“Easy. You won’t die, and neither will I. Come at me again now—fast!” Mike yelled.
The brother did as he was told. Mike turned, putting him face down into the dirt with three quick but soft hits to the ribs.
“I’m going to let you up, but the next one is it,” Mike told him. “Now, take my leg when I come in again.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said the brother.
“When I put it out in front, grab it and put me on the ground.”
Mike stood up, pumping his fist in the air. Only the guards chanted.
“That’s good,” said Mike. “Only a few are okay with me killing you. The rest just may be on your side, after all. Now take it!” he said, stepping one leg close enough to be caught.
He took it, knocking Mike back onto the ground to cheers from the crowd.
“There they are. Those are your people… It’s time,” he added, circling his opponent and taking his back in a chokehold.
“Here we go,” said Mike. “Do just as I say. Claw at my hands, and kick your legs… Good! Another thirty seconds and I want you to go limp, like the dead. I mean, don’t move after that for anything.”
“Okay, I hope this works.”
“It’s our only shot. Just wait for my move and you will know as soon as I do if it worked. Slow your kicks and drop your hands. Wait…wait…now. Good. Now, on my mark, no more kicks… And now.”
Mike slowly lowered him to the ground, holding him for another minute to complete the performance. He got up slowly, pretending to be fatigued and stumbled back up the embankment towards the top. He hoped one of the brothers would be there to talk to him, but it was two guards.
“Good fight,” said the first one, with his rifle trained on him.
“Thanks. Are you Military?” asked Mike, sizing up his chances of taking the man’s rifle before being cuffed again.
“Nope,” said the guard. “I sold insurance a few weeks ago, and now I’m security. Hands behind your back.”
“Really?” Mike replied, without complying. “How about you?” he asked the other.
“Same here. Larkin and Larkin, your insurance specialists for auto, home, boats and bikes. You may have heard our commercials.”
“So, you’re brothers?” asked Mike.
“Yep. Sure are. Twins, to be exact—not identical of course.”
“I had one of those—a twin named Arthur. I feel like he’s with me right now, you know what I mean? I would do anything for him…anything.”
“Please put your hands behind your back,” the command was repeated.
Mike reached into his pocket for the knife he was surprised nobody had checked him for. He unlatched the small sheath with his thumb.
“Hands behind your back now!”
“Oh, sure thing, brother,” Mike replied, palming the three-inch blade. “Which Larkin are you?” he asked one of the twins.
“Oh, I’m Dave, and this here is...”
“Shut up, Dave,” his brother spat and took his eyes off Mike for a split second. Mike almost smiled as he grabbed his rifle and had the blade to his throat in two seconds.
“That just might be a record, Mr. Larkin. What do you think, Dave?”
“Uh…well… What do I do, Stanley?”
“Well now, Dave and Stanley Larkin. As I said before, I’m a twin but mine is dead. Would you like to be a twin, Dave, with no brother?”
“No! No, I would not.”
“Cuff Stanley’s hands behind his back right after you drop the rifle.”
“I’m not sure we’re supposed to...”
“Do it, you idiot!” yelled Stanley.
“He’s not very nice,” Mike said. “Are you sure you want to save him, Dave? I’ve been in the pit; one more guy makes no difference at all.”
“Yes, please don’t hurt him. I’ll do what you ask.”
“Good choice. Lay your rifle at my feet, zip tie his hands tight like mine were, and then go get the man in the pit.”
“But he’s dead! I can’t carry a dead man!”
“Is he? Tell him to meet us at his brothers’ tents. Now go!”
Mike watched as the crowd around them, of mostly men and children, began to scatter.
“Now,” said Mike. “Take me to the head guys—the other brothers.”
* * * *
Putting his blade back in his pocket, he led the man at gunpoint to the camp center.
“Where is it? Where are they?” Mike commanded.
“There, in those three tents over there,” Stanley replied with a nod, appearing a bit more cooperative than before.
“Who’s the lead?”
“I guess they all are,” he replied. “Everyone except the guy you were fighting.”
“This one,” Mike pointed to open the door as Stanley stepped inside the half-open front flap. Mike pushed his man through it, catching the first Gatelin brother off guard.
“What the hell?” he said, quickly realizing the situation.
“I got tired of the pit is all and figured I’d see what kind of man puts his brother in a dirty hole to fight a guy like me. You don’t seem too busted up about it.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, regaining his confidence. “He was always weak, that one.”
His two guards reached for their weapons, fumbling in their drunken stupor.
“Not quick enough, gentlemen,” said Mike, shoving Stanley towards them and putting the same blade to the brother’s neck. Mike could smell the whisky on their breath from where he stood. “Good whisky is to be sipped slowly after a win or a hard day, but it looks like you guys started a bit early today. I’ve got a rifle,” he continued. “Two, but any sudden moves and this knife will take a life. ‘Up close and personal,’ as they say.”
His man struggled against him in an apparent attempt at perceived defiance.
“You really should hold still,” said Mike nicking his neck with the sharp blade, drawing a trickle of blood down onto his shoulder.
