Deal Gone Bad - A Thriller (Frank Morrison Thriller Series Book 1) by Tony Wiley Page B

like you.”
    Angry Eyes didn’t
appreciate the lecture. He cut Morrison down and said, “You’re gonna go back in
there, take the skimmer out of the trash can and give it back to me. Like now.”
    Morrison shrugged. He stared
right back into Angry Eyes’ face and said, “No. Not at all. What will happen is
that you will move over and let me go through, ’cause you’re really blocking
the way here.”
    Angry Eyes didn’t budge an
inch. If anything, he planted his feet more firmly on the sidewalk and said, “You
got some attitude on you, little prick.”
    There they were. Less than
two feet apart, locked into a stalemate.
    Barring any unforeseen outside
intervention, this would have to be settled with their fists. Morrison didn’t
go around looking for that type of situation. But he knew when you couldn’t
stand down. He had learned this a long time ago, the hard way. At school, he
had always been the smallest one. The schoolyard bullies had always targeted
him. At least initially. Because Morrison had learned to deal with it. All by
himself. There had never been a father around to teach him how to do this, or
anything else for that matter.
    The first lesson he had
learned was that it was all about willing yourself not to stand down. Because
if you did, you were finished. Bullies were cowards. They looked for the easiest
prey, those that wouldn’t dare oppose them. So you had to send the message loud
and clear: I won’t stand down . In the long term, that alone avoided you
half your troubles. The second lesson was that when you had to get your hands
dirty, you had to make sure you included an element of surprise somewhere. Morrison’s
favorite strategy involved talk. There seemed to be an unwritten rule that when
two guys were about to fight each other, the shouting match would stop and the
actual barehanded struggle would only begin in silence. It was another one of
these strangely pervasive codes that nobody ever stated clearly but that were
deeply ingrained. Morrison had witnessed the pattern countless times.
    So before he engaged
anyone, he always made sure he was talking. He looked Angry Eyes in the face
and said, “Have you ever heard of the rubber duck? Well, you know what …”
    The other guy interpreted
the loose talk as Morrison not being ready to fight yet, maybe even
contemplating running off as fast as he could. That was always the case. He
could see Angry Eyes concurred just by his physical attitude. His tall frame
seemed too relaxed, too confident. Confidence had a sharp edge. Not enough and
you dissipated like misty fog. Too much and you didn’t see what was coming at
you. From that moment on, Morrison knew exactly what he had to do.
    He began by throwing his
left hand on the side, palm up, fingers spread wide apart. That immediately attracted
Angry Eyes’ stare. Couldn’t help it. Just a normal human reflex that magicians
and stage performers exploit all the time. Morrison saw Angry Eyes’ head tilt
in that direction, opening up his neck. Good. Then he raised his right foot and
gave him a sharp sidekick on the ear. You didn’t need to punch the guy too hard
with your foot, but you needed to make it quick.
    The window of opportunity
was tiny. And if you missed it, you were done.
    Because when you’re a
small guy up against a big one, surprise is really your only ally. The kick
stunned Angry Eyes and made him raise both hands to his head in an instinctive move
of defense, opening up his center. Morrison then raised his left knee as hard
as he could into Angry Eyes’ groin. And the rest was easy. Angry Eyes folded
back down in half in pain. Dropping his guard for a nanosecond, which Morrison used
to follow up with a hook on the jaw. A hard one. With all his strength.
    Angry Eyes collapsed on
the sidewalk with a muted thump, like a wet rag doll.
    Instant knockout. No need
for a count.
    Always manage to be one
step ahead. When you’re small, that was the key. Then fighting became easy.