The Only Way (4 page)

The men all looked basically the same to Hart, but some of them called out to the girls and some to the men who crowded along the fence.

"Hey, baby, hey. Yeah, you. You want to come with me tonight?"

The girls pushed forward as they were called and slipped through the open gate to follow the pimps. Hart watched, unable to tell what the pimps were looking for in their selections. It wasn't the prettiest or the youngest or even the cleanest girls who were chosen. She shuddered as a sad-looking girl who couldn't be more than fourteen stepped through the gate.

As the pimps chose girls to come into the Alley, others called out to the Gutter men. Here, at least, Hart could see what they were looking for. The men who were chosen were the biggest and strongest:  some a head taller than her and twice as broad. They aggressively shouldered their way through the crowd, hard looks on their faces.

It was difficult to think of her father as one of them, these brutish men going off to fight. Duncan was all smiles when he was home, playing with the kids and flirting with her mother, but Hart knew he must have been different in the ring to have won so many fights.

She choked down the tears that threatened to rise at the thought of her father and pushed her way through the thinning crowd until she was right up against the links of the fence. Most of the organizers were leaving, their chosen fighters trailing behind them. 

Hart pressed closer to the fence as if she could force her way through the thick metal links and into the Alley through sheer will. 

One of the organizers spotted her and let out a loud bark of laughter. "What are you doing here, kid? You hoping you could go with the girls and make some money that way?"

Hart flushed, crossing her arms over her hidden breasts. "I'm here to fight, just like everyone else," she shot back angrily.

"A runt like you? Wait until you're weaned, and then maybe we'll give you a shot."

"I can fight!" she said, rising up on her toes and clinging to the fence. "I could kick
your
ass if I wanted."

The man laughed unkindly. "You," he pointed to a boy to the left of Hart, not much bigger than she was. "I'll give you a shot."

The boy gave Hart a smug look before he turned to hurry through the open checkpoint. The organizer threw her a little salute before sauntering off, fighters in tow.

Hart clenched her teeth angrily. She couldn't even get past the fence – how was she supposed to keep her family fed and alive?

"You crazy, kid?"

She turned to see a man lingering on the other side, leaning up against a light post, smirking at her. He was small with a paunch that said he never set foot in the ring himself. His clothes were dirty and stained.

"Trying to pick a fight before you're even in the ring? Benny could have killed you if he actually felt like taking a swing."

"I'm stronger than I look," Hart retorted. "I could have taken him."

"You're feisty, that's for sure," the man laughed. He pushed himself off the post and came forward. "You ever been in a fight before?"

Hart paused, biting her lip. Sure, she'd trained with her Dad, but she'd never had to use the moves. "I've practiced."

"But no one's ever come at you? You've never had to fuck someone up just so you could stay standing?"

"I could," Hart muttered, refusing to drop her eyes.

The man laughed again. "All right."

"All right?"

"I'll put you in a fight."

"Really?"

The man smirked again. "Yeah. You can be the opening act. Watching you get your ass handed to you will get everyone in the mood for more. Get them seeing red, if you know what I mean."

Hart sneered, but pushed her way through the remaining people to the gate. The guard stared down at her, hard and impassive, and shifted to the side, unbarring the way.

Hart hadn't been in the Alley since she was a child, and even though she had glimpsed it every day through the heavy fence, it felt like stepping into another world. There were streetlights here, and the sidewalks were mostly free from trash. People here had real jobs with steady pay checks, and she felt like she could see the difference in their eyes. There was no evidence of the fear that haunted the Gutterfolk, fear that the next meal wasn't coming.

She squared her shoulders and marched up to the fight organizer. He already had a few men picked out – boys, really, not much older than her, but bigger, of course. He was small-time; Hart could tell that immediately. The real fighters had gone with other organizers, and he had what was left over, including Hart.

"All right boys," he said. "I'm Farris, but you can call me Mr. Farris."

Hart felt her lips curl back in distaste, but she bit down on the retort that threatened to push past her lips. There was no way she was calling scum like him 'mister'.

