Bounty

by Aubrey St. Clair

  34

  Joel

  Joel showed up about 20 minutes early to Rock House, carrying his workout and sparring gear in an old knapsack slung over one shoulder. He was impressed as soon as the building was in sight.

  Rock House was a massive structure. It looked to be a converted warehouse, with the outside painted a dark and textured gray that he assumed was supposed to make it look like stone. In front of it was a huge sign on a pole at least 50 feet in the air. Rock House Training Center - Mixed Martial Arts.

  Joel pushed past the big double doors and was immediately hit by the familiar smell of sweat and heavy, wet air. He breathed it in deeply, finding it strangely comforting and hoping it would help him relax a bit and shake off the fatigue and overall grumpiness that he was still feeling after his restless night and early argument.

  Inside was just as impressive as outside. The place was huge, made up for the most part of a vast open area with simple thin mats along the floor. At the back, he could see a full size MMA style octagon cage, as well as a regular wrestling ring next to it. On the opposite end, there was work out equipment. Mostly free weights, but a few bikes for cardio as well. Draped along one of the walls was an immense American flag.

  It was also immediately clear that not everyone was told to start at nine. There were at least fifteen guys in the place. Some of them had obviously just gotten there and were standing around talking, but others were already working out. A couple were sparring on the mat, some others were using the equipment and one was pounding on one of the many heavy bags that hung along the perimeter of the big open space.

  His eyes were wide as he scanned the room, still taken aback by how immense it was. He wondered how much a place like this would cost to train at if he had to pay. Certainly more than he could ever afford. He gritted his teeth as it reminded him of how much he really owed to Amber that you couldn't really put a price on. If it wasn't for her, he wouldn't be here. He was a fool for taking out his frustrations on her this morning. That was definitely no way to start repaying his debt.

  "Joel!"

  He turned to see Shawn Rock walking toward him. The big MMA former champion grasped his hand and shook it firmly in greeting. "Good to see you. How's the head?"

  Joel instinctively lifted his hand up to reach around and touch the injury which had now healed over pretty well. Shawn had sent the team doctor over to Amber's place the night after the tournament and he had confirmed it was a concussion, albeit a very minor one. He had been more concerned about the cut at the back of his head, putting in five stitches to close it up, telling him to wait ten to twelve days to fight again. Joel had pushed to start as soon as he could. Today was the earliest he was cleared. "Great," he said.

  "Cool, cool. Okay, well let's introduce you to a few people and then get you started." Shawn motioned with his head for Joel to follow and he walked over to the group of men that weren't training yet. There were four of them standing together and talking. They stopped as the two men approached. A couple of them nodded at Shawn. One of them looked at Joel as if he'd just bitten into a lemon.

  "Boys, this is Joel Slater, the guy I was telling you about that shoulda won that Golden Dragon tournament. Lucky for us he didn't and we stole him away from Tiger Strike. He has a keen eye for weaknesses in his opponents, so watch out what you show him." Shawn laughed, as did a couple of others. Sour mouth just glared at Joel.

  "Anyway, this here is Chris Leeman," Shawn patted a broad shouldered man who had short, curly blond hair that was streaked with red dye. Chris reached forward and shook Joel's hand.

  "Kingston West," Shawn said, putting his hand on the shoulder of a large black man. He was even taller than Joel by at least 2 inches, and had muscles of midnight stretching his tight white T-shirt. He smiled without showing any teeth, giving a little nod in Joel's direction.

  "Rorie McMahon." Rorie was shorter than Joel, and leaner as well. But his body was sinewy and tight, without an ounce of fat to be seen. He had short red hair and hard green eyes.

  "Hey," he said.

  "Hi."

  "And finally, Blake Edwards." Sour puss took a quick look at Shawn and then nodded at Joel, but as soon as Shawn turned away his face curled back into a sneer. Blake looked to be about Joel's height, but thicker. He was bald, with tattoos running up and down both of his arms, likely extending to the rest of his upper body as well but they were obscured by his shirt.

  "I've asked these guys to come in today to help show you the ropes around here, they're all part of my core group that I have the highest hopes for in terms of making it all the way. Don't be surprised if you see any of these guys fighting on TV pretty soon. Hell, you'll probably see all of them eventually. It's somewhere I think you can get to as well, Joel." Shawn started to walk. "Come on, let me show you the locker room."

  The two men left the group of fighters and walked to a set of doors near the back. Shawn opened one up and motioned Joel through, following after him. The locker room was fairly small, but it still held about 50 lockers. Attached was a washroom and a few shower stalls.

  "Just find a place to store your stuff and put on your gear. Head on out to the guys and they'll get you started. Like I said, I expect good things from you, Joel. Rock House is one of the hardest gyms around, but we get results. I've brought half a dozen guys up from nothing to fighting at the highest levels in the last six months alone. But you have to put in the time. Two or three times a week isn't going to cut it here. I expect you to be here five, maybe six times if you expect to get results."

  "No problem," Joel said. He had no intention of slacking. This was his dream, and he wasn't planning on fucking it up."

