by Rebecca Ryan
"But you fight. And you do this for money?"
Hitting the fan hood with my knuckle, it starts up. "Yep."
"So you're in a league?"
My shrug should have been a clue to the fact there's a legit league and an illegitimate league, but she doesn't catch on.
Sliding the omelet on a clean plate, I try to explain. "There's a whole bunch of gyms that have joined together and created their sort of dark league. Let's put it that way. We all fight each other as a lot of money's involved. But I'm not in any official, what they call 'sanctioned' league."
"Really?" She takes the fork I hand her and then waits as I pour in my egg whites. Clearly splitting an omelet won’t work.
"Go. Eat. Don’t wait for me."
I don’t have to say that twice.
"Where'd you get that tattoo?"
"Which one?"
"The one with the hook and the worm."
Why did she pick that one? I'd give anything to get rid of it. "Don't remember. Probably after a fight." She doesn't need to know the fight left me with a broken rib, bruised kidneys, and a guy holding me down while Shreve drilled me with ink as blood poured from my ear and mouth. That was after the dice roll and before the trip to the hospital.
"So. Do you win a lot?"
I wince. "Not really. I win some."
And then I smile at her. She doesn't know anything. She's totally naïve, and clearly is not from the streets. Something about this truth allows me to be honest with her. She seems to have no ulterior motives. "Let's just say, I win strategically."
At this, she lifts a bite of egg to her into her mouth, and then lowers her fork again. "You mean you throw fights?"
The ease with which she asks the question startles me. She has no idea what just breathing this could do to me. To Coach.
"No, I don't. Don't ever say that. Ever."
"Okay, okay. Don’t get all weird on me."
"No, I mean it. That could ruin me." And not just me.
"All right."
"And get me into a shitload of trouble." A knife in my back. My fingers hacked off. A bullet in my knee. Or temple, like Jonny Jet, a cage fighter in Jersey who threw fights and got aired out to dry.
"Okay," she says, waving her fork around. "Who the hell am I going to tell? I get it."
Shaking my head, sliding my omelet out onto another smaller plate, she starts with, "Don't think I'm an idiot," but she's not mad, she's just stating a fact. "What? What's that look for?"
"I'm not so sure you're as street savvy as you're coming off."
"Fuck you," she says in a desperate attempt to prove she's from the hood or whatever. There's a flush in her cheeks that turns them a buttery copper.
"I am more street savvy than you'll ever know. I know more what goes on here than anyone."
She picks up her plate and sets it in the sink. I half expect her to throw it or break it or have some sort of tantrum like every other woman I've ever had here. But instead, she just gives me a look and starts washing up her plate and mine.
"You cooked," she says. "Go sit. Besides, I'm sure you don’t pollute yourself with caffeine, but I need some coffee."
"I don't have coffee."
"I'll see you then," she says drying her hands on her pants.
"Are you going? Now?"
"I'll see you tonight."
"Tonight? What are doing?
"Research." She actually smiles a real smile that lights something in my chest. "Don't worry, I'll be back tonight," and when she touches my forearm in reassurance, it's electric.
"Really?"
"Well. Yes. Tig's here," she says and then seems embarrassed.
Tig's asleep on the sofa, eyes closed, his little hot, pink, paws kneading the covers in his sleep.
I still try to slow her exit down. "Wait. I don’t know anything about you."
"That's fine with me," she says, one hand on the doorknob and there's something about the way she's tilting her head, the light in those gold eyes, almost flirting, her touch, that makes me suspicious.
"At least tell me how old you are."
She laughs, silvery, light, and my heart quickens. "Believe me, older than you think," she says, suddenly a little shy, the copper in her cheeks deepening and all I want to do in that instant is hold her, crush her lips to mine and feel her, all of her, against me.
And with that, she's gone.
I spend my day off reading West With the Night which was totally engrossing until I met Lily. I keep thinking about her, wondering about her. Worrying about her. What is she doing? Where is she? I have to trust she'll show up again tonight.
