by Ora Wilde
She adjusted her glasses and drew her head closer to the screen. Her eyes widened when she saw a photo superimposed on the replay of the fight, one which looked like a mugshot more than anything else. The words that accompanied the photo further alarmed my mother.
#OctagonKiller Trending Worldwide. Conner McXavier To Face Several Charges.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled. “What kind of trouble has he gotten himself into this time?”
This time?
I haven’t met Uncle Benny’s son. Not even once. Ever since my mom married him eight years ago, I’ve always known that my stepfather had a son from his previous relationship... a son who was, technically, my stepbrother. However, Uncle Benny never talked about him. Everything that I knew about my stepbrother came from piecing together bits and pieces of information I’ve gathered from my mom’s conversations with him.
For example, I discovered that he was three years older than me when I heard my stepfather say that he married his first wife in 1990 after he got her pregnant. I discovered that they haven’t seen nor spoken to each other for more than a decade when he said that the last time he saw his son was when the latter was in junior high.
And I discovered that my stepbrother was an MMA fighter because, well, Uncle Benny would always sit in front of the TV every Saturday night when the XFC was staging a fight and someone who shared his surname was on the card. With a cooler filled with beer by his side, he would watch intently... edgily... the proceedings of the telecast. No one was supposed to interrupt him during those times, my mother warned. Uncle Benny would watch the show up to the last second, even if his son wasn’t on the main event, just to see the recap of the matches when the credits rolled.
He did that every single Saturday when this Conner McXavier was fighting.
Every single Saturday...
Except that night when he left prematurely, way before the broadcast ended.
And when my mom said “this time,” I had an inkling about how much of a bad man this Conner really was.
“I think he almost killed someone,” I told my mother. “The ref already stopped the match, but he kept punching the other guy.”
My mom covered his mouth in shock as she turned to look at me. She didn’t know what to say.
“Will Uncle Benny be alright?” I asked her. “I saw him leave the house. He looked so angry.”
Still, my mother didn’t say a word. She couldn’t. She was stupefied with horror by what was transpiring.
So I decided to lighten up the mood with a question that I hoped would help alleviate the dread she was feeling.
“This Conner guy,” I began to say, “it’s not like you’re going to invite him over for dinner, right?”
Chapter Three
CONNER
“Damage control.”
Artemis’ tone was resolute. He knew what he was saying. He believed in what he was saying. And he wasn’t going to allow any contrary opinion on the matter. And as we sat at the lobby, waiting for the receptionist to tell us that it was our turn to go to the meeting room, he kept pacing around the couches with incessant uneasiness.
If he was someone else, I would’ve punched his face for making me wear a stupid coat and tie. The coat, I could’ve lived with. But the fucking tie was strangling my neck. In a way, it was worse than being the victim of a rear naked choke.
“Damage control’s for pussies,” I told him as I tried to adjust the stupid tie.
“You will be a damn pussy today if you have to be damn pussy,” he told me. Again, if he was someone else, he would be on his way to the ER as soon as he spoke to me like that. “This is something we must do. No, no, no! This is something you must do. You got yourself in this mess, and we’re here to fix it.”
I dismissed his statement with a mocking laugh.
“This is serious stuff, Conner,” he scolded. “Your career’s at stake in this meeting! Your future’s at stake in this meeting! This is more important than just that stupid title fight you want-”
“Hey! Nothing’s more important than that title fight!” I interrupted him. He was taken aback by my furious response.
“That title fight is more important than the video game deal?” he asked. “More important than the Reebok deal? More important than your XFC contract? More important than your legacy? More important than your career, for crying out loud?”
“Yes!” I sternly replied.
“Jesus Christ, Conner! You need to have your priorities checked.”
“Mr. Duggan? You can enter the room now,” the receptionist said after she approached us.
Artemis walked towards the meeting area. I drudgingly followed. I didn’t want to be there with a group of suits. It’s not me... not me, at all. I’m a trunks and gloves guy. I fight. I don’t talk legalese. I argue with my fists, and my elbows, and my knees, and my feet... not with my words. Words are so... meaningless. They’re for cowardly cunts.
Half a dozen well-dressed men and a couple of ladies in business attire were already seated around the circumferential table inside the room. Artemis greeted them with a smile and a hearty hello. How quickly he shifted gears from being panicky to being a total ass kisser almost made me laugh. He probably didn’t realize that his over-eagerness to please those people made him look more dubious.
We sat down and Artemis began to deliver his spiel.
“Ladies and gents,” he said, “first and foremost, my client, Conner “The Savior” McXavier, wants to extend his most profound apology for what happened last night. It was truly a regrettable act, one that was committed in the heat of battle and the extreme desire to win.”
