by Nikki Wild
“So, how long are you going to be down?”
“The rest of the summer.”
“Cool. What are you planning to do with yourself?”
“I haven’t quite decided,” I answered. It was true – the options were wide open in a place like this. “Does Luke still have New Horizons?”
“Barely,” Darren laughed. “I don’t know how he’s held onto it as long as he has…when we left, I wasn’t sure he could keep the old cage together. We almost bet some money on that, remember? I’d be buying you beers all summer!”
“Yeah, I remember,” I smiled. “Glad the place is still around. Summer’s a long time out of the cage. Thought I might get into a few little scuffles while I’m in town…keep up appearances. You know how it goes.”
“Aw, hell yeah!” Darren smacked the bottle down hard on the table. I flinched, expecting the glass to shatter under the force of his movements, but it somehow held together. The drinkers at the next few tables glared over at us, but Darren didn’t seem to notice. “Just like the old times!”
I chuckled at his enthusiasm. I thought back to how quickly he and I had become friends, or how he’d helped pick me up last time I’d come to Pensacola… I’d counted on this man once, and I knew he’d do me right now that I was back.
“That’s right, man. Just like the old times.”
Eleven
Saffron
Pensacola, Present Day
Enough was enough. I was tired of moping around our luxury villa, trying to keep out of his way. Sawyer clearly didn’t want anything to do with me, and I was going to find out why. I knew he would never explain himself without some prodding, so I did the next best thing.
I followed him.
You see, there was a small, white plastic box that dangled from my keys. It was a GPS tagger that allowed me to easily find them from an app on my iPhone. The way the device worked was to lead me to the general area from my phone, so long as I had a decent Wi-Fi connection, and then beep loudly when I request local discovery. It was a handy little white box, very small and easily forgotten. Attaching it to his Suzuki while he took a mid-afternoon nap on the couch was no trouble at all.
I tested it on the phone, and sure enough, I got a fairly accurate reading from the app. This gave me everything I needed to finally see what my darling stepbrother was up to. Maybe I’d even figure out why I was being forced to spend the summer holed up with him.
Even then, I knew that it was a tremendous breach of trust, but I was so furious with him that I gleefully ignored the consequences. When he left at night, I would occasionally check up on him, forcing my eagerness deep down so that I could concentrate on other, more important things, such as reading, shopping, or occasionally going out to see a movie by myself.
To my surprise, it seemed like he just drove around like a maniac. He’d hop on the interstate going one way, drive that direction for thirty minutes, and then whip around and do the same thing the other way. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it. Once, he drove over the state line and kept going, then just stopped somewhere. It was hard to pinpoint exactly what he was doing, because the cell reception out there was pretty weak, but it stopped tracking him near an interstate exit with a pair of motels. I assumed he was just stopping for the night, although I was afraid that he’d never come back.
The next day, I checked the app a few times. He hadn’t gone anywhere since then, and after lunchtime he was on his way back. Sure enough, he turned up an hour or two later, acting as if nothing had happened.
I wanted to mischievously jab at him. Out all night with a woman? I would have asked. But I was too afraid of him to say anything of the sort, and I stayed out of his way. When he came back through the door, he made no effort to find me or check up on me, so I continued going about my business.
But watching my stepbrother leave the city and maintain an average speed of 80 miles per hour at all times grew weary, so I dedicated my efforts elsewhere. Mostly, this went back to shopping and reading, although there’s only so much shopping you can do when you’re miserable, and the endless reading was finally growing tiresome.
One night, I decided to mix things up a little…and I finally visited one of the nearby clubs.
Club Selene looked like your regular beachside hotspot. With a darkened view of the ocean through staggered floor-to-ceiling windows, plenty of mood lighting, and a stunning bar area with a veritable fleet of liquors, it was my immediate choice for a night out by myself. The dance floor wasn’t too bad either – the local DJ was blaring the usual EDM fare, although scoping the place out showed me that this disc jockey seemed to actually know how to work with a crowd. Plenty of mid-twenties-somethings were grinding and dancing on the floor when I fought my way to the bar, taking a seat at an open spot and patiently waiting on the bartenders.
I must have looked like I had money, because some tanned, sunglasses-at-night asshole was at my side in record time.
“Ayy bae, how you doin’ tonight?” He flashed the kind of white teeth I expect that you get from swishing bleach 24/7.
“Don’t call me bae, you don’t even know me.”
I sighed, glancing over at one of the staff. The three bartenders were accounted for, taking drink orders from small pools of guests. The vapid flock of self-entitlement clung to the wooden surface like packs of piranha, slathered in not scales but designer clothes – instead of biting and pecking, they shouted and squealed.
It was disgusting. I briefly locked eyes with one of them, standing away from the crowd, and she shrugged knowingly with me.
“Yo, you gonna let me buy you a drink or what?”
I’d almost forgotten about the loser bothering me. “No, I’m good, thank you…I think I can manage my own drink.”
“Pfft…fine, bitch.” He wandered back through the nearest throng. To my lack of amusement, he was greeted like a king, raising his arms to a chorus of cheers and merriment.
