Of Violence and Cliché

by Joudrey, M. C.

  “A draw. Well done, Kendall.”

  It was the closest I had come so far to a victory in our years of playing together.

  “It was all I had left. I almost didn’t even see it. I was going to move my king.”

  “With amateur players such as us, there is almost always a better move than our instinctual first glance at the board. It takes patience and observation, like in life.”

  “Maybe, but life doesn’t always wait for you to make up your mind.”

  Dietrich smiled. His Form became exposed to me for the first time. I watched a white badger blink his eyes once, and then he was human again.

  “Every time I see you, the cuts are deeper and the bruises are bigger.”

  He looked at me with genuine concern in his eyes. I didn’t know what to say. I had become used to people staring at my mangled physical appearance that it didn’t really affect me anymore.

  “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  It was nice to have someone show a little interest in me for once. I scratched an itch on the side of my nose and sat up in my chair. I watched as a new batch of people came through the arrival gate.

  “It’s not a fair place out there. I’m just trying my best to make do.”

  Dietrich didn’t say anything and for a while there was a silence between us. We both watched families and loved ones reunited after long periods apart and friends welcomed each other home.

  “Maybe it’s time to quit what you’re doing.”

  I looked at Dietrich. I knew eventually he would say something like this. It was inevitable. He didn’t know what I knew, hadn’t seen what I’d seen—the money, the women, all of it. He just didn’t know.

  “I should be getting back to the city.”

  I stood up and tossed my empty coffee cup into the trash.

  “I was hoping we might play one more match.”

  “Can’t.”

  “I see.”

  Dietrich folded the chessboard and put the pieces into their respective containment slots.

  “I’ll walk out with you.”

  It was the first time he had offered this. Usually he was in no hurry and liked to stay behind and watch a few more sets of arrivals.

  “You know, maybe it’s time for you to start figuring out what you really want for yourself.”

  “That so?”

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is, we are all trying to figure out what really matters, aren’t we?”

  “I know what matters.”

  “You do?”

  “Most definitely.”

  We went through the revolving doors and stepped into the warm afternoon sun.

  CHAPTER 18

  Friday – Fight Night

  I had poured myself a glass of water and then poured some milk in a bowl. I set it on the floor and Maneki came forward to lap it up with his tongue. He stopped for a moment and looked up at me.

  “I appreciate this.”

  I nodded and watched the cat polish off the rest of the milk.

  “Good?”

  The cat’s tongue licked at the corners of his mouth and then up over his nose a few times.

  “That was delicious. I haven’t had milk in years.”

  “Glad I could oblige.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So, you were saying?”

  “Oh yes. Shrikun prefer darkness almost exclusively. In fact, you’ll never see them in natural light.”

  “I see them in well-lit situations all the time.”

  “I am talking natural lighting, daylight. Shrikun find sunlight almost unbearable and would only try to claim a Form that they considered a monumental prize. You must understand though that this does not mean they are entirely comfortable with electricity, which as you know, is a naturally-occurring event. An electrical storm is terrifying for them. I know of two specific instances in my long history where Shrikun have been struck by lightning while trying to claim a Form and they simply disintegrated on the spot.”

  “So they can die.”

  “Be careful. That sounded dangerously close to a question and no they don’t die, certainly not in the sense that you understand the word. Shrikun have three simple purposes which are to convert human Forms from white to grey and then to black, to witness death, and finally to acquire and collect Forms to use in clever and manipulative ways against humans. In the extremely rare chance one is destroyed, their Forms are disbursed evenly amongst remaining Shrikun in the nearest vicinity. As I’ve mentioned before, there are rules which are scientific in their exactitude.”

  “Those things friggin’ stink, too.”

  “They are carriers of death. Death has a smell and it is not pleasant. Before you were endowed with these interesting visual aids, didn’t you ever wonder why it was that you would sometimes catch the smell of death around you, that sickening distinct smell, but could see nothing? That is the smell of a Shrikun that is close; you just couldn’t see it before. People always assume it is a dead pigeon or roadkill of some kind. Sometimes they are right and sometimes it is something more.”

  I looked up at the clock on the desk.

  “It’s time for me to go.” I said.

  “I know. Best of luck to you this evening.” The cat skipped off the bottom steel of the portal doorway and then was gone.

  I changed into some fighting trunks and threw on an undershirt. I sat down on the edge of the bed and reached underneath it for my boxing shoes and started lacing them up. I was ready to fight.

  My first fight lasted three rounds, and I pummeled the guy in the third. He was an easy opponent and I would have knocked him silly in the first round, had Arnie and Pink not informed me that they required three rounds for reasons they did not find necessary to explain to me.

