Debt, page 15
Kalmyan himself was unable to fight for real, too much risk with his knee. Tyler took three of them down. But by then he was tired, hurt, and an easier target. When Kalmyan saw that his plan was failing, he jumped into the fray, and he and the remaining crony got several severe shots into Tyler.
Tyler suffered a concussion that left him reeling, a punctured lung, and some broken bones.
Kalmyan and his buddy dragged their three friends away (Tyler had done an almost godly job at taking them down, each with snapped bones themselves), but they left Tyler on the street to die.
And he would have died, had not a sweet girl of seventeen found him. Normally people these days just walk past such a scene. This girl didn’t. She called nine-one-one and saved Tyler’s life.
Tyler had planned on returning to the cage before that, despite his ban. Underground fighting is not so picky about rules, and with the right amount of money passing hands, he could have done it.
But the concussion was worse than initially diagnosed. Instead of a mild injury it was raised to moderate. A few days later, Tyler started having dizzy spells, and it was discovered he had a burst blood vessel in his head requiring surgery. He was operated on. The doc told him he should expect a full recovery within six weeks. But he never did fully recover. His senses and mental faculties are fully intact, but he still loses his balance, still gets headaches, and was eventually told in no uncertain terms that if he did fight again, it might be his last fight ever.
Tyler’s a crazy motherfucker, but somehow the girl who found him also found her way into his heart (Tyler of all people) and Tyler actually started making sense probably for the first time in his life. He finally had something to live for. Before that, he had been nothing but a loner who didn’t care if he died in the cage so long as he died with both guns blazing.
Tyler lost his parents (and his only family) when he was six years old in a brutal robbery which barely left him alive himself. Before Candy, the girl who found him, Tyler didn’t see a point in living, and didn’t see a point in maintaining any honor in a world which doesn’t itself have any.
By the time my and his paths crossed, Tyler had turned to agenting, to making money off of fighters he trained himself. He and I met up for a drink and soon he was my agent. I told him it wasn’t going to be permanent. I was upfront with him. I didn’t want to owe anyone any eternal debts, so we cut a deal in which he took a larger-than-usual percentage for my fights but I wouldn’t need to stick with him for more than six months and I could after that become a free agent or start paying him the lesser rate. My choice.
But he also had another idea. Fighters are transient things and Tyler wanted something more permanent for him and Candy. So he was starting a gym, a fighting gym, up in Denver, so that he wouldn’t need to travel around and miss seeing her and so that he could have something more stable for their future.
When Tyler saw that I could fight, we soon became friends. He respects hardness in a man and he soon asked me if I was interested in the gym idea, if I’d be interested in a franchise. I did the math, the gym idea was a good long-term idea, but not good for right now. I can’t fight forever, I know that. Especially not the dogfights I’m involved in now. One injury and I’m screwed. If I was making five or ten grand a fight, I could do it. But I don’t make near that much, not if I don’t get back into Vito’s quarters, which will never happen.
I told him I’d consider it. If I got given my own gym, my own place to run, I’d be interested. I’d be OK with paying him a cut for the initial contacts, a fair cut. No undue favors.
We put plans together. Tyler and I grew closer, going out for beers and talking about chicks and fights and making jokes.
But there was Candy.
If anything’s going to screw up a bromance, it’s a woman.
Candy was a young girl. She was seventeen when she first found Tyler, eighteen by the time he and I met each other. Tyler was twenty three at the time. I was barely twenty, but I had grown up fast. And at twenty, I felt like a thirty-year-old. She was one of those innocent girls that had never been with anyone and was fascinated by the Bad Boy. Did she love him? Does she love him? Maybe.
But she quickly took an interest in me as well.
Candy was not the type of girl who’d outwardly hit on a guy. I think her failing was simply that she was too innocent and that she didn’t really know what she wanted.
Tyler had fallen for her, fallen for her badly, and maybe that had occurred only because she had saved his life, and in some hidden recess of his mind he equated her irrationally with his own survival. But it doesn’t change that he had truly fallen for a girl that was way too good for either one of us. She was wealthy, she was privileged, she had been a virgin when he’d first taken her to bed.
She and I were friends, acquaintances actually. Tyler and I were friends. There was no weirdness between any of us. It was not unusual for me to pick Candy up from school (she was still in High School, that’s how innocent she was) or to meet up with her early for drinks while we waited for Tyler.
One day, while she and I were sitting in a bar, I noticed she was down. This was Tyler’s girl, so I didn’t wanna prod too much. But I asked her, I asked her if anything was the matter.
And she burst into tears. She said to me, “Tyler thinks you and I are having a thing.”
I almost spat my beer out.
“He’s jealous,” she said. “And he doesn’t want us to spend any more time together.”
I was stunned, shocked, blown away. I mean, I had never thought of this girl in that way at all. And it’s not because she wasn’t attractive. She was. She had big, plump breasts and fine legs and curling blond hair that would get any redblooded man’s juices pumping. I had just never thought of her that way, because she was with Tyler. End of story.
So to have her bring this up with me...was a shocker.
And a problem.
