We froze for half a second. Which is when Knuckles made his move. He was quicker than I anticipated, and got me around my knees and pulled.
I slammed forward, still holding the tire iron.
Sonny moved fast, too. I saw his legs coming my way. I managed to whip the claw-end of the iron out, and caught his ankle.
Sonny screamed and the sound went through me like electricity from a generator. I realized again that part of me was truly capable of killing someone. I could do it and sort it all out later. The law of club and fang. It energized me.
Blood spotted the floor around Sonny’s leg as I tried to twist out of Knuckles’ grip. But he started reeling me in, like a marlin. He grabbed a fistful of my pants and I slid backward on the slick floor.
Then he gave me a fist to the kidneys. It scored. Emergency lights exploded in my head.
I struck with the iron and hit my own leg.
The pain was a numbing fire, in both my leg and my back. I had to start getting some hits in or I’d be chopped up.
Literally, because I saw Sonny now had a knife in his hand.
Some religion.
Desperation mixed with pain and I went wild.
I gave the iron a backward slam and heard the sickly sound of a head smash. Knuckles’ grip loosened. At the same time, blindly, I shot the iron around about two inches from the floor. It found leg.
Sonny went down, screaming louder, but he went down on me, and his blade got me in the left buttock. It was a deep wound, soft and almost painless at first, but I knew I would not be sitting for a long time.
What saved me from worse was having a tire iron perfectly positioned between Sonny’s legs. The pain I inflicted on him then was a whole lot worse than what I had.
He shrieked so loud I thought he was miked. I pushed him off me, and rolled. The knife was still in my cheek. Fresh pain shot through my backside and up my spine. With my left hand I got hold of the knife and felt the wetness of blood. With my right I gave Sonny an iron shot to the head. He was out. Maybe even finished, sent to whatever god he thought he worshipped, or to some hell reserved for bad hair.
I stood up, my left leg getting numb, but with two moonies on the ground. Sonny groaned. I was almost sorry to hear that.
I limped to a lamp in the open living room and ripped it out of the wall. I used Sonny’s own bloody knife to cut the cord. I tied Knuckles’ hands behind him. He barely moved, moaning.
I went to the TV and cut that cord, and came back and tied up Sonny Moon.
The toaster in the kitchen gave me one last length of wire. I tied Sonny’s left leg to Knuckles’ right.
And then I made a search of the house.
A rifle was in plain view in Knuckles’ room. Leaning in the corner. If it was the rifle, the guy was not too concerned about being found out. Maybe Sonny Moon told him he was invincible, or invisible, or could eat planets or something.
Just for good measure, I looked through the closet and found a couple of handguns, in cases. Knuckles had the look of an ex-felon. If that were true, this would be enough to put him away for a good while.
I came out to the front and found the happy couple in the same spot. Knuckles looked the most aware. Poor Sonny’s eyelids were fluttering.
“You’re in some hot water, my friend,” I said. “Ex-felon with guns. Not good. Why don’t you tell me who sent you. Was it Sonny Moon here?”
Knuckles said, “You’re dead, man.”
I stepped outside, keeping the door open so I could watch them. I called Detective Stein. He picked up. I gave him the address and the particulars. “I just solved a case for you,” I said. “Bring some Mountain Dew or champagne.”
I went back in, to the hall bathroom, and took care of my bloody cheek with a damp towel.
I wouldn’t be winning any beauty contests with my backside. I’d have to get it looked at. And forever I’d be marked with a scar. I guess if you had to pick a spot for a scar.
Knuckles kept screaming about me being a dead man. So I took another