Debt, page 23
Music boom-boomed from the apartment below us.
One of his friends took the one seater, the other sat on the arm-rest. The third fell cross-legged onto the floor and popped open a beer, started guzzling it down.
“Rory, get out or I’m calling the cops.”
Rory reached for a can of PBR and popped it open, started guzzling as well. “Vera, c’mon, we just wanna have some fun. Oh, what’s this, Poltergeist? Fuckin sweet.” He snatched the remote from my hand and flicked the movie back on. The dissonant screeches came on quickly and all the boys started staring at the screen.
Vera kept standing, arms crossed, the door still open. “Rory, get the fuck out!”
Rory’s eyes flicked casually toward her, beer to his lips, then back at the TV.
“Get out,” she repeated. “You and I are over, you sonofabitch.”
Rory’s eyes narrowed, he kept the beer to his lips.
“Jesus fucking Christ, are you deaf? It’s over—” But she didn’t finish.
Rory bolted toward her, and then he slapped her.
The guy on the one-seater started laughing. “Good one, Rory. Show her who’s boss, you cuckolded pansy.”
I jumped off my seat and stumbled on the table in front of me, falling to the ground. The guys started laughing again, their eyes on the TV, one of them mildly interested in Rory grabbing Vera’s wrists now, pushing her to the kitchen sink and saying, “You—fucking—bitch. You fucken slutty whore. I’m gonna teach some goddamn respect, you slut.”
I shot up, only barely feeling the pain in my knee from where it had hit the table. I started for her...and then I saw myself falling, face first, only realizing halfway through the motion that one of these fuckers had casually placed his foot in front of mine and tripped me.
Vera screamed. She tried to hit Rory but he had her pinned. She didn’t stand a chance in that position.
I hit the floor with a thud, and before I could get up, a guy was straddling me while I lay facedown on the floor. He was laughing. “Ride em, bronco!” one shouted, pretending I was a horse. The guy above me ground his hip down against me as I lay flat on the floor. I know this position, and getting out of it is easy. All I need is to grab his arms, pull him down, and at the same moment flick my hips left and then get him to roll. And I’m about to do that...
...when things change.
And the laughter disappears. And the boys start getting serious.
One of the others snatches my hands, and puts his knees on my fingers, thereby preventing me from doing what I learned in those self-defense classes. “Now, you shut up, Kyla,” the guy above me says. “Rory has some unfinished business with his girl here and we’re gonna let him finish it.”
“She’s not his fucking girl.”
The guy on top of me keeps riding, chuckling... All I need to do is roll, just roll him off me. It might snap my fingers because of the guy with his knees on them but I won’t be the victim. “Yee-hah!” the rider shouts, beer spilling on me as he pretends I’m a horse. “Yee-fuckin-hah!”
Vera: “Get off me, Rory. Get the fuck off me, you’re drunk!”
Slap.
Slap. “You goddamn bitch. I gave you everything. Everything you fuckin psycho bitch—”
The guy in front of me with his knees on my hand blocks my view so I can’t see what’s happening.
“—and I’m going to—”
Crash!
It sounded like the door being—
There’s noise. I don’t know what’s happening and then I hear, “You—fucking—bastard!” It’s a man’s voice. A voice I recognize. But not Rory’s.
Rory shouts: “What the—” but he doesn’t finish.
Vera screams.
I still can’t see shit.
And then it all explodes. Vera is howling and men are grunting. A smash. A crash. “You fucking bastard,” the other male voice says.
Rider Cowboy gets off of me. “Hey, what the fuck?”
The dude with the knees on my fingers turns, thereby loosening his hold. I yank my hands from under his kneecaps, almost pulling a knuckle...and then I see it.
Fury.
Mayhem.
Madness.
Power.
Tyler.
Rory’s screaming, screaming like a wild man...and Tyler is going nuts, absolutely nuts on Rory’s body. Crushing him. Stamping on him. Vera’s just shrieking, panicking, closing her eyes. Tyler smashes his boot into Rory’s chest one more time, and then he turns his eyes to the other three boys, his chest heaving, pumping. There’s madness in his eyes.
