Duel: Terror Stories

by Richard Matheson

  In the ready room he collapsed. Pole tried to get him up on the bench but he couldn’t. Finally, he bunched up his blue coat under Kelly’s head and, kneeling, he started patting with his handkerchief at the trickles of blood.

  “You dumb bastard,” he kept muttering in a thin, shaking voice. “You dumb bastard.”

  Kelly lifted his hand and brushed away Pole’s hand.

  “Go—get the—money,” he gasped hoarsely.

  “What?”

  “The money!” gasped Kelly through his teeth.

  “But—”

  “Now!” Kelly’s voice was barely intelligible.

  Pole straightened up and stood looking down at Kelly a moment. Then he turned and went out.

  Kelly lay there drawing in breath and exhaling it with wheezing sounds. He couldn’t move his right hand and he knew it was broken. He felt the blood trickling from his nose and mouth. His body throbbed with pain.

  After a few moments he struggled up on his left elbow and turned his head, pain crackling along his neck muscles. When he saw that Maxo was all right he put his head down again. A smile twisted up one corner of his lips.

  When Pole came back, Kelly lifted his head painfully. Pole came over and knelt down. He started patting at the blood again.

  “Ya get it?” Kelly asked in a crusty whisper.

  Pole blew out a slow breath.

  “Well?”

  Pole swallowed. “Half of it,” he said.

  Kelly stared up at him blankly, his mouth fallen open. His eyes didn’t believe it.

  “He said he wouldn’t pay five C’s for a one rounder.”

  “What d’ya mean?” Kelly’s voice cracked. He tried to get up and put down his right hand. With a strangled cry he fell back, his face white. His head thrashed on the coat pillow, his eyes shut tightly.

  “No,” he moaned. “No. No. No. No. No.”

  Pole was looking at his hand and wrist. “Jesus God,” he whispered.

  Kelly’s eyes opened and he stared up dizzily at the mechanic.

  “He can’t—he can’t do that,” he gasped.

  Pole licked his dry lips.

  “Steel, there—ain’t a thing we can do. He’s got a bunch o’ toughs in the office with ’im. I can’t …” He lowered his head. “And if—you was t’go there he’d know what ya done. And—he might even take back the two and a half.”

  Kelly lay on his back, staring up at the naked bulb without blinking. His chest labored and shuddered with breath.

  “No,” he murmured. “No.”

  He lay there for a long time without talking. Pole got some water and cleaned off his face and gave him a drink. He opened up his small suitcase and patched up Kelly’s face. He put Kelly’s right arm in a sling.

  Fifteen minutes later Kelly spoke.

  “We’ll go back by bus,” he said.

  “What?” Pole asked.

  “We’ll go by bus,” Kelly said slowly. “That’ll only cost, oh, fifty-sixty bucks.” He swallowed and shifted on his back. “That’ll leave almost two C’s. We can get ’im a—a new trigger spring and a—eye lens and—” He blinked his eyes and held them shut a moment as the room started fading again.

  “And oil paste,” he said then. “Loads of it. He’ll be—good as new again.”

  Kelly looked up at Pole. “Then we’ll be all set up,” he said. “Maxo’ll be in good shape again. And we can get us some decent bouts.” He swallowed and breathed laboriously. “That’s all he needs is a little work. New spring, a new eye lens. That’ll shape ‘im up. We’ll show those bastards what a B-two can do. Old Maxo’ll show ’em. Right?”

  Pole looked down at the big Irishman and sighed.

  “Right, Steel,” he said.

  AN APPRECIATION

  SOME THIRTY - ODD YEARS AGO, LETTERS BEGAN TO fall into my mailbox from a young man across the country who very much desired to become a writer. I don’t recall how many letters there were or in what manner I responded to them. I remember thanking the young writer for his compliments on my books and telling him, I think, to write every day of his life from that time on. At least I hope I told him this. For the end result, over the years has been:

  Richard Matheson

  I look back on Richard Matheson’s accomplishments with great fondness. For he has done what he set out to do: become a very fine writer indeed. And if he is not known quite as well as, say, Arthur C. Clarke or Isaac Asimov, still his readers are a good legion and the quality of their attention makes up for any faint lack of numbers. And, anyway, the numbers are growing!

  Perhaps the most immediate thing one would note about Richard is that no one label fits him. Which is all to the good. Whether he is writing the weird, the horror, the science-fiction or the fantasy tale, all are more than each label implies. He is, in sum, a mainstream writer. Take my word for it and forget all the malarkey that the New York snob critics publish about all of us.

  I would go on at greater length but Matheson doesn’t need me to explain him to you. He, himself, is the best explainer.

  Richard Matheson is worth our time, attention and great affection.

  RAY BRADBURY

  ALSO BY RICHARD MATHESON

  BID TIME RETURN

  EARTHBOUND

  FURY ON SUNDAY

  HELL HOUSE

  / AM LEGEND

  JOURNAL OF THE GUN YEARS

  NOW YOU SEE IT …

  THE PATH

  RIDE THE NIGHTMARE

  7 STEPS TO MIDNIGHT

  THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN

  SOMEONE IS BLEEDING

  SOMEWHERE IN TIME

  A STIR OF ECHOES

  WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

  NIGHTMARE AT 20,000 FEET

  HUNTED PAST REASON

  BIBLIOGRAPHY: Original Publications

  “Being.” Worlds of lf, August 1954.

  “Born of Man and Woman.” Fantasy & Science Fiction, Summer 1950.

  “Brother to the Machine.” Worlds of lf, November 1952.

  “Death Ship.” Fantastic Story Magazine, March 1953.

  “Disappearing Act.” Fantasy & Science Fiction, March 1953.

  “Duel.” Playboy, April 1971.

  “F—.” (as “The Foodlegger”). Thrilling Wonder Stories, April 1952.

  “The Last Day.” Amazing, April/May 1953.

  “Little Girl Lost.” Amazing, October/November 1953.

  “Lover When You’re Near Me.” Galaxy, May 1952.

  “One for the Books.” Galaxy, September 1955.

  “Return.” Thrilling Wonder Stories, October 1951.

  “Shipshape Home.” Galaxy, July 1952.

  “SRL Ad.” Fantasy & Science Fiction, April 1952.

  “Steel.” Fantasy & Science Fiction, May 1956.

  “The Test.” Fantasy & Science Fiction, November 1954.

  “Third from the Sun.” Galaxy, October 1950.

  “Trespass” (as “Mother by Protest”). Fantastic, September/October 1953.

  “When the Waker Sleeps” (as “The Waker Dreams”). Galaxy, December 1950.

  RICHARD MATHESON is the New York Times bestselling author of I Am Legend, Hell House, Somewhere in Time, The Incredible Shrinking Man, A Stir of Echoes, The Beardless Warriors, The Path, Seven Steps to Midnight, Now You See It … , and What Dreams May Come. A Grand Master of Horror and past winner of the Bram Stoker Award for Lifetime Achievement, he has also won the Edgar, the Hugo, the Spur, and the Writers Guild awards.

  He lives in Calabasas, California.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this collection are either fictitious or are used fictitiously.

  DUEL: TERROR STORIES BY RICHARD MATHESON

  Copyright © 2003 by Richard Matheson

  An Appreciation copyright © 1988 by Ray Bradbury. Reprinted by permission of the author.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  This book is printed on acid-free pa
per.

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

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  Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  eISBN 9781429913669

  First eBook Edition : April 2011

  ISBN: 0-765-30695-6 (hardcover)

  ISBN: 0-312-87826-5 (paperback)