"Tig," I say out loud, scratching the little guy's head. "You are my insurance policy."
Before I leave for the gym at six, I pick up a tooth brush for her and a bottle of shampoo that would smell, well, nice for a woman, and some conditioner. I also buy some oil for her hair and a tube of lotion with shea butter. The woman at the dollar junk store stares at me.
I step out, trip neatly down the crumbling cement steps and head to Hobie's. As I slip the key in the door, Juice shows up again, long and skinny, twitchy, his pierced lip annoying by the arrogance with which he sports those five rings.
I don’t mince words. "Coach told you yesterday to fuck off."
"He told Shreves to fuck off," he says, spitting on the ground by my foot. "I didn't know you needed protection."
All I have to do is glare at him and he shrinks back. But he can't help himself. He's gotta get under my skin. And he does.
"We gotta new recruit. A fledgling. A fucking girl."
My stomach catches at the word. Ever since I left nearly two years ago, ever since Coach offered me a way out, Shreves has been trying to get me to join again. The deal Coach made with me when I was a kid was that I had to quit the Hooks. Quit and he'd give me a free membership to Hobies and a lifelong key. A key meant access to a better world, a world where someone didn't own me.
"You want to come?"
"No," I said still trying to get the key in the door. Jesus Christ. Coach needs to fix the locks again. If this guy doesn’t leave int two seconds I'm liable to punch him.
"You sure you don't want to come? She's a hottie."
"Fuck off," I say and then, mercifully, the key works and the bolt moves. I want this leper off me.
"Shreves says you can be the dice man."
Dice man. Dice man. I feel something hot in the back my throat. I swallow. What they do to these girls. And when I was in the gang, I did nothing. I stood there and watched it happen, twice. I was just a kid, I tell myself. I was a fucking kid, scared to death. And when I was older, I never went. Ever.
I turned to face him. "I gave all that shit up. Fuck off. I'm not interested."
He spits again and sniffs, wiping his nose. Coke head. "Okay man, whatever. Shreves thought maybe you’d like some black ass." Shrugging slightly, he tips his head. "But he'll take that bitch if you won't."
Suddenly, my blood starts pounding in my ears. And I realize there's a reason Lily showed up. A reason she asked about my tattoo.
"What's her name?"
"What man? Why do you want to know?"
Grabbing him by his shirt, I throw him up against the brick wall of the building. His passivity makes me angrier.
"What's her name?"
"Let go of me motherfucker. It's Lily." I release him and he tries to straighten his shirt. "But she ain't no white lily. The bitch is Black Widow. Heavy on the black."
My breath catches and I'm sick to my stomach. Night is just beginning to settle.
"Half an hour asshole, if you want some."
I start off down the alley for the street, leaving Juice behind.
"He's gotta get her ready," he yells. "Wait up."
I hit the street, pull up my hood and start running. Lily has no idea how much she needs me.
The basement bar, Jimmi's, is loud, with both pool tables up ended and shoved against the wall. Close to a dozen gang members have shown
up, all Hooks, a stinking, gruesome group. I scan the room, knowing I won't see her. She'd be in the back room with Shreves and Tipper and some other asshole lieutenants. The smell of old beer and urine makes my eyes water and the guys are all loud, the pack mentality settling in. I see the dice on the bar top. One small, grubby die is set aside.
That five I rolled at thirteen nearly killed me. Every gang member that showed up to the initiation got to beat the shit out of me at the same time for five minutes. One of them ruptured my spleen. But I lived. One of them broke my arm. But I lived. And now they're going to initiate her, Lily, the girl who uses "peripatetic," and appreciates small favors and rescues kittens.
She has no idea what is about to happen to her. The office door opens and she steps out, a beer bottle in her hand, looking wary, but not scared. I know there's no rufie in that bottle. They want her to know what is about to happen to her. A bunch of guys cat-call her, but I don't think she's noticed, she's too busy taking it all in, almost like she's trying to memorize every detail. For later. Is this her "research?" I swallow hard and then Shreves sees me.
