Ransom by Jay McInerney Read Free Book Online Page B

of him. Ransom asked when he thought Oh would break the record. Otani, a Hanshin Tigers fan who hated the Tokyo Giants, didn’t want to hear about it. Ransom pursued the conversation eagerly, dreading the stack of student papers in the envelope at his feet. According to the lesson plan of the A-OK English Language Program, the topic was “Business Etiquette.” But since Ransom knew nothing about business and his students knew little about English, that subject was likely to be a standoff, and he had substituted the topic “My Personal Goals,”
goal
being one of the vocabulary words of the week. He nevertheless doubted that the essays would be much different from those written on business etiquette.
    The alternative to this drab semi-employment was to accept the money his father continued to offer, and this was what kept Ransom going in the teaching business. He didn’t want the old man’s baksheesh. From time to time he still sent checks, which Ransom kept in an unread book in the bottom of a drawer.
    Among the disadvantages of small quarters was not having room to work out. Saturday was officially a day of rest for the dojo, but in order to be merely competent Ransom had to be fanatic. After an hour of essays, he changed into sweats and rode the Honda down to the gym, an uglyprewar box with a peeling concrete skin. The smell inside was forty years of sweat and ammonia. Ransom greeted acquaintances as he walked among the scattered barbells and dumbbells. The gym had one Universal; otherwise it was just a matter of finding a bar and slapping on the weight.
    He took a jump rope out back to the parking lot. After half an hour of cals and stretching he went over to the punching post—a four-by-four wrapped in hemp at fist level. He did fifty and fifty. After two years of this, the skin splitting and scarring over again and again, the right hand was tough enough that he barely felt the impact. The more sensitive left still bled every time.
    He went back inside to bench press, beginning at sixty kilos and working up to a hundred. He had started toward the Universal when someone threw an arm around his neck and pulled him back hard.
    You’re dead
.
    Ransom planted a foot behind him, struggling for leverage, but the arm tightened and drew him farther back, off-balance. He was fighting in earnest for air, couldn’t move, then was released.
    You never know
, the sensei said,
when I’ll be behind you. Coming out of your house in the morning, rounding a corner downtown. I might be waiting underwater in the bath
.
    Ransom bowed and nodded, trying to catch his breath.
    What are you doing lifting weights?
the sensei asked.
Too much weight-lifting will stiffen you up and slow you down. I told you this. You’re stiff and slow already
.
    Excuse me, sensei
.
    Do you have your gi?
the sensei asked.
    When Ransom said he did, the sensei told him to put it on, he would show him some moves. But he couldn’t, he said, show Ransom how to see.

5
    When Ransom showed up at Buffalo Rome on Saturday night, Miles Ryder was waiting for him. They retreated into the office.
    â€œI want to rearrange his face,” Ryder said. “I am going to make a study of methods of inflicting pain and suffering.”
    â€œHow do you know DeVito did it?”
    â€œGet serious. Who the fuck else is going to trash my bike? Okies love to beat on things.”
    â€œDid you file a report?”
    â€œI told ’em. Not that it’ll make a difference.”
    â€œWhat do you propose to do if he shows up?”
    â€œEventually call an ambulance.”
    Ransom hoped DeVito wouldn’t show, since nothing good came of Texas–Oklahoma blood feuds. From his seat at the bar he kept an eye on the door. Possibly he could head DeVito off before Ryder spotted him. But Miles was also watching the door as he talked to a few friends at a table, and Ransom suspected that DeVito had devolved some blame for last