The Girl with the Pearl Herring Part 7

"He set skinheads after us," reasoned Jaques, "had his boys jab me in the ass with some knockout drug, and tried to kidnap our dog. We are breaking this prick's pretzel stick.”

“It’s not the car's fault.” Lincoln protested, please bruv, it's a McLaren.”

“It’s painted gold!” yelled Jaques.

“That,” said Lincoln, “is an excellent point.” and sadly broke the driver's side window.

JAQUES, unrestrained by remorse, joined in. For the next five minutes the garage looked and sounded like the bonus round in Street Fighter 2.  When they were done they sat, spent, on a stack of tires and the two of them looked at the very expensive wreck in front of them. JAQUES held his hand up, and Lincoln lightly slapped it. The four henchmen walked in and looked at what was left of their boss's car.

“Fuck me,” said one “he is going to be pissed.”

“You should not have done that,” said another man, “You really should not have done that.”

Standing up, signaling that talking time was done, Lincoln and Jaques slipped their jackets off and hung them carefully over the tire pile. The four men rolled their shoulders, slipped on brass knuckles and advanced.

“They just don’t give up,”  Lincoln Said, almost admiringly.

As usual, the men split into two pairs and pursued different targets. But, they had learned from the previous fights. They didn’t crowd each other, moved independently and unpredictability, singly or in tandem. Before he could get his elbows in, JAQUES took three sharp jabs just below his ribs, but when he went to punch back the man was gone and his knee was kicked painfully out from under him, as he fell and the two men closed in and began to kick him with what he incongruously identified as doc martins.

“Hang in there my brother, “shouted Lincoln, “I'll be right there.”

“Quickly Please,” Jaques called from the floor as he landed a solid blow to a knee by his feet “Make haste young squire.” he then fell silent. The only sound was boot leather hitting flesh.

Lincoln seemed to be having no difficulties with the two men who had attacked him. Besides bleeding from the nose, and favoring the ribs on his right side he was upright and dealing damage. A flurry of blows broke one man’s nose and left him gasping for air holding his windpipe. Lincoln’s second opponent drove into him, to be met with three precise kicks, and a stunning blow to his left eye socket leaving him wreathing on the ground gasping for breath. The other man went to help his partner and was convinced to nap by one of Lincoln’s tasseled loafers. Lincoln looked over to JAQUES. He saw the distress he was still in and removed one opponent by hooking his fingers under the man’s eyebrows, pulling back, and when the man fell, banged the back of his head against the floor.

This was all the break that JACQUES needed. He caught the nex kick in the crook of his arm, held the foot still and rolled up on his side. The man went down, his legs tangled and one would not move. Much earlier in their friendship Lincoln had noticed that JAQUES legs were deceptively muscular. Jaques' opponent was in range of the two muscular columns and the last of the fight did not last long. Powerful kicks rendered the man unconscious. JAQUES slowly got up off the floor and dusted off his trousers.

“Thanks,” he said simply.

“Anytime chief,” Lincoln said back, giddy with adrenalyn, “not that you needed any help. I know you would have gotten them eventually, you are a swan after all. Oh! Oh! I know, you are a Gutter Swan.”

“Perhaps,” said JAQUES, perhaps.”

There was a wash of headlights from the front of the building and JAQUES and Lincoln left through the rear window. As they were driving away, JAQUES said.

“Shit we forgot to break their hands.”

“Damn,” said Lincoln, “damn damn damn. That’s going to bite us I bet.”

After he had gotten home from trashing the gold Mclaren and getting his ass, literally, kicked, Jaques drifted off to a sound sleep to be woken up by one of “the four” as he now thought of them. Black Eye, as Jaques nicknamed him in his head for a police report he was sure would follow, was mispronouncing his name on purpose.  Jaques swung his feet off the bed and sat up stiffly.

“Jake, Jaaaay-aaaake.” Black eye said, warily watching Jaques’ hands.

“It is pronounced ‘Jock’, but with a semi-soft J,” Jaques  explained pedantically.