"You in bro?" he grins his lopsided grin.
My heart pounds and I see her looking at me, not with surprise, but what was that? Disappointment?
"Juice says I get to roll."
"You can roll it my man, if, and this is the deal," he says, taking hold of Lily's arm, and whispering in my ear, "You're back."
Lily tries to shrug him off, but he's got that huge maw paw on her thin arm and I want to kill him. Trying to make eye contact with her, trying to will her to see how much danger she's in, proves a waste of time. She won't look at me. I pick up the die and roll it between my hands.
The guys begin a chant. "Birdie, birdie, birdie," and my palms are sweating. They start cheering and it’s smoky and gross and the place reeks of cigarettes and weed, smelling like it's been skunked. The underground bar is swirling in an ethnic mix of everyone. The only other white guys here both have swastikas tattooed on their arms. Prisons turn people into racists. You have to be, or you die. And now they are all united over Lily.
Coach saved me from prison. At fifteen he started trotting me out into the ring. I just had to tell everyone I was eighteen so I could fight. He saved me from being one of these guys. It took him another eight years, but he got me out. They kept trying to pull me back. And that's what Shreves is trying to do. Even yesterday. That's why Coach got right in his face and told him to leave. Shreves won’t touch Coach and as long as I'm with Coach he won’t touch me. Coach has some shit on Shreves, and it's all a big secret.
I threw fights for Shreves for years. That was my job. Sly W. set up the bets and I'd throw the fights. Then Coach took me out. Now I still throw fights, but on my terms and I keep it a secret.
Coach would kill us both if he saw this scene. If he knew rolling the die meant I'd be back in with the Hooks, he might walk away from me. After all he's done to keep me safe, to fall back in with them would be such a betrayal.
This girl is going to cost me. She's going to cost me so much.
She has no idea.
Raising my voice so Shreves can hear me in his good ear, I yell, "You want me back?"
"What else are you here for?"
"I roll and I call it."
Shaking his head, he tightens his hold on Lily and I see fear begin to root in her face. She glances at me.
"You roll, I call it," he says with another grin.
"Forget it," I say and set the die back down on the bar. The place quiets down suddenly. People might be drunk and high, but when they smell blood they love it and they focus.
"Fuck off," says Shreves and I shrug.
"Have it your way," I say and make like I'm leaving, but before I can even turn, he's clapped his other hand on my shoulder.
"What're you here to prove with that white ass?"
"Nothing. I'm just telling you, if you want me back, I roll and I call it. And," I pause and try not to look at her, "I get her first. Your decision."
I nearly hold my breath. If he calls my bluff, I’ll have to block a punch, release her arm from the asshole, grab her, and make for the broken door, past five men. I'll have to move fast, with her in tow, and she'll slow us down. There's no way to tell her what to do—to prepare her.
Shreves seems to reach some kind of decision. His flat face registers a reconciliation with terrible gods. "Okay. Here’s the deal: you roll. You call it. But then," and he leans in one more time and I smell his rubbery breath in my face, "You gonna do me a real favor Thursday night."
Thursday night is that fight with the Fly. A huge hulking guy I'd beaten four times before and the odds Coach told me were forty to one. Shreves wants want me to throw it. I knew all along this was coming, ever since I heard street talk about the payout. I knew that’s why he came to the gym. What Shreve's didn't know was that I had already decided to throw it. My sister needs that money.
"It's twelve grand for sure?"
Shreve nods, grinning. "It's a full rack man and more. You do me that favor and you're in. You don't, well you're in anyway and in trouble."
I can deal with this. I'll figure it all out later.
Releasing Lily, he grins and raises his beer. She jerks away from him and rubs her arm. I could break his nose for hurting her. Juice lays down a line of coke and Shreves snorts it up like he's just unwrapped a mint. He blinks for a second and then sighs and throws an arm across my shoulders.
"Got the die?"
Despite myself, my hands are shaking. What the fuck am I doing? Why am I doing this? I don't want to go back to the game. I promised Coach I'd never go back. I've stayed clean for two years. What the hell?
