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"I'll still kick your ass," Alex announced. His claim was muffled because his face was flat against the greasy wood floor. "Up that kitty to two hundred." "Enough's enough," Marty told the crowd. "I'll buy these two bums a drink. Let's call it a night." Lee ordered the retiree to take more bets. "Make it double or nothing. Easiest money you'll ever make." Nobody took the bet. The crowd doubted that Alex could stand, much less fight. But Alex pulled himself up with a table and chair and faced Lee. He raised his fists awkwardly and demanded a second chance. "Nobody's bettin'. Why should I whip you again?" "You haven't whipped me once." Lee gripped Alex’s collar with his left hand, drew back his right, and launched his haymaker. The blow landed with a sharp report on Alex's head. A pained yell excited the crowd. The bartender grimaced, afraid that Lee might kill Alex. She was walking to the pay phone to call the police when she heard Alex laugh. Lee clutched his broken right hand to his chest. "Somebody should have bet on me," Alex laughed. Lee swung at Alex with his left fist. Alex lowered his head so the punch struck his forehead. Lee howled. Both hands were broken. He tried to strike Alex with an elbow, chicken-wing style, but Alex slapped him. The slap spun him 360 degrees, like a top. Lee saw two of Alex standing in front of him, then three. The three attacked with six fists and six boots. Lee realized his face was on the floor. He rolled over, peering through his fingers like a child watching a horror movie. But the horror was real. Six arms held twelve chairs over him. The chairs struck him in unison. With a guffaw, Alex faced the spectators. They stared at him, slack-jawed and unbelieving. The retiree handed Alex the wad of bills. "Best fight I ever saw," he said. "Thank you." Alex stuffed the money into a pocket and punched the retiree in the face. The retiree imploded into an awkward heap at Alex’s feet. "What the fuck!" Marty yelled. He swung at Alex, missed badly, and ineptly covered his head in self-defense. "Watch this!" Alex roared to nobody in particular. He kicked Marty's knee, then his shin, and Marty fell on top of the retiree. Marty was still conscious, and Alex stilled him with a kick to the head. The bartender was holding the pay phone's handset with a shaking hand. "Put that goddamned phone down!" Alex barked. Frightened, the bartender hesitated. Alex ran across the bar and pulled the handset out of the wall. The bartender swore at him, and Alex hit her over the head with the severed handset. When a man tried to help her, Alex choked him with the phone's armored cord, then locked the front door and pulled the neon light's power cord from the wall. The three musicians were trying to sneak out the back. "I've got a gun!" Alex yelled. They stopped. Alex crossed the room and grabbed Lee's pistol. "Turn around, you guitar pickers." The trio obeyed. Alex approached them, pistol pointed. |
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