by Amy Faye
He closed the fridge and started the trip back. His knees already felt a little better. If he was lucky, he might even be able to walk again in another hour.
More than that, it would be nice to be able to give the girls something, even if it was only a few hundred dollars. He had a plan, one that he was hoping would provide dividends as long as he could keep fighting. One that would multiply his money quickly and painlessly—or, without any added pain. But he had to keep some money, even after that gremlin of a man had paid him extra to avoid getting clobbered.
Wes settled back into the sofa and took a long drink of water and tried to relax, without letting his eyes droop shut. They threatened to do it every few minutes, and then he'd lean forward on his elbows, or slap his face. Until then, it wasn't every five minutes, it was every ten. Then every twenty. Until he was feeling better, though it was still as dark as could be. He finished the bottle and went to get another, found that he could make the trip without holding the wall.
Which meant he couldn't justify sitting around the apartment, not any more. He grabbed the keys from the hook on the wall and started down to the elevator. It dinged open, he slid inside, and pushed his back against the wall. Better safe than sorry. He pushed the button and the door closed with a loud scraping noise, and then the elevator started to hum as it went down.
Wes made his way to the car and settled into the seat, turned the key and brought it to life, then turned on the radio. He wasn't going anywhere in the next few minutes. Even that short trip had taken more energy than it should have out of him. He could already feel the wooziness coming back, just a little, and that meant that he should definitely wait as long as he could justify before pulling out of that parking lot. That is, unless he had a God damned death wish.
Wes took another deep drink from the water bottle and then set it into the passenger seat, too large to fit into the cup holders. Another sucked-in breath, and he put the car into gear and started the short trip to the Western Union.
The drive was pretty painless, aside from going a few miles under the speed limit. He didn't realize he was doing it, and then would press the gas down harder, but then after another turn or two he'd look back down, and then… five under again.
He pulled into the parking lot. Usually he had a better time to come here, but if he had to do it at 2 in the morning, then he'd do it at 2 in the morning. The lot was unlit, which was always worrying, particularly because there were two very visible lights in the middle of the lot that weren't working for some reason.
But the yellow light of the Western Union sign shone above the light inside, which all acted like some sort of beacon of hope.
Wes slipped out of the car and rubbed his face as near to where he'd been hit as he dared. It itched, the whole thing, but he couldn't touch it with even the lightest touch, or his face would explode in the worst sort of pain he'd ever felt, short of taking the hit itself.
Wes wasn't going to the hospital for it. What were they going to do? Prescribe him some painkillers, and then send him home, all for the low cost of several hundred dollars. If he needed painkillers, Bradley had his hands in all sorts of pockets. Why on earth would Wes go to the doctor when he can get the stuff straight from the source?
He almost didn't notice the guy walking up. The sound of the boots on the ground behind him blended in with all the other noises of the city, and he assumed that he was making it up.
The noise of the knife clicking open confirmed it. For a minute Wes considered just doing what he was told. Getting hit in the face with steel knuckles hurt like a son of a bitch, but it probably wouldn't kill you unless they really tried hard.
A knife, on the other hand, was different. It was damn hard not to seriously hurt a guy with a knife, even if you didn't necessarily want to. You could make little surface cuts if they were holding still and you were pretty careful, but the odds of avoiding the blade as well as he would have to do in order to get away… it was a gamble.
But the day he'd had, first with those two God damned gorillas, and then with the Yakuza hitters, Wes realized, he wasn't in the mood to keep that trend going through to the next day.
"Give me all your money."
Wes raised his hands, knuckles all torn, up in the air and turned around. The kid couldn't have been twenty yet, and there he was, the knife extended between them. Smart kid. That knife would act as a shield, if he was quick. All he had to do was keep it between his body and the closest part of the other guy's, and eventually, the other guy would hit the knife, which was about as unpleasant as it sounded.
Wes wasn't in any mood to deal with it, though, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to give up all of his money.
"Go away, kid. Go home."
"Give me the money. Now." The kid straightened his arm to press the point of the knife into Wesley's chest. "Bitch."
Wes's hand moved quick as a rattlesnake and his fingers snapped around the kid's wrist and twisted. The knife dropped and Wes put his heel on it. Then Wes drove his other fist into the kid's ear. The kid rocked back, but Wes had his arm caught.
"Go home."
"Shit, man, I's just—"
"Go home."
Wes let his wrist go and the kid nearly fell back on his ass, scrambling with his hands to stop himself from falling even as his legs started churning to get him the hell out of there.
If he stayed a second longer, who knew how bad things could've gotten?
Seventeen
Minami
Minami didn't love sneaking out. It wasn't smart, and it had turned out bad the last several times she'd done it, but after three days she needed to at least see if Wesley was okay. Make sure he hadn't gone and died on that floor after she left.
At least, that made for a convenient excuse. There was no way they were going to let her just go out, not after she'd lied about where she was going and when she'd be home at least twice that she could remember. They weren't exactly wrong, as much as she hated to admit it.