  "Cool, cool," Shawn said, turning back to the door and pulling it open. "One more thing, though. I know you got that injury fighting with an underground club. That stops immediately. You fight with Rock House, at Rock House, or where Rock House tells you to fight. Training here means not jeopardizing yourself anywhere else. We're putting time and resources into your body, and it's no longer yours to risk - not if you want to continue with us, anyway. Understood?"

  Joel nodded. "Of course."

  Shawn nodded and then left.

  That would be a problem.

  35

  Amber

  "What the hell are you doing here this early, girl?"

  "Before you start on me, I brought you a Frappuccino, so choose your words carefully."

  Simon's eyebrows melted into his hairline and a smile spread across his face as he reached to snatch the drink from Amber's hands. "I was just going to say what a pleasure it is to see you in here so long before your shift," he said slowly.

  Amber laughed. "You're a terrible liar."

  "You caught me off guard. Try giving me a morning to come up with a reason for why I'm late for work instead of admitting to just being hung over, then we'll talk. If you can still accuse me of that, I'll get to see how good a liar you are." Simon sniffed and took a sip of his drink, trying to look hurt but his eyes betrayed his cheerfulness. She didn't know if she had ever seen him in a bad mood, or even a very serious one for that matter, which was why she had come in early. Simon could always cheer her up when she was bummed about a guy. He had more experience with them than she had, after all.

  "Seriously though," he said after putting his cup down. "It's not even one o'clock. You don't start for another four hours."

  "I was tired of staring at the walls and being pissed off," she said, plopping her bag down against the bar and sliding onto a stool. It was rare she got to see the bar from this perspective.

  "Oh, oh. What did fight club do now?"

  Amber stuck her tongue out at Simon. She hated when he called Joel that. "Nothing. I don't know. We got in a fight and he stormed out, I don't even know when or if he'll be home tonight. "

  "About what?"

  "Money, I think. Honestly, I don't even know for sure. One minute I'm asking him to move in with me and the next minute he's basically accusing me of being a gol
d digger. I don't get him at all. He's so touchy, especially about money."

  "Probably because he never has any. Didn't you find him sleeping on a park bench or something?

  "No, stop it," she said, swatting at his arm. Simon just smiled and spun out of reach, taking another sip of his frap.

  "Listen, I'm just saying they don't get much poorer than him. Wouldn't it be nice to date someone with money for a change? Someone who can take care of you instead of needing you to mother him?"

  "I don't care about money," she said. Simon did, and he couldn't understand when other people didn't. He once told her he would never date a man who didn't own a BMW or Jaguar. She wasn't sure if he was kidding or not, it wasn't always easy to tell with him.

  "Well, you might not, but how do you know what he really wants. Maybe his whole money issue thing is some sort of over compensation defense type thing because in reality, he's after your money."

  "What money, Doctor Freud?"

  "Well, your potential money."

  "I work at a bar, I don't think there's a lot of danger of me attracting any Bernie Madoff type suitors."

  "Don't sell yourself short, girl. You're still young. This isn't your last stop."

  "Whatever. Anyway, he's not like that."

  "How do you know," Simon said, walking back over to her and leaning against the bar. "How well do you really know this guy, anyway? You've known him for what, like a week?"

  "Two. But so what? He's private, that's all."

  "People who are 'private' usually have something to hide."

  Amber sighed. "Joel's not like that." Is he? He was extremely private, and never wanted to talk about his past at all. She got the feeling she wasn't even allowed to ask about it. Could he be hiding some deep dark secret? Even if he was, she didn't think it had anything to do with money. But there were worse secrets he could be keeping.

  "Hey, you know who else was private and liked to keep to himself? Jeffrey Dahmer. That is, until he was hungry."

  "Oh my god, Simon. Would you stop?"

  "Listen, I'm just saying, there could be lots of reasons he doesn't want to talk about his past or his family. Like maybe he killed them all and is on the run, hiding out in shelters and fighting in back alleys to keep the voices from his head."

  Amber put her hands over her ears. "STOP!"

  Simon laughed and Amber reached over and grabbed the fountain gun, turning it on him and spraying him with water as he ran to the back of the bar. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. Truce!"

  She put the gun back down and glared at her friend. "I came here so that you'd make me feel better, not so that you'd add to the crazy thoughts in my head."

  He walked slowly back, shaking his shirt to peel the wet fabric from his body. "Okay, fine. What do you know about him?"

  "Not very much. His name and... actually, I guess just his name."

  Simon sighed and put a damp hand on the back of Amber's shirt. "You're lucky you have me in your life, that's all I have to say."

  "Why?"

  "This is the internet age. The age of information. You think I go out with a guy even once without cyber stalking his ass? If for no other reason than to check out his net worth and whether he's got a secret wife somewhere that he's closeted from? Not that that last part is a deal breaker, by the way."

  Of course not. "So, you think you could find something out about him?"

  "Girl, if I can't I'll be a lot more disappointed in myself than you'll be. Come on, there's a computer in the back office we can use." Simon started to walk away as he kept talking, not even waiting to see if Amber was following.

