The Boxer and the Spy
- Автор: Паркер Роберт Браун
- Год: 2008
- Язык: английский
- Год: Philomel Books
- ISBN: 978-0-399-24775-0
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Boxer and the Spy». Краткое содержание книги:
Terry nodded.
“I want to know what you think you’re doing bothering Mrs. Trent.”
Terry shook his head.
“You better tell me now, Novak,” Kip Carter said.
“Or what?” Terry said. “You try to beat up on Abby? Last fight you had with her, I heard she won.”
Kip Carter seemed to freeze up for a moment. His face got red. He didn’t speak.
He’ll probably rush me, Terry thought. He could almost hear George’s voice. Keep him off with the jab. Cover up. Move. Carter couldn’t last long if he were swinging wild and off balance. Nobody that strong, George said. Even in boxing shape you can’t be flailing with both hands and no feet under you and keep it up.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw George strolling across the street with Abby. George was talking, but Terry couldn’t hear what he was saying. But George looked calm. It made Terry feel steadier.
“How’s your lip,” Terry said to Kip Carter.
And Carter rushed him. Terry went into his stance. Covered up. Crouched to make himself a smaller target. He moved right and stuck a jab out at Carter. Carter swarmed him, punching with both hands. Terry took most of them on his arms and moved back and jabbed again. He could hear George’s voice. Stick and move, the voice was saying. Stick and move. He wondered if it was really George’s voice. Kip Carter connected on a half-blocked roundhouse that staggered Terry. But Carter was off balance when he threw it, and all his weight wasn’t in it. Street fight, you don’t want to break your hand on his head. Want to use the side of your fist if you can. Or your forearm. Elbow. Use your fists on his body. Carter swung another big roundhouse left. Terry was able to lean back and check the punch past him with his right, block it hard with his left. He dropped a little lower and hit Carter hard with a right hook in his rib cage. He heard Carter grunt. He backpedaled and shuffled left while his head cleared. He could hear Carter’s breath starting to rasp.
“Stand still and fight, you little freak,” Carter gasped.
Terry kept circling left. His hands high, in a low crouch. It was odd how everything had come down to the fight. He didn’t feel much. He didn’t see much beyond Carter’s movement before him. Carter was hitting him mostly on the arms and shoulders and he didn’t really feel it. He was not aware of anyone around him. Of the kids standing in a circle. Of George standing with Abby. Of Paxton Bullard driving up behind the circle and easing himself out of his too-small car. All he saw was Carter, and only in a kind of faceless movement that he tracked and responded to without thought.
Carter tried to grab him with his right hand, but Terry stepped into him, which Carter didn’t expect, and turned and blocked the right hand hard with both of his forearms. Then he drove his right elbow up and across, catching Carter on the cheekbone. Carter staggered. He followed with his left forearm, turning with the natural torque of the movements, and Carter staggered backward. His arms dropped and Terry, his feet still under him, holding his stance, hit him in the middle of the face with a straight right. And Carter went down. A kind of sigh went up softly from the circle of kids.
Carter stayed down for a moment, sitting on the ground. Then he struggled to his feet.
“I’ll kill you,” he gasped, and with his head down rushed at Terry.
Terry stepped aside. He heard George’s voice through the murk of his intensity.
“Finish,” George’s voice said. “Finish it.”
Carter came at him again, bull-rushing with his head down. Terry hit him with a left hook and then straightened him with the big uppercut George had taught him. It stopped Carter. He stood motionless for a moment, then slowly dropped to his hands and knees and stayed there, head hanging. There was no sound except for Carter’s breath heaving painfully in and out.
Terry was still. As the fog of his intensity began to dissipate, he became aware that he was breathing hard. His hands would probably hurt in a while. He felt kind of bad for Kip Carter. He looked at Abby. He couldn’t read her face. But there was no pleasure in it. He wasn’t sure what it was. He looked at George. George nodded slightly. Terry understood that. He knew it was approval. George and Abby walked into the center of the circle. George squatted on his heels beside Kip Carter. He put a hand under Carter’s chin and raised his head a little and looked at his eyes.
“How you feel?” George said.
Carter shook his head.
“Got a headache?” George asked.
Carter shook his head again.
“Follow my finger,” George said, and moved his raised forefinger back and forth in front of Kip Carter’s eyes.
“You dizzy?” George said.
“I... don’t... think... so.”
George nodded and stood up.
“He be all right,” George said. “He more wore out than hurt.”
Terry nodded slowly. Abby stood next to him without speaking.
“Lemme see your hands,” George said.
Terry held them out.
“Nothing broken,” George said.
Mr. Bullard pushed through the circle of kids. He stopped next to Carter and looked down at him, and shook his head slowly and made a sound as if he were spitting. Then he looked around the circle.
“Okay,” he said. “What’s going on here?”
“Come on to my place,” George said to Terry. “We need to get some ice on your hands.”
Terry nodded again and, with Abby, he followed George through the quiet circle of kids and across the street toward George’s gym.
“Hey,” Bullard shouted. “Don’t you just walk away from me.”
“Ice’ll ease the swelling,” George said. “Maybe won’t hurt so much tomorrow.”
They walked on. Bullard stared after them for a moment, then he turned toward the circle of kids, which had already started to thin.
“You all get out of here,” he said. “Move!”
The remaining kids began to move. Kip Carter was on one knee now, leaning on the other one. Bullard stood over him with his arms folded.
“Stand up,” Bullard said scornfully, “and get in my car now.”
Carter rose slowly and, still unsteady, moved carefully toward Bullard’s car. Bullard stood for a moment staring after Terry, Abby, and George as they went into George’s building. Then he turned on his heel and walked angrily toward his little car.
Chapter 42
Terry soaked his hands in ice water, taking them out periodically when the cold got too much. Abby watched him quietly.
“So,” Terry said. “Whaddya think?”
“I didn’t like it,” Abby said.
George was stowing things: boxing gloves, trainer’s tape, jump ropes.
“Would you have liked it better if Carter won?”
“No. I’d have hated it more,” Abby said.
Terry was thrilled with his success, and the fact that Abby wasn’t treating him like a hero was bothersome.
“He started it,” Terry said.
“I know,” Abby said.
“Well, you don’t think he deserved it?” Terry said.
“I’m not thinking about Kip Carter,” Abby said.
George picked up a couple of towels and tossed them in the hamper.
“I don’t get it,” Terry said. “I won the damn fight against the high school hero and you seem mad.”
“I’m not mad,” Abby said. “And I’m glad you won. I guess it just scared me a little.”
“Hell,” Terry said. “It scared me a little too. But it’s over now. What’s your problem?”
“If it had happened when he... bothered me in the woods,” Abby said, “I would have been thrilled. I was so scared... and so mad... and you would have saved me from him.”