The two women sitting on the far bench yelled at him. “You’re an animal; let him go!”
“You have no idea. Now let’s go and get your coward brothers for a little chat.”
“Tell your guys to drop their weapons. Rifles on the ground and magazines at my feet, and don’t forget to clear the chambers, boys. Pistols too. Pant legs up, each of you, and turn all the way around.”
“Do what he says!” the brother called out.
“Now, bend over real slow and pick up the magazines; you will be carrying them,” said Mike to his prisoner.
* * * *
Mike led the way, walking backward towards the other tents.
“Bring the other two,” called Mike to Stanley.
The other Gatelin brothers emerged from their tents, following their guards.
“Now, all weapons on the ground, magazines out, chambers cleared, including pistols!” shouted Mike. “Everyone, or he’s done,” he added, pushing the knife up against his neck, getting a scream out of his man.
“Here he is,” called out Dave, leading the oldest brother around the tent’s side.
“Back from the dead!” said Mike, getting a shocked look from his brothers.
“Round up your guys. You have five minutes.”
Mike knew the odds were against him if he waited too long. Just like going to Atlantic City back in the day, he thought. If you win right away, you’d be smart to leave because the longer you stay, the odds go up every minute that you will go home with nothing. However, this time going home with nothing was the only goal.
He asked the small group a series of cop-type questions, just trying to kill time. He was surprised nobody made a move. Yes, their weapons were on the ground, but if only a few of them had the guts, they could get the tables turned quickly.
“What do you want?” asked the man whose neck was pressed to Mike’s blade. What will it take for you to go back to your little group and hit the road?”
“What are you offering?” asked Mike. �
��And understand, this is a negotiation,” he added, just hoping to buy more time but always interested in what a man would offer in trade for his very life.
“Okay, that’s fair. I’ll start then,” said the brother, feeling a little cocky in his position. “You drop the knife, and we call this whole thing a draw. Maybe you get ruffed up just a bit, like a lesson to others, but you walk home and are gone by morning, to live another day.”
“That sounds interesting,” replied Mike, seeming to mull it over. “When you say roughed up, you just mean a few bumps and bruises, with no broken bones, right?”
“I think we can make that happen, and I’ll even throw in one of the ladies up for auction. Take your pick…as long as we have a deal, of course.”
“One of the ladies, you say? How many do you have to choose from?” Mike continued.
“Enough.”
“Are you a fighter?” asked Mike. “I mean, do you like it?”
“This is not about me, so it really doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does matter,” yelled the youngest brother, returning with fourteen men. “He’s never been in a fight in his whole life.”
“Really, never?” replied Mike. “What about your other two brothers?”
“Only three between both of them, and they lost two.”
“Is that so?” replied Mike, motioning for him and his men to retrieve the rifles and magazines.
“These are the men?” asked Mike. “The ones you trust with your life?”
“Yes, this is the crew.”
“All right, cowboy, it’s your show now,” said Mike, releasing his captive and shoving him to the ground. “I believe your brothers offered to rough me up just a bit before I leave. Do you think we could get the torches lit one last time tonight?”
“Now wait a minute! I wasn’t talking about that, and it’s not fair! You like to fight, I can tell. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”
“Three on one isn’t fair?” asked Mike. He was itching for a fight, like a dog might do trying to get the one spot he couldn’t reach. “I didn’t get to fight earlier, so what do you boys say?”
“The three of us against just you?” asked another brother.
“That’s what I said,” replied Mike.
“What do we get when we win?”
“If you win, you get to stay alive and leave this place tonight.”
“I don’t want any part of this,” said the third brother, who had been silent until now. “We’ll just leave.”
“Let’s take a vote on it,” replied Mike.
“Okay,” said the oldest brother. “All those in favor of us goin...”
“No, you don’t get to vote, and neither do I,” interjected Mike. “The women get the final say. Where are they?”
* * * *
“I’ll take you to them,” said one of the ladies who had remained silent thus far. They all walked to the other side of the camp, with Mike behind the brothers and the new security detail behind him.
She unzipped the front flap as the group moved towards the back, shielding their faces.
“It’s okay,” the woman said. “I have someone who wants to talk to you… Just talk, and that’s all. Right, mister?”
“That’s right,” said Mike, holding his hands in front of him like he would carry a large bowl.
“You’re okay, and I’m not here to hurt you. You have a choice. You can see the three of four Gatelin brothers leave tonight unharmed or see them fight in the pit like some of your husbands or boyfriends have done. What say you?”
It was quiet for a while, maybe a minute or two, with only one saying to leave. Nobody else spoke.
“They are all in custody,” Mike added, pulling one into the tent for only a second, getting a gasp from the women as they shirked farther back into the tent.
“They can’t hurt you anymore. So, what’s it going to be, ladies? Leave or fight in the pit?”
“Leave,” shouted one, with another yelling, “In the pit for those bastards!”
There were maybe fourteen or fifteen, by Mike’s calculations, and he knew some had their men with full bellies tonight scattered across the lake. The chant started slow and built to a roaring thunder: “In the pit! In the pit!”
