Although Robert and I sparred together, he had always said we would never fight for real, and looking at that man being dragged to his corner, dazed, beaten, bruised and bloodied, I was glad.
In the car on the way home Robert was quiet, but I was buzzing. That had been the best thing I’d ever seen. Joe and I relived the fight second by second and when we pulled up at the house, I placed my arm around a worried Evelyn and told her all about it. She had been pacing the drive waiting for us to return.
“Man, that was amazing,” I said as Robert and I settled down in the twin bedroom at Joe’s.
“It was okay, I guess,” he replied.
“You fucked him up big time. His corner team were in a total panic at one point, did you see?” I asked.
“I didn’t see anything and I didn’t hear anything. All that went through my mind were memories.”
“Memories?” I asked.
“Yeah, memories. Go to sleep, Trav. I’m fucking exhausted.”
I knew he hadn’t fallen asleep, and we lay in the dark in silence. I thought on what he’d said. He was fighting back, I believed, the way he should have all those years ago. Perhaps that was what he meant. It was the memories of his aunt and the beatings he endured that he was fighting against in that ring; the man in front of him was just a punch bag.
****
The following day Joe had a job for us. There was no resting for Robert, it was straight back to work. A store owner had failed to clear the loan Joe had given him, and time had run out. Robert and I were to collect his last payment; in fact, we were told not to leave the store without it.
It was a rundown store, and on entering I turned sign over to indicate the store had closed. Behind the counter sat a fat, dirty, greasy-haired guy in a stained white vest. Robert was always the one who asked for the payment, and when the guy spat at his feet I knew we were in for some fun.
A second guy appeared from behind a door. With a quick glance at me and a subtle movement of his hand, Robert told me what to do. As quickly as I could, I crossed the room and with my fist already pulled back, I punched him in the face; he fell like the proverbial sack of spuds and was knocked out cold.
By the time I had looked around, Robert had the storekeeper over the counter and the money the guy owed in his hand. We left the store, climbed into the car and sped back to the office laughing. Joey was sitting in his father’s chair with his feet up on the desk when we arrived.
“Is Joe around?” Robert asked.
With a sneer and a cigarette hanging from his lip, Joey replied. “No. What can I do for you Rob?”
Robert was very particular about who called him Rob; only the people closest to him could call him that. To everyone else, and especially Joey, he was Robert. He took the nickname as an insult. I leant against the desk, interested in how this exchange would develop.
“I have some money for him, that’s all. I’ll catch up with him later,” Robert said.
“Give it to me,” Joey demanded.
“It’s cool, I’ll give it to him in the morning,” Robert replied.
Joey slid his feet to the floor and stood. He was about a foot shorter than Robert and I chuckled as I watched him square his shoulders to butch himself up a little.
“I said, give it to me,” he said.
The amusement on Robert’s face was evident; the twitch of his lips gave him away. That smile faded the moment Joey grabbed Robert’s arm. I pushed myself from the desk, sensing what was would happen should the tension between them escalate.
“Joey, do yourself a favour, take your fucking hand off me,” Robert said, his voice so low it was almost a growl.
“You need to watch yourself,” Joey replied as aggressively as he could, although I noticed his hand shake.
Robert spun to face him, leaning close. “From who, Joey? You?”
With a laugh, Robert and I left the office.
“Who the fuck does that prick think he is?” Robert said.
“He thinks he’s the boss in the absence of the boss,” I said, chuckling.
****
I was preparing for my first fight, the same night as Robert’s second one. We had been at the gym every day, sparring, training and getting fitter than we had ever been. I was looking forward to it, to winning and having that stack of bills in my pocket. Robert was fighting an unknown, I was up against a seasoned pro but I had no worries about it. I could hold my own.
We arrived at the warehouse, driving past the row of cars waiting to drop off or park, and made our way to the changing room. We changed and warmed up. Joe was met by a tall, obviously Italian man. Their conversation possibly involved Robert and me, as they would look over at us occasionally. Robert took no notice, but I was intrigued. I couldn’t understand what was being said, but at the end of their conversation, they smiled and shook hands. Ted was doing his motivational speech - the usual ‘go out and fucking kill ‘em’ talk. Robert had shut himself off and I found myself a little nervous. The level of noise filtering through the changing room walls suggested the place was packed. The smell of cigar smoke wafted through the door and every now and again some bimbo dressed like a hooker arrived to collect the next fighter.
When it was my turn, Robert walked with me to the ring. Joe had taken his seat ringside and Ted climbed up to hold the ropes open for me. My opponent was bouncing around on his toes, throwing punches in the air. He smirked at me. I could hear Ted call me back to my corner just a few seconds before the ref was to call us together.
“Watch those gloves, kid. They’ve roughed ‘em up,” he said.
I nodded and made my way to the centre of the ring. Staring at the smirking jerk in front of me was making my blood boil. I caught a quick glance of his gloves and noticed the shine missing. I was about to find out what he had done to them. The bell rang and I took a slight step back. We danced around for a moment, just sizing each other up, until I thought I saw an opening. I steamed in, throwing punches and making a big mistake. I let my guard down, and as I did, his fist connected with my jaw, putting me on my ass. It hadn’t hurt but I was fucking livid. I could feel blood seeping from the graze the gloves had made. I lost focus and got careless. I could hear Ted and Robert shouting instructions from the corner, but all I thought about was how that prick in front of me had cheated. I then understood what ‘roughed the gloves up’ meant. It felt like sandpaper had been rubbed over my jaw.
