Knockouts: Ten Tales of Fantasy and Noir
By Jay Ridler
()
About this ebook
An old vampire trains a young human to beat his kind in the ring. A young man tries to save his sister from the drug scene that almost killed him. A gang of kids start a backyard kung fu tournament that releases the worst and best in them. A career drunk takes one last stab at salvation. A tough girl takes on the challenge of training the local weakling, and finds monsters inside the squared circle.
KNOCKOUTS collects ten tales of action, noir, and horror by Jason S. Ridler, the author of DEATH MATCH and over forty published short stories. A former punk rock musician and cemetery groundskeeper, he also holds a Ph.D. in War Studies from the Royal Military College of Canada. He currently lives in the East Bay region of San Francisco with his wife, two dogs, and two parrots.
Jay Ridler
Jason S. Ridler is a writer and historian. He is the author of BLOOD AND SAWDUST, the Spar Battersea thrillers (DEATH MATCH, CON JOB and DICE ROLL), the short story collection KNOCKOUTS, and has published over fifty stories in such magazines and anthologies as The Big Click, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Out of the Gutter and more. His popular non-fiction has appeared in Clarkesworld, Dark Scribe, and the Internet Review of Science Fiction. A former punk rock musician and cemetery groundskeeper, Mr. Ridler holds a Ph.D. in War Studies from the Royal Military College of Canada. Visit him at twitter at http://twitter.com/JayRidler, Facebook , http://www.facebook.com/Ridlerville, or his writing blog, Ridlerville, at www.jsridler.com
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Knockouts - Jay Ridler
KNOCKOUTS:
TEN TOUGH TALES OF FANTASY AND NOIR
BY JASON S. RIDLER
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Jason S. Ridler
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION: ENTER THE RIDLER, BY NORM PARTRIDGE
BLOOD THAT BURNS SO BRIGHT
PALADIN AND THE CONCRETE BLOND
GRUDGE MATCH
HEROIC POLEMIC, FOUND IN A PUBLIC WASHROOM
THE SAVAGE GAMES OF PEACE
SUCKERPUNCH
BLOOD AND SAWDUST
STUNT GIRLS AND PUNCHING BAGS
METH WESTERN
THE LAST
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
STORY NOTES
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PUBLICATION HISTORY
INTRODUCTION: ENTER THE RIDLER
By Norman Partridge
So I’ll tell you right up front—Jason Ridler’s a buddy of mine. Guy moved down to Northern Cal from Canada, and we started trading emails. Pretty soon he suggested we get together and go see a movie or something. Maybe grab a bite to eat. You know, the way normal folks do when they get to know one another.
But you’ve got to watch using that normal
word when you’re talking about a couple of horror writers. Especially if one of ‘em is named Norman, and his last name ain’t Prentiss. Because yours truly (a.k.a. that misanthropic Partridge guy), isn’t the most social of creatures. As my bride says, sometimes it takes a shoehorn and a hundred pounds of dynamite to get me out of the house.
Of course, if we’re talking fiction that might just be a solution Mr. Ridler would employ… especially the latter half of the equation. Read the stories that follow and you’ll discover that violence is quite often the most frequent response to problems large and small in Jason’s world, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he knows more than a little bit about dynamite. He didn’t have to go quite that far with me, though. There was just something about the guy. For one thing, he had enthusiasm to spare. And I’ll be the first to admit it—there was something about getting emails from a guy with a Ph.D. in War Studies from the Royal Military College of Canada that piqued my curiosity more than a little bit.
So Jason and I started getting together. We saw some movies. We hit some restaurants. To tell the truth, I don’t remember most of the movies we’ve seen. Unfortunately for our sensibilities as well as our wallets, most of them have turned out to be duds. Except Zombieland. That one was really good. The Wolverine movie? Not so much. But I do remember our conversations as we’ve kicked around those movies (and the writing biz, and story ideas, and all that kind of stuff) at a little Mexican joint after we put the Cineplex in the rearview.