That didn't change that she needed to make sure he was alright, though. They had to do what they had to do, and she had to do what she had to do, and it was just that simple.
Minami called an Uber cab and had them take her straight there, and now she was standing outside again, all paid up and ready to go back inside in every sense other than how ready she was to see him again.
Every time she saw Wes, things only got more complicated in her life, and as much as she knew that he was the only one who could stand up to her father enough to get herself free of the life he was leading, she couldn't help but be afraid of what was going to happen next. When was the other shoe going to drop, and things went from bad to worse?
For him, maybe it already had. That beating wasn't the kind of thing that most people would easily recover from, never mind quickly. For all she knew he was in the hospital, where he belonged.
As soon as the thought occurred to her, she dismissed it. Knowing that man even a little bit was enough to know that he wasn't remotely interested in going to a hospital. He seemed like the sort of person who would try to sleep off a broken leg.
She pushed the front door open and started in. The place was as dingy as it had ever been. She hadn't stayed in a nice place when she was here on her own, but this place made it look like a palace by comparison. Still, everyone kept themselves to themselves, which she supposed was something. She jabbed the elevator button and it opened with a ding and a metallic grinding noise, and then closed again with the same noise when she pushed the button for Wesley's floor.
He answered the door a few seconds after she knocked. He didn't look nearly as bad as she'd feared. Blood vessels had busted all around his nose right after, and his face was basically a large, spider-webbing bruise. He gave the faintest hint of a smile at seeing her, and then walked away from the door wordlessly, leaving it a little ways open.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Does it hurt?"
"Does what hurt?"
"Your fa
ce, it's—"
"Oh, that? Not really."
"So you wouldn't mind if I touched it?"
"Try it."
He turned and held still for her. Minami could feel her heart starting to race a little, at the 'I dare you' tone his voice had taken. Her hand moved slowly, moving in. She could hardly believe he was even thinking about letting her do this. And then, as she was about to push her finger home in the tender, bruised flesh of his cheek, his hand came up and wrapped around hers.
"Don't."
Minami dropped her hand.
"I was thinking that we should go out. There's this place, I used to go. Before. Nice pace, I guess. You might like it, you might not, but I haven't been there in a while."
"You sure it's not closed?"
"Pretty sure. Come on."
He took her down to the car. The elevator wasn't getting any better; if anything, the noise was getting worse, but she had her doubts that it was going to get fixed.
Wes slipped into the driver's seat and reached across to open her door for her. Minami slipped in next to him and the car growled to life. He put the car in drive and started out. He didn't particularly want or need Minami's input, she knew, so she stayed quiet. It was easier that way.
By the time they pulled into the place, it was starting to get dark by degrees, but the roadhouse was lit up like a Christmas tree. Wes put the car in park and pulled the hand brake, opened his door, and waited. Minami opened hers a minute later, and the second her latch came undone he pressed the lock button.
She followed him inside, unsure what to expect. She'd been living in America for a couple years now, and she was pretty confident in her English, in her ability to deal with everyday affairs… but when it came to places like this, she was on her own. She'd only heard about these sorts of places in T.V. shows.
They went inside and a woman in a t-shirt that was cut a little too low for modesty and thin enough to cling attractively to her curves took them to a table after a second.
Wes thanked her and then immediately walked off toward the bar. Minami settled into her chair, looking around and taking in the sights.
There was a band playing up on a raised stage, in front of a dance floor that only a few couples had decided was worth using. A long bar took over one side of the room, and a couple of people were playing darts near the back of the place.
Wes came back holding a couple of bottles and glasses and set one down in front of her, poured out a large glass of amber-colored beer, and then set down his own glass and filled it with his own drink. It was dark, the color of coffee, and she could smell it from all the way across the table.
"Is it how you remember it?"
"More or less. The people are different, but that'll happen. See that guy over there?"
He pointed at a guy standing at the bar, currently eating a peanut slowly.
"Sure."
"That's Sal, he owns the place."
"Is the food here good?"
"I don't know, it won't kill you—but 'good' might be a stretch. Get the steak, it's the only thing that the cooks here know how to make."
Minami decided to take his advice rather than risk testing the odds of that being the case. The place was ramshackle and rowdy, but she had to admit that it had a certain charm. More than that, though, it absolutely fit Wes. He seemed more at home here than he ever did in that little studio apartment.
She didn't realize that a smile had found its way onto her face until Wes asked her what she was thinking about.
"Nothing, just… this place fits you real well, you know?"
"I guess. It used to be, before, I could take this sort of place on. You know, I used to play a little."
"Really. You, Wes Park, you played… what? Played with poor Asian girls' hearts?"
"Guitar. Had a nice one, set up great. Played fantastically. Used to be, I'd play here, some nights."
"Were you any good?"
Wes took a deep drink. "No. But I tried."
"What happened?"
Wes took another, deeper drink. "Life happened. Not everyone can just keep things going the way they want, and that's what happened."