“Broskie!” Some frat guy called out.
“Yeaaahh!” This one was some valley girl.
Why am I even here, I thought to myself.
“Hi, sorry about that…what can I get started for you?” He half-shouted the words over the crowd, just before a round of cheers nearby.
I glanced up, into the eyes of a charming young bartender, leaning over the counter with both palms down. With his ginger hair swept back behind his ears, he flashed a small smile, and my eyes fell to his waistcoat and tie.
“Yeah, I’ll, uh…Malibu and Coke,” I told him loudly.
“Cool. Can I see your ID?”
“Sure! One second…” I withdrew the card from my pocket. I had thought better on bringing a purse out to a club, considering that I had no idea how expensive the thing really was.
He looked at it with a quick, quizzical look, then handed it back. “Long way from home, huh?”
“Yeah, ran away to the circus.”
He looked over at the throng against the counter, and I followed his gaze. “Well, I think you found it, although it doesn’t look like you’ll fit in with ‘em too well…
“Think you’re right. Bad plan.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re in the wrong place.”
We shared a smile, and he got to work mixing my drink. While he did so, I couldn’t help but resist whipping out my phone and checking on Sawyer. Unsurprisingly, he had left for the night, but this time was different – he’d stopped at a local bar.
“A bar?” I’d wondered aloud. It was interesting that he went to a bar the night that I did, although there was no way that either of us were aware of the coincidence.
“What’s that?” The bartender asked, slapping a napkin square down and placing a drink on it.
“Oh, it’s just a GPS app,” I mentioned without thinking.
“Yeah? You’re tracking something?”
“Yeah, my brother…” I paused, realizing what I was saying.
“You’re tracking…your brother…might I ask why?” He raised
an eyebrow, crossing his arms.
“It’s complicated.”
“…Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it!”
He gave a parting smirk, darting away to take care of other guests.
Great. One decent human interaction since coming down here, and I blow it by being crazy.
I was in too foul a mood to try dancing, and I just sat at the bar and sipped my drink. I fought the compulsion to keep my eyes glued to the screen. Is Sawyer picking up a chick? I thought to myself grumpily. What if that’s what he was doing in Alabama?
I shook my head. Why does it even matter? You two hate each other. At least he isn’t bringing them back to the house! You should just wait for him to get back, and then take that stupid tracker off of his motorcycle.
Nodding to myself, I decided on the course of action. But before I did so, I lost my restraint just enough to pop open the app one last time…he was on the move now, apparently.
Back to driving all around, huh?
I paid for my drink as soon as I could get the bartender’s attention, leaving him a tip larger than the original cost – just to maybe reverse his understandably low opinion of me. In the meantime, I paid peripheral attention to the app.
By the time everything was done and I was fighting my way through the throng, I called for another ridesharing driver. I had every intention of just going straight home…but then I saw that the motorcycle had stopped and parked beside a small business.
One that was undoubtedly closed for the day.
Talking aloud to myself, I wondered, “…What’s New Horizons?”
Twelve
Sawyer
Pennsylvania, Three Years Ago
Pensacola was a completely different place without wealth. Sure, my father and I had come down here a couple of times to enjoy the Beach House, and that happened more often when my family grew. But we had always gotten by with the help of private drivers, exquisite dinners, and enjoying just about anything we could have wanted.
My first night back in town, however, was about as far as I could get from the old memories. I had the cage in my blood, and I needed to find my way in a new city. They say if you go out looking for a fight, you’re gonna find one… I went looking for Darren.
He was a fighter I’d met back in New Orleans, one of the few people in this world I considered a friend. We hit it off right away.
Maybe better to say we ended up beating the hell out of each other in the cage right up until I blacked out. When it was all said and done he bought me a shitty beer and shook my hand. Told me I was one tough son of a bitch. I spent most of the night thinking through every move he’d made, playing them over in my head again and again. Next time we fought, I was ready. I had every counter planned out like a game of chess. The joke was on me when he changed things up and played the ground and pound. Yeah, they say I won that fight, but I sure as hell don’t remember it.
Darren headed to Florida awhile back and left me a number if I ever ended up out his way. Turned out, I didn’t really need it. A few dive bars into the night and I had a pretty good idea of where the action was, and sure enough, I found Darren right at the center of it. Few days later, we were already making plans. Darren had a friend who wanted to start up some little cage fighting operation, and as it turned out, his idea of ‘plans’ meant he’d already bought the building.
“So much for consulting,” I chuckled to Darren, who looked none too pleased.
Luke picked us up in a piece of crap Jeep Wrangler, driving us along the city towards his newly-bought gym. This was to double as home for the foreseeable future. The instant that Luke found out that I was a fighter, he insisted on offering me makeshift accommodations in the back. Given that I hadn’t quite figured that angle out yet, I cautiously agreed.
While Darren and his friend Luke caught up on a pair of fold-out chairs in a half-filled fitness center, I sat cross-legged and scarfed down a microwaved TV dinner – just another day in paradise. Tonight’s main course: a pile of chicken fingers that could fit in half my palm, a dollop of processed mashed potatoes, a scoop of corn, and whatever passed for a shrunken chocolate brownie.