I’m no stranger to the jealousies of men. Jealousy is something a man knows intimately. It’s part of our very make-up.
And if Tyler was jealous, that was a problem, a major problem. Worst of all, it would become a business problem, and that I wasn’t willing to consider.
Debt is worsened when it becomes personal.
I didn’t ask Candy if Tyler’s fears were based on anything factual. I wasn’t going to go there. Just that she was telling me meant it had gone far enough. And in that bar, in that booth with me sitting across from her, I decided immediately that I would never see her alone again. It wasn’t worth it.
“Logan,” she said, her eyes almost watering up. “Logan, I can’t... I can’t say...that he’s wrong.” She looked up at me with her liquid brown eyes. “And I know you feel something for me too. I’m so confused. So confused, Logan. I have no idea what to do. I think...I think...I think I might love you both.”
I’ve never been a huge fan of the horror flick. I think the blood reminds me too much of my mother. But right now, it was like I had seen some bloody and brutal scene on the big screen and I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry.
What—the—fuck?
And the fact that I was so stunned, so blindsided by what this young and very confused young girl was saying to me (a teenager, it began to dawn on me), meant I ended up keeping my mouth shut. I should have said, You’re fucking mad, Candy! But I just sat there, staring at her, not knowing what the fuck just happened.
Which means she probably took my silence as a yes.
“You see?” she said. “You see?” And then she stretched her hand out toward mine, grabbed it on the table.
Tyler walked into the bar before I had a chance to pull it back and correct her erroneous ideas.
-2-
Tyler wasn’t supposed to fight, he’s still not supposed to fight. He knows that. One wrong blow to his head and it’s internal bleeding and potential for complications and he’s gone. Gone.
But the fury came into him. He looked at our interlocked hands, and it’s true that I had been caught with my hand in the cookie jar—or that’s how it looked anyway.
I’ve seen some angry men in my life, livid men, but I had never seen something like the rage which filled Tyler up in that exact moment.
His eyes went black with rage. His black hair seemed to glow with indignation.
He started to say something, started, but never finished. Because then his fist cracked into my jaw, and the full power of his vengeance was on top of me while I was trapped in that booth.
I knew I couldn’t hit him. I couldn’t. And if I did hit him, I’d have to avoid his head. I’d have to avoid him falling. Christ, it was like fighting a dead man.
So I sheltered my face and told him to stop. It would be easy to get him off me. He was too angry. He hadn’t thought his moves out. I was crunched in the booth and he was on top of me and my knee was in the perfect position to thrust him off or crack his nuts. But if I did it, he might fall back against the bar and hit his head...
“Jesus fucking Christ, Tyler, it’s not what you—”
Crack! His fist hit my jaw again.
Candy screamed and howled and pleaded for him to stop. Not helping matters, she blurted out, “I love you both, Tyler. I love you both!”
Fucking Christ almighty... Women.
Some guys tried to take him off me, but Tyler had not lost his innate fighting sense, and all the years of training in Silat. He got two guys off of him in a breath, but that was enough time for me to stumble out of the booth. I managed to stand, jaw aching.
When Tyler saw me, his eyes were red with fury. “Tyler, you’re going to kill yourself,” I shouted.
He didn’t stop. He laid into me. I didn’t even get out of his way, too concerned he’d fall and maybe snap his head on the ground.
I owed Tyler. He had gotten me some good fights in the last three months. It was looking bright again for me to cover Ailee’s first year. To let the man kill himself would be no service to him at all. It would be dishonorable.
So I let him hit me. I let him hit me until he got tired...and until his old head injury got the better of him.
Tyler swayed.
A guy came up behind him with a chair in his hands, ready to hit Tyler on the head.
“No!” I yelled. “No, you fucking idiot!” And I swirled around Tyler and shoved the chair-wielder against the bar. The bartender was on the phone, presumably to the cops.
Tyler was suddenly delirious, swaying, his hand going to his head.
Another dude charged for us, but I stuck my hand out and said, “No! He’s cool. It’s cool.” Somehow, the guy got the message, and somehow the bar patrons started to realize that something wasn’t all that OK with the angry man with the nose-ring.
I stood next to him. Tyler’s hand was still to his head. Candy lay in a puddle in the booth, weeping and oblivious to what was happening. Too young, I thought. She’s just...too...young.
“Tyler?” I said.
He swayed.
“Tyler. C’mon. Let’s get some air.”
He stumbled forward.
“Ty—”
But I didn’t finish.
Tyler fell, and he landed in my arms. “Someone call an ambulance. Call a bloody ambulance!” I screamed.
Candy’s own scream now was a shrill howl.
She bolted up from her seat and came to me and Tyler but I held her back, shook my head. Now wasn’t the time for him to get confused. We needed to get him to a hospital.
The ambulance arrived only two minutes later. And so did the cops. I was cuffed. Tyler was taken to the ER.
When they let me out of the holding cell, I visited him. He was awake by then. Candy was at his side. As I walked in, I heard her saying, “I choose you, Tyler. I choose you. I swear it! I don’t love him. I never did. I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”
She saw that I had arrived, and when she stood up to walk out she gave me a glare that said, You fucking bastard. How dare you play with my emotions like that?