“Mr. Duggan, we’re not here to discuss excuses,” one of the old men in the meeting said. He was bald and pale and a little rounded around the corners. Unlike the other guys in the room, he didn’t wear a traditional suit. Instead, he was garbed in a black jacket that was seemingly made of silk which covered a button shirt that was of similar color and make. He wanted to look cool, to be identified as one of the boys who risk their lives inside that damn ring just to entertain the masses and pad up his bottom line. Yes, his bottom line. This guy was the owner and the main promoter of the XFC. He booked all of the fights and negotiated all of the fighters’ contracts. I knew him well enough to actually despise him: Danny Might.
“Of course, of course... no excuses, Mr. Might,” Artemis sheepishly agreed. “It’s merely a statement, Sir. A statement of deep and utter regret... a plea for forgiveness...”
“Duggan, he almost killed Donner!” Danny screamed as he dropped his fists on the table. He was trying so hard to act like a tough guy. He must’ve been a sissy while growing up. He still was.
“Mr. Duggan,” one of the men wearing suits joined the conversation. “It is very apparent... to us from Reebok, at least... that your client has some... anger management issues...”
I wanted to stand up, run towards him, hold his fucking nape and drive his puny head down to my knee. Me? Anger management issues? Fuck that shit! I have perfect control over my body... over my emotions... over my damn, fucking mind! He had no right to psychoanalyze me like I was some lab rat begging for crumbs of biscuits!
I tried to regulate my breathing, according to Artemis’ instructions. We need this, he said. Think about your endorsements... your contract... your career...
I needed this.
I wanted that fucking title fight against Johnny Jones.
I wanted that fucking title more than anything in my life.
So I kept quiet. I focused my gaze on my fingers which were quietly grating the wooden surface of the table.
“We acknowledge that... fact... Sir,” Artemis tentatively concurred. “And we have some plans to fix it.”
“How?” the Reebok guy asked.
“Well... Conner’s scheduled to undergo some anger management sessions...”
“What?!” I yelled in shock. I failed to control myself. Artemis never told me anything about that, and no way will I go talk to a f
ucking shrink!
“In fact, those sessions will start immediately,” Artemis continued without even looking at me.
The Reebok guy nodded his head and I saw Artemis’ lips twirl into a grin.
“But that’s not enough,” Danny Might interposed like he always did. He was the type of guy who always wanted to be in the middle of everything... his way of reminding himself that he was relevant... that he was important.
“That’s not enough, Sir?” Artemis asked. His nervousness has returned.
“I can deal with Donner,” Danny answered. “I can talk him out of filing a criminal case. But the Nevada Athletic Commission is planning to strip McXavier of his license.”
“B-But Boss,” Artemis edgily stuttered, “isn’t there something we could do about that? I’m sure you have some pull. Maybe we can leverage a...”
“Duggan, you know that there’s only one way that could change their minds,” Danny cut him off. “You’ve been in this game for so long... you know how it goes.”
Artemis gave him a puzzled look. He didn’t know what Danny was talking about.
Danny clicked his tongue before speaking once again.
“Good publicity negates bad publicity,” he explained. “The Commission... they’re a bunch of old geezers... traditionalists... they balk at the slightest hint of negative press. If you want to sway their decision, you will have to generate good PR for McXavier.”
Immediately, Artemis’ mouth formed an O and he started to nod, as if he heard an enlightening message from a prophet. Even the Reebok guy, as well as the other people in the room, began to agree in unison.
“So... I should have Conner do some charity work in the presence of some media people?” Artemis suggested... an idea which I didn’t find amusing.
“Among other things,” Danny answered. “I have actually drafted a plan that would make McXavier look like an angel,” he continued with a wry smile.
Oh fucking shit!
Danny Might was known to be a control freak. The motherfucker practically micromanaged everything about the XFC... from the match-ups to the broadcast presentation... and even the price of the hotdogs sold in the stands. Making a list of what I should be doing to garner good publicity was as easy as sneezing to him.
“What does that entail, Boss?” Artemis asked enthusiastically.
“Well, for starters... McXavier will still have to undergo anger management sessions,” Danny said.
Bullshit!
“Do you have family?” he suddenly asked me.
I didn’t have a ready reply.
“His mom passed away when he was just a kid,” Artemis hastily answered on my behalf.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Danny remarked. His ugly face didn’t even show the smallest sign of sympathy. “H’bout his father?” he asked Artemis.
“His father?” Artemis repeated the question.
I didn’t like where the conversation was headed.
“His father’s in Susanville,” Artemis answered.
“Susanville... that’s a small, beautiful town along the eastern border of Nevada, correct?” Danny stated as his face suddenly lit up. “That’s fucking perfect!”
