by Jinx, Hondo
More questions for Paul and Annabelle if he ever got to see them again.
Until then, he’d better just keep his nose to the grindstone and then maybe make a point of having a little extra fun that night.
Heh. As if he’d have the energy to have fun.
After this, he’d go home, shower, fall into bed, then wake up tomorrow and do it all again.
He’d chosen his path and he was sticking to it. And when he got where he was going, he’d pay back his riders tenfold.
Because nothing is sweeter than hard-earned victory.
Chapter 16
At the end of the grueling session, after Johnny and Freddie had run the steps and Johnny felt like his legs might fall off, Marvella said, “Take tomorrow off, kid. Rest up. I’ll see you Sunday, yeah?”
“I don’t want to take a day off,” Johnny said.
Marvella almost smiled. “Go for a run, then. Do some sit-ups. Shadowbox. But stay out of the gym. I’m tied up, and we’ve already seen what happens when you’re left unsupervised.”
Johnny nodded. “All right. Sunday, then. Thanks again for your help.”
As he was heading out of the gym, Freddie called to him. "Hey, Johnny. Wait up.”
He paused at the door, waiting for her to cross the room, which was still busy with fighters working out. Freddie had a gym bag slung over one shoulder.
She nudged into him playfully and they started down the steep steps side by side. “What are you doing tomorrow, tough guy?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. Probably just hanging out in my room.”
Freddie grinned at him. “What, you got some hot girl waiting for you there?"
Johnny laughed as they pushed through the door and into the dim parking lot behind the gym. “Girl? As in one? I got six or seven of them waiting for me back there.”
She rolled her eyes. “I'll bet.”
“Nah, I don't have a girlfriend or anybody else waiting for me. I just got nothing better to do.”
“Nothing better to do? You’re not going to the fights?”
“What fights?”
“You don’t know about the Saturday night fights? Half of Fight Town goes. Only this weekend, the fights are in our neighborhood at The Arena, so it's even better.”
Then Johnny remembered the fight posters he’d noticed the first time he’d strolled 8th. Since then, the ubiquitous posters, as plentiful as rowhouse bricks, had blended in with the scenery. Now, remembering the headline grudge match between a couple of guys with a ton of fights, he said, “So the whole neighborhood-versus-neighborhood thing is really big here, huh?"
“Yeah, of course. It's the biggest thing. I mean, you get in the ring, you represent the neighborhood. It's especially important for us, being from the Ward.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, most fighters come from less diverse neighborhoods, you know? Like Dogville or Hog Island or Chestnut Hill, which is like 99 percent human. When my grandparents moved to Fight Town, they settled with the rest of the cats down in the Avenues.”
Freddie smirked. “They should call them the Alleys, what with how tight and twisty the streets are down there. Anyway, Daddy moved us up here to the Ward. It's like a melting pot. So, a lot of the neighborhoods hate us. They don't want melt. They just want to rule. It’s tough, traveling into those places and fighting. The refs and judges are usually pretty clean, but the crowds are brutal. It’s like their turf. And no matter what differences they have among themselves, they’re all unified by the neighborhood, you know? They take a lot of pride in who they are, what they are, and where they're from.”
“I see how that could build rivalries between neighborhoods.”
“Definitely. Here in the Ward, our pride is different. We’re not representing any specific race. It’s more like we’re representing an ideal.”
“Makes sense,” Johnny said.
“Which way you going?”
Johnny nodded out the dim alley toward 8th. “I’m staying over at The Oasis. How about you?”
She nodded in the opposite direction. “I live with my family over on Holyfield, between 9th and 10th.”
“You got kids?”
Freddie snorted. “Yeah, right. Between work and working out, I’m too busy for a boyfriend, let alone a husband and kids. I live with my parents and my pain-in-the-ass sister.”
“What’s wrong with your sister?”
“She’s a pain in that ass, that’s what’s wrong with her.”
“Fair enough. So what kind of work do you do?”
Freddie looked away and mumbled, “Pool management.”
“Pool management? Like swimming pools? What do you do?”
She shrugged. “Manage the pool. Monitor the chemicals, stuff like that.”
He grinned. “Hold on. Are you a pool girl?”
“Laugh away, fuckface. At least I’m not a dishwasher.”
“Hey, how did you know I wash dishes?”
“Marvella mentioned it.”
“Yeah, right. Are you stalking me, Freddie?”
“In your dreams, dishwasher. Look, I gotta get home. My mom’s a worrier.”
Johnny started in the direction of Freddie’s apartment. “I’ll walk that way with you.”
She smiled. “Sounds good. Anyway, if you’re gonna be a fighter, you might as well come out tomorrow and see what fighting is all about. We’ll go together.”
“It’s a date.”
“You wish. I mean, have you looked in a mirror lately?”
Johnny laughed. “Point taken. Well, if you aren’t too embarrassed to be seen with my beat-up mug, I will accompany you to the fights.”
“Deal,” she said, and bumped her hip into his leg. “In fact, let’s make a day of it. The fights start at noon. You doing anything in the morning?”
He shrugged. “Running. That’s about it.”
