Wilber had a hand over his eye. “You sonofabitch,” he said.
He came at Leonard with a wild football kick. Leonard scooped the kick up, twisted, rolled Wilber on his stomach. Leonard stepped over Wilber’s leg while he held it, pushed his chest against it and went down. There was a cracking sound like you might hear from a china vase just dropped from an aircraft. It was Wilber’s knee going out. Wilber screamed, and Leonard, still locking the leg, bent forward and slipped his arm around Wilber’s neck, around the brace, slid his hand into the crook of his other arm and locked that behind Wilber’s head.
Wilber was strong and the neck brace kept Leonard from cutting into Wilber’s throat with a forearm. Wilber got his hands under him, pushed up enough to roll on his back. But it didn’t matter. Leonard lost the leg lock somehow and the ruined leg thrashed out to Wilber’s side as Leonard rolled on his back and hooked his heels inside Wilber’s thighs and kept choking.
Wilber thrashed and clawed at Leonard’s arms so hard he drew blood, but Leonard didn’t let go. He just lay on his back with his head pressed tight against the base of Wilber’s head, and he kept squeezing. You could see the muscles in his forearms and biceps swell. Leonard moved his foot once, just enough to pop Wilber in the testicles, enough to weaken him. But by that time he didn’t really need it. Wilber wasn’t clawing anymore. His eyes were sticking way out of his skull and his tongue was skating over his lips. A thin trickle of blood was running out of one nostril and there was a bead of it on his bottom lip.
Leonard flexed even more. The brace was past working for Wilber. Leonard had put so much pressure into it, the brace was beginning to bend, making an indentation for Leonard’s forearm.
Leonard turned his head slowly and looked at Big Jim on his stool. Big Jim studied the situation for a moment, made a cutting motion with his hand.
Leonard let go of Wilber, rolled out from under him. Wilber lay on the ground heaving, trying to get his breath back.
Leonard stood up and looked at Big Jim.
Big Jim looked around the room, at us, at his men. He put his cold cigar back in his mouth and pawed around in his suit for his lighter. He lit the cigar and puffed.
“How much money you got?” he asked Leonard.
“What?” Leonard said.
“How much money you got, all of you?” Big Jim said.
Leonard and I had some change, Brett had a few dollars, and Irvin had what was left of the money we had given him. Most of it he had pissed out on the ground after it had turned to beer and then pesos at the cantina.
I said, “Bill’s body’s out there. He might have some money on him.”
“No,” Big Jim said. “We’ll leave him like he is.”
Moose clunked over on his braces and cast, took all our money, bundled it up in one hand, and carried it to Big Jim.
“I got to have something for my troubles,” Big Jim said. He counted out the money, frowned, put it in his coat pocket. “I don’t like to do a deal where I lose completely. I drove all the way down from Oklahoma for this, and now I’m just going to let you go. But this way I make a little money, and I got Red. Which is what I really wanted. And, I guess I got Herman. Herman, you still have your chance too. I give you that. Red stays. You go.”
Herman nodded. “I can’t go without Red. You still want to gamble, I’ll fight anyone for Red’s life.”
“Nope,” Big Jim said. “That didn’t work out so good. Once a night is enough. Someone go over there and get Wilber up. Get his coat. Put him in the car. We’ll stop in town, get him a soda.”
Two of Big Jim’s men picked up Wilber’s coat, got hold of Wilber. He screamed in agony when he was lifted. As they carried him along, his leg dragged behind like the tail of a dead animal. They opened the front door and helped him outside.
“This whole thing,” Big Jim said. “It’s soured my stomach. You know, I’m really a pretty nice guy. I like to give breaks. I’m forgiving. But sometimes, well, you got to know when to cut your losses.”
Big Jim reached inside his coat and took out an automatic, said, “Hey, dwarf!”
Red looked at him and Big Jim pulled the trigger. Red’s head slammed against the tin wall and the wall went scarlet and Red melted to the floor like butter running off the side of a griddle.
Herman bellowed, charged at Big Jim. Big Jim swiveled slightly on his stool and shot Herman in the head. Herman’s charge knocked Big Jim off the stool and Herman came down on top of him.
Two bodyguards leaped forward, grabbed Herman, yanked him off of Jim, rolled him on the ground and shot him several times.
Big Jim said, “He’s dead, you fools. He was dead when I shot him.”
Big Jim got his feet under him, put his automatic back inside his suit coat and began to brush himself off. One of the bodyguards came over and helped him. Big Jim let him. When he was brushed off he took the handkerchief off the stool and used it to wipe his shoes. He gave the handkerchief to one of his men, turned to us.
“I shouldn’t have made a deal like that with you guys,” he said. “It was stupid. I thought Wilber could take you, colored man. I thought he’d wipe the place up with you.”
“Maybe he had an off day,” Leonard said.
Big Jim grinned. “No. I don’t think so. All right, ya’ll get the whore, get your asses out of here. I don’t want to see you no more. I hear from you, I see your faces, whatever, all bets are off. Got me?”
We nodded.
Leonard put on his shirt without buttoning it, picked up Tillie and carried her and put her in the back seat of the car. With Brett’s assistance I went after them and leaned against the hood.
Irvin walked past us. He said, “I don’t want to never see any of you again. Ever.”
