Gradually, Troll took the advantage, pushing Justin back against the wall yet again. With his hands up to block, Justin was taking a beating on his ribs. He had to stay away from the damned walls.
He let gravity work, dropping down below the next punch. He threw his arms around Troll’s waist, using the wall to push off with his feet and drive Troll backward. It wasn’t easy, and something pulled in his calf as he pushed what felt like three hundred pounds of dead weight. Good thing his opponent had weak legs.
Troll flopped backward, knocking his head against the cement, and Justin fell on top of him. Quickly he climbed up Troll’s prone body, staying low. Left, right, left, he drove his fists into Troll’s jaw, Troll’s head ricocheting off the pavement each time. This was the ground and pound. Justin felt Troll go limp but punched three more times before he stopped.
Stilling his clenched fists, he heard himself yelling—the bestial cry of the desperate turning into a howl of victory.
He stumbled backward. He had lost himself. He closed his eyes as his echoing scream died in the cement box.
Had he killed Troll? He saw his downed opponent move slightly on the ground, a few droplets of blood spraying into the air—a sputtering breath. Thank God.
Justin sank to his knees, landing too hard on the pavement. He was suddenly chilled, the gray stone leaching all the heat from his body.
From the doorway to his left, Justin heard a gradual clap. Scarecrow’s steps on the pavement sounded slow and deliberate as he walked out of the hall’s shadows and into the room.
“Impressive.”
“Thanks.” Justin still hadn’t taken his eyes off the barely moving Troll. “Who is he?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’ll do from now on.”
Justin finally looked at Scarecrow. From the gleam in the man’s eye, Justin could see the grin hidden beneath the mask. His blood ran cold. Troll moaned, giving Justin the excuse he needed to turn away.
Attempting deep breaths, Justin stifled a wince. Breathing hurt. His ribs were throbbing, but he wasn’t going to touch them to see if anything was broken. He couldn’t show Scarecrow any weakness, not to mention the cameras, which were required to stay on until the victor left the Arena.
Glancing up, Justin saw Scarecrow was still looking at him. How much time had passed? Two minutes? Five? Shit, he was out of it. He noticed again the blood landing on the cement. It had dripped all the way down his body, off his thighs, and onto the floor.
Troll groaned again, a sound like he was trying to wake himself up from a dream but couldn’t. Handlers didn’t usually leave their Brawlers on the floor. Although Troll didn’t have a handler anymore, did he?
Still acting on instinct, Justin got slowly to his feet and walked over to him. “Hey,” he said, tapping him on the cheek. Weakly, Troll lifted an arm. Justin grabbed it, trying to pull him up.
“Let me help you with that.” Scarecrow walked behind Troll, getting on his knees and lifting Troll from behind into a sitting position. Troll’s body was as loose as a pile of rags. He had no muscle coordination, no way to sit up on his own yet.
“You all right?” Justin asked. What a stupid question. Troll was definitely not all right.
Scarecrow reached for something at his back. Suddenly this whole situation struck him as not right. He heard the blade snap out before he saw it in the light. He held his breath.
“Steady now,” Scarecrow said, the words directed to Justin. Scarecrow held his gaze, the gleam in his eye matching the gleam on the blade. This was another test. Justin couldn’t show weakness, but was Scarecrow really going to—
“I’d say you’ve earned this,” Scarecrow said. He drove the blade in below Troll’s ear and thrust it across his throat. In slow, jerking motions, the blade finally severed the windpipe with a crunch and a snap, blood spraying out with a choking sound. The sound only lasted seconds, but the blood kept spurting, each small gush one more beat of Troll’s dying heart.
Scarecrow stood, letting Troll drop to the floor. Troll was no longer moving, not making any sounds. His half-lidded eyes were unseeing, while a pool of blood extended from his ruined neck. He never knew what happened. He hadn’t been conscious. Probably. But it hadn’t been quick.
“Get up. Let’s go.” Scarecrow’s voice was level and calm. Justin wanted to move his legs, but he was kneeling on the floor. He felt unclean, as though he were a captive worshipper at an unholy altar of human sacrifice, bound by chains to that very spot.
