Duke City Hit by Max Austin

the adobe campus of the University of New Mexico.
    “That’s a good school there,” Vic said. “If you ever decide to go to college and make something of yourself.”
    Ryan shot him a look. “I don’t need college to shape me into an adult.”
    “Maybe not. But higher education’s good for you. Ask your girlfriend. She’s a scholar.”
    “I barely finished high school.”
    “Let me guess. Attitude problems.”
    “Something like that.”
    “You were a loner. You thought school was a form of indoctrination, getting everybody to play by the same rules. You couldn’t wait to get away.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I was the same way,” Vic said. “The whole group thing was not for me. If I wanted to know something, I’d go to the library and get a book. Now, I get on the Internet for my information. I don’t need a professor to tell me how to think.”
    Ryan nodded.
    “What about sports?” Vic said. “You’ve got all those muscles. Did you play ball?”
    “No team sports. I had the same problem with coaches as I did with teachers.”
    “I hear you.”
    “But I did martial arts,” Ryan said. “For years.”
    “Your mother’s idea?”
    “How did you know?”
    “She taught you to shoot. She’d make sure you know how to fight, too. The woman clearly was thinking ahead.”
    Ryan turned away, looking out the window at the passing houses. They’d driven south off Central and were creeping through a residential area, Vic giving lots of room to the bicyclists who zipped along the street.
    “This area is mostly rental properties,” he said. “They call it the Student Ghetto. Charming, huh? It’s actually an interesting neighborhood, a real mix of houses and apartment buildings and people. Some nice grassy parks. These big old elm trees.”
    Vic hung a right onto an even narrower street, which ended at the boundary of a large cemetery. The graveyard was dry and barren on this side. Across the way, they could see lawns and trees.
    “People pay extra to be buried in the irrigated zone,” Vic said. “Class warfare, right to the end.”
    They stopped in front of a stucco cube of a house that faced the cemetery. Thudding music came from inside, so loud that the Cadillac’s windows vibrated with the noise.
    “What the hell is that?” Ryan said.
    “That’s Kirk’s place. He likes his music loud.”
    “No shit. What about his neighbors?”
    “What about ’em?”
    “Don’t they object?”
    “People don’t really fuck with Kirk. Not if they know what’s good for them. Give him twenty minutes on a computer, and he can wreck your life.”
    Vic took his phone from his pocket and started punching buttons.
    “As you can see,” he said,” there’s really no point in ringing the doorbell.”
    He held the phone to his ear.
    The thunder inside the house abruptly stopped.
    “Hello, Kirk. This is Vic Walters. Are you seeing people today?”
    A pause.
    “We’re right outside. I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.”
    Another pause.
    “Okay.”
    He put the phone away, saying to Ryan, “He’ll see us now.”
    As he climbed out of the Cadillac, Ryan felt as if he were going to meet the Wizard of Oz. The man behind the curtain. The mysterious Kirk.
    “So you’re going to introduce me this time, huh?”
    “The two of you could do business in the future. It’s networking.”
    The door opened as they reached the front steps, and a head poked out. The man’s round face was red with exertion, and perspiration glistened on his forehead. He wore a black goatee and tiny round eyeglasses. His head was shaved on the sides, but long on top, the hair pulled into a ropy braid. He wore a black T-shirt peppered with holes, faded jeans sawed off at the knees and Doc Martens that laced halfway up his shins. He was Ryan’s age, maybe even younger.
    “Come on in.” He was out of breath and his voice was raspy. “I was just getting my morning exercise.”
    They stepped through the door into a dim living room