When I think about those conversations, the first thing that comes to mind is Jason’s energy and enthusiasm. Now, I’m here to tell you: Those are two things a new writer needs in spades. You may not learn about them at any College of War, but they are weapons nonetheless. And, for me, that’s what comes across most when I talk to Jason. Comes across when I read his fiction, too. He’s kind of like a bull rider who’s tossed a saddle on a Tiger tank, and he’s riding that bucking sucker for all he’s worth, because, hey, no one told him that he couldn’t do it, did they?
That’s the kind of resolve you need when you’re starting out as a writer. Often, it’s the only thing that will carry you through. The stories are fuel, and you burn through them, and then you light up the next fire and the one after that. You’ve got to love what you’re doing, and stick with it through weeks and sometimes years of little return. Getting rejection slips. Publishing in little magazines. Then hitting markets that are bigger… and bigger still. Jason has that figured out. As he wrote in a recent email when I asked what drives him: I love creating characters. I love exploring human emotions through story. I still have a kid’s sense of adventure, smashed into a sense of wonder. I also have a drive to succeed against the odds. Writing is a rotten career, odds wise. But I’ve always followed my interests, and am happy for doing so.
I like those words. Especially that one bit: a kid’s sense of adventure, smashed into a sense of wonder. For me, that’s Mr. Ridler in a nutshell… or maybe a barbed-wire straight-jacket. There’s an image for you. Stick it in your brainpan and let it rattle around in your skull. Because I’m not the kind of Introduction-writer who’s going to tip the writer’s hand. Let’s let Jason’s stories do that little job all by their lonesome. I just want to let you know that there’s a guy coming for you with two fistfuls of tales that are wild and energetic and not built to mess around.
One other thing: I think you’ll enjoy them.
I sure did.
So here he is, the Man in the Barbed-Wire Straitjacket.
Enter the Ridler.
--End--
BLOOD THAT BURNS SO BRIGHT
Knuckles? What Ned taped together were closer to jagged turtle shells hiding under torn, red calluses. Sakura’s hand remained calm and still in his palm while the tape made its long way around.
You shouldn’t have called time out,
she said, voice a thin mist in the fetid air. I had him.
Deep breaths,
Ned said. Remember to breathe.
She complied while he pulled out another a stretch of tape. Fine, my bad. Make him eat my words when you get back in the cage.
Tighter,
Sakura said, legs dangling over the edge of the ancient massage bench, body still and poised despite the agony. It made Ned’s silent heart ache. Chains of sweat dropped from her chin, past her boots, and turned the dirty floor into a fresh mess. Each drop hit with a rusty echo. This had been the change room for a slaughterhouse, once upon a time. Fitting, Ned thought.
Down the hall around the killing room floor, the frenzied crowed hungered for the last round.
You want a little flexibility,
Ned said, as the tape made another lap. So the impact has somewhere to escape besides your wrist. And you need a grip to grapple.
She exhaled hard now, controlling the pain. Crooked fingers flexed like a dying critter. Thumbs are all I got that work on their own. Tighter.
He chuckled. Fine. Full mummy treatment, minus the thumbs. You know he’ll try a submission now.
The tape did another lap around her tortured hands. Try and fail.
He forced a smile. Outside, the deadbloods howled from the stands as the time-out burned like a fuse. You should be proud, child. Those boos? That’s a kind of cheer. They hate that one of us is getting beaten by one of you. But they love a good fight. And loud as they boo, the cheers in the Scrum amongst your kind must be shaking the roofs. Turncoats will be having their hands full tonight!
Only if I win,
she said, chin dripping, voice clearer. Any bets on that happening?
He stopped taping. I never bet on my talent until they win one, so you should feel righteous for making me lose. Sure you don’t want to grapple?
Sakura’s glare was steady as a cat’s, and just as heartless. He would hurt her. And it twisted his guts, wishing he’d believed in her then as he did now. Then make a fist,
said Ned.
Trembling, her fingers tried retracting into the knuckle-bombs she’d dropped on every deadblood she’d fought on her short rise toward arena