Fighting Chance

by Lynn Rider

  I met Vic in a dark alley. He said he’d heard about me and had to come down and see for himself. The fight club I was part of had just broke for the night and I was in the process of being paid for my victory. It wasn’t much, but when you’re sixteen and living on the street, a few hundred dollars is the difference between crawling behind a dumpster to sleep on an empty stomach or filling your belly before resting safely behind a locked door of a cheap motel room.

  I fought almost nightly, but my body was beaten and bruised and despite calling bullshit when Vic told me I could only survive so much longer, I knew he was right. He offered to let me sleep at his gym, but I declined. I didn’t know him and where I come from, no one does something for you without wanting something in return. I fought a good fight, brought in the crowds, and kept the bets rolling, so in return, I got a piece of the purse. It was simple.

  Night after night Vic returned. Eventually I began looking for him in the crowd. It wasn’t like he was hard to find. Not many grey-haired old men risk arrest by following the illegal circuit. He was always front and center and watched with intense interest. He started giving me pointers, even brought me dinner a few times.

  Over time we began to form a friendship of sorts. Looking back, it was completely one-sided. He gave me advice, a safe place to sleep, food in my stomach and I gave nothing. I had nothing. So, when he asked that I stop the street fighting, knowing it was the only thing I could give him in return, I did.

  I went to night school and got my high school equivalency certificate, worked at the gym in the mornings and trained in the afternoon. Vic taught me structure, consistency, and the discipline needed to funnel my anger somewhere safe and controlled. But what I learned most was I never wanted to disappoint that man. As I take my final steps toward his office door, the dread sits heavy in my stomach, knowing tonight I’ve done just that.

  He’s sitting on the edge of his old wood desk when I open the door. My fight from last weekend in Atlantic City plays on the eighty-inch television on the wall. He doesn’t acknowledge me as he continues to watch blow after blow in slow motion. I slide into a chair to watch. I haven’t seen this fight yet, but I’ve watched all my others. There’s something about seeing yourself in the ring: the studying of each movement, the footwork, the punches, and the recovery of a hit. You learn a lot by watching.

  “You see that young man up there?” Vic finally speaks, never taking his eyes from the screen.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s a future champion.”

  “Thanks,” I answer cautiously, knowing there’s more coming. He was pissed when he saw me out there pushing my body to the point of exhaustion. Watching a replay of my last fight wouldn’t make Vic forget that…even when I won. “You wanna be a champion?” He turns his attention from the screen, pinning me with his blue eyes.

  “You know I do,” I answer.

  “Then start acting like it! That shit out there can’t happen three days after a fight like that one.” He points to the screen. “That fight just paved the path to your destiny. You have to trust the process. You have to trust me, Chance. When I say no training, you rest your muscles and do nothing. Got it?” I nod, both of us looking back at the television.

  “You looked good, kid.”

  “Thanks.” Vic is a no bullshit kind of guy. Knowing he’s said his peace about what he walked into this morning—there’s never an ulterior motive behind his words—I take his compliment without condition. It’s a concept I’m still learning. I didn’t hear words like that growing up, so when one of the most important people in my life says them, the pride softens me, even working to take away some of my earlier anger. “He had a hell of a right. I found myself getting jabbed the first two rounds more than I should have.” My eyes watch as three strikes make contact to my ribcage before I’m able to recover.

  “He’s a hell of a fighter.”

  “I’m better.”

  Vic’s weathered face turns my direction, a smile slowly forming along the crease of his mouth. “It’s about damn time you start believing in yourself!” He claps me on the shoulder, walks around his desk and settles into his chair.

  “So you ready to talk about what has you in here so early?”

  “I have to do something with the boys. They can’t keep living like that. It’s only a matter of time before…” I pause, my mind alternating with images of my own childhood and Matt’s pleading eyes as he walked up those stairs last night. I clear my throat to continue, “…she kills herself or gets them killed. She’s moved again; this time to the projects.”