  My second fight lasted seven rounds and I had trouble in the sixth. I misread my opponent and he landed a solid right. For a moment, I saw stars but managed to regain my composure just in time and avoided a powerful left hook intended to send me to the dirt. In the seventh, I concentrated on my footwork and out-danced the other guy. I had access to his torso and I worked him over real good until his body just gave out.

  I didn’t fight again for another hour and watched men rise and fall. There were faces of fighters I had fought before and there were lots of new faces too.

  Rusty fought three fights as well and had crushed all three opponents. He hit one guy so hard in the side of the face that he crushed his Zygomatic arch into pieces. Rusty’s fierce intimidation tactics gave him an obvious edge over his opponents. I had not yet witnessed a fighter that matched his raw ferocity.

  When my name was called for my final fight I walked past Rusty, leaving the floor.

  “One of these days Arnie’s going to put us in here together,” he said tauntingly.

  “I doubt it.”

  “You’re afraid of me, is that it?”

  “Nope, you’re a pussycat. I just know Arnie values money more than he does a grudge match and we make him a lot of money. Why would he want to cut that figure in half?”

  Man and the weasel are the only two animals that kill for pleasure. History has shown that between the two, Man values human life less than the weasel. Our lineage is lengthy—the Filipino Massacre, East Timor, Cambodia, The Holocaust, the Crusades, anything on the African continent—to show we are creatures that have built civilization on foundations of blood.

  I walked down the steps and faced my opponent. His skin was the blackest black I had ever seen and his eyes were bone-white. I never met a black fighter that lacked confidence in the ring. I guess that’s what you get when nobody ever gives you a single thing for free your whole life. You get awfully good at taking what you need.

  He looked at me and I met his gaze. I could tell he was a real fighter. It’s something in the eyes, I’m sure I’ve said that before. He started to dance in place and threw a couple of air punches to get the blood going again. I did the same. There was no point in hiding what you had; any fighter
that made it to the third fight had already seen what you could do earlier.

  The bell rang and the shrill sound consumed every corner of the room. We started to dance. I moved in first, but he gave me no ground. His defense was solid and the harder I tried to land something the more I realized he was not like any of the other fighters I had faced. His footwork was too smooth, each punch calculated with pinpoint accuracy. He was a professional. Arnie had fished himself a ringer and decided to pit him against me.

  I swallowed two straight jabs after I had managed to deflect a right hook. He was good and I hadn’t even hit him yet. I tossed two soft lefts and followed with a right and then another left. None of them connected and he popped me with another left in the breadbasket.

  I took two steps back and gave myself some distance. I needed a second or two to think and to find some sort of weakness or at least a hole of some kind in his tactics.

  He moved in and threw two more straight jabs with his left but my defenses held firm. I finally caught him with a solid right, just under his nose and trickle of blood trailed slowly down onto his lips. He didn’t show any emotion though; he was deep in the zone. I knew I wouldn’t be able to use any shark tactics to goad him. I needed something though, because he was wearing me down.

  He connected with a strong left cross. I shook it off and danced back to give myself distance again. He moved on in, just as he had last time. He charged in strong with stellar combinations. I managed to bob and weave through them and land a solid right, square in his left eye. He staggered back and shook his head. He tapped the side of his skull and shook his head some more.

  I watched only for a split second and then I moved in. I had found my break. It wasn’t a weakness or a hole. It was sheer luck. I landed two right jabs that connected just under his jaw. He didn’t see them coming, he couldn’t see. My earlier right cross had detached his retina.

  He tried valiantly to score from his right side but I had determined earlier that he was a strong dominant left-hander. I had him.

  I stayed tight and clean and took no chances. I went through the playbook and hit him with nothing but cream. He was truly a great fighter; even with the loss of one eye, he still managed to dance out of sticky combination. I was relentless in my pursuit though and eventually I caught him with a towering roundhouse right and he went down.

  He got to his feet at a six count but was teetering. I came at him before he ever had a chance to get his bearings. I planted two left jabs on his cheekbone and then a right hook in the temple. He fell like a redwood and the referee counted him out cold.

  I stood there, sucking and blowing wind. My chest was heaving and everything on me ached. I had a gash on the bridge of my nose and could taste the blood. I had taken a thorough pounding and somehow managed to come out of it yet again.

  I whirled around and raised my arms to the crowd. The cacophony of the erupting cheers broke my inner silence. We had given them quite a show. I looked up at Arnie and Pink. Pink was smiling at me. Arnie on the other hand was not and disappeared from my view.

  CHAPTER 19

  Saturday – Date Night

  I shouldn’t have knocked on the door. I shouldn’t have even been there. I heard the rattle of the door chain and the door opened. Whatever turmoil I was wrestling with inside of myself faded completely; I looked at her and I knew I was there because I needed to be.

  “Hi.” I smiled at her.

  “Please come in.”

  Her dress was loose fitting but sophisticated and her lips were coloured a soft red, amplifying the blue in her eyes. I wanted to say something but I’ve never been a man of many words. I stared, as a primitive man like me would.

