A Fighting Chance (47 page)

When I reach the House, my brothers run up and greet me as I walk inside. The carpet’s soggy, someone’s air-drying clothes in the middle of the common room, and that weird smell we could never figure
out is as rank as ever, but I missed this shithole, anyway. I get a warm feeling being back here. We will see how long it lasts.

I take a seat on the couch.

And then I wait.

Eventually, the door swings open for the millionth time, and Duke and a group of the guys walk in. The noise in the room dies slowly when they see me. They’re my brothers so they
speak to me, but I sense the tension, and see the confusion in their eyes as they assess where to place their loyalties. The space quickly drains of people until it’s just Duke and me, and my anxiety is a few seconds away from making me its bitch.

Our friendship always came naturally, so there’s relief to see me in his expression, even though contempt eats it
away immediately. “Hey, Big Duke,” I say, but I don’t make any attempt to shake his hand or hug him.

“You look like shit.”

I laugh and move toward him, testing the waters. “Yeah, it’s been a—”

“I really don’t give a shit why you look like shit
, JC.”
Nickname. Progress.
He crosses his arms over his chest and steps back, but I can tell he doesn’t mean it. He’s pissed, though, and I know why he has to place his loyalty where he’s placing it. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you we were getting out of Hamilton together,” I say. “Well, now, just you until I re-enroll.”

Duke’s brow furrows. “You came back to make sure I’d graduate?” He sounds incredulous.

“
Stats was your first exam. You saw where I left my binders, right? I told one of the boys to make sure you got them. They were pretty detailed, right?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because regardless of whether you’re still
my
friend, I’m still
yours.
” My words take a moment to register, and then his expression crumbles.

Duke sits down and buries his face in his hands. “Goddammit, Chance. Fuck you.
Fuck you.
”

“I guess that’s your way of saying thank you.
An improvement from the jerk-off thing, in my opinion,” I joke.

“Look, man, my sister was in bad shape. Really bad shape. I got in touch with some dude named Buffy or Bucky or something in Glory after I Googled fights in Glory, Texas. I saw a few videos and I recognized you. I asked him to send me copies. I was going to upload them again and add your name
and all your info to them, so from now on they would
always
come up with your name forever,” he admits, guilt pressing into his features when he looks up.

“To fuck with me…” I clench my teeth. “Maybe fuck with the rest of my life.”

He shrugs. “Yeah, well, you fucked with my sister.”

“I messed up, dude. I know that. It’s between me and Lydia, though.”
I walk to the middle of the floor in front of him. “But if you want to avenge your sister, then come on; let’s do this. Hit me and get it out of your system.”

“The fuck I am. I told you I saw your videos; I’m not fighting you.” He finally laughs a little before sighing. “But the truth is, I’ve been conflicted about what I saw. That’s why I haven’t done anything. I needed to hash this shit out man-to-man and
figure out what to do. That kid on those videos isn’t the guy who’s been my friend for four years, and probably not the guy who is here right now. It was some shithead I didn’t even know. Some kid you’ve worked very hard to distance yourself from, obviously.”

“So what does that mean?” I sit again.

“It means I can’t accuse you of being a bad guy while I’m being a bad guy. I deleted them off my computer, and asked that Buck guy to take them down, if he could. I’m not saying shit just goes back to before but…I’m not gonna do that to you.”

“Thank you. I’m sure Lyds doesn’t want to talk to me, but she should still go to Europe, if she wants. But if she doesn’t want to, I’ll cover the cost of the whole trip. The apartment in Alabama, too, until the landlord fills it. If in time, you think we can get past this, I’d love to tell you everything that’s happened the last few months. I’d love to tell you
everything
.” I tentatively hold out my hand, and we both smile at each other as he takes it.

I spend another week in Hamilton clearing my things out of the apartment.
I hope to finish school up in the fall and graduate in December. I’m damn sure getting that diploma like I promised my mother I would. I drive to Texas with a rental truck choked with my belongings and leave them at a motel in Renshaw where I’m staying. I don’t want anyone to know I’m in town, so I hang out there for a few days, and Drew is kind enough to drop off another piece of shit car. She’s been keeping an eye on my father for me for a while, noting his movements and schedule. I spend the time figuring out exactly what I want to say to him, and then one day it just feels right when I get a message:

Henry’s leaving
Tickles.
Says he’s heading home.

He
’s unloading groceries from the back of his truck when I get there, and he stops as my car pulls up. He loses his grip on the bags in his arms, but manages to jump back before the pile falls onto his feet. A strained smile stretches his lips. “Jesse? Uh, what are you doing here?”

“
I wanted to know if you had time to grab a drink with me…clear the air between us. I got a little angry the last time we spoke, and you said you wanted to explain yourself.” I put the car in park and get out to help him pick up his groceries. “I wanted to give you a chance to say what you have to say. I’m sure you had your reasons for borrowing money from Alejandra. I wanted to hear you out.” We carry the bags inside, dumping them in the kitchen. Henry’s house was always a mystical place in my mind when I was younger, and I would imagine all the wonderful things he’d be doing with his kids in here. I had pictured board games stacked high to the ceiling and expensive toys everywhere, even a tree house and bouncy castle in the backyard. But it’s just a regular house with four white walls. Just like the one I grew up in.

“So
, you want to head out now?” I ask.

“Yeah…uh…just let me grab a coat.”

