Takedown

by Gemma Brooks

  “Yeah, this thing’s a piece of junk,” I sighed.

  “Pop the hood.” He made his way to the front of my car as I scrambled to pop the hood release button inside. With one muscled arm, he lifted the heavy metal hood as if it were as light as a sheet of paper.

  I stood a few feet to the side, watching him as he checked various fluids and pulled off caps and inspected hoses. The glow from a streetlamp above barely offered enough light for him to see what he was doing.

  Rowdy took a step back and placed his hands on his hips again, looking deep in thought. His once clean hands were now covered in black grime and oil from my hot mess engine. He scratched his scalp with the tip of his finger and then crinkled his nose.

  “You aware you need a new timing belt?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “And your battery looks pretty old,” he said. “Coolant’s low too. Might have a leak.”

  “I know,” I said. “I need new oxygen sensors too. And a million other things.”

  I took a seat on the concrete curb in front of my dead hunk of junk and ran my fingers through my dark hair. I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. I kicked myself for putting off the repairs for so long.

  Rowdy’s boots kicked the gravel as he headed back to his truck. He said not one word as he jumped in and moved it next to my car. He climbed out of his rumbling truck and grabbed a pair of jumper cables from a box behind the bench seat and began hooking up his battery to mine.

  He motioned for me to hop back in my car. I knew the drill. I’d done this several times before. With one switch of the ignition, my engine started right back up. It was almost the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. Almost.

  “Thank you, thank you,” I said as I emerged from my car. I wanted to throw my arms around him, but I knew he wasn’t that kind of guy. He was my hero for the night, though, whether or not I got to show him that.

  “You’re lucky it was just the battery this time,” he said. “You really need to get your car fixed.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Repairs cost money. Money that I definitely don’t have right now. Don’t really feel like being ripped off by some mechanic anyway. They all charge an arm and a leg for every little thing. It’s going to be a couple grand to fix this thing. I don’t think it’s even worth that much.”

  Rowdy’s crystal eyes narrowed in on mine and an entertained smirk crossed his face. “Mechanics, right? Nothing but crooks.”

  “I was hoping this stupid thing would last long enough for me to be able to get a new car,” I said. “I’m going to start saving up soon. I should have a nice tax refund next spring. And with this gig, who knows, maybe I’ll get one sooner.”

  I was talking way too much, and I knew it. Word vomit was a bad habit of mine and it ran especially rampant in awkward situations. It didn’t help that Rowdy was so quiet. One of us needed to talk.

  “Why don’t you bring it by the shop tomorrow,” he said, his eyes fixed on mine still.

  “The shop?” Oh, God, was he a mechanic?

  “Matthews Auto Repair over on Carmichael Street,” he said. “We open at seven. Bring it by. I’ll take a better look at it in the morning. Not all mechanics are in the business of being assholes.”

  My jaw dropped and I thanked my lucky stars that the midnight sky was hiding my blushed cheeks.

  “I’ve got to get going,” he said. “You going to be able to get home alright?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said, still embarrassed. “Thank you.”

  He unhooked the cables from my engine and slammed the hood down. A flash of a subtle, kind smile was the last thing I saw before he headed back to his rumbling truck and drove off.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and prayed that my car would start by the time morning rolled around. I had to see him again.

  CHAPTER 2

  My keys clinked against the chest-high counter of the shop lobby. The distinct odor of grease and oil saturated the air and a 13” box set tuned to a local station rested on a table next to a makeshift waiting area filled with metal folding chairs.

  A small window behind the counter provided a glimpse into the shop area where cars were hoisted up on lifts and a couple of men were tinkering beneath them. The whirring of power drills and air compressors had likely masked the puny ding the bell on the door emitted when I walked through.

  I waited a bit more before looking at my watch. The phone at the desk began to ring before giving up unanswered after seven rings.

  “Hello?” I called out. “Anyone in here?”

  I searched for a bell of some sort on the counter but there was nothing. The sign on the door that led out to the shop said “EMPLOYEES ONLY” in bold black letters. I gave it a few more minutes before shoving my keys back into my pocket and turning to head back out to my car.

  “Hey, miss,” a man called out.

  I turned around to see a tall man, not much younger than me, rushing in from the shop.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. His crystal blue eyes were the exact same shade as Rowdy’s and his nametag identified him as ‘Frankie’.

  “I have the silver Toyota out there,” I said as I pointed to the parking lot. “Rowdy told me to bring it by today and he’d look at it.”

  “Keys,” he said as he held his right hand out. He was a rather skinny man with dark, matted hair and hollowed cheeks. He held his left arm bent and close to his side, his hand balled uncontrollably in a fist. If I had to guess, he had cerebral palsy.