The bell sounded for the end of round one and Ted cleaned up my face. I was pumped, so pumped I didn’t hear a word he was saying. I pushed him to one side, eager to start round two. I managed to get some decent punches in and I watched as my opponent stumbled backwards a little after a good uppercut from me. However, for the second time I let him get to me. I lowered my hands too much and found myself sitting on my ass again. I was embarrassed. I knew I wasn’t fighting as well as I could, I knew I was letting his goading get to me. It was Robert that pulled me out of my funk as I returned to my corner at the end of round two.
“What the fuck are you doing, Trav?” he said as he leant over the ropes. “Back off bro, watch what he’s doing and wait for your moment.”
I nodded as Ted pasted Vaseline over my face and the grazes I had already sustained. The rest of the fight went to plan and I fought well. I’d taken Robert’s advice, backing off, watching - and when I could, landing some great punches. It wasn’t enough, though. At the end of the fight, the ref raised my opponent’s arm high in the air - I had lost.
Robert walked me back to the changing room. I was deflated. I knew I could have done better, I knew I could have won that fight, and I was pissed. I pulled off the gloves and angrily threw them to the floor. I paced the room, growling at anyone who came close, feeling sorry for myself. When the bimbo came to call for Robert, I followed him. He had stood by the ring to watch me and I wanted to do the same.
Robert was chillingly quiet, his face totally devoid of any emotion. He climbed under the ropes, ignoring Ted, and made his way to the centre. H
e stood with his arms at his side as the ref spoke. Not once did his eyes leave his opponent’s.
“Ted, this doesn’t look good,” I said.
“I know. I’ve never seen him this quiet before,” Ted replied.
“He’s really pissed, big time pissed. Something bad is going to happen here.”
The bell sounded and my premonition was right. Within a minute Robert had his opponent backed onto the ropes and he was relentless. The room had quietened; people were unsure what they were watching. Was this a boxing match or a slaughter? It was so quiet that when Robert threw an uppercut and caught his opponent under the chin, I heard the crack of his neck as it broke. I saw his eyes roll back in his head. He was dead before he hit the floor. Ted and I stood in silence, in shock.
“Get him out of there,” I heard from behind.
Joe had risen from his seat to join us.
“Get my boy out of there,” he said again.
Ted climbed under the ropes as Robert screamed at his opponents corner. Ignoring Ted, he made his way across the ring, climbed under the ropes and pushed his way past people to the changing room. His opponent was left lying in the centre of the ring with his corner team too stunned to move. Ted and I ran after Robert. We caught up with him in the changing room but felt it best to leave him be. We stepped aside, I changed and the three of us left for the car. We drove back to Joe’s in silence.
Sitting at the kitchen table, Evelyn fixed up my face. Robert asked Joe if he knew about the gloves, if he was aware they had been roughed up. Of course Joe hadn’t known, and although Robert’s tone of voice was accusing, I believed him. Joe wouldn’t do that to us; he wanted us to win, he earned money if we did. As Robert rose to head upstairs, to the room we were to stay in that night, he turned to Joe.
“Set him up another fight, soon as,” he said, nodding his head towards me.
****
Things took a dramatic turn in our relationship that year. Joe wanted us to pay off a truck driver and supervise the unloading of his cargo. Crates of liquor were to be stacked in a warehouse. The driver was paid well to ensure he had no idea how he had lost his cargo when reporting the crime to the cops.
After a morning in the gym we returned to the office to collect the payment. Joe was out of town and Joey sat in his place with his feet on the desk, flicking cigarette ash everywhere. With an uncharacteristic smile, he pushed a small parcel wrapped in brown paper towards us. As we drove to the meet, Robert told me to pull into a parking lot. He took out a small knife and pierced a hole in the package. As he withdrew the knife we both saw white powder on the end. It wasn’t exactly a surprise that the package contained cocaine; money wasn’t wrapped that way and assumed Robert just wanted confirmation Hiding the package, we continued on to the warehouse.
“Something’s wrong,” I said as we pulled up outside.
“No shit. The absence of the truck gives that away,” Robert replied.
“What do you want to do?” I asked.
“Go take a look. Someone’s set us up, and I think I know who. You up for it, bro?”
“For sure.”
We made our way as quietly as possible through the door and into the darkened room. The only light came from the moon shining through the window, bathing the centre of the warehouse in a subtle glow. We made our one and only mistake that day - we separated.
Robert took one side of the warehouse and I took the other, making my way around the room to the stack of crates piled at the back. I heard the shuffle of feet, the clank of metal and before my brain could register it something wrapped around my legs and I fell to the floor. I was dragged backwards. As I tried to sit, to reach the chain that was digging into my ankles, a man, one I recognised, emerged from the shadows and punched me squarely in the face. I smiled back at him and spat the blood from my split lip onto the floor at his feet.
