Rumble Tumble

“Shut up,” Big Jim said. “You think it matters? This shed, it’s going to look like the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, I get through here. I got more bullets here than all of you got brain cells. What I got here? Eight guys? Lots of guns. All you dipshits got are your asses.”

“Excuse me, Big Jim,” said one of the men, “but that fire, it might draw someone.”

Big Jim nodded. “We’re far out, Hector. But you’re right. Might as well get this over with. I believe Wilber would like the opportunity to kill … what’s your name?” Big Jim pointed to me.

“Hap,” I said. “Hap Collins.”

“He didn’t like the way you treated him in a hotel room,” Big Jim said. “That right, moron? A hotel room, wasn’t it?”

Wilber said, “Yes, sir.”

“Yeah, I bet he didn’t,” I said, “ ’cause I whipped his ass. And I kicked it at the whorehouse too.”

“There you are,” Big Jim said. “Wilber didn’t like that. Go ahead and shoot him, Wilber.”

“I could have taken you, you hadn’t had a gun on me,” Wilber said, and he pointed his automatic at me.

“You and about ten like you,” I said.

Big Jim said, “Whoa! You really think you could take him, Mr. Hap?”

I nodded.

“What about you, Wilber,” Big Jim said. “What do you think?”

“I could take him,” Wilber said.

“You really want to fight him, don’t you, Wilber?” Big Jim said.

“Yeah, I’ll fight him,” Wilber said. “Right now.”

“I guess you would,” Leonard said. “Hap’s hurt. He wasn’t hurt, he’d wipe your honky motherfucker’s shit on the wall.”

Big Jim looked about at his entourage. He grinned. They grinned. Red couldn’t decide if he ought to shit or go blind.

Big Jim settled his gaze on Leonard, said, “You want to take Wilber instead?”

“Yeah,” Leonard said. “I’ve just traveled from here to Mexico, fought it out with a bunch of would-be bad-asses, eaten badly, slept badly, crashed in a plane on my way back, so I ought to be tuckered just enough to make it a little more of a contest for fat boy here.”

Wilber steamed.

Big Jim chuckled. “Hey, you’re on.”

“What for?” Leonard said. “Just to get shot afterward? What’s the point?”

“You win, I let you go,” Big Jim said.

Leonard shook his head. “You a man of your word, Big Jim?”

“You trying to gamble with me?” Big Jim said.

“You let me and this walking stack of dog shit fight,” Leonard said, “and I win, you got to let me and my man go here. You got to let the woman and the whore go too. Toss in Irvin here ’cause he’s stupid. Herman too. The midget, I don’t give a shit.”

“I give you your life,” Big Jim said.

“Not good enough,” Leonard said.

Big Jim shook his head. “I’m going to hate myself in the morning. Okay. I give you Hap, the pilot, the woman, and the whore. Take Herman too. Red, I got plans for.”

Red studied Big Jim’s face, hoping to see some sign that the plans were positive, but the expression he hoped to see just wasn’t there.

“What I say,” Big Jim said, “is this. You two fight. One can’t stand up when it’s over is the loser. My man loses, I let everyone but the troll go.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Red,” Herman said.

Big Jim turned to look at Herman. “Have it your way.” Then back to us. “You lose, colored fella, I got to shoot you all. But I’ll make it quick. Promise. I got to tell you, gambling, it’s my vice. You got me by the short hairs on that. My wife tells me I’ll bet on anything and that I’m too good-hearted. She’s right.”

Leonard said, “Let me speak to my people.”

“Snap it up,” Big Jim said. “This plane fire, it could cause problems. Another minute, this offer’s no good.”

Leonard eased over to us, unbuttoned his shirt, tossed it on the ground. He and Brett helped me to stand. Leonard said, “I don’t know he’ll keep his word or not. It’s all we got, though.”

“You’re bushed,” I said.

“It’s not like we got a choice,” Leonard said. “Right now you couldn’t whip a three-year-old in a straitjacket.”

“Come on,” Big Jim said. “Enough whispering. Do it.”

30

They closed the back door and two suits stood there as guards. The others spread out in a circle around us and Big Jim moved his stool back a few paces. Red slid up against the wall, trying to blend his molecules with it so that he might pass through.

Wilber took off his cheap jacket and tossed it over the side of Bill’s pickup bed. He unbuttoned his shirt at the neck and rolled up his sleeves. Wilber gestured at me, said to Leonard, “It’s not gonna be as much fun hittin’ you as him.”

“I’ll try to make you laugh,” Leonard said.

“He’s twice Leonard’s size,” Brett whispered to me.

“If Leonard isn’t too tired, it’ll be all right,” I said.

Wilber had his legs spread wide and his fist clenched. I could tell then he didn’t know shit about technique. Probably never had to use any. When you’re that big and strong you can get away with lack of technique.