10. The Past
The Past
TJ
“Gonna be a brutal one tonight.”
I rub my hands together over the fire. “Gotta love winters in New York.”
“One of my buddies didn’t make it last winter. We had that bad blizzard. He never met us back at the shelter. Died in the street and the snow just covered him. The plow wound up pushing his body all the way down to Times Square before someone found him.”
“Shit.”
Steve keeps talking, telling stories like he always does. He’s been homeless for ten years. Not exactly something to brag about, but when you’ve got nothing, you cling to anything to feel like you’ve got something.
In the year since Woods and I last spoke, I’ve been kicked out of three more foster homes. Expelled from two more schools. In and out of juvie. But once I turned eighteen … that was it. The revolving door stopped. There was only one place left for me to go.
Life’s been tough, but none of it compares to being homeless. This is rock bottom.
I’d go back to getting beat on by fatass Dave if I could. Crazy, isn’t it?
Homeless.
Not a word I thought I’d ever be associated with. Yet here I am, standing over a rusty old garbage can trying to keep warm. I’m even wearing a pair of fingerless gloves to complete my look.
“Hey, TJ. Let me introduce you to my friend. This is Bobby. He runs the underground fights here in the city.”
Bobby shoves him and Steve falls on his ass. “What the fuck, Steve? You can’t go runnin’ your mouth, tellin’ people about fighting.”
I stifle a laugh.
“Somethin’ funny to you, string bean?” Bobby walks over to where I’m standing and folds his arms over his chest. The dude is pretty muscular for someone who’s homeless. Wonder where he’s getting fed.
I shake my head. “Steve just broke the first rule of Fight Club.”
A slow smile stretches across Bobby’s face. “Kid’s got jokes. What’s your name, son?”
“Well, it’s not string bean. And I’m not your son. You can call me TJ.”
“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want to call you. Look at you, mouthin’ off to me like you know somethin’.” His arms spread wide. “Why don’t you show me what you know?”
“No, thanks,” I say, turning away from the fire. “I’m not interested in your little fight club.”
“You not interested in makin’ money?”
I stop and turn around. “Money?”
“What do you think we’re fightin’ for, string bean? Winner gets paid fifty perfect. I get the other fifty. Loser goes home empty-handed. Or in a body bag.”
“How much are you talking?”
“Don’t matter if you’re not interested in my little fight club.”
“I’m interested if I’m making money.”
“You only make money if you win.” Bobby touches his chin while he considers me. “From the looks of you, you ain’t winnin’.”
“You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. Then again, from the looks of you, you ain’t readin’.”
Bobby laughs, revealing several missing teeth. “All right, smartass. Come down to the ring tonight. Steve will take you. Show you how to get in. Then we’ll see if you make me any money.”
“Here are the rules,”Bobby shouts. “No weapons of any kind. If you get knocked out, or tap out, the fight is over. Other than that, anythin’ goes.”
This guy is seriously on a Brad Pitt power trip. Think he memorized the entire script from Fight Club?
It’s after midnight. Steve led me downtown to a building that’s under construction. Inside, we were escorted down a flight of stairs into the basement.
Roughly one hundred spectators stand around a makeshift octagon—metal barricades to separate the crowd from the fighters. Men in expensive suits with shiny watches shout over each other as everyone places their last-minute bets.
I need that money.
“Tonight, we got a newbie goin’ up against Destroyer.”
Destroyer? There’s no way in hell I’d go by a dumbass name like that.
The crowd boos as I climb over the barricade. I flip them off and they boo louder. I don’t need fans. Just need their cash.
My opponent jumps over the barricade and stalks toward me, fists raised in front of his face. He’s got about a buck fifty on me and at least six inches in height. I don’t know a damn thing about boxing, but I’ve been in enough fights to know when I’m going to lose.
Tonight, I’m definitely going to lose.
I’m not nervous though. I didn’t come here thinking I’d win. You don’t need to win a fight to prove yourself. All you need is heart. Tenacity. I’m underestimated because of my size, but what they don’t know is that I’ve got nothing to lose.
And that’s the most dangerous kind of person.
I last all three rounds with Destroyer. I got a few good shots in, but he pretty much rearranged my face. Totally get his nickname now. I think my jaw is broken.
But when he’s declared the winner, I’m still standing and ready for more. Random people in the crowd clap me on the back, and Bobby asks me to fight for him again.
“We need to beef you up, string bean.”
“Then I need to get fed,” I say.
“I’ll see what I can do about that.”