gloomily. “Not bloody enough for her, apparently.”
“That what she said?” Bryant shook his head. “Shit, after what you did to Quain? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, let’s just say that not all my challenges have been that uncompromising. This kill-or-be-killed stuff is strictly for the moviemakers. It’s crude, man. You
don’t
always need a kill.
That’s
crude.” Chris leaned forward as his enthusiasm kindled. “You ever see any of those old samurai movies?”
“Bruce Lee? Shit like that?”
“No, no. Not those. This is other stuff. Older. More subtle. See, these two guys, they’re about to have a duel. So they both stand there, swords out.” Chris thrust with an imaginary sword and Bryant jerked back in reflex. His eyes narrowed momentarily, and then he laughed.
“Whoops. Scared me there.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t intentional. So yeah, the two of them stand there, and they stare into each other’s eyes.”
He locked gazes with Bryant, who emitted another snort of laughter.
“They just stare. Because they both know that the one who blinks or looks away first, that’s the one who would have lost that fight.”
Bryant’s laughter dried up without fuss. He set the pipe aside. Both men were leaning on the table now, drilling their gazes into each other’s eyes with chemically altered concentration. The shared stillness of the moment stretched. The sounds of the bar receded into a backdrop, surf on a distant beach. Time ran on like a train they had both just missed. The pipe smoldered quietly to itself on the scarred wooden table. Vision wired their stares over it, eyeball-to-eyeball. From somewhere, an internal silence leaked into the world.
Mike Bryant blinked.
Mike Bryant laughed and looked away.
The moment blew away like an autumn leaf, and Chris sat back with a look of tipsy fulfillment on his face. Bryant grinned, a little intensely. Chris was too drunk to catch the upped voltage. Bryant made a pistol of thumb and forefinger. He pointed at Chris’s face.
“Bang!”
The laughter bubbled up again, this time from both men.
Bryant made a sound between a snort and a sigh. “There you are. You stared me out.”
Chris nodded.
“But I blew your fucking head off.”
“Yeah.” Chris leaned back across the table. Enthused. Oblivious to the edge sheathed in the other man’s voice. “But you see, there was no need for that. We’d already established the winner. You blinked. I would have won.”
“Bullshit. Maybe I had a hair in my eye. Maybe all these samurai guys walked away from fights they could have won just because they had a jumpy eye muscle that day. Where’d you read all this shit, anyway?”
“Mike, you’re missing the point. It’s about total control. It’s a duel between two whole people, not just two sets of skills. We could have a fistfight and you could turn up with a gun. We could have a gunfight and you could come with an armored car and a flamethrower. That’s not what a duel’s about.”
Bryant picked up the pipe again. “Duel’s about winning, Chris,” he said.
Chris wasn’t listening. “Look at China, a couple of centuries ago. There were cases there where two warlords sat down on the battlefield and played chess to decide the outcome of a battle. Chess, Michael. No death, no slaughter, just a game of chess. And they honored it.”
Bryant looked skeptical. “Chess?”
“Just a game of chess.” Chris was staring off into a corner. “You imagine that?”
“Not really, no.” Bryant stuffed the pipe into a pocket and started to get up. “But it makes a good story, I’ll give you that. Now, how about we get the car and get out of here before the sun comes up? Because Suki’s going to fucking take me apart if I don’t get back soon. And she’s not into chess.”
T HEY CAME OUT of the Falkland through a side door and onto a different street. Cold night air like a slap in the face, and for a couple of moments Chris reeled. He wondered
“That what she said?” Bryant shook his head. “Shit, after what you did to Quain? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, let’s just say that not all my challenges have been that uncompromising. This kill-or-be-killed stuff is strictly for the moviemakers. It’s crude, man. You
don’t
always need a kill.
That’s
crude.” Chris leaned forward as his enthusiasm kindled. “You ever see any of those old samurai movies?”
“Bruce Lee? Shit like that?”
“No, no. Not those. This is other stuff. Older. More subtle. See, these two guys, they’re about to have a duel. So they both stand there, swords out.” Chris thrust with an imaginary sword and Bryant jerked back in reflex. His eyes narrowed momentarily, and then he laughed.
“Whoops. Scared me there.”
“Sorry. Wasn’t intentional. So yeah, the two of them stand there, and they stare into each other’s eyes.”
He locked gazes with Bryant, who emitted another snort of laughter.
“They just stare. Because they both know that the one who blinks or looks away first, that’s the one who would have lost that fight.”
Bryant’s laughter dried up without fuss. He set the pipe aside. Both men were leaning on the table now, drilling their gazes into each other’s eyes with chemically altered concentration. The shared stillness of the moment stretched. The sounds of the bar receded into a backdrop, surf on a distant beach. Time ran on like a train they had both just missed. The pipe smoldered quietly to itself on the scarred wooden table. Vision wired their stares over it, eyeball-to-eyeball. From somewhere, an internal silence leaked into the world.
Mike Bryant blinked.
Mike Bryant laughed and looked away.
The moment blew away like an autumn leaf, and Chris sat back with a look of tipsy fulfillment on his face. Bryant grinned, a little intensely. Chris was too drunk to catch the upped voltage. Bryant made a pistol of thumb and forefinger. He pointed at Chris’s face.
“Bang!”
The laughter bubbled up again, this time from both men.
Bryant made a sound between a snort and a sigh. “There you are. You stared me out.”
Chris nodded.
“But I blew your fucking head off.”
“Yeah.” Chris leaned back across the table. Enthused. Oblivious to the edge sheathed in the other man’s voice. “But you see, there was no need for that. We’d already established the winner. You blinked. I would have won.”
“Bullshit. Maybe I had a hair in my eye. Maybe all these samurai guys walked away from fights they could have won just because they had a jumpy eye muscle that day. Where’d you read all this shit, anyway?”
“Mike, you’re missing the point. It’s about total control. It’s a duel between two whole people, not just two sets of skills. We could have a fistfight and you could turn up with a gun. We could have a gunfight and you could come with an armored car and a flamethrower. That’s not what a duel’s about.”
Bryant picked up the pipe again. “Duel’s about winning, Chris,” he said.
Chris wasn’t listening. “Look at China, a couple of centuries ago. There were cases there where two warlords sat down on the battlefield and played chess to decide the outcome of a battle. Chess, Michael. No death, no slaughter, just a game of chess. And they honored it.”
Bryant looked skeptical. “Chess?”
“Just a game of chess.” Chris was staring off into a corner. “You imagine that?”
“Not really, no.” Bryant stuffed the pipe into a pocket and started to get up. “But it makes a good story, I’ll give you that. Now, how about we get the car and get out of here before the sun comes up? Because Suki’s going to fucking take me apart if I don’t get back soon. And she’s not into chess.”
T HEY CAME OUT of the Falkland through a side door and onto a different street. Cold night air like a slap in the face, and for a couple of moments Chris reeled. He wondered
Similar Books
