by H. T. Night
Society’s opinion of MMA was that it was two savages tearing each other apart at all costs. Most average folks still thought MMA was a mercenary sport where men just beat the hell out of each other, like some type of legal men’s fight club. Where anything goes as long as you won. That was the furthest from the truth. We had lots of rules that protected the fighters from one another. And when those rules were broken, people didn’t take kindly to it. Josiah had had to apologize to more than one pro fighter for accidentally—or in his case, instinctively—kicking a poor guy in the nuts. Luckily, we hardly ever sparred full bore, so my groin had not had a visit from Josiah’s size 14 foot. I’d heard it was a painful experience and that he seriously got his foot in there.
Josiah needed to fight within himself. Take his dirty fighter attitude but apply it to fighting clean, and use the anger to his advantage.
Josiah had a lot of work cleaning up the dirty fighter within himself. I wasn’t saying that my boy straight bit and clawed, but if push came to shove, anything could happen. So, we had to do fight cleansing, where Josiah just fought by the book.
Today was one of our fight-cleansing lessons. Mike and I were happy with how far Josiah had come in a month. Not only had he become a better fighter, he became a safer fighter. At the very least, we helped him not beat himself with a stupid penalty.
Submissive moves weren’t Josiah’s specialty. Beating the straight shit out of someone was his skill, and he never wanted to move from it.
It was two days before Josiah’s fight, and I had an itch to see my own kind. Every once in a while, I like to go to werewolf-friendly bars and be around my own kind. The problem was I was Kyro in that world, not Tommy Jenkins. Most werewolves had no idea I was an MMA fighter. I thought if more did, I’d hear it from the higher-ups to quit the sport. So, for the most part, I liked going to the bars, but I hardly socialized. I’d find a table and play the bar’s quiz game. It was a national game where you competed against drunks in other bars. It was actually genius. It was also free, and that was always good.
The bar I frequented was called Sugar Bears. I knew it sounded like a gay bar for bigger dudes, but it was a werewolf-friendly bar.
On this night, I was doing pretty darn well at trivia. I was drinking beer. I knew I would hear from Maya the next time out, but I needed a little taste tonight. I wasn’t going crazy. I just had a couple of beers. The bartender was a friend and knew my situation, so she would cut me off if I stepped over any line.
I knew this guy; his name was Jersey. Guess where he was from? He was usually playing trivia and we’d sit next to each other. He wasn’t here yet. As a matter of fact, I was three beers and two hours in before he showed up. I made eye contact and he came over to me. He grabbed himself one of the trivia gadgets and headed over to where I was sitting.
“You drinking real beer tonight?” Jersey asked.
“You damn straight, cowboy. I’m a lightweight. I haven’t drank in a long time. So, I think four will be it,” I said.
“You’re already on your fourth beer?”
“Hell, no, I’m on three. I’m leaving number four for you to buy.”
Jersey was a good dude. He was about five feet eight and built like a pit bull. He was an Irish Catholic from the old neighborhood, as he liked to put it.
He loved the ladies. Too bad, because not every lady was smitten by his charm, or lack thereof. I enjoyed his company and was glad he’d stop by.
“It’s good to see you, man,” I said to Jersey.
“You too, Kyro.” Jersey sat down and he jumped right in with the trivia. We chatted and played for about half an hour. I stood up to go to the bathroom, when I was taken aback. I just saw the largest human being I had ever seen walk through the front door.
I immediately went back to the table where Jersey and I were sitting.
“Dude,” I said to Jersey. “Who the hell is that guy?” I was referring to the incredibly large man just walking into the establishment.
“That’s Goliath.”
“No, for reals,” I said.
“I’m telling you,” Jersey said. “The man’s name is Goliath. He is pretty much running things in Orange County these days.”
“Running things?”
“You know,” Jersey said. “The whole reason why any of us are here. We’re all Carni.”
“So, he is a higher-up?”
“I think he just assumed that position the second he became one of us. From what I hear. It was one hell of a story how that happened.”