They set off through the Alley, the sight of tidy houses and clean streets enough to distract Hart from what was coming. It was strange to see these homes with glass windows and solid doors. Houses three times the size of the shack she had her family lived in. She couldn't imagine what that was like.

The group turned a few corners, weaving their way through the streets. None of the men spoke as they walked. Eyes ahead, not on each other.
Eyes on the prize
, Hart thought miserably. She wondered which of them she'd be fighting.

These men were just like her, neighbors and fellow sufferers, but soon they'd be beating each other to a bloody pulp.

Farris led them to a run-down building, off the main drag, and Hart's heart sank. There wouldn't be good money in this even if she
did
win, she could tell. Not with the graffiti covering the outside of the building or the rickety sign that proclaimed "Nightly Fights – Three Dollar Admission".

Farris unlocked a back door and ushered the Gutter men inside. The room was dark and dingy. "Alright, everyone. Three fights tonight. You and you," he gestured at the two biggest men in the group. "You'll headline. Purse of twenty dollars if you win."

"You two," he pointed to two others, "You'll be the second fight. Purse of fifteen. Winner can headline tomorrow night." The men nodded. Hart looked at the only other person left, a boy of eighteen or nineteen. He was taller and broader than her by far, but looked anxious and unsure. Maybe it was his first fight, too.

"You two," Farris levelled a meaty finger at Hart and her companion. "Will be our opening act. Purse is ten dollars."

It was more than she made on the scrapheap, but it felt like nothing when she thought about how much she'd have to endure to possibly win it.

"You fight in your own clothes here. Strip down to whatever you want, but know that we don't discourage grabbing shirts, or hair for that matter." Farris smirked.

The men peeled off their shirts, stripping down to skin, and Hart shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to fight in the sweatshirt, to completely ensure that no one would guess at her secret. But the hood was a liability, not to mention the strings at her neck. She could be grabbed, dragged, or choked, so she pulled it off and hoped no one looked too closely at what lay under the black t-shirt she wore.

"Here." Hart looked up at her opponent, surprised. He was holding something out to her, his blue eyes emotionless. "Tape. For your hands."

"Oh," Hart flushed, taking the roll from him. "Thanks."

The boy shrugged and turned away. It was for the best, really. Looking him in the eyes made it harder to want to hit him. 

She taped her hands awkwardly, struggling to do it by herself. None of the men here were going to help her, though, the way her father had always gently wound the tape around her palms.

Farris had stepped out of the room, but now he returned, poking his head around the doorframe. Hart could hear a rising murmur from somewhere else in the building—the crowd, here to see her fight.

"Five minutes," Farris barked, and Hart and her opponent stepped forward. "You got names, kids?"

"Hart," she said without thinking, and then blushed, ducking her head. It was as much a boy's name as any, but it felt strange to speak her own name while she was pretending to be someone else.

"Gage," the older boy replied. 

"Fine. Come on."

Farris led them through a dim hallway, the walls yellowed with dirt and years. The noise of the crowd rose as they walked, and Hart felt her heart thump in her chest, beating fast. They emerged into the arena, a small room with bleachers around the edge and a ring in the center. It was bare bones, but that didn't really matter. This crowd wasn't looking for anything fancy; Hart could see that with one look at their shouting faces. They were here for blood.

"Get in the ring, and we'll count it out," Farris instructed. "Get your opponent down for ten and the purse is yours."

Gage climbed in effortlessly, ducking the ropes. Hart watched, wondering if she'd been wrong about his experience. Or if she'd overestimated her own.

She took a deep breath and followed. The mat was springy beneath her feet, stained here and there with splotches of red. She kept her eyes up, trying not to think about the men who had come before her, who had fought here, bled here and maybe died here.

Ten dollars would feed her family. That was what she had to focus on.

The crowd jeered as she and Gage took their respective corners. Heckles rang through the air along with the encouragement to 'kill' each other. Hart kept her eyes on the boy across from her, trying to tune out the drunken shouts. He was bigger than her, but her father had always told her it was better to be fast than big. 

