by Wyatt, Dani
Jake Rashney didn’t leave the ring on his own two feet, and Cameron didn’t stay to have his arm raised in victory or to find out if he had just ended someone’s life.
He slammed out of the cage and down the aisle to the renewed throbbing screams and bellows of the satisfied and bloodthirsty crowd. His arms bowed at his sides, his chest heaving as the sweat dripped from his face down the planes and angles of dark ink and taut muscle.
The contrast of his intricate tattoos on shimmering, seething flesh drew every eye as Cameron disappeared down the hallway and faded into the darkness.
The last thing Victoria saw was the harsh slits of his blue eyes as they cut into the darkness and met hers if only for the smallest of moments.
He’s killed him. Oh my, God, he’s finally killed someone. Jesus, this is all my fault.
Victoria snaked through the crowd as they murmured and strained to see any movement from the mound of flesh on the mat. The body now surrounded by his team, and someone frantically talking on a cell phone presumably to the paramedics that should be arriving post haste.
Now, what? Now, what? Now, what? What the fuck do I do now?
Reggie was there, a form and voice yelling down the hall — trying to talk but Cameron didn’t hear anything.
He grabbed his bag, fought his sweat soaked arms into his zippered blue sweatshirt, flung the hood over his head and shot like a poison arrow out the rear door of the crumbling, stinking building into the blackness.
Within seconds, he had dropped the Camaro into gear, and they were halfway to nowhere with venom still dripping from his fangs and his gut tied with barbed wire. The sound of squealing tires and the sight of an emerald green streak flashed down the empty black urban street, her face danced in and out of the matching darkness inside his head
47
There are times when there are no other options.
Where every other path you try to envision is blocked by a 20’ brick wall topped with razor wire surrounded by a moat filled with vipers and all the monsters from the dark corners of ourselves where we don’t dare go.
He left her standing there in her yellow sweater, her eyes bearing the hope that he may have found a reason. Thanksgiving dinner still warm on the table as Cameron couldn’t shake the memory of her flavor on his tongue.
Instead, he bolted; flying off the back porch before he added something else to the long list of regrets in his life. It was a miracle he was able to even sit at the fucking table looking at her for as long as he did.
Cameron could feel the walls closing in. His lungs burned like he swallowed grain alcohol and then lit with a blow torch. He breathed fire, and his body tensed; rank with his decision.
The fat, spit-slick fucker’s words repeated like a stuck recording in his head.
Drop in the third, Jake will come out with two rear side kicks, then a body shot, fold in half, and he’s going to come up with an upper cut. Fall back and over, make fucking sure you hear the ref count to ten before you start making any fucking sense, you got it? Don't fuck this up man, or I’m coming for her first and this time I’m not bringing any fucking flowers and some nice fucking hotel room. You get me?
Topher’s words carved themselves into Cameron’s black soul. He wasn’t sure when he decided. He planned on doing the right thing, his sacrifice would assure her world was safe right? Take the fucking fall man and everything will be fine.
Inside the ring, everything changed. He realized like a light flicked on in a room left dark far too long, that even if he took the fall, she would not be safe. What would have changed?
She was still stuck there, sure the debt would be cleared, but there would be more. Larry and Roger hadn’t paid with their pound of flesh, so why would anything change for them?
They were two selfish drunks, unattached to reality; hell bent on destruction.
Her words came back to him as Jake’s face breathed his stinking hot breath into Cameron’s and the ref read them their final instructions.
He remembered what she said that first time he spilled his heart to her. Telling her all the things they would be together.
“I want everything to change.”
So what if Cameron threw this fight? It still left her stuck there with them, doing what they do. Next time -- and there would be a fucking next time as sure as the rats come out at night — Topher wouldn’t give them time and choices.
He would come, he would take, crush, violate, and defecate — whatever he wanted, in any way he wanted. And, she would be there in the center of that shit storm again.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Cameron reached the top of Fremont Street, slowed to a furious jog and went to the one place he knew he could find what he needed.
When it was done, he would be gone. He couldn’t breathe her scent again, feel her body warm around him and clutch as she called out, and Cameron felt his soul folding in on itself watching her face as the pleasure erupted inside of her.
His life was forfeit, but he didn’t care. She needed to be safe, and there was one way. He would do what was necessary to do to scale that 20 wall, tear his flesh on the razor wire, and close this fucking book once and for all.
All-State Coin and Pawn was owned by Luther Rigby, he must have been be 150 years old by then, but when Cameron pushed on the door, the little tangle of brass bells made that familiar ‘tink, tink, clink’ sound over his head and there was Luther, sitting on that same stool and reading the newspaper.
The paint on the windows used to be bright blue and orange, but time and sunlight dimmed the color like a washed out old concert t-shirt.
But, the neon red ‘Open’ sign blinked and the paint the hand-lettered sign still hung in the window, ‘OPEN 364 DAYS A YEAR — CLOSED ON CHRISTMAS’.
“Can I hep ya?” Luther lost all but the last couple teeth in his head, and the loss did not help his ever present lisp.
“Yeah, I need a special favor. A family friend sent me by; his name is Fredrick Douglas.”
Luther’s initial greeting was spoken without raising his milky brown eyes until he heard Cameron’s reply. When you grow up in this world, there are times you need things, and background checks and waiting periods were not an option.
A good business man, Luther kept a code for just these times.
He levied a hefty premium on transactions of this order, but money was not one of Cameron’s concerns. What he needed, he needed right now, and his bank account included enough zeros to pay the necessary premium without hesitation.
“You sure son?” Luther folded the paper in half, and his left eye squinted toward Cameron.
“I’m sure.”
“Alright then. Follow me.”
