The Golden Eclipse surpassed even Chip's optimistic expectations. Tables
ringed a center stage where a woman in a tight sequined gown alternated
singing popular hits with intimate little love songs to an enthusiastic
crowd. It was already filling up -- fancily dressed men and women of all
ages packed the room, talking, dancing and generally having a good time.
Chip made a mental note to bring Maddy here next week...or maybe not. This
seemed like a good place to meet women. Bringing his current lover here
might not be too wise an idea.
Even Lee had to admit that the women were everything Chip had claimed they'd be. Blondes, brunettes, redheads -- every one of them found their way to the bar at some time or other throughout the evening and that brought them into striking range for the two good- looking men. Chip had happily devotee himself to this feminine smorgasborg until he happened to notice Lee rubbing his temples when he thought no one was looking. Still have that headache, buddy? Chip thought, studying his friend surreptitiously. I know a great cure for that!
It took well over an hour to accomplish, but at the end of that time, Morton had succeeded in getting his friend and Captain quite thoroughly soused.
Not that that hadn't taken some doing. Imbued with the Navy traditions of discipline and control, Crane naturally resisted surrendering himself to the gin, but Morton persevered, and Crane succumbed. Unfortunately for Chip's plans, getting his friend drunk took considerably longer than he'd counted on and Seaview's Exec found himself more than a little affected as well. Since Chip's careful efficiency tended to disintegrate after the first half-dozen gin and tonics, planning went out the window and the two soon embarked on a round of good-old-fashioned bar hopping. They visited both favored old haunts and hole-in-the-wall dives they'd never suspected existed. Two o'clock found them at a shabby-looking tavern on the waterfront blearily contemplating life, the universe and especially dinner with the Morton family the next day.
"...besides, I want a little support on my side when Mom starts trying to talk me into moving back to the Midwest and raising a family," Morton said, curiously watching an over-painted hooker zero-in on her prey -- a sailor of tender years and obviously no taste whatsoever.
"But I thought your father was all for your posting to Seaview?" Lee fixed his friend with a blearily inquisitive gaze. "Has he changed his mind?"
"He hasn't. Mom's probably changed it for him by now." Chip smiled. "Dad hasn't been able to refuse Morn anything in the last thirty-five years. No reason to think anything's changed at this late date."
"They love each other very much, don't they?" Crane asked, picking up his half-filled glass.
"Thirty-five years worth." But Chip caught a wistful note in his friend's question. "You're...not seeing your mother this time out?"
Lee swirled his drink absently. "No. Not this time out."
There was absolutely no emotion in that decidedly uninformative statement, but Chip caught the quickly disguised sadness in the hazel eyes. "Have you argued with her again?"
Crane drained his glass in one large swallow. "Again? No, same old argument. She feels my place would be better served back in Boston as head of Father's corporation. Her words, not mine."
"Still?" Morton leaned forward, attempting to meet his friend's eyes. "Lee, she's been saying that since the first day I met you at the Academy."
"Don't I know it." The empty glass met the table with a clank.
"She won't let it go, will she?" Morton asked sadly.
Lee sighed. "Mother can be singularly... unforgiving when she puts her mind to it." He essayed a smile. "Times like that I wish I came from a large family like yours. Perhaps it would have helped to be able to spread the responsibility around a bit."
Morton felt a sympathetic tug.. To Chip, a family was a big, warm noisy household full of love and cheer and good will. He'd never considered it simply as an expedience to spread around the "responsibility" or a tool to alleviate a parent's displeasure. He decided to change the subject to something more cheerful. "A big family, now, that's something else again if you're not used to it. Everybody talking at once, fighting over the bathroom...." He added with a a wink, "Of course, it had its advantages too. You always had someone to back you in a fight whether you were right or wrong. And we could scrape together the only one-family baseball team in town. Both sides'"
He sounded so animated, that Lee was forced to smile through his depression. "It sounds great."
"Yes, I suppose it is." He poured Lee a drink from the bottle on the table before upending it over his own glass. "Drink up. We'll order another fifth."
Lee regarded his Exec with unfeigned respect. "Another bottle? Chip. I'm not sure.... I mean, where do you put it? I'm maybe...a little bit...drunk already."