Hart was fast and nimble, like the deer from which she took her name.

As Farris stepped into the ring, addressing the crowd, Hart frantically tried to remember what else Duncan had told her over the years. Knees bent. Hands up. Stay on your toes. Keep moving. Tire the other guy out.

She could do this. She knew she could.

The bell rang and Gage came at her, barrelling down from the other side of the ring.

Hart bent her knees, brought her hands up, and ducked. Gage's swing missed, his arm whizzing over her head. She danced away, circling to keep him in front of her. He narrowed his eyes and tried again. The crowd's cries grew as she sidestepped. 

I can do this
, Hart thought.

She and Gage circled each other, feeling each other out. Gage wasn't rushing anymore. Hart kept on her toes, not bothering to throw a punch yet. Her time would come when Gage had exhausted himself.

After a moment, as the crowd jeered, Gage charged again. Hart ducked to her right and hit the ropes. She stumbled over own her feet and Gage barrelled into her. He hunched over to get his shoulder against her back.

He felt enormous, pinning her like that, and her heart pounded as she struggled to wriggle free.

After a moment of desperate flailing she managed to squirm out of his hold. She darted back to the center of the ring as Gage spun to face her, a cocky smirk on his lips. She narrowed her eyes.

She leapt forward and took a swing. A solid punch landed right in his stomach. Her hand hit firm muscle and Gage curled up over the blow. He straightened a second later, recovering faster than she thought he would. He swung up wildly.

His fist caught Hart in the side of the head. She stumbled backwards, ear ringing. He advanced and it was all she could do to scurry away. She shook her head to try to clear the fog. She felt something wet on the side of her face and realized with a start that her ear was bleeding, dripping blood down her jaw.

She ducked low and punched out. Gage dodged it easily and clipped her again, this time on the jaw, his fist glancing off the bone.

It
hurt
.

Hart swung wildly, landing a blow on Gage's shoulder that barely slowed him down. She ducked and slammed into him. Her body weight propelled him back, into the ropes. He gasped for breath. She knew he was too big to keep pinned for long, so she flung herself back. She got in a sharp right jab while he was still recovering his footing. Her knuckles throbbed where they connected with his face. She felt her stomach turn as she saw real anger flare in Gage's eyes.

He charged forward and she careened back, trying to keep some distance between them. The crowd's cheers rose as Gage threw himself fully into the fight. If she could just keep him from landing a good hit, she could take advantage of his anger, his energy. Wear him out, wear him down.

But he was coming on too strong, and she felt like there was nowhere to run or hide in this tiny ring. She kept her feet moving, but it seemed like he was always just a second behind. His fists whizzed past her head as she ducked and dodged.

She was turning, spinning away from him, when he caught up with her. His fist caught her hard on the cheek. She reeled back, blinking uselessly at the lights. The crowd roared as she stumbled. Gage kicked out, sweeping her legs out from under her. Hart went down hard, the wind knocked out of her as she hit the mat with a
thump
.

Gage pounced, hands on her shoulders, knee pressed to her sternum. She gasped, unable to draw a breath with his weight bearing down on her. The count sounded distant and tinny to her ears.

Seven, eight, nine ... ten! We have a winner!

Hart sucked in a painful breath as Gage sprang up, arms in the air. She blinked, sweat dripping in her eyes, her head spinning. The crowd was cheering loudly, but not for her.

She sat up, wincing at the pain in her body, as the realization swept over her. Gage was pumping his arms in the air, a wide grin on his face. She had lost.

She watched numbly as Farris handed Gage the purse, a little bag containing the ten dollars she needed so badly.

Reminding herself that Gage probably needed it too didn't make much of a difference; she still had hungry kids at home.

Hart hauled herself to her feet before someone came to help her, trying to keep her dignity intact. She staggered out of the ring, keeping her eyes on the ground as she hurried past the next two fighters waiting in the wings. It didn't take long to collect her belongings, just her sweatshirt and shoes. She wiped at the drying blood on her face, feeling the tenderness around her jaw that told her it was going to swell horribly.