by John Oakes
Business...
"Then how can it all be taken away then?" he asked the accusatory mirror. "Huh? Answer me that." Cody pulled on the sink as if to try to wrench it from the wall. "Huh? My family, my entire family?" Cody yanked harder on the sink. "And now this?" he asked through gritted teeth.
He pulled on the sink again, over and over again, back and forth, up and down. It jarred loose from the wall. A pipe sprang a leak, and a small spout of water shot up, above Cody's head.
"Can't have the girl?"
He slammed the palm of his hand into the soap dispenser, sending the cover spinning away.
"Can't have Midget Island?"
He slammed the palm of his hand into the mirror, and again and again until it cracked and shattered. Small chunks of glass fell into the battered sink.
"Y'all want this fuckin' place so bad you're gonna cheat and lie?" Cody began reefing on the sink again, unable to tear it out further.
He slipped and slumped to the floor. He leaned back against the wall under the paper towel dispenser, shaking with rage and panic. A small shower from the sink pipe fell on and around him.
He sat with his arms on his knees, watching his hands tremble and feeling his body twitch. His chin shuddered and his eyes grew hot. He knew he was supposed to breathe, but he was too angry. The world was closing in on him.
Because no matter what he did, he lost. He'd worked so hard, and here he was again, watching life slip away, spinning into orbit.
His mind scrambled for a way out, a way out of the pain, out of the turmoil. Any way to keep his feet on the ground.
He grunted through gritted teeth, stifling a cry that wanted to emerge. He clenched and unclenched his fists, unable to close his eyes. They focused blankly on the toilet stall.
He thought of all he had lost and all he stood to lose. He thought of Grampa and his mother. He thought of Monica on a yacht in Aruba with Armando. He thought of Kelly, off somewhere finding reasons not to be with him. He thought of Ricky, who for some reason seemed mad at Cody, or something. He thought about Winton, who he so desperately didn't want to disappoint. Winton, who deserved so much more than the world had given him, and who had given Cody so much.
In the midst of his rage and the whirling panic he felt, an image floated across his mind, amongst a thousand others. It was Winton. He was walking toward Cody in a silken robe. He had long hair now and it was pulled back into a knot.
A hand reached across his belly to grasp the hilt of a sword.
A sword...
The image stuck like a boot in deep mud. Cody could breath now, just a bit. Slowly, his world and his vision, which had closed almost to the size of a coin, began to expand. As it did so, he made out other small figures walking toward him. Glen, Jonathan, Tanya, Ace and George. Their hands were across their torsos, clutching swords still in their scabbards. They marched slowly and with resolve, just as the 7 Samurai had.
They were not afraid.
They approached, until he was with them, among them. Marching.
Toward what?
Then Cody knew. He stood, able to breath in perfect calm.
He looked over his left shoulder at his shattered reflection. He exited the bathroom and stood, legs apart. He stared daggers down the empty hallway before him. He strode forward intently, but slowly, like he was underwater, like Kazuko had at the high noon show. He stepped past the office windows and heard Murray's deep voice in the office, asking someone a question.
Cody stood at the door. He pressed a hand on it slowly, until it struck the wall.
Everyone in the room looked up at him.
He sidled up to the desk, where Murray sat opposite. The purchase agreement lay before him, pages turned back around a stapled corner.
"Pardon me Mr. Childers, for what's about to happen."
Cody picked up the contract and turned around. He took two steps and squared himself in front of Tagg. He flung the papers at his chest. Droplets of water hit Tagg's suit.
Tagg looked at him with astonishment.
"I ain't taking your money," Cody said.
"What is this?" Tanaka said, standing. Disbelief colored his face.
"What?" Tagg stood with a wincing expression.
"Gentlemen. May I have the room?" Cody asked, without taking his eyes from Tagg's. After a confused moment, Kevin, his brother Murray, Jason and Winton left and closed the door.
Tagg took on a tired expression. "Ok. How much are you wanting then?"
"I ain't selling," Cody said slowly.