  "Trust me, I haven't sucked a dick that didn't have six figures behind it since I left high school. If I can't find out something about fight club's past, then it's because he comes from Mars and doesn't have one. "

  "Gross," she said, slipping off her stool and following her friend. It can't hurt to just take a quick look. Just to make sure he isn't a lunatic.

  36

  Joel

  The training began normally when Joel returned to the main gym. He rejoined the group of fighters that Shawn had introduced him to and they all ran through some simple warm ups. From sprints and rolls, to push-ups and burpees. The actual warm up lasted for over thirty minutes and got progressively harder as time wore on. For the most part, Blake was leading the group in terms of what they did next, standing in front of them so that they could follow along with what he was doing. By the time they took a break, Joel was covered in a heavy layer of sweat. The other guys didn't seem quite as winded.

  He was taking a sip from his water bottle, letting his heart rate come down a bit, when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. It was Chris Leeman. "Feel the burn yet?" he asked with a smile. He was missing a tooth along his bottom row.

  Joel nodded. "Good work out. It always like that?"

  Chris shrugged as his hand slipped off Joel's shoulder and he grabbed his own water. "I think Blake was putting on a bit of a show for you today."

  Joel grunted. It didn't surprise him, given the way Blake had glared at him earlier. He wasn't sure what that guy's problem was, but he wasn't going to let him get under his skin. He glanced over his shoulder to see whether the other fighter was nearby, but he was only bending over at one of the benches and grabbing his own drink, facing away from the two of them. When he stood up, Joel did a double take.

  "What the fuck is that?"

  "What?" Chris asked. He followed Joel's gaze and then laughed. "I think it's for intimidation, but whenever I see it, all I can think about is that he's thick headed, or a blockhead." Chris laughed again but then quickly added "But don't tell him I said that. I'll deny the shit out of it."

  They were looking at a tattoo stenciled onto the back of Blake's head. It was very detailed, and was made to look as if a circular bit of his skull had broken off and underneath was a red brick wall.

  Joel smiled at Chris's comment as he shook his own head. "I guess some people just know that MMA is going to be their life forever."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm just saying, the way he's tattooed his whole body, he's not going to be applying for any office jobs. He's pretty much committed himself to his craft."

  Chris smiled broadly, slapping Joel on the back again and then putting his water down. "Yep, I think you're right about that. Some people are just born to be bad-asses. But hey, isn't that why we're here, too? Anyway, come on, let's get back."

  Joel put his own water down and turned to follow the fighter back to where the other three guys were starting to assemble again. Am I any better than Blake? No tattoos, but I have no future other than fighting either. Maybe the only difference between the two men was that Blake accepted his fate, embracing who he was while Joel always had the lingering doubt that he barely even knew himself.

  The men started to lightly spar after donning their protective gear, pairing up while taking turns sitting one of them out to rest and act as ref when needed. Joel and Chris faced off, circling while they gauged each other's style. When they came together, they were evenly matched, with no man seeming to gain any advantage before time was called for a switch.

  Joel next fought with Kingston. The big man nodded to him when they started, reaching his long arm out to touch knuckles lightly before leaping forward immediately and catching Joel on the side of the head with a punch. It knocked his head back, but he stayed on his feet, most of the sting from the hit being absorbed by his padded helmet.

  Kingston was more aggressive than Chris, and Joel was forced to take a more defensive stance. He was able to parry the rest of the black man's attacks, but he hardly had time to throw anything of his own. He was both surprised and impressed with how quick his opponent could move, relative to his size. By the time their pair up was over, Joel was winded and happy to hear that it was his turn to sit out.

  He sat on the side waiting for his heart rate to settle as he watched the other four men continue to spar. He was still tired from his lack of sleep the
night before, and out of shape from the previous two weeks of what almost amounted to bed rest, his only exercise being the frequent naked wrestling matches that Amber usually initiated. He smiled as he thought about this morning and how she had greeted him in the shower.

  How did I manage to even fuck that one up? She didn't deserve his outburst. Obviously Amber wasn't after his money, and he knew she wasn't making a subtle accusation that he needed to start paying rent. Yet he wasn't the kind of guy that needed her to point it out. What kind of man needs a woman to put a roof over his head? You're a pussy, and you always were. His father's voice raged in his head as if he were standing right next to him. The old man was right, as infrequent as that was.

  He needed to contribute, and the only way he could see to do that was to find Randy and see if he could line up another underground match. He may have lost his last one, but he wouldn't be distracted this time. He could forget that one loss and return to his unbeaten status, building up a bankroll big enough to at least contribute to the rent. One or two fights a month should do it. No one would have to know.

  "Joel, you coming or what?"

  He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Blake was standing above him, glaring down. "You're with me," he said.

  Leaping to his feet with a surge of adrenaline that hid how tired he was, Joel followed sour puss to the center of the mats, his eyes drawn to the unique tattoo. What had Chris called him? Blockhead? Maybe that fit better than sour puss. Joel was curious to find out just how thick his skull was. When Blake stopped and turned, Joel gave him a tight smile and nod but the other man just grimaced in return. "Show me why you get a free pass," he said, and then he lunged forward.