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I’m in Portland. Must be ‘67, ‘68. Donnie’s got me in a sleeper. There’s blood in my eyes from a cut in my hairline; it’s the usual spot where I get bladed. My eyes sting and my ears pound with nothing but the angry boos of the audience. I told Donnie the sleeper was a poor choice for a face; the crowds always hate it. But he didn’t listen. My eyes close, my fingers feel around on the mat while Donnie keeps the hold locked. They feel the leg of the official. He’s down still. I blindly grope his leg, tugging the pants leg up until I feel a small bulge in his sock. A roll of pennies. Perfect. I’ll save Donnie’s reputation if it kills him. I pull the penny roll out of the ref’s sock and grip it in my mitt, wind back my arm as best I can at this angle, and send the fist arching into the side of what I hope is Donnie’s jaw—
I wake up to the profoundly pleasant sensation of some asshole slapping me in the face. The first thing I notice are my arms are bound up. I think I’m in a chair. And I’m partially clothed, as though the guys that did it gave up halfway through. I’m in a dark room with just one light hanging over me. In the shadows I see some faces, but I can’t quite make them out. Benny drugged me. I know that groggy feeling anywhere.
Some slant-eyed guy is obnoxiously shining a flashlight in my face and mumbling something with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Another slant-eyed guy with slick hair and an expensive suit steps out of the shadow behind him.
“Mistah Hoskins,” he says, “a pleasure to see you.”
“I can tell,” I manage out of my numb mouth. It feels like it’s full of saltwater taffy, then I realize that’s my tongue. “You really know how to show a guy a good time.”
The slick guy doesn’t break character. Must not get sarcasm. Great.
“Mistah Hoskins, you can call me Mistah Kim. I know why you are here. I know that the family sent you.”
He then says something foreign. My brain is starting to clear up a little and I recognize a couple of “juseos” in his speech. Korean. Another face comes out of the shadows and hands something to “Mistah Kim”. Kim tosses it in my lap. A plane ticket.
“Get off my island, Mistah Hoskins. There is nothing good for you here.”
I laugh, eying the circle of shady men. I can see a lot better now and count seven of them. My fingers feel around a little. The chair’s cheap bamboo and grass. Amateurs.
“I do not think you understand the severity of the situation you are in, Mistah Hoskins.”
“Well, grab a couple more guys, and then maybe I’ll get it.” I’m getting cocky.
One of the guys steps in and punches me square in the jaw. It’s a good punch, don’t get me wrong, but after a coupla decades, punches in that particular spot have lost their luster. I spit so as not to insult the guy for trying his hardest.
Kim stomps out his cigarette and crouches down next to me. Two other guys close in behind me, their hands on my shoulders. He takes out a pack of Lucky Strikes.
“Cigarette?”
“No, thanks, I just quit.”
“Suit yourself.” He lights up one and blows the smoke in my face. Is this guy a cartoon character?
“Now that’s just plain rude,” I say.
That’s when I stand up. Kim falls back on his ass. The chair snaps in two, just like I expected it would, and I elbow the two guys behind me in the face. The others rush in, but Kim yells out, “ANNEEYO!”
I feel rope burns on my wrist. Cheap rope, but it still cuts. Kim stands up, and we dust ourselves off. Nobody moves except us. He looks rather embarrassed.
“Why don’t you think about it?” he says, stepping back. He then motions with his hands, and the rest of his goons close in with what look like big, rubber clubs. I figure out what they are just as one whacks me upside the head. Dildos. Big, rubber dildos. The thought takes me by such surprise that I–
I’m back in my bed again. Still half-dressed. Raging headache, but no sign of drugs this time. Pick and Eddie are standing over me. Pick can’t contain a chortle.
“You okay, Train?” Eddie asks. He seems genuine.
I sit up and run my hand over my crew cut.
“I’ve felt worse. How long have I been out?”
“We only been here a few minutes,” Eddie says. “We found you like this. Should I ask what happened?”
Pick is still smirking as he looks at me. He’s holding Kim’s plane ticket.
“You leavin’ town, Murdertrain?” he asks.
“You know a Mr. Kim?” I ask them
Eddie lets out a big laugh and rolls his eyes.
“Kim? You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says. “What did that clown want from you?”
“Told me to get outta town. Then he had his boys work me over. I don’t want to tell you what they did it with.”
Pick finally let his laugh out and said, “I think we have an idea.”
I get up and mosey into the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Two big handfuls of hot water relax me.
“Don’t worry about Kim,” I hear Eddie call out from the room. “He’s small potatoes.”
I dry my face off with a towel.
“I had a feeling. He doesn’t act like it. Seems to think he’s some kinda boss. But I couldn’t take him seriously.”
I then catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Welts. Big, purple welts all over my face and chest. Shaped like dicks. There’s a good-sized one, shaft and all, straight of the left side of my face, the head square on my temple. That must’ve done me in. Too many blows to that particular temple in my lifetime.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
I can’t help but laugh a little.
I finish drying off and walk back out. Eddie and Pick are still laughing. I grab my suitcases and put them by the door. I then put the rest of my clothes back on.
“So where you guys taking me tonight?”
“Mr. Chin can’t see you tonight, so we’re taking you to the last couple places anybody saw your brother,” Eddie answered, finally calm. He manages to calm down pretty quickly. It’s good to know he’s got a cool head.
“That sounds good,” I say. I’m a little put off by Chin being “busy”. It’s bad manners not to personally greet a representative from the Home Office. Something is fishy. Did Chin have Donnie knocked off?
“First, I’m checking out of this place. If a lowlife like Kim can get his hooks in here, I don’t wanna know who else can.”
“We kinda figured as much. But we’ll do you one better. We leave you checked in here through the week, and Pick’ll set you up somewhere he trusts. I’ll have one of my cousins keep an eye on things here for you.”
“That’s a real good idea you got there, Eddie.” I’m beginning to like this guy. Good brains. Maybe I can trust him, but it’s too early to tell.
“Before we go, though, there’s just one other thing I wanna take care of,” I say as I pick up the phone.
“Hey, Benny. It’s Mr. Hoskins. Bring me three more of those rum punches you made for me.”
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