"This is juvenile and boring," Tagg said. "You are boring me. This is not how business is done, you overgrown toddler."
"We are doing a different sort of business now." Cody's voice was stern and deliberate.
Cody stepped close enough to kiss Tagg.
"You see, Tagg, this Midget Island just ain't big enough for the two of us."
Cody let those words sink in.
"And I ain't leaving. Not without a fight."
Tagg did not flinch or move away, but held Cody's resolute gaze.
"Then you will lose," Tagg said with total confidence. "Haven't I already shown you? I'm giving you a way out. So go back to your pool house, shit stain. And with some money in your pocket, for crying out loud. Money, God help me, you actually sort of deserve for the first time in your life."
"I don't think you're hearing me. I didn't say we were gonna play your games. We're gonna fight."
That made Tagg's head tilt to one side. Then laughter flooded into his eyes and then his mouth.
"You mean fight? Like actual fisticuffs?"
"Fists, swords, hockey sticks, rocks, whatever you want. But I am going to hit you, and hit you hard."
"And why would I do this?"
"Well, I can think of two reasons. If you want my shares, you're only getting them one way. You're gonna fight me for them."
Tagg let out a small derisive chuckle, but he seemed less sure of the hilarity of the situation now.
"And if you beat me you can have 'em. Free. Gratis." Cody splayed an open hand before him.
Tagg shoved his tongue in his cheek, and crossed his arms, clearly not sure what to make of the offer.
"And if I entertained this stupid notion for even one millisecond...what happens if I don't beat you?"
"You leave. You surrender your 49% of the company. And same as the deal before, you and your group let us buy you out for whatever you prove you've invested."
Tagg narrowed his eyes at Cody and furrowed his brow. "So you get nothing, basically. What's to prevent you from just buying me out instead?"
"You don't want me to buy you out. You wouldn't let me. You see now that this is a cash cow. You'll make your investment back many times over if you stay. That's why you've been playing your old schoolyard games."
Tagg nodded slightly. "Alright."
"But the second reason you're gonna fight me is more important," Cody said. "In Texas, we used to have this thing called honor. And from what I have come to appreciate about your people," Cody said turning to Tanaka, "you have honor too."
Tanaka hesitated a moment before giving a short nod.
Then turning back to Tagg, he said. "You and I have a great debt of honor standing between us. And it's time to settle accounts."
Tagg looked at Cody for long moments as if he were trying to read words through a piece of darkened glass.
"So, tell me more about this fight."
Chapter Forty-One
Preparations
"Cody, you're bleeding." Winton picked up his hand and held it palm up. "It doesn't look too bad. What did you do?"
"I got in a fight with myself."
Winton fetched a towel from the bathroom and brought it back, damp.
"Jesus Cody. What did you do in there? It looks like a rock star's hotel room."
"Took me a little while to realize I was fighting the wrong thing."
"I wish you woulda kept beating the shit out of the bathroom. You might have done yours
elf far less damage than you just did with Tagg."
Cody wiped away the blood from his right hand with the paper towels Winton handed him. Winton inspected the wound again and pronounced it superficial. "But we really oughta clean that out."
"Winton, hand me the whiskey please." Cody's feet still stood in exactly the same spot where he had confronted Tagg.
"Waste of good booze," Winton complained. He poured it over Cody's cuts.
Cody pooled his hand to catch all of the cleaning product, which he threw in his mouth after letting it sting his abrasion for a minute.
"Ouch that burns," he said, shaking his stinging hand.
"Want me to blow on it for you?" Winton asked.
"I bet you say that to a lot of guys."
Winton was about to make a retort when Jason appeared at the door.
"What did you do?" Jason was breathing heavily, an anxious expression on his face.
"I just met Tagg on his way out, and he wouldn't even greet me. He looked mad as hell. I repeat. What the hell did you do, Cody?"
"Cody here," Winton paused, a hand pointing all fingers in Cody's direction. "Went all John Wayne on Tagg. Challenged him to a duel...more or less."
"You what? Why?"