“Come over to my place midmorning, then. Can you do ten?”
He nodded. “No problem.”
“Ten, then. Come on over and we’ll get in some work before the fights.”
“More work?”
“You want to be the best, don’t you?”
“You know it.”
“Then you gotta put in extra work. You gotta work harder than your opponents.”
“Right. But should we start earlier? I mean, if we work out first, I’m going need to shower again.”
“Hey, we’re going to the fights, not the opera. It's strictly come as you are. At The Arena, you’ll see people in tuxedos and evening gowns sitting next to people who look like they just rolled off the steam grate. And they’ll be jabbering away like old friends. Because once the leather starts flying, nobody gives a shit who’s wearing what, how much money you got, nothing. It’s all about boxing.”
“All right. Sounds good.”
“Besides, I didn’t say work out. I said get some work in. We won’t sweat much.”
They turned onto Holyfield and crossed 9th. “There’s my place,” she said, pointing to a tall brick building painted lime green. Dark green paint over the main entrance read, The Overbrook. Apartments for rent. “See you out front at ten tomorrow.”
“Great. See you then. Have a good night.”
“You, too.” She gave him a little wave and started up the steps.
“And hey, Freddie?”
She turned. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“No problem, Johnny. I’m a sucker for lost puppies. See you in the morning.”
He headed down Holyfield, turned onto 8th, and was home just a few minutes later. Despite his exhaustion, he had a bounce in his step. It was nice having a friend here.
Passing the office, he heard a crowd cheering on TV and saw Lucinda sitting with the pug in her lap, throwing punches and watching fights. “Clobber him, Genero!”
Chuckling to himself, Johnny went upstairs to his room.
The place was spotless. A folded piece of paper stood like a miniature teepee atop his f
luffed pillow.
Hope you had a great day, sir!
At your service,
Millie
Next to the note was another piece of paper, this one cleverly folded into an origami swan.
Smiling, Johnny set both papers on his nightstand and stripped down and showered, loving the feel of the hot water on his taxed muscles.
After, while he was toweling off, he heard the loud music playing in the room directly below his.
Millie’s room.
Good for her. Hopefully, she was blowing off a little steam and having some fun.
Though it didn’t exactly sound like party music blasting down there. In fact, it sounded like classical music.
Whatever the case, it meant she was home. Peeking out the window, he saw light spilling from her apartment into the alley, where it illuminated the red dumpster.
He dressed in a hurry, not wanting to miss her, gathered his dirty clothes in a bag from the five and dime, and headed downstairs.
He went around to the alley, found her door, and knocked.
Nothing.
He knocked again, louder this time.
The music stopped. The door opened slightly. One of Millie’s big purple eyes filled the crack.
“Sir?”
Johnny smiled, feeling stupid for interrupting her. “It’s Johnny, remember?”
“I’m sorry if my music was too loud. I’ll keep it off.”
“No, that’s not it. I like the music. It’s no problem at all.”
“Did I do something wrong in your room? I thought I did a good job, but if I missed something—”
“No, it’s great, Millie. Really. The note and origami were great, too. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you for helping me with my laundry and ask if you would help me again.” He hoisted the bag so she could see it.
“Sure, sir,” Millie said with a smile. “Do you need it tonight?”
“No, not tonight. Anytime, really. Sunday? Monday? And look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have interrupted you. I just didn’t see you today, and—”
“It’s okay, sir,” Millie said, opening the door slightly, taking the bag, and closing the door once more till it was nearly shut.
It seemed like she didn’t want him to see inside. Maybe she wasn’t just feeding herself out of the dumpster. Maybe she was a hoarder, too, and she was afraid he’d glimpse the mess.
Whatever the case, it was none of his business. He felt bad for barging in and making her uncomfortable.
“I’ll take care of it tomorrow, then,” Millie said.
“Thanks. That would be great.”
“Sir?”
“Johnny, remember?”
“Johnny, then. How did you know where I lived?”
“Oh, I just… um… saw you coming in.”
She narrowed her eyes for a split second, then smiled politely and looked through the bag. “Looks like it’ll be four cents again.”
He handed her a dollar.
Her fingertips closed around the bill, but she hesitated, not pulling it into her apartment. “I’m sorry. I don’t have change for this.”
Johnny spread his hands. “No problem. I don’t want any change.”
“But the laundry will only cost four cents. This is a dollar.”
“I know. The rest is yours.”
“Mine,” Millie said, still not pulling the dollar inside. She eyed him, suddenly dubious. “For what?”
“It’s a tip.”
“A tip for what?”
“A tip for helping me. With my laundry.”
Millie studied him with suspicious eyes. “You’re not speaking in code or something, are you? Does laundry have some other meaning? Because I don’t, um…”
Realizing what she was worried about, Johnny shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that, Millie. Look, I’m just being generous, all right? You’re nice. I appreciate your help, and…”
He trailed off, not sure what to say.
Millie eyed him suspiciously for another second, then pulled the money inside and smiled. “Okay. Thanks. And I’m sorry. It’s just that since I work as a motel maid, some guys assume—”
“No. Nothing like that.”
