They stood there for a few seconds till the single hand moved around then Jimmy called out ‘righto’ and Ken and Davo began circling each other.
Davo was a little worried at first that he might get all agitated and excited and do something foolish but instead he was completely calm, cool and collected and as unruffled as if he were just standing there waiting for a bus. Ken would poke out a couple of straight lefts or a right and Davo would keep his guard up and poke a couple of lefts back. It seemed easy. The slight shock of Ken’s punches landing twigged his headache a little but happily nowhere near enough to worry him. The instructor moved around the ring on his toes flicking fairly light punches from all directions; he wasn’t trying to put Davo on show or show everyone how good he was, he was just being tradesman like. Davo knew Ken was taking it easy but somehow it all looked like it was in slow motion. Whether the brain damage Davo suffered had something to do with his reflexes Davo wasn’t sure but every time Ken threw a punch Davo felt like he could have read a book while it was coming; he had to forcibly restrain himself from letting go about a dozen punches at a time. Davo felt like they’d only been going at it for a few seconds when the kid yelled out ‘righto’ again and they stopped for minute’s rest.
‘You’re going pretty good,’ said Ken. ‘You sure you haven’t been doing a bit of training?’
Davo gave his shoulders a bit of a shrug. ‘Only a little bit over the last couple of weeks with that mate of mine I was telling you about.’
The tall instructor nodded his head.
‘You can go a bit quicker this round—if you want to, Ken.’
Ken looked at Davo for a moment. ‘Okay. Suit yourself.’
The kid yelled ‘righto’ and they began moving around the ring again.
Davo could feel the increased speed and intensity of Ken’s punches now but apart from the slightest twinge and a bit of a ring when they hit his head they still didn’t hurt and they still all seemed to be in slow motion. Davo deliberately dropped his guard on a couple of occasions to absorb some solid blows and they still didn’t trouble him. He flicked several lefts into Ken’s face and a few rights into his mid-section, still only at around a third normal strength but even these managed to stop Ken momentarily. If Davo had followed up he probably would have had him.
Ken by now wasn’t frustrated or annoyed, he was more surprised than anything else; he’d certainly never fought anyone like Davo before. It was like fighting a robot one minute, then a rank amateur, then a top-ranking professional: it was mystifying to say the least. Whatever it was it sure wasn’t easy.
Next thing the kid yelled out ‘righto’ again and they stopped. Davo noticed as they stood there that this time Ken’s chest and shoulders were rising noticeably as he got his breath back, yet Davo wasn’t even puffing.
‘You want to have one more, Ken, then we’ll turn it up. I’m starting to get a bit buggered.’
‘Yeah alright. You’re going okay though, Brian.’
Davo smiled. ‘Well this time, go a bit harder will you. If I’m going to do this stunt work I may as well get used to copping a few hard knocks.’
‘Alright. But if I hurt you at all you yell out and I’ll stop. Okay?’
‘Righto.’
The kid yelled ‘righto’ and they got stuck into it again. By now the rest of the kids in the gym had stopped training and moved closer to the ring to watch.
Ken was starting to let them go now, Davo let a couple land but they still didn’t seem to hurt him. Those he didn’t want to land he either caught on his elbows or slipped: any time he wanted to hit Ken he could. It was easy, too easy and Davo wasn’t even trying: he could hardly believe it. Then Davo decided he’d learnt all he could from Ken and had used him enough and now it was time to put an end to it. As calculating and methodical as if he’d programmed himself to do it; as if Ken—good bloke and all that he was—wasn’t a human being but a unit that was to be disposed of because it was of no further use.
He shuffled slightly away from Ken and to his right then moved back in; Ken threw a straight left that Davo saw coming as soon as Ken’s glove moved. Like he had all the time in the world Davo ducked underneath it and drove a withering short right straight into Ken’s heart with all his power. Ken’s eyes closed as he let out an audible gasp of pain and shock and froze in his tracks. Just as quickly, Davo brought another short right over Ken’s shoulder and crashed it straight onto his jaw making his eyes flutter open as he dropped his guard and began to totter forward. Davo then bent slightly at the knees and hit Ken with a brutal left hook that slewed his head around and sent him crashing against the ropes, he made a desperate grab for the top strand but his knees buckled and as his hand slipped from the ropes he crashed down heavily onto his right elbow, looked up at Davo in glazed disbelief for a second then pitched forward onto his face, out cold.