"Because it was the only thing to do," Cody said.
"But Cody, what about the money?" Jason cried again. Then, before Cody could answer, "What are you fighting him for? A duel? For what?"
"If Cody wins," Winton said, rifling through Cody's bottom drawer for glasses. "We can buy Tagg and his group out for their investment. If Cody loses, Tagg gets all his shares in Cody Corp. That is, if he accepts."
Jason slapped a hand to his head. "What! Why? Where is the upside on that deal? Cody this is idiotic!"
"This place is going to shit if I leave it," Cody said. "There ain't no kinda money that's worth that."
Winton gave a slight nod. He tipped up his tumbler, hiding a smile.
"But Cody this place is just a stepping stone to bigger and better things," Jason said. "Don't get so wrapped up in it!"
"It's more than that Jason. I need this place to exist. I need a world with a midget island in it. The rest is negotiable."
"Jesus," Jason exhaled and slumped down onto the sofa. "You really are a special kind of stupid."
The next morning, two boxes arrived at the main house for Cody. Glen stood by his side as he opened the first on top of the reception counter. Inside was a long, gently curving samurai sword. Cody picked it up and realized that it was made completely of wood. It had a decent weight to it, but was still light enough to be whirled about at lightning speed. Before Cody could mess his pants at the thought of getting cracked in the skull with one of these, Glen asked, "So he's gonna fight you? With that?"
"How did you hear about that?"
"Word gets around." Glen shrugged.
Cody saw a note in the bottom of the box. He picked it up. It read simply, "Challenge accepted."
Cody's phone rang. It was Tagg.
"I see you received my gift," Tagg said. "I choose to fight with sticks. Japanese sticks, seem appropriate. Where will we fight?"
Cody gave him the details: tonight, sundown, the street in front of the saloon.
He turned to Glen and put his phone in his pocket. "Fight's on then."
"I never liked him much," Glen said. "But you really gotta fight him? Seems a little extreme."
"I'm afraid so." Cody bent down next to the big box sitting on the floor, took out his keys and used one to slit the tape open. He began lifting up the flaps.
"Otherwise...?" Glen trailed off and looked around the expansive lobby of the main house.
Cody nodded, now sifting through the innumerable packing peanuts enveloping the contents. "I know Glen. This place...it's..." Cody began lifting something bulky out of the packing peanuts.
"It's home," Glen said.
Cody had to stand to full height before he got it all the way out of the box.
"What in the heck is this?" Cody asked
"Unbelievable," Glen said. "It's immaculate." Glen ran a hand over braided silk and hardened leather.
"What is it?"
Glen looked up at him. "It's authentic samurai armor. It must have cost a fortune."
Cody could see it now, the various bits strung together were arm and leg pieces, attached to a breast and back plate.
Glen reached into the sea of packing peanuts in the box and pulled out another piece.
"I take it that's not a lampshade," Cody said.
Glen shook his head. He held it aloft, and Cody bent down. Glen rested an ornate, horned samurai helmet on his head. Cody stood to full height and looked around.
Glen held a hand up, and Cody shook it.
"Well, then," Glen said. "I hope you win. But if you don't, I'll come visit you in the hospital and cheer you up. I'm good at that."
************
"I can't believe he accepted." Winton stood in Cody's office, waving the sword in front of this face. "Can you use a sword?"
Cody sat on the couch, wearing every inch of the samurai armor. He put his feet up on the coffee table and responded. "I can barely use a nine iron."
"Well, you've seen lots of sword fighting in movies, haven't you?"
"Yeah, thanks."
"Hey, you know what? Jonathan did a lot of sword fighting at Medieval Adventure. It was fake fighting, but he might be worth talking to."
Jonathan tried to help Cody where he could, teaching him the basics of parry, block and thrust, but there was little hope of any real technique being absorbed on the lawn behind the worker dorms. What Cody took away from the session was to hit Tagg, but try not to get hit by him, which wasn't very helpful. The armor was woefully hot and heavy after even fifteen minutes of practice. They'd been at it for an hour, when Cody gave up. Cody took off the helmet and gave it to Jonathan who promptly put it on.