  I handed him my keys. “This is a cute little shop you have here.”

  He shot me a funny look. Maybe cute was the wrong word. I meant to say quaint.

  “I don’t usually make it over to this side of town. Didn’t even know you guys were here.” My attempt at making small talk was like pulling teeth with Frankie.

  He scribbled some numbers onto a tag and hooked it onto my keychain.

  “Are you Rowdy’s brother?” I asked.

  His figure was a stark contrast to Rowdy’s, and part of me felt bad that he had to grow up with such a behemoth for a brother.

  “That I am,” he said with a bland expression. He said nothing else as he headed back out to the shop. Through the window I watched him tap Rowdy on the shoulder and hand him my keys.

  I made my way over to the makeshift waiting area and paged through an old issue of Redbook that was lying in a stack of ripped and dated magazines. My stomach began to rumble as I spotted a quarter machine half full of peanuts nearby. I rummaged through my purse and crossed my fingers hoping to find a quarter somewhere in the bottom, but my search was all for naught.

  The door from the shop flew open, and I looked up, half-hoping it was Rowdy, but it was Frankie again. The guy never smiled, I determined. I felt his eyes watching me as I paged through my magazine, but every time I glanced up to meet his gaze, he’d quickly turn his head the other way.

  After a solid half hour, I debated asking Frankie how much longer it was going to be. I had to get to work by nine. I promised myself I’d give them fifteen more minutes before I pestered them, but before I had a chance, Frankie called me over to the counter.

  I stood quietly as he clicked around in the computer and a few sheets of paper flew out from the printer behind him. He stapled them together and grabbed a pen, placing everything down on the counter in front of me. My eyes scanned the document until they landed in the bottom right corner. There it was. $745.86.

  I began to panic. I didn’t have that kind of money. I thought Rowdy was just going to look at my car. I didn’t know he was going to fix anything. My breathing grew labored as my eyes met Frankie’s. I wasn’t sure I even had a credit card I could slap that on. Before I could say anything, Rowdy burst through the door behind the counter.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said putting a strong hand on Frankie’s arm and gently pushing him to the side. He reached down and grabbed the paper from in front of me and ripped it into several pieces.

  Frankie shot him a look.


  “It’s on the house today,” Rowdy said, his eyes locked into mine.

  “What?” I whispered, unsure if I’d heard him right.

  “On the house,” he repeated. He slid my keys across the counter.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, praying this wasn’t some sort of joke or scam. My heart sped up a little. It was almost like winning the lottery, but on a much smaller though equally as appreciated scale.

  “Yep. You fixed me up. It’s the least I can do,” he said. His expression was serious as his eyes locked into mine, and I knew he meant it. “I have to order some parts still. You’ll have to bring it in again in a few days. Can you drop it off on Monday?”

  “Monday? Uh, yeah,” I said. My lips curled into a sweet smile, and I tucked my dark hair behind my ears. I’d have to switch schedules with someone at work, but for free car repairs, I’d call in sick if I had to. A smile crept across my face. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

  “It’s fine,” he said. His serious expression never wavered.

  Rowdy stood on the other side of the counter with his blackened hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded navy work pants. His pinstriped shirt had “Rowdy” embroidered on the nametag, and from the looks of it, it was nearly falling apart at the seams. I didn’t know how he could afford to give away over seven hundred dollars worth of car repairs, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  I shot him one last appreciative smile before turning on my heel to leave.

  “Gia,” Rowdy called out.

  “Yes?” I spun back around to face him.

  “See you Friday.” He tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind his ear as he reached for the shop door.

  “Friday?” What was Friday? I racked my brain.

  “The next fight,” he reminded me.

  “Oh.” I felt sheepish. “Yes, see you Friday.”

  CHAPTER 3

  I took a seat on a cold metal chair in the abandoned warehouse that Friday night. Men in suits began to file in one after another as Rowdy and Eastwood prepped for the fight that was about to start. I’d yet to see his opponent, but I’d overheard one of the suits talking about how good this fight was going to be.

  With closed eyes, I tried to hone in on the conversation going on behind me.

  “This guy’s built like a brick shithouse,” one man said. I could only assume he was talking about Rowdy. He was pure muscle, and at the last fight I’d overheard someone compare him once to an unstoppable freight train once he’s in the zone.

  “My guy’s never lost a fight yet,” the other guy said. “Just you wait and see.”

  “I don’t know,” the first man said. “First time for everything. And look who just walked in the door. The brick shithouse himself.”

  Bursting through the door was a man who could’ve easily been classified as a giant. That was the brick shithouse they were referring to, not Rowdy. And Rowdy was the one who had never lost a fight. My heart sunk deep into my stomach. They were stacking the fights. They wanted to put Rowdy up against someone like the giant because it would make for a more entertaining fight. Higher stakes for them meant potentially bigger payouts. Assholes.