For a brief instant Davo felt a twinge of remorse for Ken as he stood over him; he was an honest, straightforward good bloke, whose main concern was that he didn’t hurt Davo. But bad luck. Then he noticed all the kids staring at him with their mouths wide open. Without saying a word he climbed from the ring, pulled his hands straight out of the gloves and tossed them on the table, then picked up his overnight bag and left. He didn’t wait for the lift but ran straight down the stairs getting into his tracksuit top when he got out the front. The next thing he knew he was sitting in his car staring out the window in slightly amused disbelief, still not quite sure what had happened and although there was half a smile on his face at the same time he felt, if anything, a little frightened.
He’d just knocked out, demolished would be a better description, the ex-amateur light-heavyweight champion of Australia. A boxer who had had over a hundred fights and he’d done it easy. Fair enough he was a good bloke and all that and maybe he had taken him just a little by surprise but with all that experience he should have been able to handle it; it wasn’t Davo’s fault if he didn’t know how powerful he was getting. And what about his reflexes—they were something else again. As soon as they shaped up and that air of tension was there it was as if everything slowed down around him, he was in top gear and everything else was jammed in first; Davo wondered just what had happened to his brain when he got that kicking. One thing was certain though: it was going to be an unbelievable asset when the time came for him to actually go out and do some street-fighting. So any anxious thoughts or feelings of remorse he had for Ken soon disappeared. He gave a sinister chuckle and that same maleficent gleam appeared once more in his eyes.
He started the car and was still thinking heavily as he drove towards Central Railway; confident as he was there was still one more thing he had to prove to himself. As he pulled up for a set of lights near Haymarket he glanced up at a sign on a window he’d noticed on a trip into town earlier. Academy of Advanced Tae-Kwon-Do. That’ll do he thought. Tae-Kwon-Do. Karate, Hapkido. Same bloody thing. I’ll give them a ring when I get home. He scribbled the number down while he waited for the lights to change and rang it not long after he got cleaned up and had had a cup of tea and a bite to eat.
‘Hello Chee-Do-Kai Academy.’
‘Yeah. I’m enquiring about doing a course there. How do I go about it?’
‘Well, you’ll have to come down here and join up. It’s $30 a year membership and $30 a month for the lessons. You’ll need a martial arts uniform, they’re $50 each, we’ve got them here. You can train seven days a week if you want to and gradings are twice a year.
‘What time are you open?’
‘Three till ten.’
‘I might come down tomorrow afternoon. Who do I ask for?’
‘Ask for Lee.’
‘Righto. Thanks, mate.’
‘You’re welcome.’
So, thought Davo, a sort of half smile on his face as he replaced the receiver. I wonder what will happen this time? Martial arts was a lot different to boxing, a lot more things could happen while bouncing around in the ring and he doubted if he’d come ac
ross another instructor as goodnatured as Ken was. But Davo wasn’t unduly worried about what would happen at the Academy of Advanced Tae-Kwon-Do—as he sat there staring absently at the phone, the half smile still on his face. If anything he was looking forward to it.
Davo was up at six the following morning and trained like a man possessed for three hours; with that extra boost to his confidence there was no stopping him now. He shuffled down to the Junction on his walking stick at lunchtime to pick a few things up and cash his social security cheque, then after a light workout in the afternoon and a bit of a rest afterwards he drove down to the Haymarket just after four. He found a parking spot behind the old Capitol Theatre. Wearing the same gear as the previous evening and with his overnight bag in his hand he locked the car and walked around to the gymnasium.