“So, this is what you really want to spend your inheritance on, man?” Darren asked, glancing around the small gym. “I mean, yeah, you got a good deal on the place…but this is gonna need a lot of work, and that’s just in the remodeling…”
“Yeah, man!” Luke looked wild. With the long dreads, the weak puff of a moustache, the goatee, and the thin, lanky build, he looked like he had never stepped foot within a quarter mile of a gym. But what you had to look for were the eyes – he had those crazy, passionate eyes that told you that everything he said came straight from the heart.
“I don’t care for any of that fighting bullshit myself,” he continued, “but hot damn do I love watching it. I’ve already paid for this place…all I need is to do a few quick fixes, hire some guys, and really get the word out, man! This place is gonna be great!”
Darren and I shared a look.
“What do you think, Sawyer?”
I chewed another tasteless bite of dinner. “I don’t know…it’s a fixer-upper for sure…but who knows? If passion alone made the world turn, I’d probably put this guy in charge of it.”
“Hell yeah, buddy!” Luke jumped up excitedly. “Look, I know some contractors. I’ve already talked to them and worked out a good deal. Couple of them wanna be our first customers. Give me a week or two to get this shithole up to the Luke standard, and we’ll be in business. I’ve even got some buddies lined up to be personal trainers!”
Darren opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself.
“You know,” I spoke after swallowing a dry chunk of brownie, “Darren said something about cage fighting when he told me about all of this. This looks more like a Planet Fitness than a cage fighting ring…”
“Yeah, it’s gonna be a bit of both,” he answered. “You see, I’m gonna have a ring built there,” he pointed into the back of the room. Then I’ll have all this other stuff moved over there,” he pointed against the far wall. “And for right here,” he indicated where we were all sitting, “I’m just gonna have some mats and make it a sparring spot. What do ya guys think?”
Darren exhaled with wide eyes, glancing in my direction again. “I mean, I can help you set this place up as a proper gym, if that’s what you want. I was a personal trainer, and I can verify whoever you’re hiring – make sure that they aren’t pulling your leg, and that they won’t scare off your customers. If you want results, I’ll get you results. But the cage fighting thing… I’ve been out of the cage for awhile now…”
Luke followed his gaze towards me, looking expectantly. Apparently, Darren had already filled him in on my street fighting.
“Alright, here’s what’s gonna happen. You follow this guy to the T,” I jabbed a thumb at Darren. “Everything he says? Do it. If he says your buddies are a bunch of crap, don’t hire them. Period.”
“But I already offered them–”
“No. If they don’t pass, they don’t pass. As for the cage fighting,” I turned towards the back, where he’d indicated the ring. During my stints away from “home” while fighting for Gary, I’d seen a few professional setups – and I knew how far they’d go for image. If this guy really had the resources to do this right, he was going to have to use them.
“You aren’t throwing a square of fence up and calling it a day. You want a raised platform, soft floor. Something that won’t break a bone on impact, but can withstand a big guy hitting it with all his weight – same goes for the enclosure. A strong, taut fence all around it, about two feet taller than Darren. Thick padding along the top, good against injuries. Small set of stairs leading up to it. You’re gonna want it…” I thought for a moment, mentally measuring out the best use of the area, “thirty-five, maybe forty feet across. Lights above, facing down – something professional. When these fights happen, you’ll want the place dark, all the attention on the ring. That way
, the fighters don’t get distracted, and all eyes are on them.”
Darren and Luke watched me carefully as I spoke. Although both of them were a few years older than me, they seemed to respect my insight. If they wanted to be part of my world, I was happy to put my knowledge to good use.
“How often do we do these fights?” Luke asked.
“The market dictates,” I answered. “You want my advice? Start on once every two weeks. Measure the turnout. If you can get the word out like you say…then it’ll be up to the fighters to put on a good match. When it’s clear that you’ve got a core audience, expand it. Once a week.”
“Which day?” Luke chimed in, enraptured.
“Weekdays are off-limits. Everybody’s tired, nobody’s gonna want to come see a pair of guys slap each other around. Friday’s might work, but you’ll lose folks who have the wife and kids. Your best bet is either Saturday or Sunday. Sunday could work – one last hurrah in the weekend. But I’m thinking Saturday.”
“Lots of stuff happens on Saturdays,” Luke responded.
“So what? Make your thing the hottest Saturday thing in town. You do that…” I jabbed my finger at him, “and you’ll worry less about breaking even and more about spending that money.”
Luke nodded thoughtfully, turning to Darren.
“Yo, this guy. Where the fuck did you find this guy?”
Pensacola, Present Day
“Luke, you around? I’ve got a surprise…”
We stood in entrance to Luke’s fighting gym, New Horizons Fitness Center. I’d never taken to the name – a little too New Age for my tastes, honestly – but I couldn’t help but admit that he’d kept the place in great shape since I’d left Pensacola.
