“How else?” Fallon said, and moved up to the scratch.
Maloon was a towering big man, his skin as white as a woman’s, but he was
muscled like a Hercules. His hands were huge, and the knuckles bore the scars of
many battles. He put up his hands and Macon Fallon moved into him, a dancing
devil in his eyes, in his heart a sudden wild urge to slaughter, to destroy.
He feinted with his left, then followed through with it and the knuckles of his
fist smashed against Maloon’s teeth and jolted the bigger man to his heels.
“So it’s a boxer you are? It’s the kind I like.” Maloon said. “I eat ’em alive!”
Fallon feinted again, swung hard with a right, and the fist that struck him came
out of nowhere. It struck the side of his face like a bludgeon, and his feet
flipped up and he hit the dust. Dazed, he looked up to see Maloon rushing in.
The big man dove at him and Fallon swung up a leg. His foot caught Maloon in the
stomach, and he went on over Fallon to land in a heap. Fallon scrambled to his
feet, still dazed, and saw Maloon turn head over heels like an acrobat and come
to his feet.
“You’ve the makings of a fighter, lad,” Maloon said. “Too bad I shall have to
destroy you!”
He stepped in quickly, hitting hard with both hands. Fallon partially blocked
the first punch but caught the second on the jaw, and his head rang. A light
seemed to burst and shower him with its fragments. He ducked inside another
punch, drove his head against Maloon’s chest, then ripped up with his skull in
the vicious “Liverpool kiss” known to rough-and-tumble fighters everywhere.
Maloon’s head was smashed back by the impact of the skull under the chin, and
Fallon sprang in, swinging incredibly fast with both fists. The blows landed,
rocking Maloon’s big head with their power and staggering him. In close then,
Fallon followed through with an elbow smash to the face and stepped back.
As he did so, a stone rolled under his foot and a smashing fist caught him in
the mouth. He tasted blood, and a wild, fierce urge to kill came up within him.
He tried to butt again, was smashed back by a hamlike fist, drove in swinging,
and had both blows blocked.
He tried another, and his right missed and went by, but he brought it around the
big man’s head, grabbed his own right wrist with his left hand and had a
head-lock on Maloon. Instantly he threw his feet in the air and sat down hard,
trying to break Maloon’s neck, but the big man was smart and went with him, and
they fell together.
On the ground Maloon was a demon. Lightning fast, he swung around and stabbed a
stiff thumb for Fallon’s eye. Narrowly missing, the hard nail, deliberately
scraped and filed until it had grown to unusual thickness and pointed as a
weapon, ripped a gash in the side of Fallon’s face from the corner of his eye
almost back to his ear.
Wild with fear for his eyes, Fallon scrambled to get up, but Maloon got astride
him and drew his big fist back for a killing blow. Fallon threw up his feet and
caught Maloon across the face with his crossed legs, snapping him back.
Torn loose from each other, both men scrambled to their feet, and Fallon ripped
into Maloon, swinging with both fists, but Maloon stood his ground, punching
hard and fast. The fists of both men were like clubs.
Toe to toe for almost a minute, they slugged wildly, then broke apart as if on
command, and circled. Fallon’s cut was bleeding badly; there was a huge welt
under the other eye and a cut on his jaw. Maloon had an eye almost closed and a
split lip.
They were fighting with animal ferocity, Maloon like a cornered grizzly, Fallon
like a mountain lion. Fallon was relentless, always moving, always crowding;
Maloon circled warily, quick to counter. Both were shrewd fighters, terrible
fighters; both were victors in many a riverside or waterfront brawl.
They broke away from each other and each stepped to the side of the circle.
Brennan doused Fallon with water, touched the bloody cut with the towel, dabbing
away the blood. “Box him, man!” he whispered hoarsely. “That’s a brute you have
there!”
They came together, and Fallon feinted, then stabbed a left to the mouth. He
slipped under a left and smashed a right to the ribs. He side-stepped as the big
man threw a right, and countered swiftly, jolting Maloon. He started to
side-step again, caught a right, and was knocked down.
He dove away from a kick, came up to his knees, and as Maloon rushed him,
swinging another kick, Fallon threw his weight against Maloon’s anchored leg,
knocking him down.
Maloon was up first, but Fallon swung his weight on his hands and kicked out
behind him with both feet, kicking waist high in a move used by the French la
savate fighters. Both feet caught Maloon coming in and knocked him, sprawling
and surprised, into a heap.
Fallon came up fast and swung a kick for Maloon’s chin that missed as the big
head ducked, but catching it with a glancing blow that sent Maloon sprawling
into the dust again.
But Maloon was up and charging. His big head caught Fallon in the belly,
smashing him back, every bit of wind knocked from him. Maloon’s charge carried
him on over Fallon, and he scrambled to his feet and turned to find Fallon
staggering weakly to his feet.
Maloon rushed in, smashing a tremendous blow to Fallon’s head that started him
down. The second blow caught him falling and lost some of its force, but it laid
Fallon’s cheek open to the bone. He went down hard on his back and Maloon rushed
in for the kill.
Unable to get up, Fallon rolled to left and right, trying desperately to avoid
the kicks that might, any one of them, kill him or break his skull. Staggering
from the force of a kick, Maloon was carried on by him, and Fallon managed to
get up. His lungs gasped for breath, every inhalation like a knife thrust into
his chest. His head rang from the blows he had taken; he was punch-drunk with
the fight. He had forgotten where he was or what was the issue at stake; he only
knew that he must kill or be killed.
He waited, hands hanging, and Spike Maloon came to him. The big man had been
shocked by the skill of Fallon, and by the force of the blows he had taken, but
now he was sure. He had his man.
He was not only a big man, he was tremendously strong. Now he struck a light
blow to the face, testing Fallon’s responses. He drew no return, but he was
wary. He feinted a left, and then as Fallon struck out, he brushed the blow
aside and knocked him down with his right. But Fallon, surprisingly, got up.
Spike Maloon was suddenly worried. He had struck with his hardest punches, and
he had knocked Fallon down … time and again. But he always got up. Now he must
put him down and keep him down. This time he must put him on the ground, then
jump on him and kick the life out of him, and quickly.
The watchers, hoarse from shouting, were silent now, shocked by the ferocity of
the battle they watched. It was like two primeval men fighting far away in the
past … like two utterly savage cavemen.
Maloon moved in. He had fought hard, but he had his second wind, and Fallon was
finished. He struck out with a left … it landed. He struck again … it
landed. He struck again … and suddenly his left arm was seized and he was
thrown over Fallon’s back with a flying mare. He hit the ground with a thud and
Fallon fell upon him, a knee driving into his solar plexus as Fallon came down,
then that same knee smashing up to hit his chin.
A terrible light burst in Maloon’s skull. He fought himself free, and got up.
His jaw was broken, smashed at the hinges and hanging free.
His hands … he had to get Fallon in his hands. Curling a bulky arm around his
jaw, he charged to get close, swinging with his right fist. Fallon brought up
hard against the hitch rail and Maloon’s big hand grasped his windpipe. Fallon
tried to get at Maloon’s eyes but the big man ducked his head low.
Lifting a boot, Fallon smashed down with the side of the boot against Maloon’s
shinbone, the heel driving down hard on Maloon’s foot. But the bigger man clung
grimly to his grip on the thoat.
Fallon smashed up hard against Maloon’s elbow, the elbow of the arm that was