A Fighting Chance

by Sand, A. J.

  “Oh, I think I’m way passed things I should and shouldn’t be doing…”

  Pressing her cheek against mine, she says, “So, how are you doing, really? I don’t mean that caveman crap you and Kerr do where you grunt and beat your chest and pretend not to have feelings.”

  “I prefer growling, thank you very much,” I tease back before shrugging. “I’m doing okay. Now. I know when we get the call I’m going to be terrified my shoulder’s gonna give out, or I won’t be able to hit him like I want to.” I sigh. “Mostly, I’ve just been thinking a lot about why I needed to get in the cage with Carlos so badly in the first place, you know? Money, yeah…but I think he personifies all those things I’ve been struggling with, some of those questions I’ve had about myself—the monster that lives in my shadow. The one I was willing to become for the sake of Henry Chance loving me.”

  Drew takes my face in her hands and shakes her head. “Not even close. He left a dead man in the cage, and you carried one out. You’ve given up everything for your little brother. You had a comfortable life. You didn’t have to do this. And I could spend the rest of the day singing your praises, but…it’s not me who needs to do it. People see what they want to see. I don’t just mean the people who come to the fights. I mean you, too, Jesse Chance. ‘Cause maybe, just maybe, that monster’s only there because you think it’s there.” Drew hops off me and gives me a quick kiss. “I need a nap. Wanna come with? We’ve been up since five.”

  “Go ahead without me. I’ll be up in a sec. I’ll do that damn rep.” I squeeze her palm against mine. “Hey, you still having nightmares?”

  One shoulder goes up as a soft, sad smile hits her lips. “Some nights. And then I just stay awake and think about Miguel and the others until morning.”

  “You can wake me up whenever and talk about it. You know that, right, Drew?”

  “Yeah and it’s not that I don’t want to talk about his murder, but really it’s that I just can’t get over my guilt from that night enough to have a conversation. It just makes me mad at everything.” I know exactly how that feels. Even if I win the fight, it won’t bring Miguel back. “The helplessness. It pisses me off.” She vises my hand. “It makes me want to scream.”

  Taking a few steps, I fold my arms around her. “Then you scream. Scream as much as you want, baby girl.”

  “I’ll definitely be doing that. Right on your side of the cage…getting you through that fight and watching you give that douchebag a taste of Glory, baby…” Drew pulls back and caresses me from waist to shoulders, smiling. “You.”

  The call from Sandrine comes the following week, and we all head to Colonia Obrera in Cuauhtémoc. Obrera is another area that’s plagued by violent crime. Time, graffiti and earthquakes have ravaged all the buildings but, like with every city we’ve seen, there’s beauty hidden under the notoriety, and it’s really just another slice of everyday life: sweet and spicy scents wafting from the street vendor’s cart as he shuts down for the night, loud laughter from a smoky bar, and a few graveyard shifters heading for the train station. It’s an old industrial neighborhood—the name literally means worker neighborhood—and there are still a lot of vacant industrial buildings because the government plans to demolish them to make room for low-income housing.

  So, it’s the perfect place for a fight.

  I breathe a sigh of relief once we’re inside the actual fight location, and the poorly lit, brick interior brings a surprising sense of calm. I’ve never been happier to see a cage, not because I’m fighting, but because it feels like I’m so much closer to shedding this part of my life again. If I beat Carlos, with that kind of reputation, I will probably only need one or two more fights at the most to bring this nightmare to an end.

  Around us, the place is alive with its usual volatile energy, and ski mask-wearing security loaded up with automatic weapons. Two men are already tussling in the cage, but more than a few eyes turn my way as we walk by. Suddenly, the room buzzes to a peak, and I can just feel it in my bones that Cocodrilo is here. Nervousness skitters across my skin but it’s gone in a second, and my focus is tuned in to my hope for a victory. I’m wary of my shoulder but it feels great thanks to Majandra and her cortisone shots.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours right now, Chance?” Drew asks as she wraps my wrists.

  “The end of our abstinence…” I pucker my lips at her and then smile.

