Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (20 page)

Chapter 46

Changing times:

  I arrived home that Friday night to an empty house. Locks had been changed, and May wasn’t answering her phone, letting it go straight to answer-service.

  Micky sat in the car, watching me stomping around. “Fuckin’ bitch! Where is she? Fuckin’ bitch!” I snarled from the side of my mouth.

  Where the fuck was she? And the kids? Mangling a couple plant pots by launching them against the door steps, then tried forcefully to yank the door open. All the whisky drank in Mr Dean’s house fueling my outrage.

  “Come on, pal, get back in the car, you can stay at mine.” I don’t think Micky saw me as a family man. Neither did I, anymore.

  “Fancy that ching, ‘en?” I asked.

  “Fuck, aye. I’ll nip round by my mate’s on the way to The Fountain.” Micky, itching to get on it, so was I now.

  An 8-ball, 4 grams of the finest Aberdeen coke, was collected. Micky jumping into the car beside Seaton Park, opening the glove-box, pulling out an old worn CD case, pouring the chunky coke on top of it. Took a bank-card out his wallet, chopped it into two chunky white lines of Heaven.

  “Roll up a note, bud.” With a slice of style, I rolled up a crisp £50 note from Mr Dean’s generous envelope. Waiting to lose my coke virginity, a new kind of rush started to flow.

  Micky sank the first line. Passing the note over, my hands clammy with anticipation. Watching the granules of coke disappear up the fifty note, flooding my bloodstream, causing me to gasp with euphoria.

  Two minutes later the urge to smoke arrived. Mickey fed me fags and I sucked the life out of every one until beefed.

  Ten minutes later standing in The Fountain, I was sky fucking high. I couldn’t stop talking, hyper as fuck, starting another sentence before finishing one. I realised why Micky was so hyper now. This stuff blew my head off. Full of bravado, I could take on the world.

  “What you drinking?” Micky asked as he hovered over the bar, chatting to Margaret at a rate of knots, his chin wagging around and head bobbing in and out like a turkey. Margaret wore round glasses behind the bar and dolled-up as usual that night.

  “Eh, whisky!” I was on a self-destructive mission now. Blended whisky rolled in one after another.

  Bouncing around the bar, thousands in our pockets. I felt on top of the world, everyone showed their respect, buying us drinks all night and we repaid the favour. We regularly disappeared into the cubicles for line after line.

  Three hours in, we were well into our third gram. I was paranoid, my arms locked out straight in my pockets, fingers curling around and my jaw struggled to stay straight, switching from side to side.

  The anger left me, I had no interest in any kind of aggravation.

  That’s when I see her.

  This seductive looking, twenty-something, sitting at the end of the bar with her luxurious midnight-blue hair cascading over her shoulders, down her backless top.  

  She was easy on the eye. Her rounded breasts fitting tightly into her top. Left arm painted with dark tattoos. The euphoric high I was on made her Pacific-blue eyes look like an exotic ocean. All I yearned for, was to grab her and fuck her until the sun came up.

  The high from the ching gave me the confidence of a sports star, and I thought nothing about courageously coasting up to her. We shared a few drinks and both of us knew we would end up sharing a night of passion. She was well aware of what she had, knew every man held the same lust I did.

  I was so fucked at this point, I bought rounds for all the punters in the bar, time after time. Thirty odd drinks a round. Micky passed out up against a wall, his head perched peacefully up against the bandit, a nip of untouched vodka and lemonade balancing in his hand.

  Me and the girl, Katie, started to get very intimate at the back of The Fountain, almost fucking right there. My tongue so far down her throat, blocking her airwaves. Her hand slid down my jeans. Her sluttiness would easily rope guys to her. I couldn’t get enough of her. Margaret came over from behind the bar.

  “You guys need a room! Here, take this key to the bed-sit upstairs and get out of here.” She was a good soul, was Margaret. I could see why Micky liked her so much.

  “Cheers, Margaret.” I slurred, while giving her a peck on the cheek, then stumbled upstairs, pulling Katie by the arm up to the disgusting bed-sit. Before I could get her through the door, I stripped her half-naked, tearing the top of her dress down to the waist, her body toned and tanned, squeezing her perfect breasts, pulling her into the room by her hair and chucking her forcefully onto the bed before I fucked her brains out. I was instantly addicted.

  The Fountain was now my new home. The irony, my Father’s old local.

Chapter 47

New Life:

  Four weeks later, all settled into my bed-sit, I started to feel at home. I helped out behind the bar and drank for free. Gave Margaret more money than she wanted every week and kept an eye on the bar, keeping all the thunder-cats under control.

  I met up with Tim daily and trained like a machine at the gym, pounding the bags and pads. Tim thundering punches into my gut for body conditioning.

  Skipping, jogging, circuits, weights, I’d done it all. My now constant supply of steroids helped me push myself. I became obsessed.