Her smile relaxed a little. “All right. I’ll be going, then, and I’ll take care of this tomorrow. Thank you, sir—I mean, Johnny. You’re really nice.”
Johnny nodded and said goodnight, not feeling much like a nice guy. He felt like a nosey weirdo, startling and misleading her as he had.
Oh well. At least he’d gotten her to take the tip. Hopefully, that would at least help her get some good food.
Speaking of food, he was starving. So he walked down to The Right Cross on 7th and Gatti and got a chopped steak with gravy and onions, a baked potato, and a crisp green salad. The place was hopping, people making the most of their twenty-five-cent pitcher special.
Johnny wanted to join them. Catching a buzz sounded awesome.
But Marvella’s dietary commands still echoed in his mind, so he ordered only a single beer and skipped his usual cola.
After savoring his food and enjoying the sights and sounds of the busy pub, he went home, hit the rack, and tumbled, happily exhausted, into the deep slumber, completely unaware that his sleep would be interrupted not once but twice that night...
Chapter 17
“Welcome back, Johnny,” a familiar voice said, and suddenly, Johnny was back on the table looking at Paul and Annabelle, who leaned against cardboard boxes stacked against the near wall.
“Hey,” Johnny said, and sat up. Thankfully, they hadn’t bothered to restrain him this time.
“Congratulations,” Annabelle said, tugging at the drawstrings of her pink hoodie. “You’ve gained some riders.”
“Which is kind of shocking, given the stunt you pulled on day one,” Paul said. “What were you thinking, sparring that guy?”
Johnny shrugged. He didn’t feel the need to justify himself. “Looks like everything worked out.”
“Against the odds, yes,” Paul said. “But that was really dumb. I mean, ninety percent of your riders unplugged as soon as Jobbo started landing punches.”
“Understandable. Getting punched isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“The important thing,” Annabelle said, “is that some riders stayed. The punch you landed at the end of the round saved you.”
“I would’ve made it to the bell even if I hadn’t rocked him.”
“I don’t mean the punch saved you from getting knocked out. I mean it saved you from getting deactivated. The riders who stayed on loved landing that punch, so they’ve stayed with you.”
“Yeah, and they really like the way you’re handling yourself, training and stuff. So they’ve been on the web-mind, singing your praises, and a bunch of other people have signed up.”
“Which is why we’re here. You doubled your subscribers since we last saw you.”
Johnny nodded, not really understanding. With the wide range of Vicarus simulations apparently available to them, why choose a guy who got up at four to run?
“So we can offer you some credits,” Paul said, “and some pointers.”
“Well, one pointer,” Annabelle said with a smirk. “You gotta get your rocks off.”
“Yeah, dude,” Paul said. “You latched onto the kick ass part of the mantra—sort of, but again, you really almost blew it on day one—but you seem to have forgotten about the get laid part.”
“I’ve been busy,” Johnny said. “You train like I’ve been training and see if you feel like hitting the bars at night.”
Paul held up his palms. “No thanks. I’ve never understood the whole exercise thing and honestly don’t want to. If you don’t hurry up and get jiggy with it, though, you’re going to train yourself into deactivation.”
“Get jiggy with it?”
“Sorry. I probably missed by a decade or two with that reference. Whatever. You know what I mean, Johnny.”
“You want me to have sex.”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“People like getting laid,” Annabelle said. “Somehow, you’ve managed to capture a segment we hadn’t anticipated. We’re used to OP main character scenarios. Those riders want to kick ass and get laid straight out of the gates, and they expect to progress rapidly through power levels. With Fight Town, you seem to have landed in the opposite of that, and lucky for us, you’ve found some riders who appear to like a slower build, gritty realism, and actually having to work to get ahead. It’s… highly irregular.”
“But you said people wanted to earn their loot,” Johnny reminded her.
“There’s a difference between earning your loot and starting off at square one as an amateur boxer. I mean, your riders are learning how to jab. Freddie’s a great teacher, by the way.”
Johnny nodded. “She really is.”
“The good news,” Paul said, suddenly smiling, “is I’ve been doing some research, and studies show if you can keep these riders’ interest, they’ll actually stay with you longer than the riders who hop from OP scenario to OP scenario.”
“Makes sense,” Johnny said. Overpowered characters were fun sometimes, but they got boring after a while.
“But research also shows that if you don’t have sex soon, your riders will likely jump ship,” Paul said.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Johnny said. “But I’m kind of busy tomorrow.”
He thought of Freddie, with whom he’d be spending the day and much of the night. Was sex on that particular table?
He didn’t know. But the timing was off. She was cool, his only real friend in the world. He genuinely liked her and appreciated her help. He wouldn’t risk that just to get his rocks off.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow,” Annabelle said. “You’re about to interface with Vicarus, and that will change everything.”
“How?”
“It’s like going to the store,” Paul said. “You can spend the credits you earned.”
“And you have a decent number of credits,” Annabelle said. “Advertisers are bidding a little higher on you now. Enough that we can award you 50 credits.” She smiled at him. “But the good news is you also doubled your subscribers, so Vicarus automatically awards you another 200 credits.”