That’s when I worked out what was Coyle’s plan. See, he knew right after the Marcellus Ellis fight that the eye had gone bad on him again, but he kept that to himself instead of telling anyone about it, thinking his eye operation in Canada won’t come out. That way, he could steal Billy’s signing money, and pick up the twenty-five hundred a month chasing-pussy money, too. I wondered how long he’d be laughing.
Only now what am I supposed to say to Billy? After all, it was my name on Coyle what clinched the deal. It got to be where my shiny, big old white boy was tarnished as a copper washtub. I talked with Dee-Cee about it.
Dee-Cee said, “You right. That why the schemin’ muhfuh come down South from the front!”
See, we surprised Coyle. He didn’t know the tests had come back, so me and Dee-Cee just sat him down on the ring apron. Starting out, he was all fluffy.
Dee-Cee said, “Why didn’t you tell us about the eye?”
Coyle lied, said, “What eye?”
Dee-Cee said, “Kenny, the first rule’s don’t shit a shitter. The eye what’s fucked up.”
Coyle said, “Ain’t no eye fucked up.”
“You got a fucked-up eye, don’t bullshit,” said Dee-Cee.
“It ain’t bad, it’s just blurry.”
“Just blurry means you ain’t fightin’ Vegas, that’s what’s muthuhfuckin’ blurry,” Dee-Cee said, muscles jumping along his jaw. “I’m quittin’ you right now, hyuh? Don’t want no truck with no punk playin’ me.”
Coyle’s eyes started to bulge and his neck got all swole up and red. “You’re the punk, old man!”
Coyle shoved Dee-Cee hard in the chest. Dee-Cee went down, but he took the fall rolling on his shoulder, and was up like a bounced ball.
Dee-Cee said, “Boy, second rule’s don’t hit a hitter.”
Coyle moved as if to kick Dee-Cee. I reached for my Buck, but before it cleared my back pocket, Dee-Cee quick as a dart used his cane bap! bap! bap! to crack Coyle across one knee and both shins. Coyle hit the floor like a sack full of cats.
“I’ll kill you, old man. I’ll beat your brains out with that stick.”
Dee-Cee said, “Muhfuh, you best don’t be talking no kill shit wit’ Dark Chocolate.”
Coyle yelled, “Watch your back, old man!”
Dee-Cee said, “Boy, you diggin’ you a hole.”
Dee-Cee hobbled off, leaning heavy on his cane. Coyle made to go after Dee-Cee again, but by then I’d long had my one-ten out and open.
I said, “Y’all ever see someone skin a live dog?”
I had to get Coyle outta there, thought to quick get him to the Texas Ice House over on Blanco, where we could have some longnecks like good buds and maybe calm down. Texas Ice House’s open three hundred sixty-five days a year, sign out front says go cowboys.
Coyle said, “Got my own Texas shit beer at home.”
Texas and shit in the same breath ain’t something us Texans cotton to, but I went on over to Coyle’s place later on ‘cause I had to. I knocked, and through the door I heard a shotgun shell being jacked into the chamber.
I said, “It’s me, Red.”
Coyle opened up, then limped out on the porch looking for Dee-Cee.
Coyle said, “I’m gonna kill him, you tell him.”
Inside, there was beer cans all over the floor, and the smell of weed and screwing. Coyle and a half-sleepy tittie-club blond gal was lying around half bare-ass. She never said a word throughout. I got names backing me like Geraghty and O’Kelly, but when I got to know what a sidewinder Coyle was, it made me ashamed of belonging to the same race.
I said, “When did the eye go bad?”
Coyle was still babying his legs. “It was perfect before that Marcellus Ellis butted me at the casino. But with you training me, hey baby, I can still fight down around here.”
“You go back to chump change you fight down around here.”
“My eye is OK, it’s just blurry, that’s all, don’t you start on me, fuck!”
“It’s you’s what’s startin’.”
“This happened time before last in Mississippi, OK? And it was gettin better all by itself, OK?”
I stayed quiet, so did he. Then I said, “Don’t you get it? You fail the eye test, no fights in Vegas, or no place where there’s money. Only trainer you’ll get now’s a blood sucker.”
Coyle shrugged, even laughed a little. That’s when I asked him the one question he didn’t never want to hear, the one that would mean he’d have to give back Billy’s money if he told the truth.
I said, “Why didn’t you tell us about the eye before you signed Billy’s contract?”
Coyle got old. He looked off in a thousand-yard stare for close to a minute. He stuttered twice, and then said, “Everybody knew about my eye.”
I said, “Not many in Vancouver, and for sure none in San Antonia.”
Coyle said, “Vegas coulda checked.”
I said, “We ain’t Vegas.”
Coyle stood up. He thought he wanted to hit me, but he really wanted to hide. Instead, he moved the shotgun so’s it was pointing at my gut.
He said, “I don’t want you to train me no more.”
I said, “Next time you want to fuck somebody, fuck your mama in her casket. She can’t fuck you back.”
That stood him straight up, and I knew it was time to git. As the door closed behind me, I could hear Coyle and the tittie-club blonde start to laugh.
I said to myself, “Keep laughin’, punk cocksucker — point a gun at me and don’t shoot.”
I drove my pickup over to Billy’s office next day, told him the whole thing. It wasn’t far from my place but it was the longest ride I ever took. I was expecting to be told to get my redneck ass out of Texas. He just listened, then lit up a Montecristo contraband Havana robusto with a gold Dunhill. He took his time, poured us both some Hennessy XO.
He could see I felt lowdown and thought I’d killed his friendship.
I said, “I’m sorry, Billy, you know I’d never wrong you on purpose.”
Billy said, “You couldn’t see the future, Red. Only women can, and that’s ‘cause they know when they’re gonna get fucked.”
Billy put the joke in there to save me from myself, damned if he didn’t. I was ready to track Coyle and gut him right then. But Billy said to calm down, said he’d go over to Coyle’s place later on. I wanted to go, said I’d bring along Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.
“Naw,” said Billy, “there won’t be no shootin.”
When Billy got to Coyle’s, Kenny was smoking weed again, had hold of a big-assed, stainless steel .357 Mag Ruger with a six-inch barrel. Billy didn’t blink, said could he have some iced tea like Coyle was drinking. Coyle said it was Snapple Peach, not diet, but Billy said go on’n hook one up. Things got friendly, but Coyle kept ahold of the Ruger.
Billy said, “Way I see it, you didn’t set out to do it.”
Coyle said, “That’s right. Ellis did it.”
Billy said, “But you still got me for sixty large.”
Coyle said, “Depends on how you look at it.” He laughed at his joke. “Besides, nobody asked about my eye, so I told no lie. Hey, I can rhyme like Ali, that’s me, hoo-ee.”
Billy said, “Coyle, there’s sins of commission and there’s sins of omission. This one’s a sixty-thousand-dollar omission.”
Coyle said, “You got no proof. It was all cash like you wanted, no taxes.”