"A little bit?" Chip laughed out loud. "I should say you are. Well," he amended quickly before his Captain's scowl, "maybe we both are."
"You don't look drunk," Lee accused, fixing the blond with a critical, slightly crossed glare.
Chip managed a modest shrug. "Maybe it doesn't show."
"It never does," Lee muttered glumly. "Doesn't matter how much you drink, it never shows."
Morton, in the interests of friendship, forcibly swallowed his gleeful smirk. You never could drink, anyway, he thought, remembering more than one leave when he'd poured his friend into bed. "Matter of body weight?" he suggested tactfully.
"A matter of...who?"
"It's a proven scientific fact," Morton droned pedantically, "that the more you weigh, the better you can drink."
If Crane noticed the heavily stilted speech, he made no sign. He considered the statement carefully and from every angle his sodden mind could manage, before shaking his head. "Won't work."
"Why not?" Morton waved his handkerchief frantically until a waitress on the far corner deigned to notice him.
Crane, watching these antics in puzzlement, took a moment before answering. "For...for one thing, you only weigh a few pounds more than I do. And for another...."
"Yes?" Morton prodded.
"Betty." Chip sipped his drink, fixing Crane with an inquisitive look. "Betty Coletta," Crane supplied. Chip waited. "Bettyl" Crane waved his hands, exasperated. "That little blonde from that London pub. The one that drank us both under the table and stole our -- "
"Oh. Betty," Chip twirled his glass, annoyed at having his argument holed so thoroughly. "Forgot about her."
"Wish I could." Lee gulped his drink down. "She took us like a couple of boy scouts."
"Uh, I don't think boy scouts is a term Betty would have chosen." Chip chuckled. "She-"
"Get you another bottle, mister?"
Chip turned, looking up and into a pair of the most sultry brown eyes he'd ever seen. The look they gave him raised the temperature of the room several degrees on the spot. "You must be a mind reader, Miss," he smiled, adjusting his dangling tie. "We were just discussing the subject ourselves."
"Uh-huh." The girl dimpled. "Haven't seen you two in here before. New in town?"
"New in here." Chip turned up his best high-wattage smile. "And what's your name, pretty lady?"
"Karlie." The girl bent a little closer. "And yours, handsome?"
She directed another smoldering look into his direction, and for a moment Chip couldn't remember who he was. He sank into the pure sensuality of the woman, feeling himself undressed, examined and approved all in the time it took to regain his breath. He succeeded in rousing himself only when she repeated her question. "Uh, Chip Morton." He gestured vaguely in Lee's direction. "The quiet one over there's Lee Crane."
She directed the full impact of those eyes in Crane's direction and Chip was gratified to see him thrown for a loss as well. "Hello, Lee."
Crane reached for his own tie, forgetting that it now resided in his pants pocket. "Uh, hello."
Karlie swept Lee's slender frame with a distinctly predatory air until Chip felt it prudent to reclaim control of the conversation immediately. He slipped an arm around her waist in a friendly gesture and pulled her down to perch in his lap. "So, tell me, Karlie, have you worked here long?"
That worked. Karlie left off her catlike scrutiny of Crane and returned her attention to Morton. "A lot longer than I care to remember." She ran a hand up Chip's arm. "These are uniforms, aren't they? Navy uniforms? You an officer?"
"Lieutenant Commander," Chip replied, preening. "I'm Executive Officer aboard SSRN Seaview."
"The Seaview?" Her brow puckered prettily. "That's that big submarine from up the coast, isn't it?"
"That's right. You're very well informed, I see."
"Mmmmm." She twisted around until she could see Lee again. "What about your cute friend. He an officer too?"
"Ummm, more or less." Chip spared his friend a mischievous grin before turning back to Karlie. "How much do you know about submarines, sweetheart?"
She shrugged. "We get all kinds here. My ex-old man was stationed on an aircraft carrier once during the war. Saw a lot of action in Vietnam." She bent full lips close to Chip's ear. "You ever seen ... action, Chip?"
Morton gulped. "I --"
"That fish-face couldn't battle his way out of a geisha house."
