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Killian laughs at this. “True. If he helps you get your spot back, then I’m all for it. Because once you have your influence back, you can help me take down Patrick O’Connell, and I’ll have control of my own. Until then, I’ll keep quiet when that old stodgy guy makes comments about my choice of drink.”
“He’s a wine guy. He doesn’t understand us beer guys.”
Killian pats me on the back before getting into his car. “I’ll see you Friday.” That’s the day we’re blowing up Franco’s incoming drug shipment.
I’m wired up after the meeting, so I decide to head to the fighting ring to see if I can’t get a last-minute spot for a fight. I need to punch someone when I’m in a mood like this.
The club is packed tonight, even though it’s Tuesday. A big fight is happening between Big John and Stinky Sam. The giant and the skinny fighter.
I find Johnny at the bar, trying to unsuccessfully flirt with a woman. I interrupt his big move of trying to put his arm around the clearly uninterested woman. “Hey, Johnny.”
He jumps and turns away from her. “Hey! Tony! Haven’t seen you around in a week. What’s up? Where you been?” The woman looks relieved and walks away.
“Getting married.”
Johnny spits out a sip of beer he just took. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. Things are on the up-and-up for me, Johnny. Soon, I won’t have to make my living doing fights.”
“Then why are you here tonight?”
“Well …” I scratch the back of my head. “I kind of wanted to fight tonight.”
“Just couldn’t stay away forever, huh? Didn’t you just say you didn’t want to fight forever?”
I push his head to the side, saying, “Yeah, yeah. Tonight is more about blowing off some steam than anything else. Have anyone can I fight last minute?” I look around the club, taking in the crowd, the messy fight between Big John and Stinky Sam, the smell of sweat and alcohol, and the pulpable energy in the room that makes me even more ready to hit someone.
“Yeah. There’s a new guy, Crazy Pickle. I’m sure he’d fight you.”
“Crazy Pickle? What kind of name is that?”
Johnny shrugs. “Someone who’s crazy and likes pickles, I guess? I don’t know. But he’s always down for a fight. I’ll set it up. I get about half of your winnings because this is so last minute.”
“Not a fucking chance, Johnny. Your one percent as usual. Take it or leave it.”
Johnny grumbles but eventually agrees as he heads off to find Crazy Pickle.
Just an hour later, I’m in the fight ring with Crazy Pickle himself. He’s pretty scrawny but has a lot of lean muscle. I’m taller and bigger than him by a lot, which isn’t always the case with the fighters that come through here. Crazy Pickle relies a lot on frenetic, fast movements. Almost like he’s, well, crazy.
I have to move in a new way myself because I can’t use speed against this guy. He’s too fast. I’ll have to use my strength.
Crazy Pickle has stringy hair and is missing about half his front teeth. He almost looks like a crackhead. Shit. Maybe he is. This isn’t the nicest part of town, let me tell you.
“Come at me,” he growls as we circle each other. “Come at me!”
Fuck it. I do. I lunge forward and land a square hit to Pickle’s face, knocking him back a few steps. The crowd cheers me on as usual. I look out at them, smiling slightly. At least these people respect me. They love me.
Then I see my sister, Cecilia. The blonde hair, the similar nose and eyes to mine. It’s my sister. I rush over to the side of the ring, trying to get a closer look. When I do, disappointment kicks in. It’s not my sister. It’s just a woman who looks eerily similar to her. The crushing blow hits me right in the gut. Of course, my sister would never be in a place like this. None of my sisters would be. They don’t belong here, in the sweat and the grime and the blood. It’s where I belong. I wonder if Cecilia even misses me.
Pickle recovers and comes for me, sweeping out his leg and landing a kick to my shin. I stumble. Pickle uses it to his advantage and barrels into me, knocking me onto my back. He brings his fist down, but I jerk out of the way and manage to roll him off me. The crowd is going wild, screaming for blood.
They want blood? I’ll let them have it.
While Pickle tries to get up, I land a punch to his gut, making him flop to the ring. Then I get on top of him and start pummeling his body.
My anger surprises me. It’s a combination of missing my family, my new marriage to Nina, and Franco for fucking me over. I punch Pickle over and over and over again. The referee has to run in and grab me away from Pickle; otherwise, I might have killed him.
Pickle groans, his face covered in blood and swollen.