He leant down close. “Where’s Robert?” he whispered.
I shrugged my shoulders, I wouldn’t answer him. I couldn’t answer him once a boot connected with my stomach and the air was forced from my lungs. The kick had me lying on my back, and hands roughly grabbed my shoulders, turning me over. My arms were pulled behind me and tied together. The sound, that click of plastic as it passed through a hook, and the bite into my skin made me believe they used cable ties.
“Call for your friend,” he said.
“Go fuck yourself, you fat prick,” I replied as I tried to catch my breath.
The guy holding the chain was the same guy I had beaten when we had been sent to collect a payment from the storekeeper. The storekeeper, Sam - or Fat Sam as I liked to call him - was kneeling at my head. He had a handful of my hair in his fist, raising my face and smashing it down on the concrete floor. All the time I smiled up at him. He’d need to do worse than that to provoke the reaction he wanted from me.
Fat Sam leant so close I could smell the stench of him and my stomached turned, revolted by the stale sweat and his bad breath. He had a knife that he placed to my throat.
“Where is it?” he said.
“Where the fuck is what?” I replied.
“My coke, you prick. What do you think you should have brought here?”
I laughed, I knew this wasn’t just about a kilo of coke — Joey had set us up.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” the guy holding the chain called out.
I knew Robert wouldn’t reply, he would silently be making his way around the warehouse. It was then that I saw two others. They had been standing in the shadows out of sight until they moved, each taking one side of the warehouse. It was only then that I realised that we were in some serious shit.
The knife pierced my throat, not enough to hurt, just enough for me to be able to feel a small trickle of warm blood, enough to make my heart start to race . I could no longer see the two men that had gone after Robert, although I could hear them; their footsteps echoed in the abandoned building. They didn’t know enough to be stealthy, all they were doing was giving themselves away. Altogether, things weren’t going the way Fat Sam had planned. He wanted Robert. Perhaps he had been paid that kilo of coke to deal with him, but all he had was me trussed up on the floor.
“Call for your fucking mate,” he said again.
I shook my head and took another punch to the face. My teeth rattled, I spat more blood and saliva at his feet, which pissed him off. Fat Sam took his knife and drew it slowly down my stomach, cutting through my shirt. At first I felt no pain, just a searing heat following the path of the knife. But as the wound opened and the blood started to flow it hit me. I clamped my teeth together and sucked in a deep breath. I felt beads of sweat form on my brow, even though the warehouse was cold.
A second slash came shortly after, and I couldn’t stop my scream. It was an angry scream, not one of pain, despite the burning sensation. Slash after slash came, all over my stomach and shoulders. I no longer felt the burn or the pain; it all seemed to merge. I writhed on the floor, my body in agony as spasms of pain washed over me. Even the noise that left my lips seemed to come from someplace else, or perhaps it was the echo in the empty space. As my screams bounced around the room, all I hoped was that they covered any noise Robert made. I needed him.
For the first time in years I was scared. Fat Sam and his pricks, despite not having a brain cell between them, meant us harm, serious harm.
A thought flashed through my mind - today is the day I’m going to die.
“You better fucking kill me. You let me live and you’re fucking dead,” I shouted.
“You fat prick,” I screamed through gritted teeth as the knife drew slowly across my chest, the deepest cut yet.
I bucked my body from the floor, which was a mistake as all it did was drive the knife deeper into me. Vomit filled my mouth as I heard the scrape of metal against bone. I swallowed it down, the burn of acid causing my throat to constrict, and I screwed my eyes tightly shut.
A strange sensation flowed over me, a kind of numbness I’d never experienced bef
ore. I could no longer feel the burning pain across my body, but a coldness instead. Blood ran down my sides and my skin prickled in its wake. Individual sounds merged into one noise in my head. Screaming resonated through my mind and evoked memories. Memories of my mother crying out for help and being ignored. Memories of myself as a child and the inner voice that screamed constantly in frustration at the violence I witnessed and could do nothing about.
However, one sound broke through all the screaming. It took a moment to understand what it was, and it was the smell that made me recognise it. It was a gun shot. That one sound stilled the noise in my head. All was quiet for a while as everyone looked towards the corner of the room. Who had been shot?
“Lou, where are you?” Fat Sam called out. There was no reply.
I watched as Robert walked towards me. As he crossed the circle of light the moon had created he held the gun steady in his hand. I don’t think I had ever been so pleased to see him.
“Rob, these pricks here want to have a friendly chat with you,” I said.
As I spoke, the effort caused the wounds to bleed more and the pain to take my breath away.
Robert stared at me but I noticed something, a very subtle sharp intake of breath. I knew then that I was in a badly hurt. I looked down at my chest; the shirt I had worn was no longer white. It was shredded and red, completely soaked. He very gently nodded. The coldness in his face had Fat Sam moving slightly away and behind me, closer to his mate. For a moment Robert stood still and quiet with his eyes fixed on the guy holding me captive. I could feel the slight tremor vibrate down the chain as his hands started to shake.
Travis: To accompany the Fallen Angel Series - A Mafia Romance Page 12
