No Business of Mine

I waited for him in the shadow of the tree, glad the moon was behind me.

He kept coming, his big feet shuffling over the grass, making a slight swishing sound. He wasn’t quite sure of me, didn’t know if I could hurt him or not. He wasn’t taking any chances.

“Don’t take all night,” Ted called impatiently. “I wanna go ’ome even if you don’t.”

“Don’t rush him,” I said, suddenly waving my arms, and made a move towards Joe, who cursed, stepped back, then darted forward, his left list shooting towards my heal. I slipped the punch, hit him in the ribs, swung a right to his jaw. He backed away with a grunt, came at me again. A haymaker whistled past my head, a left grazed my ear. I uncorked a right that caught him in the throat, lifted him off his feet and stretched him flat on his back.

I blew on my knuckles, stepped back against the tree, looked over at Ted.

“You’re next, son,” I said. “I treat ’em all the same, no favouritism, no waiting.”

Ted and Bert gaped at Joe, then, together, rushed at me.

I thought at least I’ve hurt one of the punks, hit Bert on the nose, collected a punch on the side of the head from Ted that made my teeth rattle. Bert flung himself on me, snarling, his great fists thudded into my body. He was quite a hitter. I felt as if Tower Bridge had fallen on me. I shoved him off, measured him, socked a couple of lefts into his flat, ugly puss. Ted came up, caught me with a right, and I countered with a left. Then suddenly a light exploded inside my head and I felt myself falling.

I came to a moment or so later. I was lying on the grass, someone was kicking my ribs very hard. I rolled away, tried to get up, but another lick sent me flat again.

I heard Joe bawling savagely, “Lemme get at him.”

I had time to see him rushing at me, leap high into the air. I managed to twist sideways, grab his foot. He tried to pull away, but I had a hold. I turned his foot, wrenched it, threw my weight on it. I had the satisfaction of hearing a bone go, and Joe’s howl of pain, then a hand seized my hair, and a fist like a lump of iron crashed on my chin. I felt myself rise in the air, and I landed on the thick grass with a thump that knocked the wind out of me.

I was now half crazy with rage, and struggled to get up, but found I hadn’t the strength to support myself. I fell forward on hands and knees. A great crushing weight dropped on me and I went flat. Although I knew what followed, I couldn’t do anything to stop them, couldn’t defend myself.

Two of them systematically beat me up. One dragged me to my feet, held me upright, while the other bashed my face and chest with his fists. They made a boxing sack out of me. When one got tired, the other took over. It seemed to go on for a long time. There was nothing I could do but take it. So I took it.

At last, they were through. They left me lying on my back blood running into my eyes, my body pulverized. I felt little pain. That would come later. At the moment, I could see the moon through swollen eyes, hear what was going on as if the sounds were coming to me out of a fog.

I was still half crazy with temper, and after a few minutes, I managed to hoist myself to my feet. I reeled around like a drunk, fell down again. My hand closed over a big round flint stone. That gave me a little incentive.

Crawling upon my hands and knees, holding the flint tightly, feeling its sharp edges digging into my fingers, I peered around until I located the three men a few yards from me.

Ted and Bert were giving first aid attention to Joe’s ankle. It was nice to hear his curses as they probed the swollen member with their thick, unfeeling fingers.

I levered myself to my feet, swayed backwards, recovered, set out across the grass towards them. It took me a little time, and it was like walking against a strong wind. Ted heard me when I was a few feet away, turned.

“For crying out aloud!” he exclaimed, “I’ll bust my mit on his ugly snug this time, s’welp me if I don’t.”

I found I couldn’t get any farther, so I waited patiently for him to come to me. He sauntered up, flexing his right arm. Bert and Joe turned their heads to watch. Bert was grinning; Joe was snarling at me.

Ted planted himself in front of me, set himself.

“Now, chum,” he said, “I’m about to demonstrate ’ow I put Little Ernie to sleep in the first round. If this smack you’re going to run into don’t take your ’ead off your neck, then may I be.”

I collected all my remaining strength, shot the flint into his face as his right hand began to move.

The flint caught him an inch or so below his right eye, ripped his cheek open to the bone.

He gave a startled howl, stepped back, tripped and fell. He began to bleed into the grass.

That was about all I could do. I’d broken Joe’s ankle and scarred Ted for life. It was a pity I couldn’t do more for Bert, but I just hadn’t the guts to stand any longer on my feet. I staggered forward, heard a violent oath from Bert, saw him rush at me.

I took his punch on the point of my jaw, went out like a snuffed candle.