Chip couldn't sec the speaker over his feminine armful, but he could see Lee -- who'd been watching Chip's "land maneuvers" through hazily amused eyes -- straighten sharply and twist toward the source of the remark, three beefy Marines who'd been loudly making themselves obnoxious at the next table. Morton and Crane had so far been able to block out the interference. Chip had a feeling that that was about to change.
"Lay off, Rocky." Karlie's pleasantly throaty voice hardened. "Gowan back ta your cheap booze."
"Wasn't talkin' ta you, bimbo. I was talkin' ta the Navy there." Rocky slowly rose to his full height. From where Chip was sitting, still encumbered by Karlie's well-rounded weight, it looked more like a medium- sized mountain rising out of the sea. He gulped, then the burn of an adrenaline surge warmed his veins, sweeping the last cobwebs of alcohol from his brain. He could see Lee's face in profile; noted with satisfaction the sudden clarity in the golden eyes. Drunk, sober or half-dead, slip the possibility of a fight in front of the ex-Golden Gloves competitor, and Lee Crane seemed to come alive. Never one to sidestep a challenge himself, Chip disengaged his arm from the girl's waist and patted her off his lap.
"We're not looking for any trouble," Lee attempted, more formality than conciliation.
"Really?" The man-mountain sneered and Chip knew it was all over, but the action. "Too bad, kid, 'cause you got some."
Not overly interested, but feeling compelled to ask anyway, Morton went for the obvious question. 'What's your beef, Marine?"
"No beef, Blondie," the Marine said, hitching up his belt. "It just so happens that I don't like officers very much today. I get that way whenever I have to do time in the brig. Makes me mean."
"No kidding," Chip muttered. "That's why we," the bruiser gestured to his now-standing companions, "are going to kick your asses." Chip rose, circling to the left of the terrible threesome while Lee mirrored his actions on the right, just in time! With a loud battle cry, Rocky stepped forward, aiming a beefy fist which would have taken Lee's head off had it connected. But Lee was no longer in range. Ducking under the swing, Crane kicked out with his left foot, catching Rocky square in the gut, bracing himself before the bruiser could recover and then swinging a tremendous right onto the point of Rocky's pugnacious jaw. The force of the blow threw him back across the table and two chairs to lie stunned against the far wall, out of the fight for the moment.
That was all Chip had time to see, for by then he was busy fending off one of Rocky's buddies, a powerful-looking negro wearing neither insignia nor name tag. Chip had no opportunity to disapprove the Marine's negligence in the matter, however, for almost before he could draw breath the man was upon him, forcing him back against the bar in a rush. Chip brought both hands up, breaking the negro's hold, then delivered a powerful blow to the man's unprotected abdomen. The black grunted under the impact, then straightened slowly. "Oh, boy," Chip breathed. Obviously the powerhouse was as strong as he looked.
The Marine circled, made wary by the unexpected strength in Morton's punch, but still secure in his own abilities. He closed again and they traded blows, most of them deflected by the other's guard. However, by the time they separated again, Chip noted with satisfaction that the black had one eye swollen almost shut. Chip wiped an arm across his streaming nose, wincing at the blood now staining his sleeve. Well, it wasn't the first time it had been broken. It probably wouldn't be the last, either.
Acting instinctively, Chip fell into a classic karate pose, prepared when his opponent tried the earlier lactic of using superior size and strength in a forward rush. It was the guy's undoing. Chip caught one arm as he passed and twisted, adding a hefty boost to the guy's forward momentum. The black took off, flying head over heels to slam hard into the side of the bar. He landed in a heap and lay there, out cold and out of the fight.
Chip lifted his arm in a cocky salute before turning to check on the progress of the other half of his team. Lee wasn't doing quite so well with this opponent as he had with Rocky. Rocky had walked right into a sucker punch he'd remember, and regret, for the rest of his life. This guy was cooler, better prepared than was Rocky and out-weighed Crane by at least thirty pounds to boot. And, worst of all, he was smiling.
