The sun was setting as Shelby walked down the porch steps and around the side of the house where he kept the cans. He used to keep them on the porch, for convenience, but tired of raccoons and other animals tipping them over and making a mess, not to mention leaving their shit behind when they left. One of these days, he’d build a small shed for the trashcans, something he could lock overnight. It would be a pain, but would also save him a lot of headache and wasted effort cleaning up after these damn scavengers.
He lifted the metal lid of the can, dropped in the bag, and replaced the lid with a bang. He could at least invest in one of those trashcans with the locking lids. He smiled at the idea of a raccoon trying to figure out the lock mechanism on a trashcan. It would please him to annoy the creatures, given all the messes they had made over the years.
He was turning to go back to the house when he became aware of someone watching him. He looked up and saw the towering form of Gannon Ellis standing a few yards away. The lengthening shadows made the big man seem even larger and more menacing than usual.
“Alexander,” Gannon said.
“Gannon. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“Around. We Ellises take to the woods.”
“So I hear.”
“I guess you know why I’m here.”
“I can imagine.”
“Well, why don’t you, then?”
“You probably think you’re going to kill me.”
Gannon laughed, the sound harsh and cruel. “Oh, I ain’t just gonna kill you. I’m gonna rip you apart with my bare hands and butcher you up afterward. If I get real hungry, maybe I’ll roast up a piece or two.”
“You’re a sick man, Gannon.”
“Go ahead and insult me, Alexander. It don’t matter none.”
“Where’s your gun?”
“I don’t need one for this. I could shoot you. I got you dead to rights. But I’d rather squeeze the life outta you. I have a yearnin to feel your bones crunch in my hands.”
“I’m surprised you came back,” Shelby said. “I would have thought you’d have hooked up with those men from downstate.”
“Not me. Not with state cops swarmin all over the place. They’ll be found out. Too many connections. And I don’t plan to go down with em.”
“And once they’re gone, you’re free to take over the entire operation,” Shelby added. “Very neat arrangement. If I didn’t know you’re such an idiot, I’d think you planned this entire thing.”
“You might want to watch yourself,” Gannon said. “Course, you’re already about to get beat to a pulp, so I guess it don’t matter.”
“I have no use for men like you, Gannon. I’ve run into your kind all my life. Big, dumb guys who survive by brute force. Bullies who get pleasure out of causing others pain. If there was any justice in the world, all your kind would have been weeded out long ago.”
“You talk a lot,” Gannon said. “But you don’t say nothin. It gets kinda tiresome. I think maybe I’ll kill you now.”
He said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, that Shelby almost laughed. The death sentence was delivered in much the same manner as anyone else would announce what they’d eaten for dinner.
“You’ll try, anyway.”
“Who’s gonna stop me?”
“I am.”
Gannon laughed the same nasty laugh as before. “You got balls, Alexander, I’ll give you that much. I bet you’re good at poker with a bluff like that. But you’re not gonna talk your way outta this one.”
The sun had dropped behind the tree line, turning everything into fire-tinged silhouette. Gannon clasped his hands, turned them palm out, and flexed. He cracked his knuckles and grinned at Shelby, the look almost lost in shadow.
Shelby felt the anger stirring in his chest. Fighting Gannon Ellis was not generally high on his list of favored activities. The man was big and thick and brutal, and Shelby was out of practice. But the long list of Ellis crimes to which Shelby had recently been privy stoked his utter disgust of the man standing before him. He stared into the dark, grinning, mocking face and realized he wanted to fight this man. He wanted to bring him down on his own terms, beat him at his own game. Gannon Ellis was too confident and this might be his downfall.
Gannon looked back at Shelby.
“You ready to die, Alexander?”
“Are you?”
“I’m gonna miss you, Alexander. You make me laugh.”
“Happy to be of service.”
“Bye, then.”
“Goodbye, Gannon.”
The two men began circling, each looking for an opening. Shelby felt himself being pulled back into the ring and the sensation was almost intoxicating. He loved boxing; the sheer animalistic quality of the sport never failed to make his blood race. This characteristic was troublingly similar to Gannon’s stated to desire “to feel bones crunch,” but for Shelby, it had never been a matter of causing another human pain. That was not what energized him. Rather, it was the thrill of combat, the primal roar of ancient ancestors living deep inside the male species. It was the reason viewers oohed and aahed when football players collided or cars piled up on a NASCAR track or soldiers locked in combat on the big screen. There was a hunger inside humanity, a craving for conflict. It was how it pulled itself out of the ooze and rose to rule the planet. It was biology. Now that humanity had become civilized, it had created safer, contained laboratories where humans could feed this hunger without endangering the social structure it had so painstakingly constructed. Men like Gannon Ellis, however, did not recognize the value of this structure. And so had to be removed from the equation.
Gannon moved in, but Shelby evaded his grasp. Shelby knew he couldn’t match his opponent’s strength. If the big man clinched, it would be over in a moment. Shelby would have to rely on skill and experience. For him to win, it would have to be the result of cold calculation. He would have to be a machine.
