Page 69 of Whiskey Run Heroes

I shake my head. I probably should be worried, but I’m not. It’s like I’m jonesing to get out there. “The fight before you is over. They’re waiting on us,” Toby says.

“Which one’s Mason?” I ask, tipping my head to the men in the other corners.

“He’s already out there.”

When I stand up, the doc pats me down to make sure I don’t have any weapons. I thank him and head out to the ring. They’ve already announced The Machine, and he’s standing in the ring, dancing around on the balls of his feet, pointing at the crowd. He has on red shiny shorts with a matching robe. He’s big and is trying to look mean by the way he keeps growling and hitting his chest.

I walk into the ring in my cut-off army fatigues and take note of the man I’m about to fight. Just by watching him bounce around I can tell what kind of fighter he’s going to be. He’s here for the show. He’s probably fought his way through all the amateur underground fighters and thinks this is going to be an easy win since he’s won all the other ones.

The referee brings us to the middle of the ring and goes over the rules. Nothing dirty, but all else goes. There are so many ways to interpret it, but I'm not going to question it. It’s a ten count on the mat, and the other man wins. We both nod, and when I go to fist-bump my opponent, he snarls instead. But I’m not surprised.

The bell rings, and I stand in place as “The Machine” dances around me. He swings once, and his fist connects with my cheek. One hit. I always let them get one hit. He dances some more and swings, but I dodge this one. He swings again, and I dodge that one. The crowd starts to laugh, and that’s when he loses his cool. He runs for me, and I rear back and punch him once in the face. He falls flat on his back and is out cold. The referee dives to the mat beside him and counts to ten. As soon as the match is over and I’m announced as the winner, I walk out of the ring. Some people are cheering, and some are booing, no doubt having expected more of a show.

Toby is right next to me when I get in the back. Doc starts untaping me, and I’m barely even breathing hard.

“Really? One punch?”

“I let him hit me,” I tell him as if that explains things.

Toby’s shaking his head. “You don’t understand. This guy is a sore loser. He won’t like being humiliated.”

I shrug and flinch as the doctor is cleaning up the cut on my face. “Most people don’t.”

Toby throws his hands in the air in frustration. You would think he’d be happy I won. “You couldn’t have made it last longer?”

I thank the doc when he’s done and reach for my shirt still hanging on the hook. “Nope. I didn’t like him.”

Toby snorts. “Really?”

He brings a wad of cash out of his pocket. “Here you go. You sure you don’t want to go another, double or nothing?”

“I’m sure. Thanks for getting me in, Toby.”

I start to walk away, and he stops me. “So you feel better now?”

When I called him, I told him I needed to let off some steam, which was the truth, but do I feel better? No, not really. That pit in the center of my stomach is still there... like something’smissing. But I’m not going to tell him that. As soon as I get back into action, back on the job, it will be gone. “Yeah, I feel better.”

He holds up his part of the winnings with a big smile. “Yeah, me too.”

I shake my head just as I get shoulder checked by The Machine. He must have gained consciousness since I’d been in the back room. He’s staring at me and obviously mad about how badly he got beaten. Probably embarrassed too. I nod at him. As it goes with most things, sore losers will be sore for a few days and then they’ll get over it.

“See you around, Toby,” I call over my shoulder and walk out the door. The sound is deafening as the crowd screams at the next fight that is happening.

When I walk out the door into the dark alley, it hits me. Silence. I can actually hear myself think. The feeling I usually have after a fight isn’t there. I feel good, but I don’t feel at peace. I could go to a bar, have a few drinks. I could pick up a woman, but even that doesn’t interest me right now. I need out of this fog I’m in. What I need is a mission; that always calms my mind.

4

KALI

The cellphone ringing brings me out of my autopilot state, and I swerve a little bit on the freeway. I don’t know how the hell I haven’t crashed when I allowed myself to check out like that. I pick up the phone and see my sister’s name on the caller ID.

I want to answer it so badly. Tears spring to my eyes because I want to tell Anna what’s going on, but that would be doing what Miles’s twin brother wants me to do: draw out the others so he can get at them. No, I can’t rely on my family or let them know what’s happening. I’m not going to put them in danger.

I silence the phone and notice that my gas reading tells me that I’m almost on empty—again. It will be the third time I’m filling up since I started my escape from Los Angeles. I take the next exit and use the last of my cash I have since I withdrew it at an ATM somewhere in Arizona.

Where am I, anyway?

I use the gas station restroom to wash my face and try to revive my tired, weary eyes. According to my watch, I’ve been driving for twelve hours. Somehow, I still feel like I’m not nearly far enough away.

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