Chetspeak on Sunday
Part of what came next happened very slowly. Nevins’s hands, big and bony, curled into fists. He dropped one of them way down, turned his body, crouching a bit, and launched what’s called a haymaker in this business. And while that was going on my only thought was faster, Nevins, faster! Not because I wanted to see Bernie hurt – nothing worse than that – but even if Nevins was capable of hurting Bernie, here I was right on the scene to put a dead stop to any of that. No, what I hoped for was just a little action before it was all over. Don’t you get in those moods?
Next came the fast part. Nevins’s fist was still on the way when Bernie’s shot right past it, kind of a blur. Loved that jab of Bernie’s. Hook off the jab, Bernie, hook off the jab! And then step inside with the uppercut! Sweetest uppercut in the whole wide world, but it didn’t happen. Neither did the hook, the jab being enough, which I knew from how Nevins was lying on the hall floor, out cold. Did he have a glass jaw? I hadn’t heard anything shatter – and my hearing is pretty good, probably better than yours – but how could I rule it out? Poor Nevins. Bernie often said that glass-jaw dudes shouldn’t get into fistfights, but there’d been no time for a warning.
– from PAW AND ORDER.
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