"Not bad, Navy boy," the thug grunted, barely avoiding Lee's best haymaker right. "Not good enough, either." He stepped forward, feinting with his left, then delivering two fast rabbit punches into Lee's ribs, striking home with bone-jarring intensity before Lee had a chance to retreat. Desperately, Crane lashed out, catching the Marine a solid blow on the side of the head, staggering him long enough for him to back away out of range.
They stood there, panting heavily and regarding each other with respect blended with a good dose of healthy hatred. "I'm gonna take you apart for that, Kid," the thug managed. "Ya hear me, punk? You're dead."
Lee wiped blood out of his eyes from a cut just below his hairline and pushed himself upright and away from the wall. "You can try," he gasped, challenge lighting his features. "But don't count on it." The Marine smiled again and closed with surprising speed, but this time he found Lee ready. Dancing gracefully out of range, Lee changed tactics, dropping to send a powerful side-kick to his opponent's stomach, shifting onto the other foot to catch the thug a forward kick in the groin. The Marine doubled over with a groan, allowing his slighter foe to deliver the coup de grace -- a magnificent uppercut which traveled nearly from the floor. Even from where he was standing, Chip could hear the jaw snapping like kernelled corn. The Marine dropped as though pole axed.
"Lee?" Chip kicked a broken chair out of the way, reaching his friend just as Lee's legs buckled. "Are you all right?" He slipped an arm around the other man's waist, grunting as he was forced to support his entire weight for a moment. Then Lee got his legs back under him and straightened.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine." He pulled away but made no protest when Chip left one supporting arm around his shoulders. "What about you?"
"A little the worse for wear." Chip suit fled, then managed a rueful smile. "Better than the other guy, anyway."
"You've got to get out of here." Chip felt a frantic tugging at his sleeve and nearly staggered as Karlie attempted to drag him bodily towards the door. "The owner's called the cops! Get ou!i"
"I'd say that's our cue, Lee." Morton urged his friend toward the door. "Think you can make a run for it?"
Crane straightened determinedly. "Watch me."
Unfortunately, determination will take a man only so far, even less when it's through a living wall of bone and muscle clad in the uniforms of the local police department.
Lee sighed deeply, wincing when the action aggravated his damaged rib cage. "Any more bright ideas, Mr. Morton?"
Chip raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Not at the moment, Sir. Except that we go peaceably. I'd hate to have my nose broken twice in the same night."
Even he was shocked. He didn't know Crane could curse in that many languages.
***
Even Lee had to admit that the women were everything Chip had claimed they'd be. Blondes, brunettes, redheads -- every one of them found their way to the bar at some time or other throughout the evening and that brought them into striking range for the two good- looking men. Chip had happily devotee himself to this feminine smorgasborg until he happened to notice Lee rubbing his temples when he thought no one was looking. Still have that headache, buddy? Chip thought, studying his friend surreptitiously. I know a great cure for that!
It took well over an hour to accomplish, but at the end of that time, Morton had succeeded in getting his friend and Captain quite thoroughly soused.
Not that that hadn't taken some doing. Imbued with the Navy traditions of discipline and control, Crane naturally resisted surrendering himself to the gin, but Morton persevered, and Crane succumbed. Unfortunately for Chip's plans, getting his friend drunk took considerably longer than he'd counted on and Seaview's Exec found himself more than a little affected as well. Since Chip's careful efficiency tended to disintegrate after the first half-dozen gin and tonics, planning went out the window and the two soon embarked on a round of good-old-fashioned bar hopping. They visited both favored old haunts and hole-in-the-wall dives they'd never suspected existed. Two o'clock found them at a shabby-looking tavern on the waterfront blearily contemplating life, the universe and especially dinner with the Morton family the next day.
"...besides, I want a little support on my side when Mom starts trying to talk me into moving back to the Midwest and raising a family," Morton said, curiously watching an over-painted hooker zero-in on her prey -- a sailor of tender years and obviously no taste whatsoever.
"But I thought your father was all for your posting to Seaview?" Lee fixed his friend with a blearily inquisitive gaze. "Has he changed his mind?"
"He hasn't. Mom's probably changed it for him by now." Chip smiled. "Dad hasn't been able to refuse Morn anything in the last thirty-five years. No reason to think anything's changed at this late date."
"They love each other very much, don't they?" Crane asked, picking up his half-filled glass.
