Page 58 of If You Fight

Chapter Eighteen

Ryder

During the day, the warehouse seemed devoid of the ugliness that it routinely saw at night when fights were held there. Sure, it looked just as bad with the broken glass and concrete lying all over, but until Serena mentioned that, I had never noticed those things. Or maybe I had back when I first came to the warehouse and I’d been there so many times since that they didn’t even register anymore.

I made my way toward the back to a room where Floyd sometimes spent time in the afternoons, if he wasn’t out finding fighters. I saw nobody as I walked through the main room that functioned as The Pit at fight time, but in the distance I heard what sounded like Floyd’s old AM/FM radio he liked to listen to sports talk radio on. It always sounded more like static intermittently interrupted by someone talking, but he refused to give in and buy something from this century to listen to.

Sometimes when I lived at the warehouse, I’d sneak in at night and take the radio back to my room so I had something besides the sound of my own breathing and my thoughts to listen to as I fell asleep. It wasn’t much, but even static made me feel like I wasn’t completely alone in that big building.

Then in the morning, I’d make sure to return it to his makeshift office before he arrived so he didn’t think I’d stolen it. Floyd and I weren’t exactly great friends back then, but I knew better than to piss him off by taking that damn radio.

I peeked my head around the doorframe to see him sitting hunched over in the old office chair he’d had before I met him. The frayed fabric seat routinely seemed to possess a mind of its own, so when he sat down in it, sometimes he flailed around for a moment before getting his balance. It was funny to watch because he looked like a first timer on a pair of ice skates, and sometimes he landed on his ass flat on the floor.

“Hey, Floyd, what’s up?” I asked, interrupting him as he listened to some guy talk about the Raptors and their shitty season so far.

He popped his head up from next to the radio and smiled. “Ryder, what are you doing here? I figured you’d be resting today back at Mr. Erickson’s estate. You still live there, right?”

I took a few steps into the room and stopped at his question. “Yeah. Why?”

Turning the knob on his radio, he lowered the sound just enough that all that came out of that dirty little white box was static and carefully spun around in his chair to face me. “No reason. He was none too pleased last night, so I wasn’t sure if he lowered the boom on you and sent you packing.”

I’d escaped Robert’s wrath after the fight, and I hadn’t seen him since. That meant that when I did see him when I got back to the estate, I better be ready because he’d likely be pissed.

Floyd didn’t need to know any of that, though, so I brushed off his worry and smiled. “No, I’m still there. I imagine he has more fights planned for me, so why send away your gold mine, right?”

Chuckling, Floyd lost his balance as the chair took control and nearly tossed him onto the floor. Flailing his arms, he grabbed onto the old desk, sending the calendar from 2003 he’d never replaced skidding across the top, but finally steadied himself.

“You nearly made me fall out of my chair, son. Be careful how you talk about Robert Erickson around here. These days, he’s the only show in town. Make him angry and you’ll find yourself frozen out, gold mine or not.”

I pretended not to care about Robert’s overwhelming power in the local fight scene and shrugged. “I think you need to be careful of that chair, Floyd. That thing is going to kill you one of these days. You’ll get bucked off and crack your damn head against that desk. And speaking of being careful, what was with the music last night? We used to have to keep the lights low so the cops wouldn’t know what was going on here, and now the fighters get theme music?”

“Not anymore. Hell, Robert Erickson has the cops in his back pocket, so now he wants a little more show. I thought Aerosmith’s Back in the Saddle seemed right for you. Did you like it?”

“I guess,” I said, not sure how I felt about this new policy. The fights didn’t need any help with the show part. They were already more circus than sport.

He looked around toward the desk like he was assessing the damage it could do if his chair decided to throw him and then turned back to face me. “No kidding, Ryder. I don’t know about the other parts of your life, but in fighting, Erickson’s the only show in town.”

“About that,” I said, hesitating for a moment, unsure I could trust Floyd.

It didn’t matter, though. I needed to take the chance that I could if I ever wanted to make enough money to take care of Serena and the baby away from her father’s estate.

“I want to fight more, and I was hoping you’d be able to find me some matches.” I stopped and then added, “And I wouldn’t want the boss to know about it. This would be between you and me.”

He stared at me for a moment like he didn’t understand the words I’d said, and then he slowly leaned back in his chair. When he knew it wouldn’t throw him off, he answered, “Didn’t you just hear me? Robert Erickson controls the fight circuit here. No if, ands, or buts about it. And don’t even get me started on the between you and me business. If he found out I was arranging fights on my own for you, he’d have my head.”

I understood Floyd’s fear of Robert, but I couldn’t let that stand in my way. I needed to convince him if I ever wanted to make enough money.

“There’s got to be somewhere else I can fight, Floyd. You know about the fight scene for a hundred miles each way. There’s got to be something. I need to make money and a lot of it. You’d be making out on the deal too, though.”

He sighed and blew the air out of his lungs slowly. “This has to do with that girl, doesn’t it? Erickson’s daughter. Jesus H. Christ, Ryder, do you know what you’ve gotten yourself into?”

I knew all too well what I’d gotten myself into, good and bad. Nodding, I tried to get Floyd to focus on the fighting and leave the rest of it to me.

“I can travel. You say where and I’ll be there. Come on. You know people. I know you do. And they can’t all have Erickson’s hand around their throats.”

“Why don’t you just ask your girlfriend for the money? As his daughter, she’s got to be able to get her hands on all the money you two could need. She probably has a trust fund or something like that. All rich kids do, don’t they?”

Shaking my head, I said, “No, she can’t. It’s got to be me.”

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