Dead Man's Song полностью

“We goofed around in the schoolyard. Tyler wasn’t interested, and it’s no fun practicing alone.” What he didn’t tell Crow was that everyone in school thought Mike was still practicing martial arts, a lie he encouraged because it always gave him a reason to explain away the bruises. “What’s it matter anyway? A few jujutsu moves ain’t going to change things.”

“That depends on the moves, and how you use them.” He folded his arms. “When I offered you this job it was more than just because I needed an Igor to do the heavy lifting. I wasn’t going to tell you this because I was going to be real subtle like and kind of sneak it on you from left field—but here’s the bottom line, Mike. I respect you too much to blindside you, even if it’s something that’s for your own good.”

“What are you talking about?”

Crow pulled a stool over and sat down so that Mike, still standing, was taller. He wanted to give the kid at least the subjective advantage of the dominant physical position. “I’m talking about getting tough.”

“Tough enough to do what?”

“Tough enough so that you don’t spend your whole life as somebody’s punching bag.”

“Look…I appreciate what you’re trying to do, man, but I—”

Crow cut him off. “Don’t, okay? I’m not trying to get all Mr. Miyagi on you, but I want to make a difference here.”

“Who asked you to?” Mike shoved away the box he’d been playing with and it slid to the edge of a display case, tottered and fell, spilling white foam popcorn and six dozen plastic cockroaches all across the floor. “Ahhh…shit!” He made to bend down, but Crow touched his shoulder. Just a touch and then withdrew his hand.

“Leave it. Look, kid, I’m trying to say something here and you’re not making it easy.”

“I’m not trying to make it easy,” Mike snapped.

“Will you listen?” Crow snapped back. “Okay? Just for a second?” Mike flinched back from that, but then held his ground. Crow took that as a good sign and plowed ahead, his voice softer. “Okay, I offered you this job partly because, as I said, I needed an Igor while I was healing from the ass-kicking I took, but the main reason is that I see a lot of myself in you. No, don’t give me that look. You’re smart, you’re a comic book geek, you’re mostly a loner, and you’re getting your ass handed to you every time you come home. I know that territory too well to stand back and do nothing.”

“This is not your business, Crow.”

“No? Well tough, I’m making it my business. I gave you a job so I could keep an eye on you, and so I could teach you some back-alley moves, just like I learned when I was about your age. And, no, it’s not going to be like a movie where we do a training montage while the soundtrack plays some motivational power chords. It’ll take you months to get adequate and years to get really good, but if you don’t start now you’ll never get tough enough to finally stand on your own.”

“Against Vic?” The kid’s face was a study in disbelief.

“Eventually.”

Mike snorted. “Eventually? That’s just great. Does me a lot of good right now. You don’t even know what you’re talking about. You don’t know Vic. You don’t know what it’s like living with him.”

“I’ve known Vic a lot longer than you have, Mike, and though I don’t know what goes on inside your house I know enough and can guess the rest. Am I saying this is going to be easy? No. Am I saying that you won’t get your ass kicked some more? No—you will until the point where you’re tough enough and then you won’t. That could be months, it could be years, but it will happen, and all along the way, even while he’s still the big dog around the house, you’ll know that you’re getting stronger, bigger, and tougher every day. Every day, Mike. You’ll outlast the son of a bitch and eventually you really will be tough enough to kick his ass.”

“Bullshit,” Mike said under his breath, but there was a look in his eye and Crow knew that something in what he had just said had scored a point. Or touched on something Mike was already thinking.

Crow said, “I used to think that my dad would just beat me to death one day. I used to piss blood, I used to have double vision from getting stomped, and I had a thousand and one excuses I used on people to explain why my eye was black or why there were punch bruises on my back. At the time, when it was at its worst, I guess I never thought that it would end, that it would just go on and on and then I’d die. But I didn’t. I outlasted my dad, and jujutsu helped. Understand, I wasn’t one of those kids who took to martial arts like it was a religion or something. It was an out, you know? A way to outlast my dad. That’s all it was, but, Mike…it was enough, you dig?”