  “I thought you were giving her rent money?”

  “Yeah, I am. She’s using again. Hell, maybe she never stopped. But I saw it and that’s like waiting for history to repeat itself. It’s obvious now that that’s where the money is going. They can’t be around that. I didn’t have anyone, but they have me.”

  “What about your old man? He hitting on ‘em?” There’s a hardness in his tone that has me appreciating this man even more. Old enough to be a grandfather, he has zero tolerance for men like my father. Vic is old school. He believes you find your lady, love them like a queen, make a family and teach them, guide them and above all else, you put them before you until the day you die. Sadly, for him, his wife died twenty years ago and they never had kids. He never got the traditional family he always wanted, or the queen to put on a pedestal until his last breath, but it doesn’t stop him from believing that’s how it’s supposed to be.

  “I don’t think he’s around much, but the boys say no.” I look up in time to see his expression relax.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but the old-fashioned ring of his rotary phone blasts through the office. Vic’s brow pinches with confusion as he looks at the clock.

  “What in the hell?” he mumbles, reaching for the receiver. “Yeah,” he says forcefully. His eyes lift to mine and drop again. “Where?” He stands from his seat, grabbing his keys from the desk as he continues to listen. Mirroring his actions, I stand. It’s not often I see him alarmed so whatever it is, I’m here for him, a hundred and ten percent. “Let’s go!” he says, slamming the phone down and brushing by me toward the door. “Grab your bag.”

  We get outside in the matter of seconds, the cold air reminding me I didn’t grab my coat. I keep up my pace, following him toward his old SUV. “You want me to drive?” I ask, hoping he’ll take me up on it. Not because his SUV is the probably the first one ever made, but he’s visibly upset about something.

  “No, you’ll thank me later. Now get in!” He climbs behind the wheel of his old rust bucket and I jump in the passenger seat without another word. He throws the SUV in gear, taking off faster than I expected this old piece of shit was capable of. I don’t know what’s going on, but my adrenaline is pumping and I’m damn sure ready for whatever it is. “You got your phone in that bag?” he asks, fumbling with the heat controls and glancing at the duffel bag on the floorboard.

  “Yeah, you need to call someone?” Vic doesn’t own a cell phone. He doesn’t believe in them. His mantra is, if you can’t find him at his house or at the gym, he doesn’t want to be found.

  “No, but you may want to take a look at it. Matt’s been trying to get in touch with you.” Terror has me rustling in my bag, digging through my sweaty clothes from earlier. “The boys are safe,” he adds, turning a corner at near full speed and throwing me against the door. Vic’s slow driving has been the brunt of my jokes for years. His erratic maneuvers and speed has me throwing shit out of my bag with one hand as the other roots around the bottom. Another jolt of panic races through me when I find the screen filled with a list of missed calls and texts from Matt and Smith.

  “Smith is at the police station. That’s where the boys are.”

  “Okay,” I manage through the panic. I take a deep breath, but nothing can calm the storm brewing inside. Vic said they’re safe and at the police station—not the hospital. If she’s hurt them or let anyone else hurt them, I’m
going to kill her myself. I look through Matt’s texts, all starting just after two in the morning, but every one of them are vague. Pain slices through me when I read Matthew’s last words, “I need you to come over now!” I always told him I’d be there for him.

  “I don’t know what happened. They won’t tell Smith anything because he’s not family,” Vic adds. I click on Smith’s text feed. They tell me nothing more than what Vic just said. He’s at the station, but other than the boys are safe and unharmed, they won’t tell him anything. Reading that should settle my panic, but nothing will until I lay my own eyes on them.

  Vic’s old SUV bounces as he races into the parking lot of the police station, jolting me from my phone. My feet are on the ground and running for the station doors before the old SUV is even stopped. Heads turn my direction and I grab the arm of the first guy in uniform I see. “My little brothers are here. I don’t know what happened, only that they’re here.” He looks down to where my hand connects to the dark fabric of his shirt. I grab harder, not giving a shit if he’s offended.