  She tries to stay serious but I see excitement pulsing back at me in her eyes when she rolls them. “Just get through the fight, Jesse.” She leans in and kisses me—a deep, slow kiss that elicits whistles from people nearby. Fuck yeah, it ends.

  “If this is what old friends are doing right now, what the hell are people who are fucking each other doing?” Sandrine asks with knowing amusement in her tone. “You two are fucking.”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting out of here?” I say with playful irritation.

  “I’m staying.” I glance at her suspiciously. She’s in jeans and a fitted cotton top. Sneakers, too. “I guess I’m invested,” she admits, a kind look floating between Drew and me. “I really want someone to put Carlos out of business. And for Miguel. I wanted to be here for Miguel.”

  “For Miguel.” Turning to Drew, I clasp her hands together in mine.

  “For Miguel,” she repeats, her voice nearly coming apart.

  There’s only one more fight before mine, and it ends fairly quickly with a crushing knockout. I think the guy lost teeth. The noise of the crowd grows and the floor shakes from the stomping. Here we go. An announcer shouts in Spanish into a bullhorn, and I don’t move my feet until I hear my name. The people form a tunnel around Drew, Sandrine, Kerr, and me, and it makes me really claustrophobic as we walk to one side of the cage. As soon as I’m inside, the audience starts banging on the chain-links as the announcer goes into the spirited spiel I’ve heard before. Ramón Vega’s in the audience. Dudes with really big guns flank him, and Gabe is also at his side. I greet him with a nod.

  When Carlos enters the cage, apprehension blazes into his expression, but he tries to mask it under his game face. Yeah, this motherfucker didn’t expect me to be here ever again. I shoot a smirking look at him, letting him know that I can see through to his unease. He moves to each side of the cage, like he always does, but he pauses where Drew is, just a few feet away from me.

  He grabs his crotch over his shorts and licks his lips at her. “You want to taste? Too big for your mouth,” Carlos says to her. There’s a delay between my body’s response and my brain’s awareness of what I’m doing, because I don’t even know how I manage to strike him in the face so fast. More than once. Carlos pushes me backward and I fall against the chains. The gunmen around Ramón scramble toward the cage, but I steady myself and put my hands up. Can’t lose your cool. Not yet.

  “Only time you touch me tonight, pendejo,” he growls, but his face lights up because he knows he got to me by messing with Drew. In spite of my lack of faith in anything, I know I’m seeing the devil’s smile. Maybe I’m looking right into the pits of hell right now. “I fuck her on your corpse. Does she scream?” he continues. His threat teases the release of my rage again, but I force it back down.

  “Hey! Hey!” Drew pounds on the cage until he turns to her. “You won’t be able to scream anything when he punches your face in so hard it imprints onto the back of your head. Bitch!” I smile. That’s my girl. He must’ve really pissed her off to have her encouraging violence. She claps it up loudly as I move to the center of the cage.

  Cocodrilo and I tap knuckles and as soon as the bell rings, we start throwing punches at each other up close. He moves like he’s going to get me in a clinch, but I block his arms so that they fall on either side of me. He takes a small step forward, baring his teeth. There’s a crunch on the side of my head as my ear folds inside Cocodrilo’s jaws, and searing pain cuts in. I shove him away and he laughs. It’s a maniacal, guttural sound, like he’s the host to something demonic, but thank God my ear is sti
ll whole.

  “You’re a sick fuck,” I shout at him. My adrenaline gives me a second wind and I lunge. I bulldoze him straight into the side of the cage, and everyone behind him jumps back from the shock of the force. Then I hit him with a hurricane of jabs anywhere I can reach. He’s gasping and huffing and shouting out, but I don’t stop, even as the strain in my weaker shoulder makes it feel like my muscles are made of razor blades. Changing strategies, I throw in a quick kick to the side of the face that twists his head one way, and land a hook to his chin that whips it back the other way. When my strength dwindles, I push off him and back away to the other side. I roll my shoulder to alleviate the dull but growing tightness. I have to manage my energy better if I want to beat him because relying on my rage will only get me so far.

