On the Ropes (Down for the Count) (28 page)

Grabbing my helmet and keys, I head back out. I hop back on my bike and drive aimlessly through the streets looking for him. I stop and ask people who are standing on the street corners and maneuver my bike down alleyways in hopes I may find him, but he’s nowhere to be found. I wind up in the parking lot of TKO.
Why am I here? This is the last place I want to be. Fuck it!
I put the kickstand down and head in. There are only about a handful of people here and most of them are occupying the cardio equipment. “Hey, Saint!” Charlie, the gym manager, greets me. “Are you here to work out?”

“Yeah,” I say as I walk past him, not stopping to exchange pleasantries. The last thing I wanna do is pretend I give a rat’s ass about him or this fuckin’ place. All I wanna do right now is beat the shit out of a heavy bag.

With anger and fury I begin pounding blindly on the first bag I come to. By the time, I come back to reality and feel any pain; blood is running down my forearms. I’ve managed to split open several of my knuckles while hitting the bag. “Jesus Christ, Saint, are you alright?” Blaine’s voice comes out of nowhere. I was in such a zone that I didn’t even notice anyone else around. “Can someone get me a towel?!” Blaine yells.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I just got some shit going on right now,” I take off my shirt and wrap my right hand with it to soak up the blood.

“Let me see your hands,” he instructs with concern.

Wearily, I extend them out to him, cringing as he unwraps the shirt. “Christ,” he inspects my right hand closely, “I think you may have broken something and you’re definitely going to need stitches either way. We should get you to the hospital.”

I look down at my hands to see that my knuckles are swollen, the redness is quickly turning to a deep shade of purple, and the cuts are deep; almost to the bone.

“I’ll be fine,” I shrug it off.

“I’m not so sure about that,” a female voice joins our conversation.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell him Stacy,” Blaine insists.

“Let me take a look,” she takes Blaine’s place next to me as she raises her glasses to the top of her head. “We need to clean you up so I can see exactly how deep these cuts are. I don’t believe we’ve actually met yet,” she looks up at me.

“No, we haven’t.”

“I’m Stacy, one of the athletic trainers.”

Stacy appears to be in her mid to late thirties. She stands about five feet seven and her dark brown hair is cut short. She’s very attractive and in great shape for her age.

“Saint, and the cuts are only superficial,” I try to convince them.

“Let’s go into the locker room so we can clean them out,” Blaine suggests, moving towards the locker room.

“You guys are totally overreacting,” I shake my head.

“Saint, Blaine, I’ll meet you guys in the locker room. I’m going to get a first aid kit,” Stacy heads over to the athletic training room.

Blaine wraps my hand back up in my shirt, and we walk to the locker room.

“This is going to hurt,” he looks at me as he turns the water on in one of the sinks.

“I’ll be fine,” I respond nonchalantly. I know it’s going to hurt like a bitch, and I’m positive I’ve broken something, especially in my right hand. But, there is no way in hell I’m ever going to let Blaine or anyone else know.

As I stick my hand under the hot water I want nothing more than to let out a scream, but I hold it in, biting my lip in pain. Blaine looks at me, trying to read my face. But my face remains still, not revealing anything. “You alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine.” The water in the sink has turned red, and the cuts on my knuckles are still gushing blood.

“What the hell were you thinking by not putting gloves on?” he shakes his head at me.

“I had a rough morning.” I feel no need to explain myself, to him of all people.

“I can see that,” he lets out a small laugh.

“How’s it looking?” Stacy asks as she enters the locker room.

“Doesn’t look too good, Stacy. I’m pretty sure he should go to the hospital.”

She looks over my shoulder, “I agree.”

“I’m not going to the hospital,” I’m getting aggravated.

“You wanna fight again?” Stacy asks.

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“Then you need x-rays of your hands, especially the right one. Can you extend your fingers at all?”

I clench my left hand and then open it. “Yes.”

“And your right one?” she gives me a look, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

I slowly try to extend the fingers of my right hand and flinch in pain.

“Well the answer to my question is ‘No,’” Stacy nods her head in confirmation. She finishes cleaning up my hands, applying butterfly strips over the gashes, and wraps them in gauze.