As I pick up the die, two guys grab her by the arms again and she starts to struggle.
"Let go of me."
"Shut the fuck up, bitch," says Shreve, suddenly and he raises his hand. I can see by her face, how she suddenly flinches and quiets down that he's already hit her. My blood starts to boil and I want to punch him hard in that big fat face of his right now. How dare he hurt her. I look at Lily, trying to get her to look at me, but every time her glance lands on my face she just looks away.
Shreves's voice is low, dangerous, and there's murder in his eye. I've seen it before.
"Roll it, fucker."
Chapter Nine
Lily
I can't believe he's really a part of this stupid initiation game. And that he just lied to me this morning. Mister, oh, I'm not part of it anymore. Here he is standing there with all of them as part of my initiation. What a jerk. What an asshole.
"Fuck you," I yell, as the guys all start to laugh. And there's Stone, not looking at me as he throws the die.
It's hard to imagine how some little plastic cube with black dots on it can change your life. I push through thoughts of what this could be about. Do I have to chug alcohol? Do blow jobs? Two guys get in my face and grab me from either side and I don't want these guys manhandling me.
Stone snatches up the die as soon as it stops, before anyone has a chance to look at it.
"One!" he yells. "It’s a one," and he shows it to the group, still locked in his fist. As his arm swings near my face, I pull back. I sense him trying to find my gaze but I won’t give him that satisfaction.
Now, yelling starts. "Nobody else saw it!" "It's a five!" "Motherfucker's trying to pinch out man!" "No fucking way" and then, more ominously, from Shreves, low and persuasive, "Roll again."
Stone shakes his head. "It was a one. I'm not rolling again."
Shreves's hand comes down hard on Stone's wrist, grabbing it, but Stone jerks free in half a second and is seething, "Fuck that shit," and then he looks Shreves right in the eye. "It. Was. A. One."
Shreves says nothing.
Stone continues. "Are you telling me it wasn't? Fuck you, I'll walk. I'll walk away from the fight."
Suddenly, Shreves flashes a smile. "Okay man, okay. One it is. Still mine," and he starts to unlace his belt. I can hear the leather
sliding out from the belt loops. What's he doing?
Stone takes a step towards me. "I call it, I get her."
Shreves stops with his belt. "You wanna be in violation? I could put a BOS on you. Now." He leans forward.
Stone looks around at everyone else in the bar. "He wants to chop it up? Only Shreves's rules apply? Threatening a beating on site?"
Confusion seems to sap the group of its potency and Shreves actually steps back. In this moment Stone says bitterly, "She's mine," and grabs me by the arm and starts hauling me out of there.
After standing still for so long and trying not to let my legs shake, I stumble and nearly fall when he drags me up the stairs to the street. His jaw is set and he's still not speaking or looking at me. His grip is like a vice on my arm and it tingles as he pulls me along. We hit the back door, on the street, and Stone moves us fast. We are halfway down the block before Shreves, and a few other guys from the bar splinter on the street and start yelling obscenities, but all he does is turn the corner.
I'm absolutely terrified. That one on the dice means something, that he's going to do something.
I start pulling and trying to escape. For a moment he releases me but before I can run, he's got a better grip and is jerking me down the street. It's nearly dark and the broken, stained clock at the corner building has one hand swinging straight down like a Dali painting.
"Shut up," he whispers in my ear fiercely. "You're okay. I'm not going to do anything to you. Stop fighting me."
But it's like my body is locked in a fight or flight response and I am doing both. He grabs me again, this time with both arms and hoists me over a shoulder. I'm kicking, kicking hard and some land, but he just keeps moving like a train at top speed striding down the broken cement sidewalk like this is a totally normal thing. It takes just a few minutes for the shouting to fade and then he tries to set me back down. When I move for a second attempt at escape, he sighs and lifts me again, this time to the other shoulder.
By the time we get to his apartment, the evening traffic sounds just muffle my own shouts and he opens the door with one hand.