Just then the door opened and the tall, thin guy walked in. He came in with a little limp, and he stood just inside the door and looked at me.
“H’yah, Gus,” I said, “I thought you’d broken your neck.”
In the flickering light Gus would scare most people. He’d got a completely flat face with small eyes and a little screwed-up mouth. The bones of his face seemed to be doing their best to burst through his lead-coloured skin. The bridge of his nose had been surgically removed.
He came into the room and shut the door. He shut the door very slowly and deliberately. I had a feeling that he and I were not going to hit it off.
He said, “I’ve got a way with wise guys.” His voice had the whine of a run-down gramophone. “You won’t be so snotty when I’ve been through you.”
I moved slowly away from him. “Now don’t do anythin’ your ma wouldn’t like to hear about,” I said. “Suppose you an’ I talk things over.”
I was putting a lot of pressure on that twine, but it was so thin that it threatened to cut right through my wrists.
He followed me right across the room, until my back came against the wall with a little jar. I could just make out a little grin on his face as he swung at me.
I timed the blow and shifted my head. His fist sailed past, scraping my ear. His left followed that, but I twisted and took it on my shoulder. For a thin, miserable-looking guy, he’d got plenty of steam in his punches. I knew I wasn’t going to keep this up for long.
Along came his right again, moving like a steam pile for the centre of my face. I bent my knee and dropped my head on to my chest. His fist parted my hair. Then I came up quickly, and dug my knee in his stomach. Can you tie that? This punk let me give him one like that.