Gannon’s first mistake occurred through impatience. He rushed forward and mounted a flurry of blows, any one of which might have ended the fight had it landed. Shelby easily dodged them all, and once Gannon’s attack was spent, leaving him off balance, Shelby moved in with a quick trio of strikes to the body. One, two, three—Shelby heard them connect. They were solid hits. The big man grunted, feeling the strength behind the blows, but his body absorbed the impact. Shelby felt them too. A stabbing pain drove up his arm every time his fist connected with his target, and he was reminded yet again that he was past his prime. He’d have to put this out of his mind. The knowledge of impending pain could cause him to pull his punches, which could in turn cause him to lose the fight. And this was a fight he couldn’t afford to lose. This reminded him of the last time he had been in a fight he couldn’t afford to lose…and that he had lost it anyway. But not this time. This time it was his life at stake, not a million dollars and not his reputation. He thought of Carly, Leslie, and—surprisingly—Helen. He imagined Mack standing on the sidelines cheering him on with profanity-laced support, as he had that other night so long ago.
Gannon closed in again, another battery of punches raining down. Shelby weaved and dodged but caught a glancing blow to the shoulder. The power of the impact, even a partial hit, shocked him. The man was a monster with inhuman strength. Shelby pulled back, his hands up in a defensive position. Again Gannon finished his attack off balance and again Shelby delivered a lightning series. Again the grunts from his opponent, again the stabbing pain. While landing solid punches was satisfying, Shelby knew it wouldn’t get the job done. His hand would likely give out before Gannon began truly feeling the effects. The man’s torso was like an oaken barrel, his ribs the hoops and staves.
Shelby jockeyed for position, trying to move in to deliver blows to more vulnerable parts—the kidneys and liver—that would wreak less havoc on his aging hands and cause more damage to his oversized sparring partner. He got too close and Gannon clinched. Only Shelby’s experience allowed him to slither away and retreat.
; “You’re a fighter, Alexander,” Gannon said. “I’ll give you that. You’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice.”
“Don’t matter none, though. I’m still gonna kill you.”
Gannon made a sudden move and then, with a speed and agility surprising in a man so large, changed course and swung with the opposite fist. It caught Shelby a glancing blow on the cheekbone, slid off, and ripped across his eye, leaving a burning tear in its wake. Shelby felt the blood begin to trickle. Gannon saw it and laughed.
“See there, what I tell you?”
Shelby cursed silently. Stupid! How could he be taken in by such a silly ploy? He was underestimating Gannon. His disdain for the man made him careless. It was the same arrogance that made him vulnerable in his final professional fight. His opponent then had been a newcomer, an upstart, who weighed less and looked like he was fresh out of diapers. And Shelby had been caught off guard with a wicked combination that left him glassy eyed and wondering why the referee had started counting at nine instead of one. He struggled to focus. This wasn’t that fight. That was in the past. He could still win this one.
Gannon moved in again. Shelby slipped the first few punches, caught a solid one on the shoulder, and then moved to the side and landed a blazing one-two in the kidneys.
Gannon roared in pain and twisted away. His pain made him clumsy and Shelby pounded three more blows to the man’s body before they separated. If nothing else, Gannon would be pissing blood after this fight.
The sun was gone and the two men battled in darkness. The only sounds were the scuffling of feet and heaving, ragged breathing.
Shelby spotted an opportunity and struck. Gannon saw it coming and grabbed his arm, twisted, and pulled. Shelby grunted in pain and for a moment felt sure his arm was going to snap. He risked Gannon’s crushing embrace and threw his weight against the larger man. He brought his foot against the back of Gannon’s knee. It buckled and Gannon went down. It was only for a moment, as he lunged upward almost immediately, but it was enough. Shelby jerked free and landed a blow to the side of Gannon’s neck. The man gasped and choked and grabbed wildly, but Shelby moved away.
Then his foot slipped on the wet ground. He landed on his hands and knees.
This is it, he thought. It’s over.
Gannon seemed to sense his opportunity. He roared and kicked. His giant, boot clad foot caught Shelby in the ribs. And something snapped.
“I’m going to crush you, Alexander!”
Shelby was on the ground, rolling away. Gannon followed like a bear newly out of hibernation that has spotted a wounded deer. He kicked and again connected. Shelby felt his insides turn to jelly.
I have to get up. Get. Up!
He rolled again and somehow got his feet beneath him. He pushed upward, swerved to avoid a third kick, regained his balance, ducked a sweeping hook, and brought his fist upward and felt it sink into the flesh where the bicep muscle attaches to the shoulder. Gannon growled in agony as the muscle tore apart. The arm dropped, useless. Gannon grabbed wildly and clutched Shelby’s shirt. He began shaking the smaller man like a terrier, insane with rage and pain.
“I’m gonna kill you!”
Gannon yanked Shelby forward. The shirt tore. Gannon lashed out wildly with his good arm, landing blow after blow on Shelby’s face, head, and shoulders. Shelby felt his own flesh tear and more blood flowed down his face and into his eyes. He pulled away, his shirt ripped free. He wiped the blood from his eyes, saw Gannon closing in, and saw murder in the man’s eyes. He put his fists up, defended, counter-attacked. He landed a second blow to Gannon’s torn shoulder. The intense pain almost doubled the bigger man up.
