Trap Angel (Frank Angel Western #3) Read Free Page B

short,
explosive sound, something like Haaaii! and then his feet came up
and Angel went over backwards again, every ounce of wind driven
from his lungs. The man was already coming after him again and
Angel let him take hold but this time he managed to throw a feinted
left jab and followed it with a very short, wicked and lethal right
cross. Fast as it was, Angel saw the little man grin as he avoided
the punch and then Angel went up and over and came down flat and
hard on the floor. The little man smiled and stepped back. There
was no humor at all in the slanting eyes which weighed Angel as if
was a leg of pork.
    The little man
bowed.
    ‘Unarm combat,’ he said. ‘I
show.’
    And every day for the next
five days he threw Angel all over the gymnasium, until Angel’s arms
felt like rags, and his body was one solid, throbbing mass of
aching, bruised flesh.
    Demonstration followed
practice followed demonstration until finally each day the little
man, whom Angel had now discovered was Korean, would hold up one
hand in the peace sign and leave without a word. Next time, they
would meet in the gymnasium and Kee Lai would stand opposite Angel,
bow formally, and come at him again like a tiger. Each day Angel
learned a new defense, a new series of moves. They all had names,
but he remembered in the heat of the combat only the action, the
swift turning kick that took the man’s leg from under him, the
disabling chop across the carotid artery, the maiming smash of
knuckle to the Adam’s apple. How to fall. How to get up fast and
ready. How to choke. How to blind. How to break the brittle bones
of knee and shin and wrist and elbow. Once in a while he managed to
actually strike Kee Lai, and the dark slanted eyes would glow
briefly with something like pride, or pleasure, or both. But mostly
the little man simply let Angel attack him and then demonstrated a
throw, a hold, a riposte to the action which Angel knew would have
killed him had it been delivered. In their second week, Kee Lai
began to explain some of the things Angel was learning.
    ‘Judo is basic discipline,’
he said. ‘Now you learn karate.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Most dangerous,’ was the
succinct reply.
    Angel groaned and the little
Korean grinned.
    ‘When you get to highest
level of karate then you will learn aikido,’ he said.
    ‘Don’t tell me,’ Angel said.
‘That’s even more dangerous, right?’
    The Korean nodded. ‘In my
country man who know aikido never fight anyone. Never.’
    ‘Your county is in China,
isn’t it?’
    Kee Lai nodded, his swarthy
face grim. ‘Very bad place my country.’ He would say no more about
it.
    Now he taught Angel the
breathing exercises, and the internal disciplines that go with the
learning of karate. Because perhaps he sensed Angel’s genuine
interest, he told him about the great Chinese historians and
philosophers, Sun Tzu, Wu Ch’i, Lao Tzu.
    ‘To rise,’ Kee Lai told him,
‘a man must first fall. To grow, he must first become smaller. To
take, you must give. Taking of the strength of an adversary you are
given strength. You must control all of yourself here—’ he gestured
at his belly — ‘in the tan t’ien. There is a force, which we call
ch’i. If you can summon it at will, you are truly stronger than
ordinary man.’
    And they went back to the
mattresses and Kee Lai again threw Angel all around the
room.
    Slowly, slowly, the younger
man gained cunning and caution and knowledge. Gradually, Kee Lai
found it harder to throw him at will. Eventually, he was himself
thrown by Angel. And then their sessions were at an end. On the
last day, the Korean held up his hand for halt, and bowed, as
usual, to signal the end of their training. As Kee Lai straightened
up Angel hit him with an upper-cut as sweet as anything he had ever
put together.
    The little man’s eyes bugged
with surprise as he went over and backwards and down, out for the
count. Angel got a wet cloth and slapped the high cheekbones until
the