House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski Read Free Book Online Page A

round he knocked me down twice. The second round I almost didn’t get up.
    “All month long, he and his partner had been boosting the numbers on me so that when Punching Bag—and at this point he was the long shot—slaughtered me, they’d walk with a small fortune. Or run. Me though, a dumb nineteen year old who’d wandered into Galveston after three months at sea, I was going to lose my money and wind up in a hospital. Maybe worse. Since the fights were just three rounds long, I only had one more left to do something. His partner threw a bucket of ice water in my face and told me to crawl out there and get it over with.
    “As I wobbled to my feet, I shook my head, and saying it loud enough so he could hear me, but not so loud so he’d think I was selling something, I said that it was all too bad because I’d been planning to use my money to buy a shipment of some stuff worth at least a thousand percent on the street.
    “Well, the next round, the last round I should say, Punching Bag broke my tooth. I was out. They’d both originally planned to ditch me but my little gambit had worked. After what the partner had heard me say, which I’m sure he shared as soon as he could with Punching Bag, they dragged me along, dumped some whiskey into me in their truck and then started grilling me about that stuff I’d been babbling about, trying to find out what was worth a thousand percent.
    “Now I was in a bad way, more than a little afraid that they’d do something really evil if they found out I’d been bull shitting them. Still, if I stayed in Houston I’d probably be lynched by the bettors who by now had figured out something was sour which could only mean one thing to them (all explanations to the grave): Punching Bag & his partner and me were to blame. I had to think fast and besides, I still wanted my money back, so—”
    By now even Lude was hooked. They all were. The girls all engrossed and smiling and still shimmying closer, as if maybe by touching me they could find out for sure if I was for real. Lude knew it was pure crap but he had no clue where I was heading. To tell you the truth neither did I. So I took my best shot.
    “I pointed them to the barge. I hadn’t figured out what I’d do once we got there but I knew the ship was leaving with the tide early next morning so we had to hurry. Luckily we arrived in time and I immediately went off to find the Captain who as soon as he saw me grabbed me by the throat. Somehow between gasps, I succeeded in telling him about Punching Bag & his partner and their money—all their money which included my money most of which was in essence the Captain’s money. That got the bastard listening. A few minutes later, he sauntered over to the duo, poured them coffee mugs full of vodka, and in his incomprehensible accent, began going on and on about pure New Guinea value.
    “Punching Bag had no idea what this idiot was talking about, neither did I for that matter, but an hour and two bottles of vodka later, he came to the conclusion that the Captain must be talking about drugs. After all the Captain kept mentioning euphoria, Spanish explorers and paradise, even though he refused to show Punching Bag the tiniest bit of anything tangible, vaguely referring to custom officials and the constant threat of confiscation and jail.
    “Now here was the clincher. While he’s babbling on, this van drives up and a guy no one has ever seen before or ever will see again gets out, gives the Captain a thousand dollars, takes one crate and then drives off. Just like that, and boy does that do it. Without even examining what he’s buying, Punching Bag hands over five g’s. The Captain, keeping his word, immediately loads five crates into the back of Punching Bag’s truck.
    “I’m sure the twerp would of inspected them right on the spot, except suddenly in the distance we all start hearing police sirens or harbor patrol sirens or some such shit. They weren’t after us, but Punching