I stared at Goliath. He looked like Bigfoot. He was a hairy, tall mess. He looked like a seven-foot hillbilly from the deep, deep South. His brown hair had streaks of gray in it, which told me he was nearing forty. That had to be a disadvantage.
Was I sizing up Goliath? You better damn well know I was. No one runs anything when I live in that proximity. He better keep his shit in the O.C. and not bring it up to the Inland Empire.
“Easy, Kyro. You’re practically mad-dogging the guy. Shit, he’s coming over here.”
And sure enough, he was. I had stared at this buffoon long enough, and he was curious to see who had the balls to do so.
Goliath walked up to me and said, “Do I know you?”
“No,” I said. I felt ‘a line’ coming on.
“Then why you look like you want to fuck me?”
“You’re a little off in your read, dude. You must be horrible at charades.” I looked at Jersey and he was staring at the table and not looking up. He looked petrified. Goliath was bewildered why I wasn’t doing the same.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“Honestly, not really. I was just going. I think you’re itching for a fight, and tonight, I will not be your huckleberry. But please, I’ll take a rain check if you like.”
I stood up and left thirty dollars on the table. That covered drinks and a nice tip.
Goliath looked at me, utterly shocked. I didn’t think anyone had ever stood up to this guy in his life, by the way he was acting.
I said goodbye to Jersey, walked out of the bar, and went over to my Mustang. I turned on the ignition and I was out of there. I was down the street, looking through my rearview mirror when I saw the giant step outside the bar to see if I was still there.
I turned right, went on the freeway, and headed back to San Bernardino.
Chapter Eight
It was the night before the fight. We had just arrived back from the Staples Center for the weighins. Josiah weighed in with a quarter of a pound to spare. He was such a showoff, even in a weighin. Let’s just say Josiah weighed in butt naked.
I gave Josiah one of my training secrets—sleep in your own bed the night before a fight if possible. We lived ninety minutes from the Staples Center. I told Josiah it would be smart for us to grab some grub back in Orange County. Then we’d head back to San Bernardino, so he could get his sleep on.
We ate at the Old Spaghetti Factory in Fullerton. Josiah had three entrees and three desserts. The boy was hungry. He cut twenty-five pounds in about five days. He waited until the end to diet, but he got there.
I went to bed when we got home. It was around ten, but I was tired and I wanted to be there for Josiah tomorrow as a strong presence in his corner. He was my brother and he has been in the corner in every one of my fights. I planned on being a loud voice in his. Josiah always seemed to muster out, “Finish him,” when he was in my corner. I knew if I needed to ask a question during a fight about what I should do, Josiah was the one I spoke to first. Like I said, the kid’s instincts were a special thing. I would use them to my benefit as long as we are in each other’s corners.
I had fallen asleep, but I couldn’t have been asleep for more than two hours when I was awakened by Josiah. “Hey, Tommy,” Josiah said beside my bed, waking me up instantly.
“Huh? What the—?” I said, trying to wake up. Two hours in is a deep sleep. I looked over my pillow and I could see the shirtless boy wonder.
“Tommy, I can’t sleep. I’m too pum
ped about tomorrow.” Josiah sounded like he was ready to go.
“You’re going to have to go to sleep, Josiah. Sleep is incredibly important before a fight. Go for a light jog.”
“Will that help?”
“It will make you tired,” I said, as if he didn’t know that himself. “Go to sleep, Josiah. I don’t want you to be a zombie before your first match.” That was the last thing I remembered saying. I was asleep for a good hour when I was woken again by my anxious friend.
“Tom, how is it possible to sleep before a fight?”
I opened my eyes and now Josiah was lying next to me in my king-size bed. “It’s very easy,” I said, “if you let your body do it.” I groaned. “Go to sleep, dipshit. If sleeping next to me makes you fall asleep, you can stay. Otherwise, leave.”
“I was doing sit-ups and pushups. Nothing makes me sleepy.”
“Go back to your room and relax the way we men do.”
“You mean jack off?” Josiah asked.
“It puts me to sleep,” I said.
