It was a harsh, ugly sound. Or what? Neck Tattoo challenged, jutting his chin out. What are you going to do, fat boy? You going to hit me with your celery?
The hyenas barked with laughter. The big guy crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. They thought it was a joke. They looked at a tired, slumping man and saw a victim. They didn't notice that Arthur's breathing had slowed down.
They didn't notice that he had slightly shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. They didn't see the way his chin tucked just a fraction of an inch, protecting his neck. Arthur squeezed Lily's hand gently. He looked down at her. Her lower lip was trembling.
The sight of her fear, the absolute helpless terror in his daughter's eyes, was the spark that hit the powder keg. The exhaustion vanished. The pain in his knees disappeared, flooded out by a massive, sudden dump of adrenaline. His heart rate steadied into a slow, powerful, rhythmic thud. The world around him came into hyperfocus.
He smelled the stale malt liquor on the breath of the kid to his right. He saw the slight tremor in neck tattoo's left hand, an adrenaline shake from a guy who wasn't used to actual violence. He noted the uneven asphalt beneath his feet. He noted the distance to the gate. 20 ft, five targets.
Protect the asset. Lily, Arthur said softly, never taking his eyes off the men surrounding them. Go stand behind the big oak tree. Don't look. Close your eyes and count to 20. loudly.
"Daddy, " she whispered. "Do it now, Lily. " The command in his voice was absolute. Lily hesitated for a second, then let go of his hand and ran toward the massive gnarled oak tree near the fence line. One of the hyenas, a skinny kid in a red beanie, took a step as if to block her. "Uh uh.
Where's the little rat going? " Arthur dropped the grocery bag. A carton of eggs hit the concrete, shattering, the yellow yolks bleeding out onto the gray pavement. In the time it took the eggs to hit the ground, Arthur closed the distance. He didn't square up. He didn't put his fists up like a boxer in a movie.
He kept his hands open, loose, near his chest. He stepped directly into the red-beanie kid's personal space. The kid barely had time to widen his eyes before Arthur's left hand shot out. He didn't punch. He used an open palm strike, driving the heel of his heavy, calloused hand directly into the center of the kid's chest, right over the sternum.
It wasn't a push. It was a kinetic transfer of energy generated from Arthur's back foot, rotating through his hips, and exiting through his palm. The sound was like a baseball bat hitting a wet sack of flour. The kid in the red beanie didn't stumble backward. He was violently launched.
Both of his feet left the ground. He flew four feet backward and crashed into the rusted metal pole of the swing set. His head cracked against the iron, and he crumpled to the dirt, instantly limp, out cold before he hit the ground. The park fell into an absolute deathly silence. The laughter died in the throats of the remaining four.
The smug smiles vanished, replaced by a sudden, jarring shock. "One, " Arthur counted internally. He didn't pause to admire his work. In a multiple attacker scenario, momentum is the only thing that keeps you alive. Neck tattoo, to his credit or his supreme stupidity, reacted with anger rather than fear.
You crazy old Neck Tattoo lunged forward, throwing a wild looping right hook aimed at Arthur's jaw. It was a barroom punch. telegraphic, wide, slow. To Arthur, it looked like it was moving underwater. He didn't even block it. He simply slipped his head off the center line, letting the fist sail past his ear, feeling the breeze of it ruffle his hair.
As neck tattoo's momentum carried him forward, off-balance and exposed, Arthur pivoted. He drove a brutal short left hook into the kid's exposed rib cage. Crack. The sound of two ribs snapping echoed sharply in the quiet park. Neck tattoos mouth flew open in a silent scream.
All the air was violently forced from his lungs. Before the kid could even begin to double over in pain. Arthur grabbed the back of his cheap black t-shirt with his left hand, pulling him downward and drove his right knee upward in a vicious arc. The knee met neck tattoo's descending face with a sickening crunch. Blood exploded from the kid's nose.
His eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped straight down onto the asphalt like a puppet with its strings cut. Two. One, two, three, four. Lily's high shaking voice drifted from behind the oak tree. Arthur pivoted again, shifting his weight.
Two down, three to go. The big guy, Derek, was frozen. His small eyes darted from the bleeding, unconscious body of his leader on the ground up to the calm, dead-eyed expression of the man in the flannel shirt. The man wasn't breathing heavily. He wasn't screaming.
He wasn't angry. He was just working. The remaining two hyenas began to back up, their hands raised in panicked surrender, their cheap beer cans dropping to the concrete and foaming over. "Hey, man. Hey, chill. " One of them stuttered, his voice cracking.
We were just messing around. Five. Six. Seven. Arthur stepped over Neck Tattoo's twitching leg.