Rocky said, "Rocky never dies." He tossed the knife in the air, caught it deftly by its point. "It grew back, square man."
Markel saw that this unquestionably was Rocky: the same black clothes, ragged now and dirty, the same narrowed eyes in the sullen but now doll-sized face. Casually, Rocky said, "I woke up feeling a little beat, and first thing I see is my old head, laying where you left it. Man, this bugs me till I reach up and feel around, and there I am, with a new head."
Markel let out his breath. Never before had there been a man like Rocky. And Markel saw the irony of it. He said, "Rocky, the unkillable clod, the idiot superman."
Grinning, Rocky said, "Yeah, call me names while you got the chance, because now you get yours, square man."
Staring at Rocky's knife, Markel was suddenly aware that he had left the M-1 in the convertible.
Gesturing toward the Earth Mother, Rocky said, "She flip her lid?"
Markel said mechanically, "She's all right. A touch of hysteria, that's all."
"Good. I want her to watch me work on you and see what I do to squares what steal my broad."
Gauging the distance between them, Markel figured his chances. He was bigger than Rocky; if he could stay away from the knife he could handle him. It would depend on Rocky's speed with the knife. Markel knew, desperately, that he had to win. If Rocky won, the world would belong to the deathless clod.
"I owe you plenty, square man. For all them times dead I owe you. And now I'm going to cut you like nobody's ever been cut."