"Thirty-five years worth." But Chip caught a wistful note in his friend's question. "You're...not seeing your mother this time out?"
Lee swirled his drink absently. "No. Not this time out."
There was absolutely no emotion in that decidedly uninformative statement, but Chip caught the quickly disguised sadness in the hazel eyes. "Have you argued with her again?"
Crane drained his glass in one large swallow. "Again? No, same old argument. She feels my place would be better served back in Boston as head of Father's corporation. Her words, not mine."
"Still?" Morton leaned forward, attempting to meet his friend's eyes. "Lee, she's been saying that since the first day I met you at the Academy."
"Don't I know it." The empty glass met the table with a clank.
"She won't let it go, will she?" Morton asked sadly.
Lee sighed. "Mother can be singularly... unforgiving when she puts her mind to it." He essayed a smile. "Times like that I wish I came from a large family like yours. Perhaps it would have helped to be able to spread the responsibility around a bit."
Morton felt a sympathetic tug.. To Chip, a family was a big, warm noisy household full of love and cheer and good will. He'd never considered it simply as an expedience to spread around the "responsibility" or a tool to alleviate a parent's displeasure. He decided to change the subject to something more cheerful. "A big family, now, that's something else again if you're not used to it. Everybody talking at once, fighting over the bathroom...." He added with a a wink, "Of course, it had its advantages too. You always had someone to back you in a fight whether you were right or wrong. And we could scrape together the only one-family baseball team in town. Both sides'"
He sounded so animated, that Lee was forced to smile through his depression. "It sounds great."
"Yes, I suppose it is." He poured Lee a drink from the bottle on the table before upending it over his own glass. "Drink up. We'll order another fifth."
Lee regarded his Exec with unfeigned respect. "Another bottle? Chip. I'm not sure.... I mean, where do you put it? I'm maybe...a little bit...drunk already."
"A little bit?" Chip laughed out loud. "I should say you are. Well," he amended quickly before his Captain's scowl, "maybe we both are."
"You don't look drunk," Lee accused, fixing the blond with a critical, slightly crossed glare.
Chip managed a modest shrug. "Maybe it doesn't show."
"It never does," Lee muttered glumly. "Doesn't matter how much you drink, it never shows."
Morton, in the interests of friendship, forcibly swallowed his gleeful smirk. You never could drink, anyway, he thought, remembering more than one leave when he'd poured his friend into bed. "Matter of body weight?" he suggested tactfully.
"A matter of...who?"
"It's a proven scientific fact," Morton droned pedantically, "that the more you weigh, the better you can drink."
If Crane noticed the heavily stilted speech, he made no sign. He considered the statement carefully and from every angle his sodden mind could manage, before shaking his head. "Won't work."
"Why not?" Morton waved his handkerchief frantically until a waitress on the far corner deigned to notice him.
Crane, watching these antics in puzzlement, took a moment before answering. "For...for one thing, you only weigh a few pounds more than I do. And for another...."
"Yes?" Morton prodded.
"Betty." Chip sipped his drink, fixing Crane with an inquisitive look. "Betty Coletta," Crane supplied. Chip waited. "Bettyl" Crane waved his hands, exasperated. "That little blonde from that London pub. The one that drank us both under the table and stole our -- "
"Oh. Betty," Chip twirled his glass, annoyed at having his argument holed so thoroughly. "Forgot about her."
"Wish I could." Lee gulped his drink down. "She took us like a couple of boy scouts."
"Uh, I don't think boy scouts is a term Betty would have chosen." Chip chuckled. "She-"
"Get you another bottle, mister?"
Chip turned, looking up and into a pair of the most sultry brown eyes he'd ever seen. The look they gave him raised the temperature of the room several degrees on the spot. "You must be a mind reader, Miss," he smiled, adjusting his dangling tie. "We were just discussing the subject ourselves."
"Uh-huh." The girl dimpled. "Haven't seen you two in here before. New in town?"
"New in here." Chip turned up his best high-wattage smile. "And what's your name, pretty lady?"
"Karlie." The girl bent a little closer. "And yours, handsome?"