Then Shelby saw the opening he’d been waiting for, the opening he never got in his last professional bout. The knockout zone was open but closing fast. It was the sweet spot, the zone on the chin that could kill a man. Shelby hesitated for a split second. It was the punch he had to make, the punch that could end this fight. But he knew what it might do to his hand…it was the hesitation he’d feared: the unconscious delay. Then he took the shot.
It was almost too late. Shelby put all his remaining strength into the blow. Gannon brought his good arm up to defend, but Shelby’s punch slipped through and connected with a crunching, crushing, snapping sound that seemed to echo through the forest.
The agony was incredible. Shelby blacked out for a second and sank to his knees. His entire arm went numb as the pain traveled through his shoulder and down his spine. It was so intense that for a moment he didn’t care whether he lived or died. He bent, touched his head to the ground, incapacitated.
But it didn’t matter. Gannon Ellis was down too. And he wasn’t getting up.
27
“Dad, what is going on up there?”
Shelby cringed. The events around Serenity had garnered national attention and he’d known it was only a matter of time before Leslie called to make sure he wasn’t lying dead in a ditch. His name had somehow been kept out of the papers, but Leslie had a way of connecting the dots, even if they weren’t always factual ones.
“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Only a drug bust.”
“Only a drug bust? It sounds like Armageddon from what the media is saying.”
“They always overblow the real story. It’s their job. It’s how they sell advertising. Haven’t you ever seen political campaign coverage?”
“This isn’t politics, Dad. People are dying all over the place.”
“I fail to see the difference.”
“I’m being serious! Please tell me you weren’t mixed up in all this.”
“I wasn’t mixed up in all this.”
“You’re lying to me, Dad.”
“If you already knew the truth, why ask me?”
“Because I want to make sure you’re all right!”
“I’m fine. I’m talking to you right now.”
Shelby cradled the phone on his shoulder—a more difficult task since cellphones had become the size of credit cards—and massaged his right hand. The hand was swollen and two fingers sported splints. His torso was wrapped tightly, the result of three broken ribs. He chose not to mention any of this to Leslie.
“I heard from some news outlet that drugs from downstate were coming into the area. And here I thought northern Michigan was still an untapped wilderness.”
“Shows what you know. We have electricity and indoor plumbing, which we occasionally use to bathe our stinking carcasses.”
“Don’t be snarky. I meant peaceful. And safe.”
“It is, generally.”
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Perfectly. Never felt better.”
“Have you called Mom yet?”
Shelby paused. He recalled with some discomfort how thoughts of Helen had flashed through his mind during the fight with Gannon Ellis.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Have you thought about it? You said you’d think about it.”
“I’ve been a little busy.”
“With what? You said it’s generally peaceful up there.”
“You’re right, you’re right. I did say I’d think about it.”
“Will you?”
“Think about it?”
“Call her.”
Shelby sighed, but not too heavily. “Would it make you happy, Leslie?”
“You know it would, Dad.”
“Fine. I’ll call her. But on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“You tell me why.”
“Why?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know there’s something behind this little crusade of yours. Why is it so important your mother and I become the very best of friends?”
“I’m not asking you to become the ‘very best of friends.’”
“You know what I mean. Quit stalling.”
“If I tell you, will you call her?”
“I’ll call her, dammit.”
Silence reigned.
“Leslie?”
>
“I’m pregnant.”
Now it was Shelby’s turn to fall quiet. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt his throat closing up.
“Pregnant? With a baby?”
“That’s usually how it works.”
“But…I…holy shit!”
“Are you happy, Daddy?”
“Am I happy? I…I don’t know what to say. But, yes, honey. I’m…very happy.”
“You and Mom will have to see each other at some point. If you want to be around for the birth, anyway. I don’t want the delivery room to be a stage for your drama. I thought maybe if you broke the ice early…you know.”
“Yes! Certainly. That…makes perfect sense.” Shelby’s eyes burned and he felt tears running down his cheeks. “Oh, Leslie…”
“Are you all right?”
“I think I might be having a heart attack, but other than that, I’ve never been better. A baby?”
“Don’t joke about your heart. I don’t like it. Call Mom.”
“Of course. I’ll do that.”
“Good-bye, Daddy.”
Shelby stood with the phone to his ear for minutes after Leslie disconnected. Feelings assailed him: joy, fear, excitement, gratitude, and a strange sense of melancholy. A storm of emotions he felt completely incapable of unraveling. A grandfather? Was he ready for such a role? He felt he had mostly failed at being a father…and now there was a baby on the way. He no longer felt the need to avoid talking with Helen, and instead wanted to call her as quickly as possible. This would be their grandchild. And somehow, that made the problems of the past—the hurt feelings, the ugly fights, the injustices on both sides—seem silly and small. He wasn’t naïve enough to think a baby would solve everything, but for this moment, he would relish the overwhelming sense that all was once again right in this crazy, broken world.
[Shelby Alexander 01.0] Serenity Page 14