  “His name was Miguel. You looked him in the eye and you killed him,” I yell across the canvas, regaining my breath. I’m seeing for the first time how injured he is already. Blood is smeared across his forehead and around his mouth, it’s dripping from his nostrils, and a laceration runs from his hairline to his eyebrow.

  Carlos spits to the canvas before his stare pins me. I shiver, not because I’m afraid, but because I’ll never get used to the way malice lives in his eyes. “Miguel. Dead Miguel. Did you know he prayed for su mamá while I kill him? He beg for her.” He pretends to pout before he lets out a cruel laugh. “What you will pray for?”

  I’m seething, my heart on the verge of punching right through my chest, but I force myself to stay calm. Ding. The bell ends the round and we both ignore it. I hear Drew calling my name and behind Carlos, Ramón’s eyes go wide as he moves closer. I whittle my thoughts until this cage, this fight, and Carlos are the only things in the world that exist.

  “Come on, crocodile,” I say with a cold smile, gesturing at him with just one hand. A glint of determination flashes in Carlos’s eyes as he wipes his lips on his glove. He slowly reveals his sharp-toothed smile, his teeth red with blood.

  Then he crosses the canvas.

  I block two jabs but miss the knee that pounds into my groin. Motherfucker. He slugs me as many times as he can as I fall to my knees, and then follows up with a roundhouse kick to the side of my head. I collapse forward, landing hard on my chin, and nearly sever my tongue with my own teeth. His mammoth shadow shifts, and I hear him plant his feet on either side of me. With my ears ringing and my muscles feeling like they’re trying to escape my body, I crawl forward on my stomach. It’s futile, I know, especially because Carlos lets me make it halfway before he drags me back by the legs.

  He steps on my weaker shoulder, twisting and driving his foot against it. Flipping me to my back, he gets down on the floor right next to my head and vises my neck in the crook of his elbow, in a headlock. Tingles spear through my temples as the pressure in my head mounts. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic, I tell myself, trying to override my body’s automatic responses to pain and oxygen deprivation.

  He squeezes tighter, pointing a menacing smile at me. “Beg me, culero,” Carlos whispers. “Beg me like Miguel.” Drops of blood trickle off his face and splash onto mine. “Beg me and the end will come quick.”

  “Please,” I croak.

  “Qué?” he says, letting all the wickedness in him shine through a grin. “Please what?”

  “Please…fuck off.” I link my fingers, slam my palms against his face, and push his head backward. I roll out from under him, pressing all my weight on his head, and leave him on his back. I’m drained but I pounce, straddling him without wasting time.

  Ignoring my dizziness, I punch like my fists are sledgehammers, until I’m worn down to one arm when my shoulder gives out, until Carlos’s ability to defend himself crumbles. His legs slide out behind me, and both his arms flop out to either side. He’s conscious but too weak to do anything but lie where he is. There is no will or mind to fight anymore.

  When I stand, I am covered in our blood, and it’s the unholiest of baptisms. The crowd is in a frenzy, defying the laws of sound around us. It reminds me of the night I fought Kerr—the night I fed their hunger. But I don’t circle the cage or relish it. I shut it all out, and I only look for Drew. I wink at her and she blows me a kiss. All the times before, knowing how I could break a man nearly destroyed me, but tonight feels different. They are free to love the monster. I’m learning more about the man. And the woman out there loves him.

  Carlos is still where I dropped him, twitching from his injuries. I’m relieved it’s over but I can’t savor this win. Not really. I understand him now more than ever. As disturbing as they are, these fights are a salve to the parts of his soul his demons have ripped out, and I can sympathize. Maybe even empathize.

  But he still killed our friend. He would’ve killed me.

  I walk to him and he tries to stretch his swollen eyes wider but can’t, so he tips his head up, tracking my every move, still very much a predator. The crowd is chanting, “Finish him,” in Spanish. Actually, I’m not sure of the direct translation, but they always seem to start screaming it when someone is incapacitated but conscious in the cage. Carlos looks away from me for a moment. He’s listening to them. His fists clench weakly and his jaw tenses. But he relaxes, and he sinks back down against the canvas as their betrayal settles in. As his defeat settles in. Like me, he’s probably starting to realize that their love is not only superficial but also fickle as hell. If Carlos and I agree on anything right now, it’s Fuck them.