  “Whoa,” the guy who clearly had his money on Rowdy said. “Shit.”

  “I told you,” his friend said. “First time for everything. You’re going to be paying out your ass for this fight. You put your money on the wrong guy.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up and walked over to where Eastwood and Rowdy were standing.

  “Did you see your opponent?” I asked with my arms crossed.

  “Yeah,” Rowdy said. His confidence wasn’t shaken one bit.

  “This is not right,” I blurted. “The fight is stacked. Isn’t that against the rules or something?”

  Eastwood laughed. “Sweetie, there are no rules. This isn’t the pros.”

  My eyes studied Rowdy’s face. I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to do this, but I knew it wasn’t my place. What would it matter to him if some girl he barely knew asked him to forfeit a fight? No man in their right mind would’ve done that. It was a lost cause.

  “I can’t watch this,” I said. I shook my head and turned my back towards the ring. “I’m going to be in the hall. “Yell if you need me.”

  I practically ran to a dimly lit hallway just off to the side of the fight room. I’d be able to hear everything, but I wouldn’t be able to see it. I couldn’t bear to watch any of it. I didn’t want to see Rowdy get his ass handed to him on a silver platter by Andre the Giant. It wasn’t right.

  With my back against the cool, cinderblock wall, I slid down into a seated position and waited. If Rowdy was lucky, he might walk away with a couple scrapes and bruises.

  The sound of men yelling and cheering signified the start of the fights. Collective groans, grumbles, and excited screams were all I needed to hear to know the fight was intense.

  I pulled my phone out of my purse. I needed a distraction. As I held it up to search for a signal, the hall grew eerily quiet. The noises had stopped. Suddenly there were no cheers or jeers. I threw my phone back in my bag and emerged from the hallway to see several men standing in a circle, crouched down around someone on the floor. My eyes scanned the perimeter for a sign that it wasn’t Rowdy, and my heart sank the moment I saw the giant standing perfectly unscathed in the corner.

  With my kit clutched under my arm, I ran to the center of the makeshift octagon and pushed my way between the men who blocked my access to Rowdy.

  “Get back,” I yelled as I squeezed through. “Everyone back!”

  I fell to my knees and began to examine him.

  “Rowdy,” I said into his ear. “Rowdy, can you hear me?”

  His eyes fluttered as his hand flew up to shield them against the fluorescent lighting above. He let out a grunt before trying to get up.

  “What day is it, Rowdy?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Don’t get up,” I commanded, but he didn’t listen. All two hundred plus pounds of his muscled frame flew back up into standing position, but he soon lost his footing and swayed back and forth until Eastwood and another man stabilized him. “He needs to sit down.”

  The men helped Rowdy to a seat in the corner where I examined him further.

  “What happened?” he asked, disoriented.

  “You took a blow to the side of the head,” Eastwood told him.

  “Rowdy, follow my finger,” I said as I held it out in front of him and moved it from side to side.

  Rowdy’s eyes squinted as he struggled to focus. His eyes were all over the place and his head began to nod back before snapping forward again.

  “He needs to go to a hospital,” I said to Eastwood.

  “No!” Rowdy bellowed. His booming voice startled me back a few feet.

  “The kid doesn’t have insurance,” Eastwood whispered to me. “Good luck making him go.”

  “He’s got a concussion,” I said, my hands firmly planted on my hips. “Who’s the medical supervisor here, you or me?”

  Eastwood threw his hands in the air as if the problem were mine and not his. He didn’t argue with me, but his eyebrows were raised as if he were wishing me good luck.

  “Rowdy, we’ve got to take you to the hospital,” I said with my hands resting on his thick shoulders. His skin was moist from perspiration and the stale dampness that filled the old warehouse.

  “No,” Rowdy stated. “I’m fine.”

  He rose into a standing position and stabilized himself against the wall. Eastwood handed him a bottle of icy cool water and he gulped it down in seconds.

  “Fight’s over, kid,” Eastwood said to him as he patted his back. “Let’s pack up.”

  “Did I win?” Rowdy asked. The poor guy was still disoriented.

  “Not this time,” Eastwood said apologetically. “First time for everything.”

  Rowdy grabbed his black duffel bag from the floor and flung it over his shoulder. One foot after
the other, he shuffled slowly towards the exit.

  “Wait,” I called after him. “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” he called back. He didn’t stop to talk. He kept on walking.

  I chased after him until we reached the parking lot.

  “You’re in no condition to drive,” I said as I reached for his hand. His keys fell to the ground the second my hand brushed against his.

  I bent down and scooped them up before he had a chance and shoved them into my pocket. “You’re coming with me.”