  Mr Dean payed me handsomely to fight for him, I had to be in top shape if I was going to tear apart my foes. Constantly thinking about finding Dad fueled my passion. My next fight was the following week in Dundee. Tim kept on my back, making sure I was training well. He turned a blind eye to the ‘roids.

  Kilgours was full of new faces, guess nobody lasts in this game. It’s brutal and not for the faint-hearted. Toby and Chris were the only two guys in the gym that I remember. Toby, to everyone’s surprise, beat the fancied hooligan from Watford.

Thursday night we sparred. The plan, do six rounds each with Toby and Chris, the only two boxers that could handle me, but it didn't quite work out like that.  

  Moving around with Chris that night, he upset me with a cracker of an inside left uppercut in the second round. I saw spots before the mist took over. Body pumped with ‘roids, I turned into a walking, Barbaric animal, a man on a mission.

  Wearing no head-guard, I propelled my head back as far as it could go, catapulting it forward, smashing it into his jaw, I continued my insane attack, hurling left and right-hooks, his head pinging from side to side like a conker on the end of a piece of string, until he fell hopelessly to the ground. Leaping on top of him, I continued my barrage.

  “That’s enough, boy.” Mike jumped on my back and used his body weight to drag me from him. Tim entered the ring and gave Mike a hand to hold me down.

  “Joe, calm down. There’s no need.” They held me until my rage calmed. I just flipped, fueled with ‘roid rage. I could have killed him.

  “Fuckin’ hell, boy!” Mike screamed, sticking his nose right into my face, but I knew I could snap him in half if I wanted to. I listened though and as hard as it was to calm down, I did. The ‘roids taking control of me like the full-moon takes control of the werewolf.

  I didn’t apologise, looked down at Chris’s bruised face and walked out the ring.

  Sitting on the weight bench, I had a word to myself. Calming down, I did the right thing and apologised. He wasn’t knocked out, but badly confused and dazed. He walked right past me without acknowledgement on his way out.

  The mood was sombre now, I could hear the whispers in the gym as they talked about me. I didn’t know what they were saying, I was sure it wasn’t good. Everyone left, another night everyone got sent home due to my lack of respect for my colleagues. That left Mike, Bull, Tim and me.

  “You’ll destroy Masson, Joe.” Bull said, as he sat down next to me on the bench mumbling out his small mouth, softly spoken. He didn’t seem the hurtful kind. He was just a business-man that looked the business.

  “Hope so, Bull. That’s the idea.” Swiveling my head round.

  “What you getting paid for this?” I didn’t care for his nosey tone and never took him on.

  “Enough Bull, enough.” He knew I wasn’t in the talkative mood and left.

  Mike was leaning over the ropes talking to Tim. I didn’t learn anything from their conversation about the drug-deal he was planning with the Rover, I never did. He was very sly like that. I could see his shiftiness, though.

  There was something going on in his dishonest head and you could see it. He thought he was so smart with his obnoxious attitude, but little did he know he was going to get done over.

  The gym was just a ten-minute walk from my new home, and I left saying goodbye to everyone.

My body still pumping with juice, I needed to come off this, but had to wait till after the fight. Masson was full of ‘roids, so I would be too.

  Bull sorted me out with the supply of ‘Deca’ and instructed me to take 600-800 mg a week. Getting more bulked and ripped by the day, my traps and triceps and back bulged, my whole body grew considerably, my biceps and inner forearms bursting with veins.

  The fat disappeared from my gut, taking my weight down to ninety two kilos. My t-shirts were now skin-tight, obvious to the trained eye I was on the gear.

  A few times a week, I would take fits of rage wherever, in the bar, out and about, or even with Katie who I spent most evenings with. I became totally obsessed with her.

  Heading round to her flat in Woodside most nights, round the corner from The Fountain, it suited me fine when I craved her, which was most nights. I’d wait until her three kids went to bed before heading round.

 
I could feel myself getting more hooked on her. Because how unstable my life was at the time, my jealousy and insecurity bubbled to the surface, especially when she messaged or snapchatted other men. This drove me to unleash emotions I didn't know existed.

  The steroids just cranked up the tension.

  Sex with Katie was rough and wild, not like May who was more of a conventional lover. She knew how to please me in the bedroom and wind me up out of it. Her relaxed, promiscuous way was dangerous to any man who thought of settling down with her.

  Three kids to different Fathers, tells her story. It was only a matter of time before I would lose my cool with her.

  There was no contact with May and the kids. I spent a lot of my time thinking about the kids, but not her. Guess I had fallen out of love.

  A couple nights before the fight with Masson, I stayed over at Katie’s. Her kids were in bed and we sat on her sofa watching a movie. I nipped to the toilet and on returning, I caught her on Facebook messenger talking to some random guy.

  “Who the fuck is that?”

  “Just a pal of mine.” Sounding like she was already guilty.

  “What pal? Why you talking to him right in front of me?” Losing patience, my voice raised.

  “Relax Joe, it’s just a pal, nothing else.” Her attitude enraged me.

