started backing Duran away, across the bar, stroking and calming him. Terry followed us.
“What’s your problem?” Terry spat.
“It’s off. I’m out. He’s out,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he screamed.
“Ya, well I’m doing it. Come on, Duran, I’m taking you home.”
“You owe me a fight, boy,” Terry said.
“Screw.”
“Ya, well you still lose it all. You owe me the money, and ”—he drew it out long, smiled, pointed at me—“annnnd, you’re comin’ home ta live. Wit me. I knew ya’d be back. You was never goin’ nowhere.”
I turned around, leaving Duran by the exit. I charged right up to Terry, stuck my finger in his face. “Screw,” I said. “I’m goin’ somewhere all right.”
He snatched the hand I had in his face. He bent it back at the wrist, bringing me to my knees. “No, screw you ,” he said. Then he raised his other hand and slapped me. His slaps were harder than punches, with the whipping of his long bony fingers, and he slapped me again, and again, three times, four times. I could not get up off my knees as Terry slapped my face hard, pummeling the same side over and over.
“I should fuckin’ kill you,” he said. “Nobody’d fuckin’ care.” With those words he stopped slapping, held my arm straight up over my head, and kicked me high in the ribs with the toe of his work boot.
I fell, balling up under the table. The next thing I heard was the crashing of tables and chairs and scratching of claws. And Terry’s full-lung scream.
I looked up and Duran was on him, pinning him to the floor with two massive paws on Terry’s chest while biting, and yanking, on his arm.
“Duran,” I said, scrambling over to them.
“Shut up,” Terry screamed. The dog’s fangs were sunk completely into one of Terry’s biceps. He was clamped on it, squeezing. He looked like he was going to do it until he bit through. Which wouldn’t take much longer.
“Fuck off, Mick,” Terry screamed through his screams. “I told you before, you don’t never break up a dogfight.” As he spoke, Terry kept trying to tug his arm out of the dog’s grip, making it worse, making Duran dig further in. “I don’t need you. Fuck off.” Then he screamed, not at me or Duran, but into the air.
I listened to him, stood up, and stopped trying to stop Duran. The dog’s eyes rolled backward, showing all white, as he twisted his head and the arm, making Terry scream and lamely punch at Duran’s snout. Terry couldn’t do anything with the dog, so he turned on me again.
“Fuck off, I told ya. I don’t want you helpin’ me. Don’t do it. I wouldn’t do it for you. I wouldn’t ever do it for you, ya fuckin’ loser.”
That was it. It came through like a rocket burning away my fog. It. Finally. What I’d been looking for. I found it, and goddamn Terry was the one who gave it to me.
“You’re right,” I said. “You wouldn’t ever do it for me. And that’s the difference.”
Against Terry’s fading protests, I scrambled over to get Duran off him. “No,” I said. “Duran, no. Stop. Stop now. Stop.”
Duran growled, didn’t look at me. “Stop it!” I said, slapping his back. “It’s me.” I angled down so that my face was looking right into his. Finally he turned his eyes up to me.
The flesh of his lip curled up, showing all of his long yellow teeth. For me this time. I’d actually thought, until then, that I had control of all this.
He looked at me for several seconds, considering me. Then he opened his great, wonderful, killer jaws, and let Terry’s arm fall out. I jumped back. Duran looked coiled to leap on me until Terry rolled over, his mangled arm flopping after him like a string of raw sausages. When he caught Terry trying to wriggle spastically away, Duran slammed down on the back of my brother’s neck. He toggled his head all around as he seized it. Like a dog does with a bone. Just like a dog does with a bone.
Terry stopped telling me not to help him. Terry stopped
“What’s your problem?” Terry spat.
“It’s off. I’m out. He’s out,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he screamed.
“Ya, well I’m doing it. Come on, Duran, I’m taking you home.”
“You owe me a fight, boy,” Terry said.
“Screw.”
“Ya, well you still lose it all. You owe me the money, and ”—he drew it out long, smiled, pointed at me—“annnnd, you’re comin’ home ta live. Wit me. I knew ya’d be back. You was never goin’ nowhere.”
I turned around, leaving Duran by the exit. I charged right up to Terry, stuck my finger in his face. “Screw,” I said. “I’m goin’ somewhere all right.”
He snatched the hand I had in his face. He bent it back at the wrist, bringing me to my knees. “No, screw you ,” he said. Then he raised his other hand and slapped me. His slaps were harder than punches, with the whipping of his long bony fingers, and he slapped me again, and again, three times, four times. I could not get up off my knees as Terry slapped my face hard, pummeling the same side over and over.
“I should fuckin’ kill you,” he said. “Nobody’d fuckin’ care.” With those words he stopped slapping, held my arm straight up over my head, and kicked me high in the ribs with the toe of his work boot.
I fell, balling up under the table. The next thing I heard was the crashing of tables and chairs and scratching of claws. And Terry’s full-lung scream.
I looked up and Duran was on him, pinning him to the floor with two massive paws on Terry’s chest while biting, and yanking, on his arm.
“Duran,” I said, scrambling over to them.
“Shut up,” Terry screamed. The dog’s fangs were sunk completely into one of Terry’s biceps. He was clamped on it, squeezing. He looked like he was going to do it until he bit through. Which wouldn’t take much longer.
“Fuck off, Mick,” Terry screamed through his screams. “I told you before, you don’t never break up a dogfight.” As he spoke, Terry kept trying to tug his arm out of the dog’s grip, making it worse, making Duran dig further in. “I don’t need you. Fuck off.” Then he screamed, not at me or Duran, but into the air.
I listened to him, stood up, and stopped trying to stop Duran. The dog’s eyes rolled backward, showing all white, as he twisted his head and the arm, making Terry scream and lamely punch at Duran’s snout. Terry couldn’t do anything with the dog, so he turned on me again.
“Fuck off, I told ya. I don’t want you helpin’ me. Don’t do it. I wouldn’t do it for you. I wouldn’t ever do it for you, ya fuckin’ loser.”
That was it. It came through like a rocket burning away my fog. It. Finally. What I’d been looking for. I found it, and goddamn Terry was the one who gave it to me.
“You’re right,” I said. “You wouldn’t ever do it for me. And that’s the difference.”
Against Terry’s fading protests, I scrambled over to get Duran off him. “No,” I said. “Duran, no. Stop. Stop now. Stop.”
Duran growled, didn’t look at me. “Stop it!” I said, slapping his back. “It’s me.” I angled down so that my face was looking right into his. Finally he turned his eyes up to me.
The flesh of his lip curled up, showing all of his long yellow teeth. For me this time. I’d actually thought, until then, that I had control of all this.
He looked at me for several seconds, considering me. Then he opened his great, wonderful, killer jaws, and let Terry’s arm fall out. I jumped back. Duran looked coiled to leap on me until Terry rolled over, his mangled arm flopping after him like a string of raw sausages. When he caught Terry trying to wriggle spastically away, Duran slammed down on the back of my brother’s neck. He toggled his head all around as he seized it. Like a dog does with a bone. Just like a dog does with a bone.
Terry stopped telling me not to help him. Terry stopped
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