The three boys are cowering back. No loyalty amongst thieves. “Hey, dude,” Rider Cowboy says, “we were just having some fun.”
Tyler jumps toward him, his movement so fast that I barely see him lurch toward Rider Cowboy. Three strikes and Rider Cowboy is down.
Another swing, the elbow, crushing Kneecap Man’s nose.
The fourth guy is in a corner, a huge stain between his legs, cowering, begging, the beer spilling onto the ground in big gulps where he let the can fall next to him.
Music screams from the party below. Screeching horror sounds play from the TV screen. Scree! Scree! Scree! Scree! “Please, please don’t. I didn’t do nothing!” the fourth guy says. “I didn’t do—”
Crush! Crush! Crush!
The fourth dude’s face goes bloody. Tyler lifts his boot...
“No!” I scream out. “No, stop! If you kill them you’ll be up for manslaughter. Stop!”
His boot comes down.
“Please! Tyler, think of what you’re doing. They’re not worth throwing everything away for. You’ll ruin your own life for these fucking idiots.”
His boot stops midair. His chest heaves in a mad rush.
He drops it to the ground. Stares down at Number Four. “Consider yourself lucky, fuckturd. Now get your fucking scum rich friends out of here before the presence of ladies doesn’t convince me any longer not to crush your goddamn faces into pancakes.”
Number Four stumbles upwards, falls, stumbles again. He grabs Rider Cowboy, Knee Man, and they all pull Rory up together, his face a mass of blood, and drag him down the stairs outside. I hear mumbles of “Oh, shit. Oh, shit, Rory. What the fuck? Who the fuck was that? Rory, wake up!”
Rory doesn’t answer.
Tyler goes to Vera. The shock is suddenly on her and she’s in a corner, her dress a mess, but thankfully that’s all. When he touches her shoulder, he says, “It’s OK. They’re gone.” Vera starts to weep.
I get up, my fingers aching, my knee aching.
Tyler stands back, realizing a male presence being so close to Vera is making her afraid.
I go over to her and hug her. She breaks into tears. “Oh, God,” she says. “Oh, God. Oh, God.”
I hold her, let her recover slowly, a small puddle of her tears forming on my shirt.
“Did they hurt you?” Vera asks me, as if I was the one nearly attacked. “No, they didn’t, Vera.” Rory was here for you. “I’m OK.”
“Oh, thank God. When I saw that guy get on top of you...”
“It’s OK. Nothing happened. Nothing happened.”
I turn to look at Tyler, mouth Thank you. He nods slowly at me, looks over at Vera with pain in his eyes.
“I’ll be around for a little while,” Tyler says. “Logan’s orders. I paid Vince a little visit when I got here which is why he’s been so quiet but we...but we never expected...” He looks down as if he failed us.
I reach my hand out to him and he grabs it. “Thank you,” I say, my voice filled with emotion. “Thank you.”
And then Tyler turns, and he leaves.
I hold Vera close, let her weep on my shoulder. Like she’s done so many times for me before.
-2-
Vera’s in shock, and I turn off the horror flick. Movie time is over for tonight.
I sit with her on the couch and rock her in my arms. I make her some tea, hoping that’ll calm her down, but it doesn’t. We stay up most of the night. I manage to get some sleep, but I’m sure she doesn’t.
Today’s not a good day for school.
I’ll take her to the beach. We’ll look out over the gulf. Chill.
It’s a good move, because at about twelve PM she starts talking again, and the terror finally leaves her eyes. She sighs, staring out at the water, at the people having a good time. “Fuck,” she says. “Fuck.” And then she laughs. “Fuck!” She laughs some more, the relief finally taking her, relief at the fact that she isn’t being attacked by Mr. Crazy, Mr. Rich Boy, Mr. Take What I Want And Fuck Everyone Else.
Her laughter bursts even louder, and she falls onto her back and keeps laughing as she looks up at the sky.