C’mon. Move.
He felt detached. He was getting up but couldn’t feel his legs. Was he going into shock? Unaware of any pain, he followed Scarecrow out into the hall.
Once out of sight of the last camera, Justin stopped. It was like he was no longer in control of his own body. Scarecrow paused after a few steps and turned around. “Leave the cameras,” he said. “It’s not worth it if we get stopped somewhere. Come on.”
He forced his feet to move. What was wrong with him? He needed to pretend he was still fighting. He needed some drive to get through this.
He thought of his family—his twin sister, Ginny, and their little brother, Charlie. Charlie, who had written that note. Justin grit his teeth. He had to play this game. He had to fight.
Scarecrow stopped in front of the exit. He turned to Justin, pulling off the sackcloth mask. He was old. He had salt-and-pepper hair, thin wisps sticking up around his head like smoke. He was sharp in the face, with skin hanging off pointed bones. “Take off your mask,” he said. “Let me see you.”
It was easy to obey. It didn’t require thought. Justin reached behind and loosened the lace, pulling his mask off.
“Look at me.” Scarecrow put his hand under Justin’s chin. The man was tall—and not gentle, though he kept his hand clear of any wounds. He surveyed Justin’s face with a faint smile. “Yeah, not bad. How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You’re a good-lookin’ kid. A lot better looking than that guy on the floor back there.”
Justin didn’t respond. “Here,” said Scarecrow, reaching behind and pulling a brown bandana out of his back pocket. “You’re still bleeding.”
“Thanks.” Justin took it and held it to the gouge in his jaw.
“Your DNA clean?”
“Of course.”
“Good. What’s your exit plan?”
“I don’t live far from here. I walked.” And then Justin winced. Shit. He passed it off as pain, but it was his stupid mental error. He’d just given away too much information. He couldn’t have another Joe situation. This handler was dangerous enough. Not safe. Not for Gin. Not for Charlie. Fucking think.
“You able to get home?”
“Of course,” Justin said emphatically. No way was this guy coming anywhere near his home. “I have a plan. I’m careful.”
“You better be. I got my own plan, kid. I’ll meet you in a couple days. I’m not local, so location will be the train station in Racine, early morning, 7:00 a.m. That’ll be Tuesday. No—better make it Wednesday. Safer with that face. Best lay low, let it heal some, considering we just committed murder an’ all, right?” Scarecrow smiled.
Justin had no words, wouldn’t even nod. Scarecrow didn’t look pleased, his smile fading. “C’mon, speak. Let me hear you say it, so I know you got it. This is your one chance. I ain’t trying to find you.”
“Wednesday morning, 7:00 a.m. Racine.”
Scarecrow patted Justin’s cheek. “Good boy.” Justin wanted to recoil but stood his ground. Finally, Scarecrow turned and pushed through the exit. “Take care of that face now,” Justin heard faintly.
The metal door slammed shut.
Chapter 2
“THIS CHANGES things,” Hale told his handler as they discussed the Fray from last night. He pointed to the scene paused on his brand-new tablet. Super-high resolution, latest model, exorbitantly expensive. But if the image on it was any indication, he may soon have to switch to recycled tech like everyone else. Or maybe not. M
aybe this was the beginning of something even larger, more lucrative. Judging from the number of views and comments on the web, the entire country was watching. Shadow Fray was exploding. Police and government authorities were still swarming the Arena at the Mutual Conglomerate Building in Milwaukee, adding to the show, increasing the hype.
Brilliant, really. All signs indicated this was planned—a strategy from the bosses. Surprising, really, that it hadn’t happened before. But now….
“It’s your call,” Benz told him, standing in the middle of the spacious room. Benz would follow Hale’s lead no matter what, but right now, Hale needed his handler to give him advice.
Hale took a sip of coffee as he looked out over the Chicago skyline from his window on the twenty-eighth floor of the Chixago Building. He’d hate to give up this gorgeous view, but maybe it was time to live smarter, save the money—while it lasted. “You have a say in this too,” he said to Benz. “Honestly I don’t know what to do. Let’s talk it out. Be my brother, not my business partner.”
