Nunzio shrugged. "If that were his inclination, all he'd have to do is marry Bunny and let Don Bruce hand him the whole organization on a platter as an inheritance."
He is referrin' to the fact that not only is Bunny Don Bruce's niece, she is head over heels in love with the Boss ... somethin' which seems to have escaped his notice entirely. Like we said earlier ... The Mob and broads ... Stone stupid.
"You may be right ..."
"Of course I'm right! It all fits!"
"... But even if you are, I'm not sure what difference it makes," I finish, ignoring his rude interruption. "Whether we're breakin' Don Bruce's word by accident or on purpose, we will still be in the line of fire when that notable decides to put things right."
"The difference is that if we assume the Boss doesn't want trouble with Don Bruce, we aren't obligated to stand and fight. More specifically, we're free to try to act as peace-makers between the two of them before blood starts to flow."
This reasonin' has a certain appeal to it, particularly as if said blood does indeed begin to flow, the odds are that it will be the two of us at the source of said flow.
"Okay," I sez. "Assumin' that you're right about the Boss not wantin' trouble, and assumin' that Don Bruce lets you get a word in edgewise before the shootin' starts, what are you gonna say to cool him down?"
"That part," Nunzio hesitates, "... that part I'm still working on."
It occurs to me that until my cousin comes up with a surefire sales pitch to settle things, all that takin' a peace-maker role is accomplishin' is committin' us not to shoot back when the trouble starts!
Chapter Six:
"Boards don't hit back!"
-B. LEE
PRE-INHABITED AS I was with my worries about Don Bruce and the Mob, the altercation between Sergeant Smiley and myself slipped my mind completely. As it turned out, however, this did not matter, as the sergeant took steps to remind me of it, and the way it was sprung on me, it wouldn't have done me no good to have used up a lot of time and energy thinkin' about it.
We had reached the portion of our trainin' in which we was to learn how to relate to the enemy at close quarters ... preferably without surrenderin'. That is to say, hand-to-hand type combat.
Sergeant Smiley was teachin' this section himself, which did not strike me as odd until later, as he obviously had more than passin' familiarity with the techniques we was to learn. He homed in on the Flie brothers as his demonstrator/victims, and had great fun showin' us all that size was not a factor in hand-to-hand combat by tossin' and punchin' 'em both around with impressive ease ... or, put differently, he really made them fly. While all this was great fun to watch, I could not help thinkin' that the lesson he was attemptin' to drive home stank higher than the "Realistic Doggie Doodle with Lifelike Aroma that Actually Sticks to Your Hands" that I was so familiar with. I mean, I wonder if he really thought he was foolin' anyone with his "size doesn't make a difference" spiel. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that size can make a considerable difference in a physical-type difference of opinion, as one honest to goodness fight will usually demonstrate this fact clearly enough to convince even the dimmest of wits. The only time skill triumphs over size is if the little guy is very skillful and the big guy is very unskillful ... not to mention slow and maybe has a glass jaw. If they are at all matched for skill, the big guy is a good bet to make strawberry jam of the little guy if he is so inclined. This is why professional contact, sport-type athletes, not to mention kneecappers like Nunzio and me, are on the extralarge side. It isn't because our employers figure we are cheaper if cost justified on a "by the pound" rate, it's because we tend to win.
Of course, even if one accepts the "skill over size" concept, there is still a glarin' flaw in the sergeant's logic. Remember how long I said it would take to train someone with a longbow? (No, this isn't gonna be a test ... I was just askin'.) Well, it takes even longer to train someone to be skillful at Hand-To-Hand. A lot longer. The idea that someone like the Spellin' Bee could absorb enough skill in one afternoon to be effective against one of the Flie brothers, however unskilled, is laughable. Realizin' this, it was clear to me that even though he said we was bein' prepared for combat with the enemy, all he was doin' was showin' us a few tricks to help us survive the inevitable barroom type brawls which seem to naturally gravitate toward people in uniform who are tryin' to have a quiet drink around civilians durin' their off-duty hours. Simply put, we was bein' trained to deal with unskilled civilian-type fighters, preferably blind staggerin' drunk, rather than against skilled soldier-type fighters in the field.
"... Of course, these are techniques which will enable you to dispatch an unarmed opponent!" Sergeant Smiley was sayin', which was again misleadin' as none of the countermoves he was demonstratin' were lethal enough to "dispatch" anyone, confirmin' my belief that someone was figurin' we'd only use them on civilians.
"... To deal with an ARMED opponent, however, is a different matter entirely! Fortunately, we have an EXPERT with us to demonstrate how that is done! GUIDO! Front and center!"
"Me, Sergeant?" I blinks, as I had not expected to be called upon.
"That's right," the sergeant sez, showin' some extra teeth in his smile. "At the firing range you made a big point that only jerks have to kill people, Well, here's your chance to show everybody how to 'gentle' an enemy into submission when he's trying to kill you."
Needless to say, I don't care for the sounds of this, but as I have been summoned, I have little choice but to step forward into the clear space bein' used for the demonstrations. My discomfort grows as the sergeant gestures to Corporal Whittle, who tosses him a short sword. That's right, a real short sword ... with a point and sharpened edges.
"What's with the sword, Sergeant?" I sez.
"I said this was going to be a demonstration against an armed opponent," he grins. "What we're going to do is I'm going to try to kill you, and you're going to try to stop me without killing me."
"... And if I don't?"
"Then I guess we'll have us a little 'training accident' ... unless, of course, you'd rather just back out now and admit you can't do it."
Needless to say, I did not obtain my current lofty position as bodyguard by backin' away from fights. What's more, the sword wasn't my real worry as it is nothin' more than a long knife, and I've dealt with knives often enough.
"Oh, I can do it," I shrugs. "The trouble is it might involve striking a non-commissioned officer ... which I seem to recall from our Military Law lesson is a no-no."
The sergeant's smile fades a bit, and I realize he has been expectin' me to withdraw from this exercise when he feeds me the cue. Unfortunately for both of us, this realization comes a little late to do us any good.
"Don't worry about that, 'Cruit!" he sez, though I notice his voice has gotten tighter. "Even if you get real lucky and tag me, you're acting under orders so no charges will be brought."
That was all I needed to hear. As a last precaution, I glance back at Nunzio where he's standin' in line, and he gives me a little nod with his head.
"Your cousin can't help you now. Guide," Smiley snaps, regainin' a bit of confidence. "This is between you and me."
That wasn't why I was checkin' with Nunzio, but I have no trouble goin' with the flow, bein' real adaptable when the music is startin' and I am one of the designated dancers.
"I was just wonderin'," I sez with a shrug. "It's nice to know you know I'd be under orders. The question is whether or not that officer knows it."