lips splattering out as he exhaled. Then he fell forward on his face.
Duane stood there, staring down almost pityingly at his fallen hero. He said softly, “You know something? Tonight’s the first time that Mike ever called me Weasel.”
Chapter Thirteen
M AX WAS STANDING IN his open doorway when we got back, holding a washcloth wrapped around ice cubes to his bleeding nose.
“I never thought I’d be glad to see you, Callahan,” he told me. “That bastard might have killed me. He’s crazy! I wonder who put him wise to me?”
“I did,” Duane said. “He’s a friend of mine—or was. What kind of trouble is he in now?”
“None I’ve discovered so far,” Max said. “Or at least none I can prove. And that’s all I will tell you about that.” He looked at me. “Why are you here?”
“Because I warned you to lay off Corey Raleigh—and you didn’t.”
“I didn’t lay a finger on him!”
“You conned him, Max.”
He shrugged. “All right! I conned him. Look who’s talking! You think I don’t know your reputation? You conned plenty of people.”
“Not anybody in my line of work, not if it would cost him his job. And never a kid. Did Corey scare you? Is that why you tried to talk him into quitting?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“And you switched sides,” I went on. “I know your reputation, too, Max. You sold out to the highest bidder again.”
“Prove it,” he said. “Sue me.”
“You stay clear of Corey. I don’t want him to turn into another you.”
“Okay.” He sneered. “Let him sweat it out in his garage office, taking advice from you. I got four people working for me.”
“All four working at minimum, I’ll bet. Lock your door, Max. Anthony might be planning a comeback.”
As we climbed into his 280-Z, Duane said; “You came up here and learned nothing.”
“I hadn’t actually planned to come up,” I explained. “But when Jan told me about Daphne’s interest, I suggested we come up together. Remember, this is a community-property state. Jan will make the trip worthwhile for me.”
He shook his head. “Not Jan. She wouldn’t overcharge me.”
His crystal ball was unclouded. On the way home, Jan said, “I love that couple. I am going to refurnish that place at our cost. This will be the very first time I have ever done that.”
Duane and
I shook my head.
Mike smiled, and sized me up, head to toes. “How many times have you been kayoed, big boy?”
“Several times,” I said. “But never by a middleweight. I didn’t come here to fight you. I came to talk with Max.”
“Close the door on your way out,” he said. “Your turn will come.”
I shook my head again.
“You’ve got exactly five seconds. Go!”
“I’m not leaving, Mike,” I told him. “Do you want to go outside and settle this?”
He smiled again, the happy warrior. “Oh, do I ever! Let’s go.”
I almost knew what his first punch would be when we stood there on the macadam of the parking lot. It would be the big overhand right. That could be the main reason Mike never got to the crown; he led too often with that club fighter’s major weapon.
Duke Ellis had kept moving inside of it, bringing his hook along, slamming it into Mike’s belly. That fight had been fought under the Marquis of Queensberry Rules, originated long ago by the Eighth Marquis of Queensberry.
To me, that particular marquis was famous only as the creep who had tried to destroy Oscar Wilde. His rules had no validity for me, and I didn’t have a trained boxer’s hook.
I did have a hard head. I moved inside Mike’s opening haymaker and cracked several of his front teeth with the top of my head. He looked startled, and one hand went up to cover his mouth.
I stepped on his foot, to keep him from moving back, and put all I had into a right hand deep into his out-of-shape stomach. He went to his knees slowly, holding his stomach with both hands, flecks of blood from his torn lips splattering out as he exhaled. Then he fell forward on his face.
Duane stood there, staring down almost pityingly at his fallen hero. He said softly, “You know something? Tonight’s the first time that Mike ever called me Weasel.”
Chapter Thirteen
M AX WAS STANDING IN his open doorway when we got back, holding a washcloth wrapped around ice cubes to his bleeding nose.
“I never thought I’d be glad to see you, Callahan,” he told me. “That bastard might have killed me. He’s crazy! I wonder who put him wise to me?”
“I did,” Duane said. “He’s a friend of mine—or was. What kind of trouble is he in now?”
“None I’ve discovered so far,” Max said. “Or at least none I can prove. And that’s all I will tell you about that.” He looked at me. “Why are you here?”
“Because I warned you to lay off Corey Raleigh—and you didn’t.”
“I didn’t lay a finger on him!”
“You conned him, Max.”
He shrugged. “All right! I conned him. Look who’s talking! You think I don’t know your reputation? You conned plenty of people.”
“Not anybody in my line of work, not if it would cost him his job. And never a kid. Did Corey scare you? Is that why you tried to talk him into quitting?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“And you switched sides,” I went on. “I know your reputation, too, Max. You sold out to the highest bidder again.”
“Prove it,” he said. “Sue me.”
“You stay clear of Corey. I don’t want him to turn into another you.”
“Okay.” He sneered. “Let him sweat it out in his garage office, taking advice from you. I got four people working for me.”
“All four working at minimum, I’ll bet. Lock your door, Max. Anthony might be planning a comeback.”
As we climbed into his 280-Z, Duane said; “You came up here and learned nothing.”
“I hadn’t actually planned to come up,” I explained. “But when Jan told me about Daphne’s interest, I suggested we come up together. Remember, this is a community-property state. Jan will make the trip worthwhile for me.”
He shook his head. “Not Jan. She wouldn’t overcharge me.”
His crystal ball was unclouded. On the way home, Jan said, “I love that couple. I am going to refurnish that place at our cost. This will be the very first time I have ever done that.”
Duane and
Similar Books
