by Winton, Tom
Grabbing the second bookend, I raced around the desk, charged Blackburn, and slammed the thing into his butchered face. There was a distinct “crack” as the cartilage in his nose split.
“THAT ONE’S FOR BUSTER BELL!” I hollered loud as I could.
Dazed but still strong as two men, Blackburn pounced on me like an alpha lion. We went down together, but I was on the bottom. Crashing back-first onto the floor with all his bulk landing smack on top of me the back of my head bounced up and our foreheads collided. Instantly, I felt dazed, as if I’d fallen face first onto a concrete sidewalk. But I couldn’t give up. Still face to bloody face with the raging cretin, he then took ahold of me. He bear hugged me so hard that my back was forced into an unnatural bend. The farther my spine bent into an inverted C the harder it became to breath. Fighting back the dizziness and pain, I struggled to hold onto my consciousness.
I tried to stretch my arms around the madman, but he had my shoulders restrained in his death-grip. I was being crushed by a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound vice that kept tightening and tightening. My punches were futile, like little half swings. But then, with Blackburn’s snarling face so close to mine, I just managed to palm the sides of his grotesque face. I then extended my thumbs out as far as possible and plunged them into the killer’s eyes. I pushed with all the fading strength I could muster. Deeper and deeper and deeper I forced the spongy spheres down into their sockets. “AHHHHHHHH!” he finally roared, releasing his grip on me and jerking his head back to save his eyes. But he wasn’t finished.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH,” he howled, “I’M GONNA FINISH YA NOW!”
He leaned forward again, shoving my arms back to the floor, and planted two knees the size of dock pilings on my elbows. That was it. I was helpless. I had no chance.
In the light from the doorway behind Blackburn, I saw him pull something from his hip. I couldn’t make out what it was at first, but when he raised it in his right hand, I saw it all too clearly. With that background light flashing from its blade my executioner yelled in a horrifying hoarse voice, “I’M TAKING YOUR ... ”
But that was as far as he got. At that very second an overhead light came on and Deputy Hansen G. Langford commanded, “STOP! PUT THE KNIFE DOWN! DO IT NOW!”
Blackburn spun his head around, looked over his shoulder, and shouted, “FUUUUCK YOUUUUUU!” Quickly turning back toward my terrorized face, he then drove the steel blade downward.
Three deafening shots went off in rapid succession. With my ears ringing like panicky alarms, Deputy Langford’s first and third bullets struck home. The back of Blackburn’s head blew wide open, splattering bloody brain tissue and skull fragments everywhere. The torso of his massive body slammed forward, coming down face first – what was left of it, right at me. Still pinned down by Blackburn’s weight, I jerked my head to the side and braced myself. Then it was over.
I had to stay at Topper’s house for quite some time, explaining everything to Langford and the homicide detectives. After that, in the pale rosy light of a Key West dawn, Langford put me in his squad car. They wanted to ask still more questions and have me sign some papers at the station. Sitting in the back seat as we pulled away, I turned to look at the yellow-taped crime scene one last time. All I could do was shake my head.
A few hours later, just before 9:00 AM, I was released. As I stepped out of the interrogation room and into the lobby, I pushed the hair back from my dog-tired eyes and slowly walked toward the office where I’d been told I could arrange for a ride back to my van. The place was super busy. Male and female deputies were quick-stepping in all different directions. Accusers, and the accused, were coming and going as well. It seemed as if I had to dodge every one of them as I made my way across the wide room. But then, when I was about halfway to where I was going, I saw her. It was Julie. She was sitting alone on a long wooden bench by the entrance.
Exhausted, but still alive and not defeated, I limped across the worn linoleum floor toward her. She stood up, and as I got closer I could not only see the tears welling up in her eyes, but I could feel them as well.
When I came up to her, she flung her arms around me saying, “Don’t you ever do this to me again!”
I didn’t say anything. I just pulled her close. We clung to each other in that crowded stationhouse for a long, long moment. Then, with her still in my arms, Julie leaned back and looked at me. Those welled-up tears were streaming down her face by now, but she smiled when she said, “Buster’s going to make it, Sonny. The doctor called Pa a couple of hours ago and told him that he had regained consciousness. He’s going to be fine.”
Chills ran down both my arms as Julie leaned back up against me. Holding me even tighter this time, she laid a teary cheek against mine and said, “I dropped Pa off at the hospital then came right over here. I was worried sick about you. I didn’t sleep all night and couldn’t stand it any longer. When I got here, they told me what happened at Topper’s house, and that, thank God, you were alright.”
Gently, I lifted my cheek from hers. I looked at her, and suddenly everything seemed so clear. The deeper I looked into those caring brown eyes, the more answers I saw. I knew right then and there that it was time.
Slowly, I reached down and took her by the hand – her left hand. She looked at where they were joined and then back up at me. At long last I was content. I leaned toward her, kissed her damp cheek, smiled and said, “Come on Julie ... let’s go home.”
OTHER BOOKS BY TOM WINTON
Beyond Nostalgia
The Last American Martyr
Four Days with Hemingway’s Ghost
Within a Man’s Heart
The Voice of Willie Morgan and Two Other Short Stories