  She smiled and didn’t shy from my gaze. Her smile faded as she investigated the cut on the bridge of my nose. Her eyes wandered to the cut over my eye. She realized what she was doing and smiled back at me again.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should we go out?”

  “I was thinking I might try cooking.”

  She burst out laughing and then regained her composure instantly when she realized I was serious.

  “Are you a good cook?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never done it before.”

  I made use of the ingredients she had and made a real mess in the kitchen. The food turned out to be more than edible, or at least Karen said it was. I was a poor judge of cuisine quality, though. I’d eat my own hand if I had to.

  “Would you mind if I asked you something personal?”

  “Go ahead.” I braced myself, not really knowing what to expect.

  She set her fork down on her plate and took a sip of wine. She brushed her hair away from her eyes. Every move, every gesture, was wonderful to observe.

  “That night you helped me,” she started.

  “Right.”

  “Well, I don’t know much about these things but I have never seen another person fight like that except in the movies.”

  “Is there a question somewhere in there?”

  “Why do you always have…” She made a gesture to the cuts and bruising on my face.

  “Oh. I’m a boxer.”

  “Can’t you get hurt really badly doing that?”

  I smiled at her. “You get used to superficial wounds.”

  “They look a little more than superficial. I don’t know how people do that sort of thing. It’s so dangerous.”

  “Want a lesson?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Stand up and I’ll show you.” She looked nervous. “Trust me.”

  “Alright.”

  “Place your legs shoulder width apart and point your toes forward. Make eye contact with me.” I came beside her and put my hands on her hips.

  “Make two fists but don’t squeeze them tight, stay loose. Keep them about a half a foot apart, settled just below your eyes so they don’t hinder your vision of your opponent.”

  “Like this?”

  “Exactly.” She smiled. She was having fun with this.

  “Now what I’m going to show you is the basic ‘One-Two’ combination.”

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “You look ready.” I said smiling. “You’re right-handed, correct?”

  “I am.”

  “Okay. Now I’m going to hold my hands palm out at either side of my face. I want you to jab like this with your left and then follow it around like this with a right hook. Get it?”

  “I think so.”

  “Okay, give it a go.” She did it just as I had showed her.

  “Perfect, but always remember to return your dukes right back to their defensive position to protect your face.”

  “Okay. Can I try it again?”

  “As many times as you like.”

  After about 15 more tries she lowered her fists and was breathing heavy.

  “That’s a workout. Must take some real guts to keep going at it.”

  “Sometimes. A little luck helps too.”

  “I don’t believe in luck.”

  “No?”

  “No. I believe in fate.”

  I laughed jeeringly. “You mean God?”

  “Why not?” She looked angry and I could see I had actually offended her.

  “Just seems like nonsense.”

  “You don’t believe in any kind of faith?”

  “I’ve never given it much thought. To be honest, I actually do believe in God, I think. It’s just that he and I haven’t managed to come to some sort of understanding.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “It always is.” She looked at me her expression softened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”

  I cut her off. “Don’t be. I started it. Why don’t we grab our coats and go for a walk. It’s a nice night and we can bring the wine with us.”

  “I’d like that.”

  As we walked beneath the glow of the sodium street lamps, I realized how nice normal could be
. I had forgotten what it was like.

  “What are you thinking?” She asked.

  “That I like this.”

  “Me too.” She looked at me with intensity in her eyes than made me feel naked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you vulnerable before.”

  She stopped walking and leaned in to kiss me, first softly discovering my lips with an earnest tenderness, then more passionately. I pulled her close into my body and I could feel her heart beating against my chest. Then it ended. We said nothing and started walking again. I felt her hand fumble for mine and we locked our fingers together.

  After the walk we sat on the steps leading up to the front doors of her condo lobby for a while, drinking from our travel cups.

  “Would you like to come back inside?”

  “I would but I have to get going.”

  “Oh?”

  “I do.” I offered her no further explanation. What could I say? What could I possibly tell her? I was already in way too deep.

  “Will I see you again?”

  “Work on that ‘one-two’ combo first and then we’ll see,” I said, smiling.

  She started up the steps. I watched her. Then I did something out of character.

  “Karen, I had a real nice time.”

  “So did I.” She smiled and headed through the lobby doors.

  I had no idea what I was doing. I was acting foolishly.

  “I was just thinking the exact same thing.”

  I turned around and Lamia was sitting on the steps behind me. She was looking up at the moon.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t read my thoughts?”

  “You don’t have to be a mind-reader to pick up on what humans are thinking. You creatures are like an open book.” She brushed a fallen leaf off her naked shoulder and looked at me. “So I guess you know why I’m here.”

  “To spoil my fun.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it? I’d rather classify it as reckless, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”