It’s a beautiful night out. Black and clear for miles, with a bright white orb of a moon overhead. “In this weather? In Texas? You were just outside! It feels great. Come on,” I coax with a grin as I whip out my debit card. “I’m buying. All night. We’ve got to celebrate that everyone got out of this alive…”

Henry coughs his way into a forced laugh
as we walk for the door. “You’re right. Let’s go.” He gets into the passenger side and I take the road toward Renshaw. As we drive over a bump, the glove compartment pops open. There’s a 9mm pistol inside.

“
Whoa. I guess Bernard didn’t clear this car out completely when he gave it to Drew. So much of his shit is in the trunk, too.”

“Oh? You bought this from Be
rnard?” His eyes stay on the gun until I reach over and shut the glove compartment.

“
Just renting it for the few days I’m here. He sold me the one I had in Mexico. It barely
survived
the trip, though.”

“Hey…if you don’t mind, I know a
really good place. They serve burgers late. Good beer. Past Renshaw, though.”

“Sounds good. Just show me the way.” We head for the highway
, and the engine hums noisily as I pick up speed. “Really wish Bernard had left a gun in the one he gave us for Mexico. When was the last time you were there? It’s crazy with those cartels. And so much of it is all over drugs. Americans like to get high and an entire country is paying the price.”

“Yeah, I see it on the news. But
I haven’t been in ages. I can’t go because I’m on parole.”

“So you don’t know much about the Mexican drug war?”

“Not really, kid...”

“Oh
, yeah? Well, it’s a tough business. Bloody. Cartels are fighting each other…and the police. It’s a mess. Some estimates say close to one hundred thousand people have died or gone missing as a result.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“Yeah, so these cartels are looking up new ways to get money. Things that stay under the radar easier. Something the authorities can turn a blind eye to. You’re pretty familiar with one. Cage fighting. It’s actually turning out to be a pretty lucrative business with the growth and popularity of licensed MMA, and the gambling and all. The money’s
good.
And the business side is attracting all sorts of people, Americans included.”

Henry fidgets and clears his throat. “Oh
, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard some are even getting in
on the action. Problem is, like a lot of industries, sometimes it’s hard to get your foot in the door, if no one’s heard of you. Cartels have names. Notoriety. Public relations campaigns. They can attract fighters and audiences, and they have the financial ability to set up fights. They might even form some partnerships between them, because everyone likes money, and even the most violent assassin probably gets tired of using his gun all the time. Now, I imagine, some poor American guy—no name, no money, no cartel history, no
real
presence in Mexico—is going to have a hard time getting anyone to pay attention to him, if he wants to get into an illegal business over there. No one’s going to take him seriously. And he’s probably setting himself up to get killed or worse, laughed at…unless...”

“Unless?” Henry asks, with more fidgeting as I trail off.

“Unless he shows that he’s just as brutal as they are. He has to find a way to make a mark. To show people he means business.”

“And how does he do that?”

“Well, he probably has to form his own organization and create his own notoriety, too. He probably has to do something people will remember.”

“Like what?”

“Something
really
interesting. Maybe even a little disturbing. Something people will talk about and come to know the group by…when they become
legends
.” I chuckle. “Something like…having members sever their own fingers…the same two fingers on the same hand. Ring and pinkie.”

“Jesse—”

“Wait…we’re getting to my favorite part. So, the guy who hatches this plan
really, really
likes money. But he really, really likes pussy, too. So, he gets involved with someone who has both. This woman, she can finance his operation and even provide him with fighters. Ones he can train and treat like disposable property, too. And she’s willing to let him get by without paying for a while because, well, they’re fucking. But she’s crazy. Really fucking crazy. And she likes money just as much as he does. So, she wants her money back eventually, after she helps him smuggle his fighters into America, and he puts them to work in a small town bar as, more or less, indentured servants. But,
oh shit,
he has no way to pay the crazy woman…and he sure as hell isn’t going to borrow it, so he gets another idea. And I gotta give him credit here, because this part is genius. He decides to lie to his wife and kid and convince them that people are after him. The douchebag even gets someone to threaten his little boy at school. Then he
fakes
injuries. And it gets better—he tricks his easy mark of an older son, who can’t shake his
daddy issues
, into going on a crazy mission to get the money to pay this woman back. Fantastic.
Shitty
but utterly fantastic.”

Henry laughs and it’s laced with
spite. “Guess I’m always going to be a gambler. I just had a feeling you’d do whatever it took to win. I knew you’d survive for HJ, especially when you saw my ‘injuries,’ because you’re just so
fucking
sentimental, Jesse. Just like your
goddamn
mother.”

A stab of anger hits me right in the heart
, and I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “So, you used the money I earned to pay Alejandra back, and the other portion you were gonna use to build your organization, right? I get that part. And then what? You asked her to find me and kill me?”

“I was hoping you’d want that life again
. You could’ve been our first
real
fighter, especially after you beat Cocodrilo. We started putting out the word that you were ours—”

“Yeah, Ramón enlightened me to that by beating the shit out of one of his guys.
You almost got me killed, you know.”

“
You knew too much. You know how that goes. Psychotic bitch was supposed to take whatever you had—if she would agree to finally leave me alone—and then put a goddamn bullet in your head.” Henry clicks open the glove compartment, grabs the gun, and jams it into my temple. “Get off the highway here. Turn your headlights off.” I do as he demands, and I lose track of how many turns he barks at me when we take an exit to a town I don’t recognize. He directs me through a commercial district with few other cars, and then even the false security of streetlights fades from view. I drive farther and farther away from any hint of civilization, as we jet down a dark and winding road, under dense tree cover. The moonlight blips in and out of the spindly tree limbs like a strobe light.