Finally, finally, after all the nervous laughter is out of her, she says, “See? I knew Tyler liked me.”
I smile.
Good ole Vera.
I text Logan, thanking him. But maybe I shouldn’t have. Because he’ll worry. He’ll worry and he’ll put pressure on his leg when he shouldn’t. Things are fine. We’re fine. And the last thing he needs is to ruin his life because of me.
I know he wants to fight again. And it scares me. It does. It scares the shit out of me.
But he is who he is.
And I can’t take that away from him.
Logan calls me after my text. “You OK?” is all he says.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. Tyler was there.”
“Good. He owed me. He’ll stay there until I can come over myself.”
“Don’t rush your recovery because of me, Logan.”
“I’m fine. I can drive short distances. Maybe I’ll hit the road tomorrow.”
“Logan, please. You can’t.”
“I can, and I will.”
There’s no point arguing with him when he sets his mind to something. “Just...take it easy.” I get up off the beach towel, wanting to say this next thing away from Vera. “Tyler,” I say. “Was he here only because he owed you?”
“What do you mean?”
I look over at Vera on the towel, lower my voice. “Vera,” I say. “Is he...”
“She made it easier for him to take the deal, yes.”
Vera and Tyler talked at the barbecue, but that’s all they did. She was interested in him, very interested, but she thought he wasn’t. “I think Vera likes him,” I say.
“And he likes her. But he won’t make a move. She’ll have to make the first one.”
“Oh.”
“Tyler’s been through a lot, Ky. She shouldn’t make a move on him if she can’t foresee seconds.”
“And thirds?”
“And fourths.”
-3-
Jake never did reply to my text, or to the second one I sent, or the third. I texted him several times from Texas to see if he was interested in her, and when I called him, he squashed the call.
I haven’t brought him up with Vera since then. She doesn’t need to know.
~Twenty-Seven~
Logan
-1-
I’ve been on the road four days on what should be a two-day drive, but my leg is killing me. Jenny was pissed when I decided to leave so early, and I’m starting to see her point now. I’ve even developed a mild fever from all the pain.
She gave me painkillers, strong painkillers, but I haven’t taken one of them. Which is why the drive has probably taken me so long.
Painkillers of this force remind me of the shit that Morty brought to me in that brown paper bag, the shit which led to my mother’s death and to me and Ailee being separated. It wasn’t only weed and dope in there, but Ritalin (which has similar effects to cocaine when snorted) and prescription-only painkillers. Strong ones.
I know it’s ridiculous. I need these things to survive right now. But I am surviving. And so long as I can see the road I just can’t bring myself to numb the pain with this shit. Besides, pain doesn’t make me drowsy, and the label is quite clear about operating heavy machinery on this stuff. My new truck can definitely be classed as heavy machinery. A solid black chevy with tires the size of canyons. I got it for a steal because the engine was screwed but I fixed that up myself instead of hitting the college degree in my free time. I’m a hands-on man, and I always will be. I’d love to see one of those college grads fix a car.
It’s fortunate that I’m in a motel when the next call comes in, because if I had been driving I might have hit a tree (actually no, I wouldn’t, because I’ve learned my lesson about looking at my phone while driving.) I had decided already weeks ago that I wouldn’t contact Vito, because I wasn’t willing to throw a damn fight for him just because I was desperate.
But here he is, calling me, four years later.
-2-
“Debt Collector.”
“Last I recall, you still owe me money.”
“Sorry to hear about your accident.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“No, I really am. I’ve been following you for years. I’m surprised you are still around.”
“I’m a surprising guy.”
“It’s a pity you’re so good. I would have loved for you to fight for me again after a year or two. All sins can be forgiven.”
“Who says I’d come back to you?”
“Oh, Logan, everyone comes back to Vito eventually. Life is tough out there without a rich uncle to help you out.”
“I think your help was enough to last me a lifetime.”
He laughs, not caring what I say, just trying to keep things light and keep the bullshit coming because he obviously wants something from me.