A dingy open doorway with a couple of signs on it written in English and some Asian language and with a painting of a fist above it fronted a set of creaky wooden stairs that led the one flight up to the gymnasium. As he climbed the stairs Davo could hear the thumps and shouts of the people in there working out and when he reached the top he was confronted by a sight somewhat different to the gym at the YMCA. There was the usual boxing ring at one end but a lot more punching bags of different sizes plus some floor to ceiling bags and a strange-looking object with wooden arms sticking out of it that Davo recognised from one of the books as a Mok-Jong. One wall was nearly all mirrors and the others were plastered with martial arts movie posters, other posters and various sets of photo instructions on karate plus a rack full of exotic-looking knives and axes; the mandatory blow-up photos of Mass Oyama and Bruce Lee were hung next to each other above these. Another wall was set with a number of opened cooper-louvred windows which let in a bit of fresh air and through which the odd traffic noise managed to drift up over the sounds of the men training.
There would have been over a dozen men training, mostly wearing black or white cotton outfits, much the same as those worn by the two Koreans Davo had seen on TV. A couple were in the ring, the rest were either working out on the various bags or grimacing, grunting and snarling in front of the mirrors as they threw bursts of various punches and kicks at themselves. Davo stood there looking at them for a while and for some reason he couldn’t explain the whole scene turned him off; he knew he would be glad when he’d finished what he came for and got out of the place.
A counter cum receptionist desk stood near the top of the stairs behind which sat an impassive-faced Asian, somewhere in his thirties, going bald in the front with the hair at the back pushed forward in an attempt to cover it. Davo walked over to him and placed his overnight bag on the counter.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘which is Lee?’
‘I’m Lee,’ was the short reply.
Davo paused for a moment as he studied the guy behind the counter who seemed more interested in the magazine he was reading than talking to Davo.
‘I rang up yesterday about doing a course here.’
‘Yeah? Did they explain everything to you over the phone?’ ‘Only about the money. Thirty dollars to join and $30 a month. Is that right?’
At the mention of the word ‘money’ Lee closed the magazine and gave Davo an oily sort of smile. Davo could almost read his mind. Get the punter in, get his money, give him a quick course in ‘beat the bully’ and get rid of him.
‘That’s right,’ smiled Lee, pushing his chair a bit further back from the counter. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Brian.’
‘You ever done any martial arts training, Brian?’
‘Not really.’
Davo gave Lee the same spiel he’d given the others about the movie stunt work, adding that he’d done some boxing and a bit of Thai style when he was in the Air Force.
‘So you’re going to do some stunt work eh. I did a bit of that when I was in Hong Kong.’
‘Go on eh?’
Lee pointed to a locker-room, told Davo to get changed, have a workout on one of the bags for around fifteen minutes, then come back and see him and he’d have one of the instructors take him in the ring and show him the basics. Davo nodded and walked over to the locker-room which was about the same size as an average bedroom only with a number of chipped wooden lockers and a small shower recess with a smelly toilet running off it. Davo put his tracksuit top in his overnight bag and took it back out into the gym, leaving it not far from the stairs; he wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen but if it was anything like the YMCA he’d be wanting a quick exit.
There was a vacant punching bag about half the size of the one in his garage. Davo slipped on his mitts and started moving around it, throwing punches at about a tenth the power and speed he normally used; now and again he’d throw a few kicks at about the same pace. The others around him appeared to be going flat out, kicking and punching like their lives depended on it. A few of them seemed to have some ability, the others looked like they’d talked themselves into how tough and deadly they were as they pranced around in their Karate gear. One man in a black outfit walked po-faced amongst them stopping to give exaggerated instructions accompanied by more shouting and grunting. The whole scene mystified and bemused Davo, the only word he could think of to describe it was ‘theatrical’.
After fifteen minutes of pussyfooting around the punching bag Davo put his mitts back in his bag which he then carried over and placed near the desk even a little closer to the stairs.
‘Well, Lee,’ he said. ‘I’m, warmed up. What do you want me to do now?’
Lee was now having a cup of coffee and he took his time having a couple of sips while Davo stood there waiting.
