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It was time to get free of my past.
"No. This part ain't as hard. Other people know this."
I was used to basements.
To captivity.
To powerlessness.
To being surrounded by others just like me.
But the years had hardened me, made it harder to control myself.
I nearly ripped out the voice box of a kid that first night in that basement, the howling he did for his mother and father and grandma grating on frayed nerves, on my thin cord of patience.
Because I was over it.
Being a commodity.
Being traded into untold situations.
Left uncertain of my future.
Left to learn new rules, new people, new ways to survive.
I was sick of it.
I would get myself out of this situation.
And then I would never find myself in one like it again.
I didn't care what it took.
I didn't care who I needed to become to make that happen.
Whatever it took, no one would ever own me again.
But right then, a teen surrounded by other teens, I didn't have the power yet. There were no paths to freedom. There was only a man with a baseball bat who would shove it up your arse if you didn't do what he wanted. And what he wanted was for you to fight. To fight these other kids you lived, ate, slept, shite with day in and day out. For his and his buddies' entertainment.
"I met Ward down in that basement," I admitted.
"As in Ross Ward?" she asked.
"Aye. He came in a little after me, a little softer, so..."
"Wait wait wait. In what world could anyone call Ross Ward soft?"
I smiled at that, knowing his reputation was that of a cold, almost heartless bastard. But anyone who knew him outside of his business knew better. Even his fighters knew better. His fighters who were paid well, who had full medical and dental coverage, who could rely on him no matter what it took. The man had a giving heart, knew the ugly of the world firsthand, so was reluctant to contribute to it.
"We were oil and water at first, him railin' on me not to be so hard on the others, that not all of them had backgrounds. Like his, like mine. Backgrounds that made us able to handle the situation with our sanity mostly intact."
"And you were all forced to fight one another?" she asked, shaking her head. "Why?"
"Why do people like to watch cockfights? Dog fights? Because they're sick and drunk and base and weak."
She nodded a bit at that, letting me go on with the story.
Months we were down there, seeing horrific things, beating the ever-loving shit out of each other. Ironically, the fights were likely the only things keeping us somewhat sane, the outlet, the catharsis through pain and violence.
"How did you get away?" she asked, eager for the silver lining in an otherwise cloudy, dark scene.
"One night, he wanted to play Russian Roulette. I ended up shootin' Ward, then killing our captor," I told her, not fancying it up, not softening the blow. I was a killer. I had learned the skill young. And I didn't have a drop of remorse about it. "Fished the bullet outta Ward, got the kids out of there, and took off."
I took the money we had all split up, used it to feed myself as I learned major players, as I rubbed shoulders with them, as I made myself useful to them, just so happening to take out one of their enemies, watching as they took interest, as they thought I was some bad guy prodigy, some ambitious contract killer.
So that was what I became.
There's no way you could claim to be a decent person when you made your fortune taking lives off the surface of the earth.
I consoled the pesky little sliver of a conscience I had been plagued with even after everything I'd been through that I was only taking out bad guys for other bad guys. I was just taking another drug dealer, gang banger, enforcer, rapist, whatever, off the street.
It wasn't an honest way to make a living, but it - in a sick way - did end up leaving the world a better place.
"Why did you come to Navesink Bank?"
"I checked in on Ward every now and again, squatted at his place, made sure he was doing alright. He was the closest thing to a friend I had ever really known. Then I got word that he was having a grudge match. He had been retired for a long time. I knew it must have been something big to bring him out of retirement. So I showed up. Ended up stopping him from fuckin' killin' a guy right in front of a huge crowd."
"Then you guys had a reunion."
"Somethin' like that," I agreed, thinking of the way I had wedged my way into his life, right down to stealing the apartment I lived in now from Ward's woman.
