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“That’s right,” I answer, mirroring him. I circle too. Soon we’re both rotating as we stare each other down and wait for shit to pop off. “It wasn’t smart to come here, D. We don’t like when people fuck with us.”
“You don’t know shit. I’ve owned T for more than fifteen years. She’s my bitch. You want a piece of her, you go through me.”
I make an effort to calm my breathing before I snap. As we circle each other and I glare into D’s angry, bitter face, I’m reminded of many years ago.
Facing off with the piece of shit, Cragen. The man who had worked Ma to the bone for pennies, and sometimes even less than that.
When I was a boy, I couldn’t do anything. But when I grew strong and big enough, I tracked him down. I made him pay. The price was in his blood.
Big D and Cragen are a lot alike. Right down to their refusal to let go; they’d rather crush what they see as a possession than let her live freely outside their control.
Cragen only let Ma go by force. Big D will be the same.
“You want her, you make me an offer,” he says.
“There’s no offer, because she decides where she goes, and she doesn’t want to go with you.”
“She can leave… but she won’t. Already told her Z will be my new girl.”
It takes me a second to realize what he’s talking about. My gaze shifts for a second, lifting from him over to the SUV where Tasha watches on.
In that small moment, D makes his move. He swings on me. He moves faster than I thought he would. I catch on as his clenched fist flies toward my face. The blow packs power, though I manage to dodge the bulk of it. I’ve moved out of the way. Only his knuckles graze the side of my neck.
That’s all it takes.
The fight officially begins. He’s swung on me once and missed, so he tries again. We create our own boxing ring out in the desert. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide for miles out on the flat, dusty terrain.
Big D lacks stamina. He throws his giant fists in different combinations, grunting and sweating. I’m ahead of him every time, bobbing and weaving, anticipating his next move. Even the dumb, sloppy ones as he tires himself out.
Enough games. Enough defense. Time for offense.
I strike.
My left hook connects with his jawbone. The hit rattles him and knocks him back several steps. I don’t let him recover. I throw another, pulling back my fist and slamming it into his jaw a second time. There’s a brutal crunch and Big D’s falling.
He hits the ground and I’m on him.
Clenching my fingers into the front of his shirt, I’m about to go for a third. The KO punch, though I’m so blinded by rage, I can’t promise I won’t keep going.
Big D’s eyes are unfocused and more blood leaks from his mouth. He’s disoriented for sure, but that doesn’t stop him from fighting dirty—he grabs a rock off the ground and smashes me upside the head with it.
The effect is immediate.
It’s unexpected. It’s a current of pain that jolts through my head. I’m seeing double.
Everything is off and I’m unable to tell what the fuck is going on.
My body’s slammed into the ground in some kind of maneuver worthy of a wrestler. Big D pushes himself to his feet, something I’m unaware of until he draws his foot back and then jerks it forward in a brutal kick.
I grunt, barely conscious as he kicks me in the ribs who knows how many times.
Vaguely, I’m aware I’ve got to get the fuck up. The longer I stay down, the worse this situation gets. The more Big D wins and I lose. I can’t lose.
I’ve got to win.
It’s funny how I come back, like I’m an electronic device being plugged into a socket. My body twitches and I blink several times, trying to regain enough strength.
More details return to me. Things like Tasha’s cries and Big D’s laughter. The quickly fading afternoon sky as dusk approaches and dust lingers in the air.
