The Guilty Are Afraid

One of Hertz’s thugs reached me. I ducked under the blackjack that swished towards my head, sent my right into his ribs, then knocked his legs from under him. I didn’t wait to see him go down. I grabbed hold of Fulton and dragged him across the room to the door.

There wasn’t much comfort outside. Facing us was the narrow, long jetty, brilliantly lit, with the sea either side and at the far end, the big car park, also brilliantly lit.

Fulton was hurt badly and seemed on the point of collapse. Any second now Hertz and his thugs would be out and after us.

“Beat it,” Fulton gasped. “I can’t go any further. Get away before they catch you.”

I grabbed his arm, swung it around my shoulder, then half-supporting him, I dragged him in a rushing run down the jetty towards the parking lot.

The quick patter of feet behind me told me I wasn’t going to get far.

I let go of Fulton and turned.

Hertz was coming down the jetty.

“Run!” I said to Fulton. “I’ll handle this ape.”

I gave him a quick shove and he went staggering off as Hertz came at me. He moved with the speed and the shuffle of a professional boxer. I backed away fast, circling him so the light from the overhead standard would be in his eyes. I watched his fists. He looked insane with rage.

That was in my favour. A man in a rage isn’t anything like as dangerous as a man who keeps his head in a fight.

He came at me like an enraged bull and I slammed my fist into his face, jerking his head back. I swayed away from a right that would have decapitated me had it landed, then thumped my own right into the side of his neck. He caught me with a left, and it felt as if I had been hit with a sledge hammer. I backed away fast as he came in again, jabbed him off, slid away from a crushing punch that started from his ankles, jumped back and took a quick look down the jetty. Fulton had disappeared. I decided it was time I took off. But I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off Hertz. Although he telegraphed his punches, he had the speed of a flyweight. He caught me with a hook to the jaw. I saw it coming just a shade too late, but I had started to roll with the punch and that took a little of the steam out of it.

It was hard enough to bring me to my knees, but not hard enough to fog my brain. As he rushed, I fell forward and grabbed him around his thick thighs, raised myself and heaved. He went over my head and slid along the planks of the jetty on his face.

I was up and running before he came to rest. As I bolted into the car park, I heard a voice call, “Hey, Brandon! Right here!”

I changed my direction as I saw Fulton waving at me from the front seat of my car. I heard Hertz lumbering down the jetty after me. The engine of the car was running and I scrambled in under the steering wheel, slammed in the gear and trod down on the accelerator. Hertz was within twenty yards of the car now, his battered face a snarling mask of fury as the car shot away.

I went through the parking-lot gates with an inch to spare and stormed out on to the boulevard. Still at high speed, I swung the car into a side turning, drove flat out to the top of the road, stood on the brake pedal and flung the car into another road, then slowed down.

“Are you badly hurt?” I asked, looking at Fulton.

“I’ll survive,” he said.

“Where’s the nearest hospital? I’ll take you.”

“Third left at the top of this road, then straight on for half a mile.”

I increased speed. In five minutes I pulled up outside the emergency entrance to the hospital.

“I can manage now.” He got out of the car. “I was a mug to have opened my big mouth. I should have kept clear of you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to land you in for that kind of party. You could bring a charge against Hertz. There were plenty of witnesses.”

“Much good that’d do. It’d never stick, and I’d be in more trouble. I’m packing and getting out of this town. I’ve had about enough of it.”

He went away, moving unsteadily.

I watched him disappear through the doorway, then I U-turned and headed back fast to my hotel.

III

It wasn’t until I was in the quiet of my bedroom, and after I had bathed my bruises, that I remembered I had missed my dinner, and found I was hungry. I called down for some hot turkey sandwiches on rye bread and a pint of iced beer. While I waited for the sandwiches to be brought up, I stretched out on my bed and considered the activities of the day.

I knew I was sticking my head into a hornets’ nest, and I wondered how long I would survive if I continued to do so.

Sooner or later I would run into Hertz again, and the next time I might not get off with only a bruised neck and a slight swelling under my right eye. I thought of Tim Fulton and grimaced.