So that’s what’s going to happen next…
I turn back and look at Manhattan.
“There’s really no need for this to escalate,” I say.
“You will get those deeds, Mr. Hell,” he replies, making no attempt to disguise the threat in his voice. “Or you will disappear and become just another angel in Heaven’s Valley.”
Behind me, I can hear the big guy walking toward me.
“Jimmy,” I say, standing up. “We both know I’m no angel.”
I kick my right leg behind me, flipping the chair backward and into the big guy. I spin around into a fighting stance and see him standing there smiling, holding the chair. He throws it to one side like it’s nothing and stares at me. I’m going to have to do this right if I want to avoid getting hurt.
“So,” I say. “What do they call you?”
“Pick Axe,” he replies.
I frown, genuinely confused. “Why Pick Axe?” I ask.
He simply points to the tattoo on his forehead.
I’m actually impressed at how stupid one man can be. I start laughing, which confuses him.
“You know that’s a tattoo of a fire axe, right?” I say, in a slightly condescending tone.
He just stands in front of me, watching me laugh and getting angrier by the second.
“There’s a massive difference between the two things,” I continue between chuckles. “They look nothing like each other and have two drastically different applications. The guy who did you that tattoo ripped you off.”
He reaches behind him and produces a small, six-inch, T-shaped tool.
I stare first at the item in his hand, then at the increasingly psychotic look on his face.
“See? That’s a pickaxe…”
He growls and launches the pickaxe through the air, aiming directly for my head. Luckily, thanks to years of training, I have outstanding reflexes. I avoid the projectile easily enough, but I admit it’s a little too close for comfort. It whizzes past my ear and I hear its impact into the back wall behind me.
I’m assuming I’m not lucky enough for it to have hit Manhattan or Pellaggio by mistake… I chance a split-second look behind me, just in case, but I see the pair of them staring at me with angry expressions. I turn back around and —’
I grunt as Pick Axe runs into me, lifting me by the throat with both hands, and throwing me to his left into the wall. I barely have time to register what’s happened, so I do the best I can to prepare for the impact. Unfortunately, the wall I slam into isn’t a wall — it’s a one-way mirror. And I don’t slam into it — I go crashing through it.
There’s a loud bang and the pressurized glass shatters everywhere as I go flying through the mirror and into the nightclub, showering everyone around me in shards and alcohol. I land heavily on the floor behind the bar. I can’t see the chaos that I've just caused from behind the counter, but I can hear it because the music has stopped. The sound of screaming is second only to the sound of a hundred-plus people stampeding into each other and toward the main doors.
“Oh, you sonofabitch!” I mutter through gritted teeth.
I roll over on my front and look around me, trying to shake away the grogginess. One of the young barmaids is crouching down just in front of me with a piece of glass about two inches long sticking out of her forearm. Blood’s leaking down her hand and she’s shaking uncontrollably.
I roll on my left side so I can see the hole I just made in the wall. Pick Axe hasn’t followed me through, so I’m assuming he’s left the office via the doors like any normal person. If that’s the case, he’ll be coming out from behind the red curtain any moment.
I try to stand, but that’s not happening right now. There’s a noticeable pain shooting up and down my back and I’m sure I can feel blood running down my face…
The bar staff have all disappeared now, joining the stampede for the door. One of the guys has helped the injured girl, which I’m glad of. I hate to see any collateral damage if it can be avoided. This isn’t their fight, after all. Why should they suffer because of it?
Okay, let’s try standing up again…
I manage to get to one knee but struggle to go any further, so I put my hand on the bar and push myself up the rest of the way. I get to my feet and look over at the red curtain. It opens up and Pick Axe appears.
I let out a heavy breath.
I’m dizzy and my head’s banging so hard it feels like Van Halen’s inside my skull playing the intro to Hot For Teacher on my brain, so it might just be the concussion talking when I say I’m sure this guy’s grown since I last saw him…
He walks purposefully over to me with his arms outstretched, ready to grab me and inflict more damage. My survival instincts take over and give me a nice adrenaline shot. I jump over the counter and move across the mostly-deserted nightclub floor, trying to put a little distance between us so I can figure out what to do. Everything’s still a bit blurry, but I’m aware enough to know that I’m in serious trouble if this guy gets hold of me.
I look around and see the odd person still lying on the floor between the door and me. The place had emptied quickly — I’m guessing they’ve been crushed in the panic a few moments ago. I actually feel pretty bad, but I don’t have time to worry about them now. It feels like I have at least two broken ribs, but it might just be severe bruising. My back’s gonna be a black and purple mess for a few days either way. The blood is still gushing slowly down my face, obscuring my vision, which isn’t helping matters either. I wipe it clean with my jacket sleeve and blink to re-focus my eyes as much as I could.
I need to get to my guns…
I look around quickly for anything that could help me, but there’s nothing. Any useful debris is over by the bar and Pick Axe is in the way, walking slowly toward me. The only chance I have is using the open space to my advantage. I might’ve taken a beating, but judging by this guy’s size, I’d still bet money I’m faster than he is. I just need to keep moving, tire him out, and look for an advantage.
The thing about fights, I mean real fights, is that they’re nothing like what you see on TV. There’s no fancy choreography, no drawn-out, back and forth battle and the sad truth is the good guy doesn’t always win. In reality, they’re quick, scrappy, and brutal, and the winner is quite simply the guy who doesn’t fight fair — at least in my experience. You might not like it, but that’s the dirty truth. People who fight by the rules never live to tell you about it. You just read about them in the obituaries…
Pick Axe charges me again, snarling like an animal with murder in his dark eyes. That’s a shitload of momentum bounding toward me… Only one thing springs to mind and I have to time is perfectly.
I let him get a bit nearer, maybe ten feet away… I take a couple of short, quick steps and slide away to the left on my knees. Timing it just right, I throw a straight right punch directly at his balls. We collide as I cut across his path and the blow connects beautifully. I can feel pelvic bone under my fist.
I don’t care how big you are, that will always drop you.
Pick Axe is no different. He keels over instantly and sinks to his knees. He skids across the floor and comes to a halt about seven feet away, bent over in agony.
I try to stand up, but a wave of dizziness and nausea washes over me and I fall forward.
Ah, dammit… I can probably add concussion to my list of recently sustained injuries.
I push myself up with my arms, bringing my knees up to support me. My vision is still blurry. I glance over at Pick Axe, who looks like he’s having the same trouble as me. He’s made it to one and he’s shaking his head to clear the cobwebs.