  When I lean down over him, he bares his teeth at me, and they are stained a darker red than before. Carlos’s frail bravado crumbles quickly, intense fear—that surprises me—springing out from beneath. He lifts his chin and angles his head back because he’s still having trouble seeing me with his swollen eyes. “Do it…end it,” he urges, and it’s not a demand; it’s a plea.

  “Nope.” I’m still fighting my demons. But none of them are Carlos. I did what I came to do here. “I’m not you. For a long time, I thought I was. Maybe I was or a long time ago I could’ve been. But I’m not now. And I don’t have to be. For anybody. I’m sorry your family was killed and that you ended up with this life,” I say. The crowd boos when I move away from him. I am still the victor, though. In ways they will never understand.

  Tonight, I pulled myself back.

  ****

  Drew howls with laughter and jerks her feet out of my lap after I tickle her soles. The people at the adjacent table give her a condemning look. After she apologizes to them, she folds her People magazine and swats me with it. “You’re not gonna let me read in peace, are you?” A grin breaks through her scowl. I love how much she’s been smiling lately. And I have been doing everything possible to keep it that way.

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “Come sit on my lap…” I say, reaching for her leg.

  “Sandrine will be here in a sec. Be good.” She scoots her chair out of my reach.

  “Be good, huh? I’m gonna make you beg for it later…when I’m being good,” I tease. I gesture at one of the vendors selling aguas frescas in the park, and he pushes his cart our way. It’s great to just be outside enjoying the day like everyone else. A group of children is on the grass showing off their cartwheels to each other. Two older men are chatting on a bench while they feed a cluster of birds. People are roaming trails that unfurl in every direction. Sandrine could not have picked a more beautiful place for us to meet—it’s heavily wooded, probably the most trees I’ve seen anywhere in Mexico City, and there’s a huge manmade lake in the distance with people out boating. Maybe I’m just appreciating everything more. I’m so relaxed I even took two weeks off since the fight so that Drew and I can really connect without fighting being in the forefront.

  And have lots of sex, obviously.

  “You really won’t come sit with me? Fine. I’ll sit on your lap then.” I jump out of my seat and plop down on her.

  “Jesse!” She beats on my back, laughing.

  “Yeah, I like it here better. How come we never do this? How come you never hol
d me?”

  “I knew you two were in love. Good to see you finally figured it out, too,” Sandrine says as she walks up, shaking her head. Can’t deny it. You don’t expect to fall in love at seventeen, and to be even more in love at twenty-two.

  Sandrine’s back in her usual attire today—black slacks and knifepoint stiletto heels. She raises her sunglasses to the top of her head and takes my empty seat as Drew and I switch places. “The money’s already on its way to its destination.”

  “Thank you,” Drew and I say in unison.

  “No problem. I’ve been getting so many calls about you since the fight, but El Americano is going down in history with that last fight, right? You did beat the champ.”

  “Almost. One or two more fights and then history. And now that we’ve gone through this together, I gotta say, Sandrine, I can’t figure out how you’re in so good with these cartel guys.”

  “Emilio Estrada.”

  “Estrada is your last name…” Drew says.

  “That’s because he was my husband.” Sandrine gets the kind of dreamy look that I never expected to see on her. “We were about you guys’ age when we met. I had been with the NGO for a year. I lived below his grandmother and one day, we ran into each other in the hallway when he came to visit and…that was that. Head over heels. We knew each other four months before we got married, and it turned out to be the best two years of my life. But he was a lugartenientes—a lieutenant—with the Tijuana Cartel, and the police ambushed a group of them in Veracruz. Just like that, it was all gone. He always said he’d make me two things: very happy and a widow. He did both, and it was worth it. Anyway, his associates are all still my family because of him, and I grew my own contacts over the years.