Page 13 of Southie
The adrenaline continued to rush through me after my win. My hands twitched, wishing to connect with skin. Most of the time, after a match, winding down was easy, but the roar of the larger crowd echoed in my head. This was the biggest win of my amateur career, and by far the most memorable one.
The bastard went down in the first round by knockout. Jones tried to fight dirty, so I had a trick for him. When Gerald yelled for me to switch to southpaw, it threw Jones off just enough for me to catch his ass square in the jaw right after placing two hard hits to his ribs. When he lowered his hands to protect his side, that was all the opening I’d needed. He hit the mat and didn’t get up until the ref called the fight by knockout.
Jones went below the belt twice, and I knocked him flat on his ass two minutes and thirty-two seconds into the first round. I shouldn’t have let it get that far into the round, but he was the best fighter I’d gone up against in my years on the circuit. I wanted to see how good he was before I put him out of his misery.
Gerald congratulated me on my way out and handed me my cut of the purse. He told me I’d pissed off Chaney because I hadn’t done what he asked, but I wouldn’t dwell on it. The envelope was much thicker than the ones I had received in the past. It must have been because of the heavyweights in the VIP section tonight.
They were still a mystery to me because I hadn’t paid attention to anyone other than Dylan Jones, and after the fight when I emerged from the locker room to go home, they’d already left the VIP section.
I slid my earnings in my duffle bag and headed out the metal door after saying my goodbyes to Gerald and Douglas. I’d count my cut and Gerald’s percentage out once I made it home. I’d find out from Doug if I was on the fight card or not tomorrow night instead of waiting for Chaney to chew my ass out when I came down.
It didn’t matter what Chaney decided. My reputation and ranking had been on the line. If he told me not to come back, I’d go somewhere else to fight because my name was already out there, but that wouldn’t have been possible if I’d tarnished my record or reputation with a bullshit win.
The frigid air stung my face, causing my eyes to water after I left the warehouse. I sucked in the icy air, letting it open my lungs, and pushed it out through my nose, hoping to stifle the adrenaline that still coursed through my system from my win.
Thick layers of snow blanketed the parked cars on the sides of empty streets, on the rooftops of unoccupied buildings, and every other surface, turning the city of Boston into a winter wonderland.
The snow was calf deep. The gusting winds shifted the snow-covered branches of the trees that lined the streets, causing snow to drift down, adding to the already covered walkways. Only the clanks and hums of snowplows removing snow from the vacant streets sounded through the night sky as I made the arduous trek back to my parents’ home.
I pulled the collar of my leather bomber jacket up around my neck. The icy winds relentlessly pelted my clothing, and the constant stinging of the flakes of snow battering my face caused numbness to set in. I threw my duffle bag over my shoulder and shoved my free hand in the pocket of my blue jeans when the painful tingling sensations in my fingertips became unbearable. At least the weather hadn’t kept the crowd away.
I was usually one of the last ones to leave the venue because Chaney would want to hand me my winnings directly or make sure I still didn’t want to play with him and Charlie. Tonight, I didn’t have the care to wait around.
Rather than let them pull me down with their relentless harassment, I needed to get out sooner rather than later. I wanted to enjoy the high of my win. My priority tonight was to get back home and chill, smoke a blunt, and have a couple of beers before I had to get up for my early morning workout with Gerald. He’d put me through the wringer tomorrow because of some stupid mistakes I’d made tonight.
Music blaring through my headphones, I picked up my pace. If I didn’t hurry, I’d have to head to my grandmother’s. With the increasing snowfall, she’d curse me out if I showed up on her stoop this time of night.
I turned down the alley between a local Chinese restaurant and a coffee shop to cut some time down on my walk. It was freezing out here tonight and although I was from Boston, the clothes I wore did little to stave off the bone-chilling cold.
I emerged from the alley and made a left, continuing down the recently cleared sidewalk until two men blocked my path. I didn’t recognize either of them from around the neighborhood or the warehouse.
“Daugherty?” one man asked.
“Yeah, what’s it to you?” I asked, taking a step back.
Wariness crept into me at how close I’d allowed them to get. I observed my surroundings, but the heavy snowfall and frigid night air had forced me to drop my guard. Who’d be out in this weather? If I needed to fight these guys, creating some distance between us would be the only way to defend an attack.
Observing both men and gauging my situation, I took another half step away from them, trusting my gut. They both stood the same height, dressed in black designer suits, dress shoes, and long black wool peacoats.
I dropped my duffle bag onto the sidewalk in case I needed both hands free, and my posture opened so I could be ready.
There was no reason for respectful “businessmen” to be out in this weather, and I didn’t know any rich businessmen. Although dressed like businessmen, the glint from the butt of the chrome handgun visible in the waistband of one man’s dress slacks said something different.
They were fucking Paddy O’Connor’s boys, coming to collect on my Pops’ debt.
Fuck!
“Mr. O’Connor would like to speak with you,” one man said, motioning behind them, confirming what I suspected.
Over their shoulders, a large black SUV with tinted windows sat idling a few feet behind them. I looked back at the men. Although I forced my face to show no emotion, my adrenaline had picked up again and resentment engulfed me. My Pops was in some deep shit if Paddy came to visit me. He might already be dead.
“Tell Mr. O’Connor I’ll have his money tomorrow but right now, I can’t change my plans.” I picked up my bag and tried to walk around them.
The man who had been doing the talking placed the palm of his hand against my chest, preventing me from going on about my business.
Rubbing my neck, I looked down at his hand, and my nostrils flared. I understood they had a job to do, but one thing I didn’t like was someone in my space and putting their hands on me.
We made eye contact, and I lifted my brow at him, swiping my hand downward and removing his hand from my chest.