She directed another smoldering look into his direction, and for a moment Chip couldn't remember who he was. He sank into the pure sensuality of the woman, feeling himself undressed, examined and approved all in the time it took to regain his breath. He succeeded in rousing himself only when she repeated her question. "Uh, Chip Morton." He gestured vaguely in Lee's direction. "The quiet one over there's Lee Crane."
She directed the full impact of those eyes in Crane's direction and Chip was gratified to see him thrown for a loss as well. "Hello, Lee."
Crane reached for his own tie, forgetting that it now resided in his pants pocket. "Uh, hello."
Karlie swept Lee's slender frame with a distinctly predatory air until Chip felt it prudent to reclaim control of the conversation immediately. He slipped an arm around her waist in a friendly gesture and pulled her down to perch in his lap. "So, tell me, Karlie, have you worked here long?"
That worked. Karlie left off her catlike scrutiny of Crane and returned her attention to Morton. "A lot longer than I care to remember." She ran a hand up Chip's arm. "These are uniforms, aren't they? Navy uniforms? You an officer?"
"Lieutenant Commander," Chip replied, preening. "I'm Executive Officer aboard SSRN Seaview."
"The Seaview?" Her brow puckered prettily. "That's that big submarine from up the coast, isn't it?"
"That's right. You're very well informed, I see."
"Mmmmm." She twisted around until she could see Lee again. "What about your cute friend. He an officer too?"
"Ummm, more or less." Chip spared his friend a mischievous grin before turning back to Karlie. "How much do you know about submarines, sweetheart?"
She shrugged. "We get all kinds here. My ex-old man was stationed on an aircraft carrier once during the war. Saw a lot of action in Vietnam." She bent full lips close to Chip's ear. "You ever seen ... action, Chip?"
Morton gulped. "I --"
"That fish-face couldn't battle his way out of a geisha house."
Chip couldn't sec the speaker over his feminine armful, but he could see Lee -- who'd been watching Chip's "land maneuvers" through hazily amused eyes -- straighten sharply and twist toward the source of the remark, three beefy Marines who'd been loudly making themselves obnoxious at the next table. Morton and Crane had so far been able to block out the interference. Chip had a feeling that that was about to change.
"Lay off, Rocky." Karlie's pleasantly throaty voice hardened. "Gowan back ta your cheap booze."
"Wasn't talkin' ta you, bimbo. I was talkin' ta the Navy there." Rocky slowly rose to his full height. From where Chip was sitting, still encumbered by Karlie's well-rounded weight, it looked more like a medium- sized mountain rising out of the sea. He gulped, then the burn of an adrenaline surge warmed his veins, sweeping the last cobwebs of alcohol from his brain. He could see Lee's face in profile; noted with satisfaction the sudden clarity in the golden eyes. Drunk, sober or half-dead, slip the possibility of a fight in front of the ex-Golden Gloves competitor, and Lee Crane seemed to come alive. Never one to sidestep a challenge himself, Chip disengaged his arm from the girl's waist and patted her off his lap.
"We're not looking for any trouble," Lee attempted, more formality than conciliation.
"Really?" The man-mountain sneered and Chip knew it was all over, but the action. "Too bad, kid, 'cause you got some."
Not overly interested, but feeling compelled to ask anyway, Morton went for the obvious question. 'What's your beef, Marine?"
"No beef, Blondie," the Marine said, hitching up his belt. "It just so happens that I don't like officers very much today. I get that way whenever I have to do time in the brig. Makes me mean."
"No kidding," Chip muttered. "That's why we," the bruiser gestured to his now-standing companions, "are going to kick your asses." Chip rose, circling to the left of the terrible threesome while Lee mirrored his actions on the right, just in time! With a loud battle cry, Rocky stepped forward, aiming a beefy fist which would have taken Lee's head off had it connected. But Lee was no longer in range. Ducking under the swing, Crane kicked out with his left foot, catching Rocky square in the gut, bracing himself before the bruiser could recover and then swinging a tremendous right onto the point of Rocky's pugnacious jaw. The force of the blow threw him back across the table and two chairs to lie stunned against the far wall, out of the fight for the moment.