“Perfect for what, Boss?” Artemis was still confused.
Danny didn’t answer him. Instead, he turned to face me.
“I heard that you want that title fight with Johnny Jones,” he talked with a voice that sounded so ominous. It was obvious that there was a catch waiting to be unleashed.
“I want that title fight,” I told him firmly. “I fucking deserve that title fight!”
“And you’ll get that title fight, McXavier. But first, let’s make this right,” he austerely said. “Pack your bags. You’re going home, boy.”
Chapter Four
MEG
“Teacher, teacher... what’s a peeh-neez?”
My eyes widened in shock as my throat completely dried up. Why would a four year old girl ask about a male’s most private of parts? Zoe’s question caught the attention of all the kids in the room. They all looked at me, waiting for my answer.
“Uhm... well...” I struggled to say. I didn’t know how to answer her. “A penis is an... uhm... well... you know... when a boy... errr... well...”
The children noticed how disoriented I became. They began to tease me by chanting “peeh-neez” repeatedly. I had to order them to hush up. I didn’t want the kids and the teachers in the other rooms to hear. Things like that... they could cost me my job.
“Zoe, where did you see that word?” I asked her, hoping to discover the source that threatened to end her innocence.
“Here, teacher,” she said as she extended a book - Uncle Scrooge’s Christmas Carol - and showed me the page where she must’ve read that term.
I scrutinized the said page and let out a sigh of relief as soon as I saw what Zoe was referring to.
Scrooge McDuck quickly hid his pennies under his bed.
I laughed so hard that the kids looked at me in absolute befuddlement.
“It’s not peeh-neez, Zoe,” I told her. “It’s peh-neez. It means coins. Money. You use them to buy things.”
“Ohhhhh... like a quarter,” she said in astonishment.
“Exactly!”
It’s one of the perks of my job: the immeasurable and incomparable pleasure of being able to teach young children some new things. I’ve worked at St. Catherine’s Montessori since I got my college degree, and I haven’t even considered another profession since then. Most of my friends have shifted from one workplace to another, but I didn’t. They always asked me if I desired something better... something more... when it came to my career. My answer has always been consistent: no.
Zoe’s most recent query was just one of the amazing memories I would always cherish about my work. And it was a very welcome relief from a day that was haunted by so many thoughts.
Uncle Benny went home really late... or should I say really, really early yesterday morning. I had to get up from bed at around 4 A.M. just to open the door for him. He was still inconsolable when he arrived. He reeked of tobacco and cheap beer. He went straight to his favorite couch without speaking a single word. He blankly stared at the TV, which was off, until he fell asleep a few minutes later. I have worried about him since then.
So worried that I decided to go straight home after my classes instead of logging in extra hours at the faculty office.
As I drove my old Ford Focus 2006, with its ocean blue color faded through years of wear and tear, I couldn’t stop thinking about the events from two nights ago.
It’s understandable why Uncle Benny was that affected. After all, Conner was his son... his only son. And though they haven’t talked to each other for years, the bond between father and child should be strong enough that the concern they have for each other wouldn’t erode so easily.
It’s the details that bugged me the most.
What was the reason behind their falling out?
Why did Conner try to kill his opponent?
And my mother’s words, this time... what other deeds did my stepdad’s son commit that was comparable to the atrocity he just displayed?
Too many thoughts... too many uncertainties... to many fears...
I comforted myself with the fact that this Conner guy was completely detached from our family and we didn’t have to share our lives with him.
My phone beeped, signifying a text message that was just received. I pulled over by the roadside at Valley Heights to open the SMS. I didn’t want to cause an accident just because my focus would be diverted.
The text was was from Lucas.
Hon I cnt mit u 2nyt. Sry. But pls hav dnr wid me tom @ 7. Pls.
It wasn’t the first time that he cancelled a date of ours. He was a busy man, and sometimes, things came up. I fully understood that. But what caught me by surprise was his insistence to have dinner tomorrow. Usually, he was just so... flippant... about our dates. We’d meet then we’d talk about where we want to go and
what we want to do, and that’s that. But his text message... it was so... specific. He had a plan.
And that got me excited.
Did it involve a quick trip to Alturas, I wondered? We did that once before, some two years ago when he just got his college degree from Cerro Coso. We left at 7 P.M., drove north for a little over an hour, watched a movie at the Niles Theater, bribed the park ranger at Modoc National Wildlife Refuge so that he’d let us in even if it was way past their operating hours, and enjoyed the view of the trees that mirrored the calm and silence of the night. We got back to Susanville at three in the morning but it was worth it. The spontaneity of that date was truly memorable, and i always wished that it could happen again.