“You know I ascribe to the celibate theory before a fight?”
“Huh? This is your first fight.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t, well... you know, in about four weeks.”
I sat up. “You mean you haven’t had an orgasm for a month?”
“That sounds about right,” Josiah said.
“What’s a normal amount for you?”
“Every day.”
I nodded my head. He was eighteen—that sounded right. “Josiah, what the hell? Go take care of business. I don’t care if it is the night before a fight. You are eighteen and your body is crying out for a release.”
“Nope. I can’t do it.” Josiah was extremely stubborn.
“How do you even ascribe to the not jacking-off theory? You never had a pro fight before. Guys do that when they lose. They need to blame something, so they blame their own sperm.”
“I’ve seen Bull Durham twelve times. It was Crash’s advice to Tim Robbins.”
“Dude, if you’re not asleep in one hour, I will beat the shit out of you till you go nappy-by.”
Josiah laughed. “Know what’s funny? You believe that.”
“That humors you,” I said. “Go to bed, you douche bag. Get out of my bed and sleep in your own.”
Josiah grinned and gave me a wink and then left my room. I ended up lying awake.
I was going to have my shot at the title real soon. I have been fighting a new guy just about every month to keep my mind off Maya. Also so I could put some money away. I was up $25,000 a fight. At least, that was what I’d received for my last fight.
I had put away a lot of money, and if Maya could be be proud of something, she would be proud of that. I was never too good with money.
I was currently 15-0. I had heard through the grapevine that my magic number was 19. The California Commission wanted my 20th fight to be a title fight if I was still undefeated. It was an exciting time for me in the MMA. What was funny to me was that I roomed with the one guy in the world who thought he could truly kick my ass. Maybe I do it on purpose for motivation. I would like to think that. I think, at the end of the day, two world-class fighters became friends the old-fashioned way. We met in the real world.
Now I couldn’t go to sleep. I hopped up and stormed into Josiah’s bedroom. I wanted to give the jerk a piece of my mind, waking me up. I stepped into his room, and he was sound asleep. I guess that was what he needed to do to get some shut-eye—talk some shit to me. Or he wanked it. He did have an hour since I’d seen him. By any standards, he was asleep and he needed the rest. But I was wide awake, and I remained awake. I never slept, but I managed to get enough sleep during the night that I was a complete ‘dead man walking.’
Josiah got up and took a shower. He was tired but he was slowly feeling the excitement of his first fight. He put on his black track suit, and then he grabbed his gym bag and the two of us were off.
I drove Josiah back to the Staples Center at noon. We arrived at the arena at two-thirty. We were able to grab a nicer dressing room since we were early. The main event guys received their suites and the rest of us scrambled for what was left. Some dressing rooms were night and day better than each other. We managed to grab one of the better ones. That meant food, and I was starving. Celery and carrot sticks never looked so good.
Josiah was going up at six fifteen. He was the second fight on the card. Mike showed up at four, and then he and I got Josiah ready. Josiah stopped talking at some point and just would grunt his answers. He was focused. I liked that. Usually, his ADHD was all over the map. Or was it my ADHD that was all over the map?
It was time for us to walk Josiah down to the main arena. His fight was next. I had to admit, I felt his excitement. I was pumped for Josiah. He was going to show the world who he was tonight, and I was damn proud to be in his corner.
Mike and I entered the arena with Josiah. We walked him up to the ring, and then we all hopped in. They announced Josiah as a debut fighter. I could tell just by looking around the arena that he was getting the same looks I received from the female audience. Or were they still checking me out? I didn’t know. There was anticipation in the air. The arena was a little more than half full. It was about what was expected at this point on the card. Everyone starts filing into their seats once the top two fights are about to begin.
The two fighters and the referee were left in the ring. Josiah came to his corner. Mike and I were on the outside of the ropes. I looked at Josiah and simply said, “Fight smart, fight strong. Remember, no shortcuts.”
The bell rang and Josiah skipped out of his corner like a street fighter about to take on the world. He had a presence and a look in his eye I had never seen before. He seemed taller, wider, older. Josiah was going to tear Chacon apart.