  “Give me that fuckin’ phone!” Making a grab for her phone, she slipped it down the side of the sofa.

  “Joe, get the fuck off. Get off me!” I planted my knees either side of hers, on the sofa, leaning my weight over so she couldn't move, gripped her throat with my left hand, taking a firm hold of both sides of her neck. She sunk into the seat trying to wriggle her way out.

  With the force of the grip, in a choking panic, she released her hold on the phone. Her slender, five foot four frame had no strength.

  Holding her firm, I retrieved the phone and scrolled through the conversation, while her blue eyes looked helplessly for some compassion. Scrolling up and down the screen, to see they were flirting like young teenagers.

I crunched my knuckles into her face, knocking her over to the side, unable to fall because my knees were either side of her. Opening the window, I launched the phone out, smashing onto the path below

  One of her three kids, the youngest at three years old, blonde, came through after hearing the commotion, witnessing his mother slumped over, shaking frantically.

  “Get back to your bed.” I said, harshly. Her kid, with that innocent look in his eye, stood in fear. Who was this bad man?  “NOW BOY!” Roaring out, as I took a half step forward, stamping my foot. He jumped off his feet, getting the point, running out the room and back to the comfort of his bed.

  Katie was scared stiff. Afraid to move, jaw trembling, with her head crunched down into her chest and arms awkwardly by her side.

“Get up and go to your bed, woman. And don’t come back through here the night.” Getting to her feet, sheepishly tip-toeing to her room, legs buckling with shock. I spent the rest of that night on the sofa.

Chapter 48

Been Here Before:

   Twenty minutes before clambering into the ring with Masson, Tim had wrapped my hands in his usual impeccable manner. Slipping the gloves on, I prepared to go to war again, top off, beefed up and wearing a pair of black shorts and black trainers. Now really cut, my frame bulging with the abuse of steroids.

  The crowd inside the cauldron had doubled in size from last time, and so did the noise. The shed full of the raw breed of Dundonians.

  Having my shot of steroids this morning, my chemically-filled bloodstream was now a ball of rage. All I wanted to do was inflict pain. The nerves were buried beneath my emotions. Seething and deep in thought all day, as I seemed to be every day now.

  Tim, weary of my act, left me to my own thoughts. The creaky door opened to the changing room, inviting the noise of the audience waiting for my entrance. Mr Dean and Lukas entered. Lukas silent as always, dressed in his usual black, standing bolt upright, hands crossed over his waist at his boss's side.

  “Joe, sorry I couldn’t catch up with you before. How’s things?” Swaggering in, Mr Dean carried a brass-topped, cherry-wood walking-stick, dressed impeccably, a tailor-cut Italian suit and his tinted shades, to dull the light in his eyes.

  “Steve.” Feeling comfortable being on first name terms with him. “I’m good.”

  “Good, it won’t take long tonight, guarantee that, Joe. Everything else going well?”

  “Aye.” I gave him a knowing look, then back to the ground when finished, keeping my head in the right place. Understanding my vagueness, knowing this was not the time for chit-chat.

  “Good. We need to have a word after the fight.” Lukas opened the door for his boss.

  We got down to business, Tim instructing me to take it easy in the warm-up, but take it easy I wouldn’t. I hit my opponents with hate for my Father and love for Mom in my heart, bless her soul.

  Muscles contracting from the ‘roids, bulked up, I felt the real deal now.

  When Dad was younger, he trained but didn't have any muscle bulk, just naturally huge, cold-hearted and savage. He was made for fighting. Time would bring my trained brutality out.

  “Twist your body into it!” Tim instructed. “Come on!” Carrying out countless hours of training together, our pad-work was flawless. I always had an advantage over anyone I fought because of my boxing history, the technique and sharpness my rivals didn’t have.

  With that power, mixed with the cocktail of juice and rage, I was deadly inside the ropes. Drenched in sweat, the heat combined with the humid night made it uncomfortable. There wasn't anybody going to defeat me tonight.

  Leaping up and down, lager spilling bodies tried to engage with me on the way to the worn-out ring and blood-stained canvas. The heat intense and irritating, as more sweat poured off.

  Blacking everything out, I could only see blood, only hear my heart beat. Once at ringside, I climbed up the three steps and slid between the ropes, with an itch to get this done. Walking straight to the centre of the ring and stood idle, 8oz gloves by my side, eyes in a trance, sweat pouring down my Vaseline-coated body, fists clenched, ogling Masson.

  I could tell he shat a brick, right then. His big, bald, ugly head attached to his bloated, five foot eight height. He meant nothing to me.

  The short, fat ref in dress trousers, shirt and bow tie, reluctantly pulled Masson to the middle of the ring, where we exchanged deep stares of warriors, the ref saying his piece.

  Masson’s eyes showed fear. First mistake.

  Turning his back, walking away from me. Second mistake. That showed disrespect.

  His third mistake? Wasn’t his fault the bell went.