The horror flick was continuing.
I went to Tyler’s side.
His face was stoic, solid. “I appreciate you not hitting me back,” he said. “Otherwise I’d be dead. But you and I, Logan...” He swallowed. “We’re finished.”
“It’s not what you think, Tyler.”
“Finished, Logan.”
“She’s lying. Nothing—”
“Get out!” He grimaced. “Get out before I—” His face crunched up in pain.
A man in love. Blinded. Blinded completely.
I nodded. Didn’t even bother to answer.
And I left.
Candy was looking away from me when I got out of the hospital room, her arms folded, avoiding my eyes. I thought of going to her, of asking her to explain to Tyler that nothing had happened. Nothing.
But Candy was the one who’d started all this in the first place.
When I jumped in my truck and roared the engine to life, I saw her looking at me, looking wistfully.
There’s only one thing worse than a woman in love, and that’s a confused woman in love.
This was three years ago.
Tyler wasn’t happy to hear from me when I called him from Nashville. But he said he’d see me.
He said he’d give me five minutes.
-3-
We meet up at an underground (literally) speakeasy called the Green Russell which has leather chairs and stone walls and a chilled out environment that’s not conducive to brawling. Tyler’s already here when I arrive, sipping on a straight whiskey, sitting back in one of the black chairs.
He’s lost a little weight, but not too much. He’s still lean and still undoubtedly strong. Strength has little to do with size, a mistake most steroid pushers make.
I don’t bother to say hello, just sit down in the chair across from him and wait for him to say the first word. I’m not here to apologize. I have nothing to apologize for. I’m here because I never did wrong by him, and I need his help, and I’m wanting to see if he’s manned up in the last three years.
“You have some nerve,” he finally says, sniffing his drink. I don’t respond. “And if you hadn’t paid me my cut for the remaining three months I wasn’t representing you, you can be sure we wouldn’t be having this meeting now. Either you’re the stupidest man alive, or the most honorable, or you felt you had something to make up for. Either way, I was glad to receive the monthly payments in my account.”
“That was our deal. And I pay my debts.”
Tyler doesn’t respond at first, then: “By stealing my girl?”
“Your girl was confused. She read something into things that didn’t exist.”
Tyler looks at the wall, and there’s pain in his eyes. “If you had told me this three years ago, I would’ve jumped you again. And probably died in the process, that’s a debt I owe you. You could have killed me with one hit.” He finally looks at me again. “And I’m grateful.”
“How...is she?” I don’t really want to ask this, but I guess it’s the polite thing to say.
Tyler’s lips curl into what might be a grimace, maybe a smile. He shrugs just slightly, brings his drink to his lips. “She left me.” And then he downs the whole glass and raises his hand up for another. “Yeah.” He smacks his lips and puts the glass down on a coaster. “Found her cock-deep with a guy in his bedroom. Actually, I didn’t find her, I had her tailed. Good thing I did. And then I got photographs. Turns out she’d been seeing the dude for six months before I found out. And when I confronted her on it, when I got her to spit all of her transgressions out, turns out he wasn’t the only one. There were at least three others. And if she was being honest about you, then it’s four.” He glares at me, waiting for an answer.
“I never did anything with her. I didn’t even flirt with her for Christ’s sake. That’s what I was trying to tell you back then.”
Tyler eyes me for a bit, thinking. “OK,” he says. “So then it’s three. She said to me you fucked her so wildly and madly that it’s the reason she got sick of me, that my cock didn’t do it for her.”
I can’t stop the twitch forming on my lips. “Not quite the Candy she was when we first met her.”
Tyler smiles as well. “Nope. I tainted her, obviously. Corrupted her, clearly. So you really didn’t...”
“You have to decide for yourself, Tyler. It’s my word against hers. And I think you’ve proven she’s a discreditable witness.”
Again, that look, trying to read me. “Why did you keep paying me, Logan? You were loose.”
“We agreed to six months. We had only worked together for three.”
“And I cut you loose.”
“And I used your contacts to get better fights. You got me back on my feet. I owed you.”
“And you must have done quite some fights, because the cash you sent me was generous.”
“I didn’t send you the full cut, just so you know. And I won’t. Because you did cut me loose, and I got myself better fights than I think you would have. I worked out the percentage according to what I think your contacts brought me, plus a little extra in good faith. I paid you what I felt I owed you, no more, no less.”
He sniggers, almost disbelievingly. “And you’re probably gonna tell me you’re still paying the IRS on your illicit earnings.”
“I am.”
And now Tyler does laugh, a loud, uproarious howl. “You’re one of a kind, Logan. One of a kind.”
“I pay—”
“—your debts. I know. I know. And you think the US government is more likely to put you behind bars for unpaid taxes than it is for illegal brawls.”
“That’s how they got Al Capone.”
“Al Capone was framed by the FBI because he was cutting into their racket.”
“But not framed for tax evasion. That was probably his only crime, that and a little bootlegging.”