“Here, take these,” Blaine offers me two pills.

“What are they?”

“They’re Percs. They’ll help with the pain.”

“Percs?” I raise my eyebrow.

“Percocet. It’s a painkiller,” he explains.

“Nah, man. I’m good.” I know what Percocets are, and I’ve seen what they can do to fighters when they become addicted. First, the pills ease your aches and pains, and you find yourself feeling great on them. But then that great feeling wears off, and you take another one, and another. Before you know it, you find yourself needing them. I’d much rather deal with the pain.

“You sure? You won’t feel a thing in about thirty minutes, I promise.”

I ignore Blaine’s last comment. Sitting on the bench in the locker room, my hands throbbing so badly I can barely open them, I realize that I have no way to get back to Frankie’s. I rode my bike here and with the pain I’m experiencing in my right hand; there’s no way I can hold the throttle. Frankie is going to kill me when he sees my hands. “Blaine, is there any chance you can drop me off at Frankie’s? I rode my bike here and well…” I hold my hands out.

“Absolutely, just let me know when you want to leave.”

“I gotta be there around two fifteen.”

He looks down at his watch. “We can leave here in about twenty, if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine,” I stand up. “If you don’t mind, I’ll meet you outside. I need some air.”

“Oh sure, my car is in the parking lot.”

I walk around the parking lot waiting for him, trying to come up with a good enough explanation for Frankie about my hands. Telling him about Salem and Jase is not going to be good enough. Actually, nothing is going to be good enough. What I did was fucking stupid and could possibly end my career before it really starts, depending on the damage I’ve caused.

Blaine hollers across the lot, “You all set to go?”

“Yeah,” I turn in his direction.

I walk over to his car and look down at the handle. “Any chance you can get this for me?”

“Of course,” he quickly makes his way around to my side of the car to open the door for me. Once I’m in, he shuts it.

“I just want to thank you for the other night,” he mentions as he gets into the driver’s side.

“Thank me?”

“Yeah, about Salem and Shikago’s. Clifton, the bouncer, told me what happened outside.”

“Oh yeah, not a problem,” I play it off.

“Clifton said she was out of her mind; yelling, crying and making a scene.”

“She was pretty upset. I tried to calm her down the best I could, and I signaled to him to let you know. I figured if she was able to see the club and see that you weren’t there, she’d just leave.”

“That was a great idea, and it worked,” he smiles at me. “I only have one question though. Where did you guys go after the club?” his eyes narrow in on mine.

“We just drove around. Like I said, she was pretty upset. Driving always relaxes me, so I figured maybe it would help her too.” I watch him as he drives, studying his body movements and facial expressions, trying to read him.

He keeps his eyes on the road, nodding his head at my response.

“So, you and… Little Bo Peep? What’s her name again?” I change the subject. No need for him to find out any more about where we were or that she was with me most of the day yesterday and all of last night.

“Sydney,” he smiles.

“That’s it, Sydney. Obviously, Salem knows nothing about you two.”

“No, she doesn’t, and I’m hoping it stays that way,” he turns to look at me.

“I’m not gonna say a word. The last thing I need is someone else’s relationship drama.”

“Well that’s good to know,” he sounds relieved. “She and I have had a thing for about six months now. She gives me what Salem doesn’t.”

“Oh?” He’s now peaked my interest. I’d love to know what Salem is like sexually. He’s obviously not going to tell me, but it’s certainly worth a try.

“Sydney is much more…” he stops to think for a moment. “How shall I put this? Uninhibited is probably the right word to use.”

“Uninhibited? So, she’s a freak in the sheets?”

Blaine laughs, “In the sheets, in the club, up against the wall, in the car. You name it; we’ve done it there.”

“And Salem has no clue?”

“Nope, I get the best of both worlds. Salem’s love and affection when I want it and Sydney’s freakish tendencies when I want them.”

I know he’s a douchebag, but that statement just put him into an entirely new category. “And if you get caught?”

“Not gonna happen,” a smug smile appears across his face.

I nod my head. God, I want to punch that smug smile off his face. “Well, you had a pretty close call Saturday night.”

“She would’ve never gotten in. I know both the guys at the door.”
He’s so arrogant.

