He Won't Need it Now

     He came in, weaving and bobbing. Duffy saw at once that he was right out of this fellow's class. He jumped away, and retreated until his heel thudded against the Wall. The big bird came flat-footed but sure. His head was down, with his chin well tucked into his shoulder. Duffy let one go. It was a good one, coming up with a whistling sound. The big bird shifted a little, not much, but just a little, and Duffy's fist hit the air. Then the big bird hit Duffy under the heart. It sounded like a cleaver going into a side of beef. Duffy thought the house had fallen on him. He felt his knees sag and the big bird let him come into a clinch. Duffy wound his arms round him, holding him so he couldn't hit him.

     The big bird let him recover. He said, “That was a good smack, huh?”

     Duffy broke from the clinch, stepped back quickly, collided with a small table and went over backwards. He scrambled to his feet, hurriedly. The big bird gave him plenty of time, then he came in with that flat-footed shuffle, slipped Duffy's punch and banged Duffy in the ribs again. That punch hurt like hell. Again Duffy sagged at the knees; this time the big bird swung one to the side of his head and Duffy went over on his side and lay there. He landed quite close to the little guy, who was just sitting up. The little guy took a gun from inside his coat, holding it by the barrel, he lent forward and hit Duffy in the groin, hitting very hard.

     Duffy curled into a ball, but he didn't yell. He bit his lip right through, but he didn't yell. Then he felt his inside coming up into his throat and he vomited.

     The little guy shifted hastily. “Look,” he said, “the bastard nearly had me.” He got quite excited about it.

     Clive said with approval, “Now you're doing something.”

     They stood round Duffy, watching him. The little guy pressing the bridge of his nose tenderly with his fingers, his eyes watering. Clive knelt on the floor with his lips swelling. He could feel that his front teeth moved a little when he touched them with his tongue. Joe stood with his hands hanging loose, like a dog deprived of its bone.

     Duffy raised his head slowly. His face glistened with sweat. The shaded light from the ceiling lit his greenish skin. He was feeling awfully bad, but he held on to himself low down and rode with the pain. The blood ran down his chin from his lip. He could feel the salty taste in his mouth.

     The little guy said, “Give.”

     Duffy didn't say anything. He didn't trust his voice. He lay there, his eyes on the little guy, hating him.

     The little guy said, “Ain't you had enough?”

     Duffy still said nothing.

     The little guy raised his hand. “Soften him a little,” he said to Joe.

     Joe smiled. He really took a pleasure in being tough. He put out an arm and his hand closed on Duffy's shirt front, then he heaved a little. Duffy came up, like a cork out of a bottle. He gave a little grunt of anguish. His open hand smacked Joe across the eyes. Joe blinked. “Did you see what he did to me?” he said.

     The little guy said, “Full of fight, ain't he?”

     Duffy swung at Joe feebly, his punch wouldn't have knocked down a child. Joe grinned. “Get wise to yourself, bright boy,” he said. “You ain't hurting no one.”

     The little guy said, “Just pat him around a bit, will you, Joe? We ain't got much time.”

     Joe said, “Sure.” He held Duffy at arm's length and hit him between the eyes. His fist traveled at a tremendous speed. Duffy could see it coming, but he couldn't avoid it. Something exploded in his brain, and a bright flash of brightness blinded him. He wanted to lie down, but something was holding on to him.

     The little guy said, “Now don't hit him too hard, just pat him around.” His voice sounded a long way away to Duffy.

     “I know just what you want,” the big bird said, and he started to slap Duffy's face with heavy resounding blows with his open hand.

     The little guy said to Clive, “If this makes you feel bad, you can turn your head.”

     Clive said, “I'm feeling fine. I wish I was as big as Joe.”

     The little guy patted his arm. “I don't,” he said.

     When Joe got tired, he said, “Shall we try him now?”

     The little guy said, “I think so.”

     Joe let go of Duffy, who fell in a heap on the floor. His face was a sight. The little guy knelt down. “Where's the camera, bright boy?”

     Duffy mumbled something, but his mouth was so swollen that the little guy couldn't hear what he said.

     “Lay him up on the couch, Joe, we'll have to get him into shape.”

     Joe pulled Duffy across the floor by his arm and dumped him on to the over-stuffed couch.

     “Get some water, Clive, and a towel,” the little guy said.

     Clive went out of the room into the bathroom. Duffy lay with his eyes shut, his breath coming in shuddering gasps.

     Joe went over to the wagon and poured himself out a drink. He took it neat, then punched himself on the chest with his fist.

     Clive came back with a wet towel. The little guy held out his hand, but Clive walked over to Duffy. “Let me do it.”

     “Well, well, did you hear, Joe?” the little guy was surprised. “Clive wants to do it.”