Eighteen
Wes
Minami was quiet a while. Wes let her stay that way. It was easier than explaining what had happened, and it wasn't as if he was lying. That was exactly what had happened, but as with everything there really was more to it than just that. If all that had happened was a few late house payments or something, he wouldn't be fighting now. He'd still be up there. Sleep out of the Fiero or something.
He'd never have sold that God damn guitar if he had another choice, but sometimes life hits you and you don't have another choice available to you, and that's just how it goes.
Well, either way. Wes wasn't about to start complaining about his whole life story. He emptied the bottle into the glass, which was still cold. Minami took a drink from her own and made a face that told Wes immediately how much drinking she did.
"Little much for you, huh?"
"No, I'm fine," she lied. He could hear the lie right there in her voice, but he wasn't about to call her out on it. They both wanted to leave things out, but if all she wanted to play pretend about was her ability to handle alcohol, then who was he to judge?
Nobody, that's who.
He smiled at her and took another drink before making an exaggerated face mocking her own. The waitress came by after a second to take their order. Minami followed his advice—which was good, because as far as he was able to tell, the cooks here had never been able to cook worth a God damn unless it was a steak.
Then they were passable at best, but people didn't come here for the food. The waitress left with her pad, and Wes stood up, pressed the chair back.
"If you'll excuse me—" he started, and never finished. He walked in the direction of the lavatory, but fished his phone out of his pocket instead and leaned up against the wall to call Bradley.
The line connected right before Wes gave up and started to call again.
"Wes? Jesus, nobody's heard from you since after that goddamn mess out in the boonies, people were afraid you were dead, man."
"Not yet, anyway," Wes said, keeping his voice extra smooth. He couldn't afford to let the very probably broken nose sound through the phone, or Todd wouldn't give him a fight in a million fucking years.
"I'm looking for a fight, you know where I can find one?"
"Wes, I think you need to slow down."
"I did slow down. I took a good, solid three-day weekend, and now I'm looking for the next payout."
"Wes, I'm being serious. As your friend here, you need to stop this crazy shit."
"I need the money, and you have a big fight coming up, don't you?"
"I have plenty of big fights coming up, and most of them, I already have booked."
"Well, maybe one of your guys cancels."
"They don't."
"Supposing it happened, though—"
"Wes, I know you're not trying to threaten my guys, right? Because you know that wouldn't exactly endear me to you. Right?"
"I don't know what you're talkin' about, man. No threats, I'm just looking out for myself. If something opens up, you call me. I need the money, you know I can win it."
"Look, maybe I can get you something. Come on in, and I'll take a look at you, and if you look like you can fight—"
"I'm busy just now, Todd, or I would. I can come in tomorrow if I have to, if that would make you feel any better."
"Fine. Tomorrow afternoon. Say six."
"Good by me."
"Good. And Wes—I'm serious now. Okay? Don't you come in here with a broken God damn nose and expect me to okay you to fight."
"You worry too much, Todd. You think I'm crazy? If I had a broken nose, I would have to take a while, right? Not just three damn days."
"It's good to hear you talking sense." Bradley paused a second. "Which means you're probably putting me on, but we'll see tomorrow."
"Yes, we will
. Have a good night."
Wes slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed back to the table. Minami smiled up at him as he pulled into his feet, a few seconds before the waitress stepped out from behind the partition with their food in hand. She set it down on the table in front of them.
"Anything else?"
They both agreed that, no, they didn't need anything else. Wes ate slow. When he took too much in, or bit down too aggressively, it shot pain straight through him, like he was biting down on a nerve or something, and it was enough to drive him up a god damned wall, but he wasn't about to let it keep him hungry.
The thoughts about the place, about how little it had changed in the years since he'd been in here, only contrasted with how much he had changed, how much he'd had to change in order to survive with the girls in his life. He couldn't live with them, but God damn it all that didn't mean he wasn't responsible for them, and with their mother being… well, who she was, he was about all they had in the world.
So it wasn't like there was any choice about selling the guitar, or about the fights, or even about lying to Bradley. Wes took another bite, realizing after a minute that he hadn't touched his food for a while.
Minami seemed trapped in her own thoughts. Whatever she was thinking about, thought, he could already see in her eyes that it was some heavy shit. The sort of thing Wes was the worst with.
Finally he took the last bite of his food, pushed the plate back, and finished the drink. Minami watched him cautiously, not having said a word since he got back from the call.
"Come on," he said, reaching a hand out across the table.
Wes could feel the beer having gone to his head, leaving his cheeks a little hot and his head a little light. he was out with a pretty girl, what the hell else was he supposed to be doing? He took her to the dance floor.
Minami's eyes were wide as saucers as he pulled her onto the floor, pulled her body in tight. She felt good against him, as good as she ever had, and that feeling was one that he wasn't ready to pass up again. The song wasn't necessarily appropriate, but then Wes wasn't much of a dancer either.