“The great thing about the bookie, is he makes money on odds. You’d cream anyone in the Big Fights, and I’m well aware you’ll never throw one. So you were a bad investment for me once you became too talented for the Little League. People would bet on you, and you’d win, and the bookie would lose.”
“So you’re basically saying I’m too good for you?”
He chuckles loudly. “For me? No. But for my bank account, yes. I could never get better odds than two-to-one for you. Not with anyone. Not even with Kaiser. He was lucky to beat you in Nashville. I believe it was a girl?”
My hand tightens around the phone.
“Oh, Logan, don’t panic. I have no interest in the woman. I’m not that kind of man. I obtain favors through mutual benefits, old-school, not through threats.”
“What do you want, Vito?”
“What do I always want? A mutually beneficial...contract.”
“I’m not interested.”
“Oh, I think you might be.”
“I’m not.”
“Not even if it covers the remaining fees for your little sister, and gives you enough to start your stupid little gym down in Florida?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Why should I? She’s the reason you have survived so long, isn’t it?”
“I’m not interested in cutting deals with you, Vito.”
“Not even for fifty thousand dollars?”
I hesitate a second, but only a second. “No. I won’t throw any fights.”
“I’m not asking you to throw a fight.”
Pause.
“I want you to win a fight, my friend. I want you to win a fight...in your current condition.”
“What?”
“Your leg, I believe it’s...a problem.”
It’s a disaster. “My leg is fine.”
“Oh, no it isn’t. You broke the femur, and the tibia. From my estimates, you can probably barely walk. One shot to the leg might shatter it. And you likely have lost weight. If you were to be put in the cage now, the odds would be thirty-to-one, maybe even forty. And the opponent would know about your weakness.”
“A fool’s move.”
“Yes, yes, indeed. But let us say we waited a month. You’d still be in pain, the leg would still be a problem, a major problem, but it would be stronger. Not strong enough for a fight, of course. And no doctor in the world would OK you to fight. But that’s why these are called dogfights. We don’t care what doctors say, not even the lovely ones down in Texas. In a month, the odds would go down drastically, maybe fifteen-to-one at best. If it were anyone else, Logan, anyone else, I would say those odds would be correct. But you have something different about you. Foolishly, the fighting means something to you. You don’t just want to bash heads. You are doing it for someone else, someone you love. It affects your fighting. It keeps you going when there is no hope in the world of you winning. Mathematically, it would be fifteen-to-one. On the books, it would be fifteen-to-one, but factually, amongst us girls, it’s more like three-to-one...if you fought someone like Kaiser.”
“You want to give me a shot at Kaiser.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t make deals you’re not guaranteed to win with. You’ll have him throw the fight. I’m not interested in winning for show.”
“Really? Have you spoken to Kaiser? He never throws a fight. That Nazi-fuck is incorruptible.”
“So you’d be taking a risk.”
“No.”
“But I might lose.”
“You won’t lose.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because if you lose, my friend, you will likely be crippled for the rest of your life. And I won’t pay you a cent. Which means you lose everything. You lose Ailee’s education. You lose the girl in Florida. Everything.”
I’d lose too much. Much more than I’m willing to. “I think I’ll take my chances with the gym.”
“The gym will never make that much, not for a while at least. Be real, Logan. Rent is not cheap for the size you need to lease for that place, then there’s promotion, schmoozing. The first few years are the toughest on a new business.”
It’s still too much to lose. “I’m not interested.”
“And then, of course, there is the matter of...your green card.”
“What?”
“Ah, yes, an interesting affair, obtained so quickly, despite all that red tape. I pulled a favor for that one, Logan. A favor from a good friend, a very good friend. The type of friend who would gladly do me the reverse favor. And even if you were willing to lose your girl, which I don’t think you are, you’ll never make the money you need to in Europe. All those laws. They’re turning into the Gestapo over there. It’s hard to find fights, and the fights that exist there pay peanuts. I’ll give you a week, one week to decide. Or it’s bye-bye America.”
