Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
October, Denver
It made Pilot antsy to wait for three other fights to finish before his own card could start, but when he finally entered the ring, he wanted nothing more than to take the other guy down.
He didn't know his opponent and it didn't matter.
Once the preliminaries were out of the way, Pilot jumped on the guy.
Their stats matched up equally, much better than his last fight.
They exchanged a few blows and a few holds that the other broke out of relatively easily.
Indeed, the fight would be close, but Pilot would still put the man down.
Pilot needed to get the violence out of his system, and he also needed the money.
His cut would be bigger for winning, so he intended to do just that.
Deep into the second round, both fighters had worked up a sweat, but neither showed signs of weakening. Pilot managed to slam his elbow into the guy's gut a few times, but the dude didn’t give in. Yet.
In his peripheral vision, Pilot caught odd movements of the crowd, something going down around him, and he lost his focus, shifting toward the audience.
That never happened, but the other fighter took advantage of it and clocked him in the head.
Pilot staggered back and shook it off. Then he roared.
He jumped toward his opponent like a spider monkey on crack.
This guy had to go down. He wrapped his foot around the guy's ankle to pull him off of his feet, but before the guy fell, others jumped in the ring and grabbed him, pulling him back away from his rival.
Pilot's blood surged through his veins, driving him on.
He lunged forward and kicked, the top of his foot connecting with soft stomach just below the guy's ribs.
Voices around him screamed and yelled. Arms grabbed at him.
Pilot yanked away, needing to go after his challenger again, but the man had been pulled out of reach and men in black uniforms surrounded him.
Pilot stopped and spit out his mouth guard.
The black and grey plastic hit the mat and bounced. “What the fuck?” he snarled.
Amateur fight clubs were not illegal. Betting on them was, but the fighters weren't involved in that. Not really. They just came to fight. Being manhandled by cops was not a part of the package, but that's what they did.
They yanked at Pilot's arms, and it took three of them, but the cuffs clinked into place, cinching behind his back. “Really? What the hell?” They shoved him around to face another cop against the side of the cage with his head tilted back, grabbing his nose.
“You have the right to remain silent,” one of them started reading his rights.
“What? What for? What'd I do?”
“Sir, you're being arrested for assaulting an officer. Now, again, you have the right to remain silent.” This from an older man, obviously telling him to shut up.
“Fu—” Pilot groaned. It finally started registering in his brain.
He'd been so hyped up on adrenaline that he'd barely noticed elbowing the guy.
His elbow started throbbing, now that he thought about it.
He sure as hell hadn't meant to hit the guy.
He'd never hit someone that didn't deserve it, but what the hell?
They came in behind him in the middle of a fight.
“This is just bullshit,” he muttered, garnering another glare from the older cop.
Taking the hint, Pilot shut up and let them take him out of the cage.
The other fighter pulled track pants on over his fighting shorts.
“Can I get my sweats, man?” Pilot asked, but the cops ignored him.
His opponent didn't look like he was being arrested, which just pissed Pilot off more. He wondered if he’d just lost his payment for the match.
The day had just turned to serious shit.
The cops tucked him, half naked, into the back of a cruiser and hauled him down to the tall glass fronted, gray building that passed as the police station on 46th.
Orange paint desecrated the walls of the lower levels and stood out in the night, lit by spotlights.
The cruiser circled around to the back where the paint job appeared a bit more non-descript.
The officer pulled him out of the car and shoved him toward a big steel door.
It took a long time to get him booked, fingerprinted, and sitting down in front of a phone.
Pilot didn’t worry too much about it. He called Uncle Gary.
The man had connections and lawyer friends and Pilot was pretty sure it would all go away, but so would the fighting.
No way would he be able to keep it up now, after having to be bailed out.
They brought Booker in while he waited for Uncle Gary. He gave Pilot a quick nod. “It's all good,” he drawled.
Pilot opened his mouth to say something, but Booker shook his head.
They couldn’t really say anything there in the middle of the police station.
He'd have to wait and see about the money, but regardless, Pilot knew the fighting had come to a screeching halt. Gary would make him promise and he’d never break that kind of promise. Not to Gary, anyway.
A few hours later, Uncle Gary showed up to get him with the bail paid. “So, where's your car?” The pit of his stomach felt hollow.
He'd parked at the share ride and took the transit into town, so Gary pointed his old pick up in that direction without much conversation. Before they got there, he cleared his throat. “This shit has to stop, Sean.”
The tone of his voice made him sure Gary was more pissed off than he thought. “Yes, sir.”
“Don't sir, me. This is not the kind of trouble you need. Johnny is going to kick your ass.” That was too true. “This is going to cost you more than you made at the fight, boy.” That hole in his stomach rolled with acid.
“Yes, sir.” He'd screwed up, but really it wasn't his fault. He was trying to do the right thing, or at least he had been trying to do something.
“Plus, you didn't need that extra money anyway. Johnny takes care of your finances, Sean. Damn. Plus, you have a big gig coming up.”
“Supercross isn't until January.”
“Wrong again.” He shook his head a little and bit his lip, as he pulled up beside Pilot's mustang.
Pilot could have bought a better car, but he didn’t really need one. His baby still ran and he only used it for running around town. Why pay out extra for something he didn't need. Johnny didn't even have a car.
Pilot opened the door of the truck and stepped out.
The night chill bit him to the bone, still dressed in nothing but his fighting shorts.
Uncle Gary hadn't brought him anything and he had no idea what happened to his bag.
He could only be grateful that he'd left his gun in the car for once, safely locked in the truck.
“Hey!” Uncle Gary got his attention. “Did you hear me?”
“Sorry, I'm tired.” He tried to smile, but only grinned weakly.
“Listen. There's a Supercross special event coming up at the end of next week. Apex wants you there. So? You going to do another fight and go to jail or look out for your boy? You can't do that if you're in freakin' jail, Sean.”
His boy? Oh! He meant McAllister. Yeah, that was important and lucrative. “Yeah, you know I'm in. Thanks, Uncle. I'm done with the fighting, okay?” He knew he didn’t have a choice about that anymore anyway, and Gary hadn’t been kidding when he said Johnny would kick his ass.
“Promise?”
Pilot knew that would be a requirement, and he supposed he was ready for it. He had to be, but he still felt like he’d just lost something important in his life. “Yeah. Promise.”
“Okay. Go home and get some rest. I'll take care of it.” Pilot had no doubt that he would. He wondered again how he'd been so lucky to have Uncle Gary on his side. And Johnny, who was going to kill him.
Pilot knew quitting was the right thing, but he had no idea how to move forward without the fights grounding him and giving him the release he so desperately needed.