“Well, I hope for your sake that day never comes.”

“I can’t see why it would. Sydney’s not the first and…” he stops there. “Don’t get me wrong, Saint. I love Salem. I really do. She’s a great woman, and someday she’ll be my wife.”

I grit my teeth at his words. For him even to use the words “wife” and “Salem” in the same sentence makes my blood boil.

He continues, “But I have needs. Needs that she doesn’t meet for me and nor do I expect her to. I don’t want my future wife and the mother of my children to be a freak.”

I remain silent.

“This conversation will stay just between us, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

“Good. Salem is my future and nothing and no one will ruin that for me,” his voice becomes very icy.

I’m not sure if this is his way of threatening me. But, I’m pretty sure I can kick his ass from here until next Tuesday, so I’m not at all worried.

“Well, I’m glad I was able to explain what happened on Saturday night and I’m sorry you weren’t able to enjoy yourself. I did notice Kitten took quite a liking to you.”

“No worries. I probably should’ve just stayed in anyways; I was beat from training and the fight.”

“Well, we’ll definitely have to take you there again, and I’ll make sure Kitten takes very good care of you,” he laughs as he slaps my knee.

Pretending I think he’s funny, I laugh along with him, rolling my eyes as I stare out the passenger’s side window.

As we pull up in front of Frankie’s gym, my stomach begins to turn. I’m thinking about the fact that I’m in for the lecture of a lifetime when I notice a police cruiser parked next to Frankie’s car. “Thanks for the ride,” I say as I get out of the car, then shut the door, and hurry into the gym.

I’m so focused on worrying about what may have happened that I’m instantly relieved when I enter the gym and see Frankie talking to the cops.
Oh, thank God, he’s okay.

“Here he comes, now,” Frankie looks in my direction.

I smile across the gym when I realize it’s Officers George Williams and Juan Diaz. Both of them are beat police from the neighborhood, and they’re pretty decent guys. They’re part of the community policing project that was created to bring the community and the police force together. The project’s main focus is to make sure the business owners feel safe and that the kids in the neighborhood see the police as positive role models instead of a negative image.

“Gabriel, these officers would like to talk to you,” Frankie waves me over.

“Sure, about what?”

“Hey, Saint,” Juan smiles, “great fight the other night.”

“Thanks, you were there?”

“Of course,” he pretends to punch me in the shoulder.

“Do you mind going into Frankie’s office?” Officer Williams asks with a somber voice.

I prefer to get this over with right here. “What’s up?”

“When’s the last time you saw Jason Vega?”

My head drops and I begin to shake it, “I just saw him this morning. Is he okay?”

“We had several calls this morning about break-ins in the area. We were out patrolling and saw a house with the front door wide open. We approached and called out, identifying ourselves. He came barreling at us, and we tried to stop him, but he ran. Once we caught him, he didn’t go down easy I may add,” Juan chimes in, “we frisked him and his pockets were lined with prescription drugs; none of which belonged to him. When we finally got his name out of him, we ran it. That’s when we found out he had a warrant.”

“Jesus Christ, Jase,” I mutter.

“We have him in custody. He’s in pretty bad shape, man.”

“How did you know he’s my brother?”

“Once we tackled him to the ground, he began screaming your name.”

“Can I see him?”

Frankie interrupts, “Gabriel, I’m gonna call Judge Ferriter. We’ll get everything straightened out. Don’t worry, kid.” He pats my back as he walks past me and into his office.

I let out a huge sigh, “Okay… and thanks, Frankie.”

“No problem.”

I thank both officers for the heads up and take a seat as they leave. Less than five minutes later, Frankie rushes out of his office with his car keys in his hand. “Joe is going to meet us at the precinct.”

I stand. “Who?”

“Judge Ferriter,” he walks by me and towards the front door.

“Oh.” In all these years, I’ve never known Judge Ferriter’s first name.

“Why are you just standing there? Let’s go, kid.”

I quickly follow Frankie to his car and stand by the passenger’s side door. “Will you get in?” he snaps at me.

I hold up my hands, finally revealing them to him. “For Christ’s sake, Gabriel! What the fuck did you do? Are you hell-bent on ruining your career?” he looks at me with disgust.