‘You know any stretching exercises?’ he asked.
‘A few.’
‘Well do them for five minutes or so then come back and see me.’
‘Yeah alright,’ replied Davo slowly. He could see it was just an excuse to get rid of him while he finished his coffee. Fancy paying $30 to that clown he thought. The inscrutable oriental. Yeah balls. He found some space over near the locker-room and did the few exercises he knew. After about ten minutes he once again approached Lee.
‘Okay. I’ve got them done,’ he said, trying to sound cheerful and enthusiastic.
Lee took in a breath and let it out. ‘Yeah alright,’ he said, with obvious disinterest. ‘Well, hold on a minute and I’ll get some one to fix you up.’ He looked behind Davo, waited a moment then made a gesture with his hand. ‘Hey, Vittor,’ he called out.
The instructor in the black outfit that Davo had noticed earlier broke away from the student he was talking to and came over. He was about the same size as Davo, probably a little bigger, with fierce brown eyes set in a wide angular face topped with short curly black hair and a droopy Pancho Villa moustache.
‘Vittor, this is, Brian,’ said Lee. ‘Brian’s going to be a student here, will you gear him and take him in the ring and show him what we’ll be teaching him over the next few months. He’s also a movie stuntman,’ he added.
Vittor didn’t say anything or offer to shake hands as he stood there rocking up and down on his toes with his thumbs jammed in the knot of the flat black cotton belt he had tied round his waist. The way he glowered into his face Davo quickly got the impression he was trying to intimidate him and Davo half expected him to have a sign hanging round his neck saying ‘I am a trained karate killer. Do not screw with me.’ Where Davo had sort of admired Ken the boxing instructor when he first met him he found he was taking an immediate dislike to Vittor.
‘Righto, Vittor,’ he grinned cheekily. ‘What’s the story?’
Vittor looked Davo up and down for a moment then took in a deep breath. ‘Follow me,’ he grunted.
He led Davo to a table near the wall with the windows, on which were several sets of gloves and headgear: there were also loose-fitting padded boots for your feet. The equipment, although a little dirty, seemed quite new and modern. The gloves and boots were a dense sponge rubber coated with red plastic: the headgear was made of the s
ame stuff and shaped something like a big Balaclava which you slipped straight over your head.
‘We won’t need the headgear,’ grunted Vittor, as they moved across to the ring.
‘Okay,’ said Davo. ‘Hey, Vittor. You done much of this martial arts caper have you?’
Vittor looked at Davo coldly as if he’d just asked him if his younger sister was still a virgin. ‘I’ve got a black belt for Tae-Kwon-Doe and karate. I’ve been an instructor for five years. And I won my last fifteen full contact bouts by knockout.’
‘Gee whiz! That’s good isn’t is,’ replied Davo.
Vittor ignored Davo and they climbed into the ring.
For the next five minutes or so Vittor moved around Davo showing him all the different punches and kicks, but stopping them just a few centimetres before they’d land. He was quick on his feet and just as quick using them: the same with his hands. Davo was suitably impressed though all the time he got the impression that Vittor was bored shitless having to instruct what he considered to be cretins and was trying to show Davo how clever he was as much as instruct him. Vittor wouldn’t have realised that Davo’s unique reflexes had gone into overdrive from the word go and that he was about a minute in front of him the whole time. There were several occasions when Davo would loved to have stepped inside brooding Vittor and countered one of his punches or kicks with something of his own. After a while they stopped for a breather.
‘You’re not half bad at this rort are you, Vittor?’ smiled Davo. Vittor looked at him but didn’t say anything. ‘How about this time you throw some more punches and kicks a little faster and I’ll see if I can duck them. It’ll do me good for the movies.’
Vittor looked curiously at Davo for a second or two. ‘As you wish,’ he said. ‘We’ll put the headgear on.’
He called for one of the students to hand it to him then give him three minutes off the clock situated above the ring, much the same as the one at the YMCA. They put the headgear on, the student called out ‘go’ and away they went.
Davo's Little Something Page 18