"I sweated like a beast in that thing."
Jonathan just shrugged and walked off, the large helmet obscuring a third of his frame.
Winton sidled up next to Cody. "He looks ridiculous in that thing. It suits him."
"Winton, you still going into Houston this afternoon?"
"Real quick, yeah."
"You got a pen?"
Cody wrote out a list of things he needed from Houston for his fight. Winton looked at the list and laughed to himself.
"Aha. I see. Well, I'll go get this personally. You focus on your training."
Cody avoided the notion of getting very drunk, though it was appealing. Clearly Tagg had accepted, because it was a seeming win/win scenario for him. That was the plan. But even so, Cody's bravado was ebbing rapidly. He wanted to have a relaxing night playing video games, not getting hit in the face repeatedly with a stick.
Cody thought about Frodo in the Lord of the Rings. Frodo never had any sword training. But when he got Sting, he just started fucking orcs up right and left. Cody tried to take comfort in this. He had to be strong. He had to be unafraid. Otherwise, Tagg would smell his fear and take strength from it.
The afternoon passed slowly, painfully, as Cody fought his inner demons to maintain his focus. Yes, it was good to fight. But he wanted to win. He wanted so badly to win and take back this island, and for it to be all that it could be. But it was no use thinking about the possible wounds and the pain of defeat and possible embarrassment. All there was to do was fight, when the time came, and fight hard.
Winton returned from Houston, bearing all that Cody had asked for. Sundown was judged to be 7:30pm. That left Cody an hour to prepare. He took a few practice cuts at the air and visualized strategies he might employ to hurt Tagg before Tagg could hurt him.
What would Grampa do?
He had no idea. But it would involve giving as good as he got.
He tried to eat something, but lacked an appetite. So he decided to get dressed.
The field house was what everyone called the shed behind the mocked-up side of the Old West street, where all the equipm
ent was kept. The gunslingers got in and out of their costumes here, so it seemed a fitting place for Cody to change and gather his thoughts.
He found the box full of armor sitting there, waiting for him. He stood over the box and looked at it for a long moment. He picked up the horned helmet and turned it in his hands. It was beautiful, and it looked quite capable of protecting a brain from life-altering damage. But Sun Tzu, the ancient general who wrote the Art of War, wouldn't let Tagg give him his own armor. Sun Tzu wouldn't play that shit for one second. Tagg might have sabotaged it in some way. Perhaps Tagg's strategy would involve a chink in Cody's armor only Tagg knew about. These thoughts had riddled Cody with doubts during his training. More importantly, this was Cody's fight, Cody's day, not Tagg's. He had to make that abundantly clear.
He set the helmet back in the box.
He removed the items Winton had brought and laid them out on a bench. He took off his clothes, leaving on only a pair of black boxer briefs. He pulled on a plaid skirt and ran a plain leather belt through the loops. Then he pulled on a pair of old, brown, leather boots over brown socks. He grabbed up a plaid flannel shirt that Winton had cut the sleeves from. He buttoned it up halfway, exposing a modest growth of chest hair on rather undefined pectorals. Next he pulled out the long, wide tartan shawl and fashioned it around his torso like a sash, looping it over one shoulder and around the opposite hip. Then he fastened the ends together with a large pin and oval ring of the sort women sometimes used to hold back their hair.
Now he removed a wild brunette wig that sat firmly on his scalp due to a strong inner elastic band. For the final touch, Cody removed a jar of bright blue face paint. He stepped near a well-lit mirror and dipped two fingers in the cool substance. He began applying it to the entirety of the right half of his face. Then, leaving the area above and below his left eye blank, he proceeded to add more blue paint to his left cheek, neck and temple. When he was finished he washed his hands and regarded his handy work. Three quarters of his face was a bright, almost sky blue, leaving a strip just left of center bare. All he needed was a little blood spatter to complete the picture and he'd be dressed to star in Braveheart if they ever brought it to Broadway.