“Things are getting real dangerous.” Benz’s cautionary tone had Hale wondering if Benz thought they should quit.
“It’s always been dangerous.” Hale gestured out over the horizon, sloshing his coffee. “This whole damn world is dangerous.”
He shook stray droplets from his hand and leaned against the window to face Benz. Despite the early hour, Benz was in a black suit, having worked through the night. It was quite the contrast to Hale’s jeans and T-shirt, not to mention the bare feet and dark scruff. He felt underdressed in his own home. “You got a kid to think about,” Hale reminded him.
“Edna’s your kid too,” Benz insisted. The man’s imposing mass gave anything he said greater gravity. No wonder he never had to raise his voice.
“Yeah, well, she doesn’t know that.” It was hardly a mumble, but then Hale cleared his throat and spoke up. “Besides, she doesn’t need me like she needs you, and we both know it.” He gestured toward Benz and spilled his coffee again. “Shit.” The way he was behaving this morning, you’d think he was spiking the coffee again. He wasn’t.
“Sit down before you make a mess.” Benz was habitually calm and even-toned, but as Hale sat down, he wondered why Benz wasn’t sitting down himself. Was he nervous? “We can give it up, quit the Fray,” Benz continued. “I got a job; the club’s not bad. We couldn’t stay in this building, but there are other places we could go.”
“What are the options?” Hale asked.
“There’s a rise closer to the club.” Hale knew Benz well enough to detect a half-truth and raised an eyebrow. Benz put up both hands to placate him. “Okay, not a rise exactly, but it’s off the ground, starts at the fourth floor. A lot of the workers at the club are there. It’s not bad.”
“Just residences?”
“Not exactly.” Benz sighed and finally took a seat on the other side of Hale’s dining room table. “That’s where the less official workers run their business.”
“Uni business?”
“Uni business. Lady business. You name it—some real high-class people too—but don’t do that stuff in my backyard. It’s where I work.” Even this warning was said without raising his voice a single decibel.
“I got no use for anything classy.” He could give up this unit in the Chixago Building. Move. He looked away from Benz, trying to keep the frown off his face—but Benz wouldn’t fall for it. Best to admit the crux. “I’d miss Eddie, but this place?” He gestured around again, losing more coffee. “Jesus Christ.”
“You need a sippy cup?”
Hale slammed the near-empty mug on the table, the sound like a gavel. Screw this. He wouldn’t give up the Fray. Fighting was in his blood. It had saved his life. He wanted to know where his brother-in-law stood, so talking it out was good, even as Hale became more certain of the outcome.
At the very least, it was comforting to have a backup plan. No matter where Eddie and Jess ended up, as long as his daughter and sister-in-law had Benz, they’d be okay. Benz was a monster, nearly a foot taller than Hale, and his shoulders were as wide as a refrigerator. People didn’t fuck with him, especially not when he was in a suit, which was all the time. The man lived next door, and the only time Hale had seen him not in a suit was five years ago when Hale had accidentally passed out drunk on their bathroom floor. He honestly thought he was in his own bathroom until a naked Benz walked in to take a piss. At least he didn’t sleep in a suit.
“Has Eddie seen you naked?” Hale asked suddenly.
“What? What the hell, Hale?” Benz actually did get a little louder on that one.
Hale put his hands on his face. “Sorry. My mind isn’t here. It’s jumping all over the place.” Jumping to get away from the grim scene paused on his tablet, the scene that had his whole future in question. He’d taken a lot of punches to the gut, but that was a pain he could handle. This hole in his chest, this uncertainty about what he should do, was far worse.
“Maybe it’s time to retire, man. Quit while you’re ahead.” Benz’s tone was soothing. “Black Jim is just your persona. Let him go to rest. He’s a legend. Quit at the top, and the legend will live on, man.” Hale raised an eyebrow. This vibe from Benz didn’t go with his suit.