“I hear you, and you will all be freed before the sun rises,” Mike replied.
* * * * * * *
Chapter Nine
Pueblo State Park
Pueblo, Colorado
Mike met back with the new leader for a private moment.
“They, your brothers, will meet me in the pit. Should they be victorious, you will banish them from this lake, never to return. The women will be set free tonight, and the men who traded some for freedom will be banished as well. My group will move out tomorrow regardless of tonight’s outcome, and you will be left to lead. No mistakes and no second chances. Am I clear?”
“You are.”
“Good. Have your men lead your brothers down to fight. No guns or any other weapons,” he added, handing the new leader his pocketknife. “I want this back; my brother gave it to me.”
* * * *
The torches were lit, and Mike walked the dirt trail down into the earth for the second time that night.
There were no drums this time, and only the torches showed something was off.
“Something is going on over there. Something different,” I told Joy.
“I hope Mike is okay,” she added.
Mike touched the new leader’s swollen eye before descending.
“You remember this if they come up alive. What I’m trying to give you tonight is a gift, and in this Next-World you only get one of those.”
* * * *
Mike slowly descended as the three met in confidence, like a football huddle.
“It’s not the plan, fellas; it’s the execution,” Mike said aloud, popping his knuckles.
He paused for a moment, bowing his head. “Lord,” he whispered, “watch over Sheila and Javi and those on both sides of this lake. I’m working my way towards you, zig-zagging all over, I know. These people need to not be afraid anymore. I hope you count this one as a zig…
“Shoot anyone who doesn’t fight!” he yelled up to the new guards, stealing a line from his last encounter.
“Let’s go, boys; I’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” called out Mike.
They came out of the huddle with a plan of sorts. The lead brother, with the mouth, came out swinging wildly, letting haymakers fly both left and right. Mike dodged these with ease, hardly trying. He let a couple land just to feel it.
“Your shots—they hit hard but too wide,” he said, driving one straight onto his chin and shaking his hand as the man fell. “Next, you fellas,” he said casually. Both came at him, screaming and grabbing at his arms. He fought them off, shaking one first and then the other. “So, you guys like to traffic women, I hear?”
“It’s just a business,” spat the lead brother, picking himself off the ground and wobbling like most of Tyson’s opponents over the years.
“This little business of yours is officially closed,” said Mike, hitting him harder than he could ever remember striking another man. This time he fell straightaway and didn’t make a sound.
“Oh my god! Is he…is he dead?” asked another, breathing heavy.
“That’s right,” said Mike. “Get mad, boys. Get your revenge!”
They came at him again, and this time he struck both at the same time, dropping them to the dirt.
“All right, I’m done,” said Mike, “unless you’re planning on getting up again?”
Neither man spoke through heavy breathing. Mike walked up the embankment to the waiting successor and his men.
“The rest is your choice,” Mike told him, walking past. “I’ll be back in the morning to talk to the group.”
* * * *
He walked away, back towards camp, wondering what his new leader would choose.
“Ready…aim…fire!” he heard faintly, followed by seven,
or maybe eight, shots.
“You’ve chosen well…that you have,” said Mike aloud.
It was after one in the morning when Mike reached the camp.
“You boys aren’t waiting up for me, are you?”
“It didn’t seem fair to be sleeping while you were out there doing the dirty work by yourself,” I said. Lonnie, Vlad and Jake nodded in agreement.
“There were a lot of shots,” said Mitch.
“Yes, that’s true,” replied Mike. “But the good news is we can move on tomorrow after a meeting with the new leader and his group. And Mitch, you can start fishing in the morning.”
“Really?” he said. “So, it’s okay now…I mean, are things truly different?”
“The snakes have lost their heads,” replied Mike. “The old regime has been removed from power. Now, I’m going to get some sleep. Just don’t tell me I’m on guard duty tonight.”
“Not tonight,” I said, smiling. “I’m out too,” I added, as everyone got up to leave the fire. With all of us minus Mike already completing our nightly guard duties, we headed to bed.
* * * *
Up at dawn, our camp was bustling with questions for Mike that he started to answer before announcing that any adult was welcome to join him at the meeting this morning across the lake, where he would answer all questions at once.
I took a four-wheeler, as did Vlad, and promised to get answers for Joy and everyone else staying behind. Lonnie insisted we go in fully strapped, “because you just never know,” he said.
* * * *
We arrived at the camp to cheers from many who recognized Mike. He was like a hero, with men and women both shaking his hand and hugging him.
“This checks Mike’s biggest fear box right there,” I said quietly to Vlad. To his credit, he let them touch him and cry on his shoulder for several minutes.
“Let’s get this group together for a quick meeting,” said Mike to the new leader.
Men, women and children gathered around, telling each other to shush so they could hear.
“This here,” started Mike, “is the last of the Gatelin brothers,” putting his arm on the man’s shoulder. “From what I have heard, he’s also the only good one of the bunch. As most of you know, the other three are no more.
Next World Series | Vol. 5 | Families First [Homecoming] Page 8