  “Calm down, son.” Vic’s hand lands on my shoulder. I breathe and release the man’s arm. “This is Chance McKnight. His brothers were brought in, but no one was able to reach him directly so we don’t know why they’re here.”

  “Yeah, they’re with Shirley. She has a way with kids.” He smiles. “Come on, I’ll show you back.” This early in the morning, the station is empty, save for some drunks and a few prostitutes, but the coherent ones are watching me with interest as I follow this guy through the maze of cubicles at a snail’s speed.

  “Can you tell me anything? What happened? Why they’re here?” I find my voice, and it’s anxious for this dickhead to either tell me something or pick up the damn pace in leading me to someone who can. Preferably this Shirley person.

  He glances over his shoulder. “I don’t know, man. It’s not my case. I only know they’re here because they said you’re their brother. Information like that gets around,” he says as casual as his fucking steps. Vic, sensing my growing frustration, places his hand on my shoulder and gives a gentle squeeze. The cop waves a white badge over a grey panel on the wall and the door buzzes. I grab the door, stepping around the motherfucker.

  “You’re going to have to wait for me,” he calls out as I storm ahead. I see Matt and Brandon sitting inside an office with a glass window. Brandon sees me first and bursts into tears as he jumps up, running for the door. He’s in the hall and wrapped around me before I even blink.

  “Chance!” Matt cries, following through the door. I wrap my arms around them so tight I think they may disappear from the pressure. A middle-aged woman dressed in a black suit steps from the office and smiles sadly. I know she can tell me what I want to know, but right now, all I want is this.

  4

  Mia

  “You sure you don’t want us to wait and walk you out?” I look up from helping Julia with her coat and scarf to the sincerity in her father’s expression. His warm smile meets his chocolate brown eyes. Their kindness reminds me of my own father growing up. One night a week, Mr. Callahan brings Julia in after hours, sits in the corner, spread out under his laptop, working away while I give his eleven-year-old daughter private ballet lessons.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine. I have some things I need to do before I go,” I smile, giving him my standard weekly answer. I look down to Julia, who smiles up at me with eyes mirroring her father’s. “Get this one to bed,” I say, pulling her into a hug.

  Julia is my favorite student. She reminds me of myself at her age, sharing in the same dream of attending Julliard. She dances because it’s at the core of who she is. A quiet introvert in most times, she comes to life with expression when she’s wearing a leotard and some tights.

  “Okay, then. Lock the door after us.” Mr. Callahan ushers Julia toward the door. I dutifully lock the door and give a final wave through the glass as they get into his car.

  I make my way through the lobby and back into the studio, turning off lights as I go. My eyes scan the empty room, a surge of emotions raking over me as I think of my childhood.

  This used to be my mother’s studio. She opened it when I was a small girl and it became as familiar to me as my own childhood bedroom. I would have slept here, if my parents had let me.

  Taking in the quiet, I can almost hear her voice praising me when I completed my first pirouette, see her beaming smile when I completed multiples. Up until college, I learned every move for every dance of every recital I performed in, in this very room. She had more grace and style than anyone I’ve ever met. She was destined to do great things on that stage, but I came along instead.

  Pregnant at seventeen, her dreams were forever altered. She married my father, had me, then Audrey, and eventually opened this studio. I never knew she’d settled, or the life that included all of us was really her plan B. I only learned of her aspirations the day my official acceptance to Julliard came. She sat me down—never making me feel like a sacrifice—and told me her story. “The sky is the only limit for you, my sweet girl,” is what she’d said in conclusion.

  I wipe at a single tear, wishing it were as easy to wipe away the pain that squeezes my heart. I sigh taking in the room, leaving that memory here before turning off the light and leaving.

  The steel door slams behind me, echoing in the dark alley as I make my way toward the street. I step from between the buildings and onto the vacant sidewalk, a blast of freezing air hitting me. I wrap my coat around me tighter.