Chacon chased Josiah down. He wasn’t going to be shown up by a debut fighter. That was his first and last mistake. Chacon charged Josiah when Jo was in the middle of the ring. Josiah slipped by Chacon, and when he was to the right of Chacon’s body, he decked him in the right temple with a vicious right hand. He broke his skin. He broke skin with the first punch he ever threw in a professional MMA match. Blood was pouring down Chacon’s face.
Josiah not only saw blood, he smelled it too. He pounced on Chacon with a left hook that landed square on Chacon’s chin and a right uppercut that shattered his chin into several pieces. The fight was instantly stopped. Josiah just fractured a man’s face. He only threw three punches.
Holy shit. Josiah didn’t have just my attention—he had the MMA world’s attention.
Chapter Nine
Josiah’s fight was all the talk in the MMA world for about a week. That was the way the sport was. Josiah’s first professional fight was a hit on YouTube and Twitter, with 500,000 downloads of his match by the first week alone.
Josiah lay low. He turned down some big-time interviews and just didn’t give a fuck about the spotlight. I wish I could say he put his mind on the prize and was just focused on being the best. I couldn’t say that because he wasn’t. He didn’t like the spotlight, but damn, lately, Josiah was all about the ladies, going out with a different girl just about every night since his fight. Somehow, he had turned his success into a dating website. Good for him. I guess if I wanted it, I could do the same thing. I had some wacky requests sent to me online sometimes. I didn’t bat an eye because Maya had always been there. Even now, she was there. What was I supposed to do, go on a date knowing full well she was looking over me?
It had been three months since Josiah’s fight. I had seen Maya only once in that time. We were due to meet any day now. The last time Maya had visited me was in our home on a night when Josiah was out. I just had my 17th fight and I won with a knockout in the second round. It wasn’t as impressive as Josiah’s first match but I wasn’t trying to kill my opponent or send him to a plastic surgeon. I wasn’t sure if that was what Josiah wanted, but that was what he fought. Chacon was given a brand-new chin, compliments of Josi
ah’s fist. All it took was one punch and Josiah turned a man’s face into silly putty.
Josiah was on my radar. I knew one of us would have to change weights or it was inevitable that we face off against one another.
I was standing in the kitchen, washing the dishes. Josiah ate well and I told him he could crash. He was up all night doing God knows what. He has been doing his own thing a lot these days. At the end of the day, we were eight years apart in human terms.
I was thinking about Maya, Josiah, life, and MMA when suddenly I saw something outside that nearly freaked me out while I continued to wash the dishes. My window was open and even though it was dark, I could see clearly because we had a nice porch light that lit up the front side of our house. It was the red hawk from a few months back. I was certain it was the same hawk, as she had the scattered black spots near her belly.
She flew to a branch where she had a comfortable landing, as if she has been doing it for years. She looked straight ahead and, wouldn’t you know, the direction this damn bird was facing was Josiah’s window. I was certain she was a female vampire. Why the hell was she stalking Josiah? Me and this bird needed a werewolf-to-vampire talk, pronto.
I quietly stepped outside. I didn’t want to scare the bird away. The tree that she was perched on was to the right of the porch. It was on our property, and the tree’s branches draped over parts of our house, including where Josiah had his bedroom. I quietly stepped over to where the bird was sitting. I was behind her, so she didn’t see me walk up. I was walking rather stealthily, so she didn’t hear me walk up to her. I knew I needed to keep my voice down because I didn’t want Josiah to hear me from his bedroom. I stood behind the beautiful red hawk and watched her staring at Josiah, who was sleeping with his light on.
Creepy.
I had to say something, but not too loud. “Why are you here?” I said in my regular-sounding voice, as if I were on a telephone call. Not too loud, but firm. “I know what you are. Reveal yourself to me.”
I had no idea what kind of person this bird was in real life. For all I know, she might be the toughest and scariest-looking female Mani there was. So, I took a step back and repeated myself. This time a little louder, and a lot bolder.