That was all Chip had time to see, for by then he was busy fending off one of Rocky's buddies, a powerful-looking negro wearing neither insignia nor name tag. Chip had no opportunity to disapprove the Marine's negligence in the matter, however, for almost before he could draw breath the man was upon him, forcing him back against the bar in a rush. Chip brought both hands up, breaking the negro's hold, then delivered a powerful blow to the man's unprotected abdomen. The black grunted under the impact, then straightened slowly. "Oh, boy," Chip breathed. Obviously the powerhouse was as strong as he looked.
The Marine circled, made wary by the unexpected strength in Morton's punch, but still secure in his own abilities. He closed again and they traded blows, most of them deflected by the other's guard. However, by the time they separated again, Chip noted with satisfaction that the black had one eye swollen almost shut. Chip wiped an arm across his streaming nose, wincing at the blood now staining his sleeve. Well, it wasn't the first time it had been broken. It probably wouldn't be the last, either.
Acting instinctively, Chip fell into a classic karate pose, prepared when his opponent tried the earlier lactic of using superior size and strength in a forward rush. It was the guy's undoing. Chip caught one arm as he passed and twisted, adding a hefty boost to the guy's forward momentum. The black took off, flying head over heels to slam hard into the side of the bar. He landed in a heap and lay there, out cold and out of the fight.
Chip lifted his arm in a cocky salute before turning to check on the progress of the other half of his team. Lee wasn't doing quite so well with this opponent as he had with Rocky. Rocky had walked right into a sucker punch he'd remember, and regret, for the rest of his life. This guy was cooler, better prepared than was Rocky and out-weighed Crane by at least thirty pounds to boot. And, worst of all, he was smiling.
"Not bad, Navy boy," the thug grunted, barely avoiding Lee's best haymaker right. "Not good enough, either." He stepped forward, feinting with his left, then delivering two fast rabbit punches into Lee's ribs, striking home with bone-jarring intensity before Lee had a chance to retreat. Desperately, Crane lashed out, catching the Marine a solid blow on the side of the head, staggering him long enough for him to back away out of range.
They stood there, panting heavily and regarding each other with respect blended with a good dose of healthy hatred. "I'm gonna take you apart for that, Kid," the thug managed. "Ya hear me, punk? You're dead."
Lee wiped blood out of his eyes from a cut just below his hairline and pushed himself upright and away from the wall. "You can try," he gasped, challenge lighting his features. "But don't count on it." The Marine smiled again and closed with surprising speed, but this time he found Lee ready. Dancing gracefully out of range, Lee changed tactics, dropping to send a powerful side-kick to his opponent's stomach, shifting onto the other foot to catch the thug a forward kick in the groin. The Marine doubled over with a groan, allowing his slighter foe to deliver the coup de grace -- a magnificent uppercut which traveled nearly from the floor. Even from where he was standing, Chip could hear the jaw snapping like kernelled corn. The Marine dropped as though pole axed.
"Lee?" Chip kicked a broken chair out of the way, reaching his friend just as Lee's legs buckled. "Are you all right?" He slipped an arm around the other man's waist, grunting as he was forced to support his entire weight for a moment. Then Lee got his legs back under him and straightened.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine." He pulled away but made no protest when Chip left one supporting arm around his shoulders. "What about you?"
"A little the worse for wear." Chip suit fled, then managed a rueful smile. "Better than the other guy, anyway."
"You've got to get out of here." Chip felt a frantic tugging at his sleeve and nearly staggered as Karlie attempted to drag him bodily towards the door. "The owner's called the cops! Get ou!i"
"I'd say that's our cue, Lee." Morton urged his friend toward the door. "Think you can make a run for it?"
Crane straightened determinedly. "Watch me."
Unfortunately, determination will take a man only so far, even less when it's through a living wall of bone and muscle clad in the uniforms of the local police department.
Lee sighed deeply, wincing when the action aggravated his damaged rib cage. "Any more bright ideas, Mr. Morton?"
Chip raised his hands in the universal gesture of surrender. "Not at the moment, Sir. Except that we go peaceably. I'd hate to have my nose broken twice in the same night."
Even he was shocked. He didn't know Crane could curse in that many languages.
***