The Black Tattoo by Sam Enthoven Read Free Book Online Page B

his eyes to catch something of what was going on this time.   Esme and Charlie dropped into their crouches, just as before.   Charlie frowned.
    "Fight!" barked Raymond.
    Jack stared, and time went slack.
    Instantly, on the word of command from Raymond, Esme had leaped forward, pirouetting in the air as she hurtled toward Charlie, the spin bringing her right heel out and round for a kick that should have taken Charlie's head off.
    But it missed him.   Without the slightest sign of effort apart from his continued look of hunched concentration, Charlie simply leaned back out of the way, just far enough for Esme's foot to flash harmlessly past, scant millimeters in front of his nose.
    Esme dripped smoothly onto her left foot and sank, still spinning, converting the momentum of her first attack into a low, scything sweep at Charlie's feet, but this time Charlie hopped into the air like a kangaroo, and Esme failed to reach her target again.
    Jack stared and kept staring as the fight continued.   It was like nothing he'd ever seen.   No, scratch that:   he had seen what he was seeing, thousands of times — only that had been in films or in games, and not right in front of him when one of the people involved was his best mate.
    Esme was moving so fast he could hardly see her — faster than he'd ever seen a person move before — and her skills were extraordinary.   But the thing was, as quickly, smoothly, and gracefully as Esme attacked, daisy-chaining her moves into a constant, blurring barrage of fists and feet — Charlie was faster.
    Every blow Esme launched at him, every hammering punch or slashing kick, somehow failed to land.   Charlie had no finesse.   He had no skill.   Even Jack could see that the way Charlie fought was closer to the playground style of flapping your arms wildly in front of you than anything in the work of, say, Jet Li or Yuen Wo Ping.   But the fact remained, it was working:   he was holding her off.   Charlie's face was a blank, a mask.   His feet (when they were on the ground) moved slowly, almost mechanically, as he stepped back under the force of Esme's onslaught.   But then suddenly—
    Whoosh — SMACK!
    It was over.
    In a move that took a whole second after it had happened for Jack to work it out, Esme simply flipped through the air over Charlie, lashing out as she landed with a vicious high kick with her right leg.   Charlie turned to follow her — just in time to receive the sole of her foot squarely in the middle of his face.   His legs went out from under him and the back of his head struck the floor.   He actually slid for a clear six yards before coming to a stop.
    Esme jogged a couple of steps lightly on the spot, her hands dangling loosely at her sides again.
    Suddenly, Jack remembered to breathe.   His eyes were out on stalks.
    Charlie reached a hand to his face and groaned.
    "You okay there, son?" called Raymond, not sounding too bothered either way.
    "My dose hurds," was the muffled reply from the floor.
    "You poor dear," said Raymond.   "Sit up, let's 'ave a look at you."
    Charlie sat up, gingerly feeling his face, a stunned look in his eyes.   His nose was a weird putty-gray color, almost as flat as Raymond's, and the blood was running from it freely.   Jack was almost about to go and help him, but before he'd even completed the thought, he felt a massive and steely grip on his arm.   Raymond had grabbed him without even looking.
    "Take your hand away," said Raymond to Charlie.
    Charlie looked at him.
    "Take your hand off your nose," Raymond repeated, none too patiently, "and close your eyes."
    Frowning uncertainly, Charlie did as he was told.
    "Now... concentrate."
    There was absolute silence in the room now.   Wondering what was supposed to happen next, Jack looked at Raymond.   The big man still had Jack's arm in a viselike grip, but all his attention was focused on Charlie.
    "Stop the pain," said Raymond, almost whispering.   "And make it better