  I’m usually not afraid of the dark, but unease has the little hairs on my neck standing on end tonight. Maybe it’s just the cold air, I reason with myself. The dance studio isn’t in a bad neighborhood. It’s not in a neighborhood at all. Warehouses and office buildings line the sidewalks to the mostly industrial street. Except for a few apartments that sit atop a nearby gym, it’s vacant of anyone at this time of night.

  A stray dog barks from across the street, causing me to jump. My steps halt, our eyes meet and then he trots along, forgetting about me and I hug myself tighter, continuing my steps toward the safety of my car. The encounter a few nights ago with Audrey resurfaces in my mind. I called her that night and the two days since, but she didn’t answer. I know she’s screening her calls and I should learn to let it go, but I can’t stop the worry that she’s into something too deep for her to climb away from.

  I click the unlock button and the blink of my orange parking lights glow against the asphalt. I drop my purse from my shoulder and reach for the door handle. Suddenly, a large body slams against me, pinning me to the car.

  Before I can scream, a hand covers my mouth and snaps my head back against his shoulder. “Don’t scream.” I almost don’t hear his whispered demand over the thumping of my heart. I attempt a nod, mentally running through my options. I’ve taken a self-defense class, but he’s big, bigger than the pretend attacker was in the role-play session. Plus, he has me against the car. Again, not the same scenario we used during my class.

  I take a deep breath. With my arms pinned between my body and the car, my only option is to use my keys as a weapon. I shift them in my hand, feeling for the long ignition key. “Don’t even think about it,” he sneers, sensing my movement and pushing me harder against the cold metal. My eyes scan the street. It’s clear other than a few empty cars parked along the curbs.

  “Fancy finding you here…on a cold lonely street.” His rough voice softens, growing nearer to the crook of my neck. When the scruff of his jaw brushes against mine, I swallow back the vomit that’s threatening to leave my stomach. “Audrey didn’t call me.”

  My eyes widen, the realization of my attacker’s identity made clear.

  “You heard me tell her to call me, didn’t you? Didn’t you?” He nods my head, forcing me to answer. “I didn’t even know she had a sister. I don’t know how that detail escaped me. She used to tell me everything when I was fucking that dirty little whore.” A quiet laugh comes from him and the bile churns higher in my th
roat. “Why do you suppose she never told me about you, huh?” He pauses, my eyes doing another desperate sweep of the street, praying for someone to walk outside in this moment. “You want to know what I think?”

  I breathe deeply.

  “I think you’re the responsible one. You’re the one that would have stopped her from sinking so low. And you’re also the one that will come to her rescue. That’s why you and I are having this little chat.” He breathes the last against my neck. “Since she’s not answering my calls, I’ll have to go through you.” He pushes his body against me harder, his pelvis pinning me to the car, painfully. “I can’t say I hate the idea of going through you.” He rocks into me. “Do you feel how much I like that idea?” Through my heavy coat, I feel his erection press into my back. Tears fill my eyes with the horror of what may happen.

  “Your sister owes me a lot of money. I told her to call me. I don’t like when people who owe me money don’t follow my instructions. Who in the fuck does she think she is?” Between being pinned to the car and feeling as if I’m going to pass out or vomit, I can’t answer him. Instead, I focus on my galloping heartbeat.

  “Maybe you and I can work out a payment plan. I got bored with the last one. Audrey was always too fucked up to perform. She wasn’t much fun. Being high all the time just turned her into a little fuck hole.”

  That does it. She’s using. Vomit bubbles up, spewing from my nose and all over the bastard’s hand. He releases his grip and I spin, trying to run. His large hand reaches out, catching me by the wrist and slinging me against the car. Pain radiates through my back and the wind is knocked out of me.

  “You nasty bitch!” he yells, shaking the vomit from his hand. “I want my money and if I have to go through you, I will.” He storms across the street and, reminiscent of the other night, he climbs into the back seat of a dark sedan before it speeds off into the night.