“Be real. Black Jim is only a legend until the next one rises. If I fold, they’ll have a new star by next Tuesday. Besides, I’m not sure I can separate myself from him. Whatever I was before, I am Black Jim now.”
“You’re getting old, Hale. This was never going to last forever.”
“How old are you?”
“Forty-two.”
“So watch who you’re calling old.” Hale was thirty-six.
“Aren’t you touchy? Must mean you know I’m right.” Benz leaned forward in his chair, bringing his tall frame down to look Hale in the eyes. “Shadow Fray is getting progressively more violent. You’re king of the mountain. Most wins ever. You think they aren’t already talking about who’s gonna be the one to bring Black Jim down? Who’s to say they aren’t going to start gunning for you, and bring some hardware to do it?”
“That’s where you come in.”
“I don’t know if I can keep protecting you, brother. This game is changing. It’s dirty. The day might come when—”
“I know, I know,” said Hale, waving him down to silence him. “Look. You’ve always had my back. You’re the best man, the best. If something goes down, I would never blame you.”
“We’ve made more than enough to get Edna started on a good life.”
“That’s a comfort,” Hale said quietly. He could die knowing he was finally doing right by her, but he wanted more. “Truth is, even in Chicago money buys safety. And no matter where you are, the more money you got, the higher you live off the ground.”
Benz nodded. Neither man spoke for several minutes. Hale looked at the tablet on the table, at the picture paused on his screen. It was a riveting tableau: the man in the scarecrow mask—Hale refused to call him Scarecrow—and the kid they called Dozer lying dead in a pool of blood. The other kid—the cunning Brawler with no name—kneeling. He had skills, whoever he was—a newbie Hale had only seen a few times. That kid sure was finding himself in some evil shit. By the hunched posture, Hale could see the kid knew he was in over his head. Hale felt bad for him.
He looked at his business partner, his brother-in-law, his oldest friend. It was settled, then, but Hale decided to say the words anyway. “We have to keep our little girl safe, Benz. We fight for what’s important. We stay in the Fray.”
JUSTIN WOKE to little arms around his neck. The rest of his body hurt, but not that touch. He felt soft breath on his cheek and a kiss that was barely a whisper. He opened his eyes and looked at his little brother. The dim morning light filtered through closed blinds to show a boy only ten years old, with clipped hair hidden under a baseball cap. Charlie’s eyes were so big, they reminded Justin of the big eyes behind the mask last night, but only for a second. Looking into his brother’s pale blue eyes, Justin could c
hase that thought away. He leaned over and kissed Charlie’s forehead, then pulled him in close. “Just watch the ribs, okay?” Charlie didn’t talk, but he did communicate. He knew this was what Justin needed right now.
Ginny was standing in the doorway watching, a smile on her face. She was dressed for work, yes, but she also spent a lot more time on her hair and face than she normally would. Justin’s twin didn’t try to be beautiful. Not many women in this city did unless they were after something.
Justin frowned. “You’re gonna fuck him, aren’t you?”
Ginny breathed in through her nose—something their mother used to do before she would scold them. She lost her smile for a second but then put it back on her face. It wasn’t the same smile, though.
“Justin, it’s not so bad. Ray’s not a bad guy, and I haven’t had my daddy fix in a while.” The way she smiled, Justin believed she didn’t mind so much, but she was a fantastic actress.
Justin kissed his brother again on the forehead. “I need you to go in the other room for a little bit so I can talk to your sister.” It wasn’t so much that he was trying to hide what was going on—Charlie was way too observant for that. He just wanted the kid to feel like he was protected, that he had people looking out for him. His brother lifted his head and frowned, and Justin knew exactly what that frown said: “Your lack of trust is like a knife in my heart.” Charlie got out of bed and left, closing the bedroom door none too softly.
“What time is it?” Justin asked, still sleepy. He couldn’t believe he’d actually slept last night, but he had, at least for a few hours. He didn’t even remember any nightmares.
“8:20. We have to figure out what we’re going to tell Ray.”
Shadow Fray Page 2