The Perdition Score (Sandman Slim 8)

“I’ve been busy.”

“Good. Idle hands and all that. Have you thought more about what we talked about? The offer stands. I can get you a paying fight tomorrow night.”

“Like I said, it’s a busy time. I haven’t had time to think about it.”

He pats my arm.

“No worries. We’ll talk after.”

“Sure.”

“Have a good time.”

“I plan to.”

The current fight ends with a broken nose and a few teeth scattered on the bottom of the pool. The fighters bro-hug it out before climbing from the pit. The pit boss whistles at me and points down. I climb the ladder onto the killing floor.

The guy who comes down with me is a mess. He’s almost as scarred as me. Not a big guy. He’s more like one of those grim, wiry fucks you see in small-time southern pro wrestling circuits. Mean street fighters and carny brawlers who’ll take on all comers. They’re not big on technique because they fight like rabid wolves, flat out the whole time.

This could be fun.

We stare at each other from across the ring. When the pit boss gives us the signal to fight, Wolf Man runs straight at me. I sidestep him and he practically slams into the pool wall. It doesn’t bother him in the least. He pushes off and comes at me again, this time ducking at the last minute, going for my legs. I get a knee up and he cracks his skull on it. The men around the pool cheer. The Wolf Man rocks back, but shakes it off. He rushes me again and this time I let him grab me around the waist. Thirty seconds into the fight and he’s sweating like a pig doing wind sprints. The sweat smells funny too. He’s high on something. Angel dust to cut the pain? Maybe this fight will be interesting after all.

I throw a couple of medium-hard punches to the back of his neck. He doesn’t even notice. He still has his arms around me, trying to throw off my balance and get me onto the floor. His head is pressed against my belly, exposing one side of his face. I throw a medium, then hard punch into his temple. That loosens his grip. I push him back and give a love tap on the jaw. It staggers him, but doesn’t do any real damage. Just pisses him off even more. He comes at me, throwing batshit fists and elbows at my head. I take it all, letting him punch Trotsky right out of my skull.

When it gets boring, I throw two hard shots low into his ribs, doubling him over. Shove him upright and stick a heel kick into his sternum, not hard enough to break bones, but enough to hurt. Then I move in. I was hoping for André the Giant and got a hillbilly tweaker. I don’t know what the pit boss was thinking. Fuck them both.

I bounce the Wolf Man off the wall a couple of times and he goes down flat on his back. I stand there a minute; he doesn’t move. Stupid me, I think the fight is over. I turn my back on him and head for the ladder, pissed at everyone for setting me up with such a shit fight.

Then my head explodes.

The Wolf Man was playing possum, waiting for me to do exactly what I did. When I turned my back, he grabbed a chunk of broken concrete from the edge of the pool and got me on the back of the head. How do I know? Because he comes around in front so I can see him swing the concrete again. I try to move, but he hits me on the cheek, opening up a nice gash. I feel the blood gush down my chin and onto my chest. He comes at me again and I spit in his face. That stops him long enough for me to get back on my feet.

The damned concrete block is almost as big as his head. When he uses it, it pulls him off balance. I let him swing one more time, and while he’s off center I hammer his face. It’s a beautiful sensation when I feel the bone around his left eye crack.

He drops the concrete and grabs the side of his head, banshee-screaming. Slipping behind him, I wrap an arm around his neck, squeezing his throat and carotid artery like a two-dollar accordion.

I almost have him unconscious, but he’s sweating so hard it’s difficult to hold on properly. He moves his head enough to ease the pressure on his neck, then grabs my left arm and bites down. It doesn’t hurt, the prosthetic never hurts, but I feel something rip. A funny sound travels around the crowd above us and I get a bad feeling. With a handful of the Wolf Man’s hair, I smash his head into the side of the pool until he falls over. He’s breathing, but this time he’s not getting up.

There are no cheers. No boos. It’s dead silence. I look down at my left arm and it’s exactly what I was afraid of. The Wolf Man’s teeth ripped half the skin off my Kissi prosthetic. There’s nothing else to do now. I tear the rest of the skin off and shove it into the Wolf Man’s mouth. When I climb out of the pool, everybody backs off. The only one who moves is the pit boss. He comes over, his face wrenched in disgust, like he found his darling daughter banging Gregor Samsa.

“I don’t know who or what the fuck you are, but get out of here and never come back.”

I reach behind my head, come back with a handful of blood, and toss it on the floor. The pit boss jumps back. Everybody does. It might be radioactive.

I go to the bench and get dressed. No one follows me, but I make sure

everyone sees me putting the Colt revolver into the waistband of my jeans.

Quietly, I push through the door, outside into the warm spring dark.

The bouncer says, “Calling it early tonight?”

“You could say that.”

I reach into my pocket and take out the sunglasses. Hold them up.

“You want these? I won’t need them anymore.”