Luther rose from his stool, his knotty cane by his side as he scraped and limped toward a curtained opening behind the back counter. The glass cases still held some of the same power drills, and boom boxes Cameron and his friends pawned back when he turned twelve.
After finalizing his favor with Luther, he walked back to the alley behind the home where he grew up; grateful for the wintery breeze that cooled his heated skin.
Her car was gone, so he worked his way through the yard and took the Camaro back to the 8 Mile Motel.
He walked the dogs slowly around the block, the cool sensation of the hard metal pressing like a disease into the small of his back with each step.
“I’ll be sure you guys are okay. This isn’t our home for long. I’ll find you a place.”
Cameron’s voice caught as he settled into the rickety hotel room chair and wrote out instructions on the yellowed pad of paper, shoved it into an envelope with a wad of cash and wrote Reggie’s name on the front.
He was exhausted, Cameron hung his head, elbows on his knees.
He looked like Rodan’s ‘Thinking Man’, only he couldn’t seem to hold his head steady, the pain inside amplified by the image of her smile and the permanent memory of her flavor on his tongue.
The sun’s long streak that
fought its way through the crack between two long, heavy curtains began to fade. Cameron could not remember what time he’d arrived back at the motel, but it was coming up on 5 pm now.
His phone had finally stopped buzzing; Reggie had called and texted him at least ten times before giving up. He was the only person that knew the number, so Cameron didn’t need to look at the phone to know who it was blowing him up.
He also didn’t want to know anything about the promoter. He would have no need for contracts and money. It wouldn’t fucking matter, not after today.
After the fight, Reggie tried to get him to stay, the promoter wanted to talk, but Cameron had already lost the connection to that reality, he barely heard Reggie’s words, let alone his reasoning.
He didn’t care about any contract, any money, any win. He only cared about finishing this shit once and for all. His life meant nothing, but hers meant everything, and that was the only mission that mattered.
The Camaro sounded louder than usual as Cameron pulled to a stop behind O’Leary’s Pub. His breathing was steady, you would surely think his heart rate would be above that of an Olympic sprinter hitting the red tape, yet his pulse came slow, easy, and steady.
His breathing was shallow, and his skin felt as cool as if someone had just rubbed him down with ice-cold isopropyl alcohol.
The short back hall of O’Leary’s was lit by a single dangling bulb, the paint shown in layers of gray, white, and a dark green that probably contained lethal levels of lead.
Cameron heard the soft scrape of each boot step on the gritty cement floor.
The only other sounds were muted voices and the occasional ‘clank’ of a glass either being filled or washed behind the long, mahogany bar where Dimitri had tended daily, even holidays, for the last 30 years.
The Luther’s untraceable favor still chilled the indent of his spine. The black metal still pressed under the waist of his belted jeans since he’d placed it there after Luther slid it over the wooden table top in the back room. He felt it, like a live cockroach crawling and tickling, demanding to be dealt with.
Why did Cameron know Topher would be here? It was Thanksgiving day, he should be home like all the other normal fathers — being thankful.
Fucker — hate never gives thanks. Evil doesn’t pause for something as banal as holidays. He would be here. There were dreams to crush, money to be worshiped, power to be wielded.
He was here, Cameron could smell him.
“And, here he is.” Topher crossed his arms over the crest of his belly, resting them on the ledge it created and looked around at the three or four other Irish back-ups guarding his ass. His tongue counted each jaundiced colored tooth, making a twisted sucking sound as he traversed his gums.
His words and eyes showed no surprise as Cameron took the ten strides needed to tower over the four-top table covered with a black leather notebook, half-full bottle of Chianti and one empty wine glass.
“I’ve had a busy morning. How’s your family? Did you have a good Thanksgiving?” Topher’s sarcastic tone fell on deaf ears.
Cameron’s bones ached as he fought the urge to bring forward the squirming cockroach in his belt. He stood mute, his brain buzzing, trying to piece together the next few moments that would change the course of both of their lives.
It’s your last fucking Thanksgiving, asshole. I hope you stuffed yourself like a damn bird because you are about to leave this mortal coil.
“I have to tell you; I was so disappointed last night when I received word that the fight did not go as planned. I thought you were a man of your word. Honor is the most important thing we men have isn’t it, Cameron?”
“Yeah, well, sometimes the minions don’t fall in line, do they?” Cameron seethed.
“Well, no, but you surprised me again when I got the package this morning. I’m a businessman, Cameron, and I consider our business concluded. So, I expect you are here to confirm that conclusion.”
The solid rock that he carried around where his heart used to be began to thump in his chest. He felt drunk as he tried to make sense of the fat fuck’s words.
What the fuck is going on? What fucking package?
“I could be angry, Cameron. But this is just business, so I accept the debt is paid, the amount even covered my losses from last night. But you must know, there is a trust between men like us, and you have broken that trust. I don’t like misunderstandings, so I will be as clear as I can be. You will not get another chance. I hope your family stays on the right side of their debts from here on out because I will no longer provide you or your family with any special consideration. No warnings, no time —”
One thing you learn from an early age growing up on these streets is keep your mouth shut.
Cameron had no fucking idea what package arrived or who covered the debt, but he knew better than to tip his hand and let the self-appointed king of Fremont Street know he had no fucking idea what was going on.
Cameron felt the push of the warming metal on his back as he shifted his shoulders toward the way he came in.
“So, why are you here? You are a man of few words, Cameron but you must have something to say if you’re here.”
“If you ever come near her, talk to her, or talk about her, I’ll kill you. I don’t like misunderstandings, so I’m being as clear as I can.”
“Very well. I will consider myself warned. I had that once —”
Topher toyed with the empty glass in his hand, spinning it a quarter turn back and forth.
“Had what?” Cameron asked.
“What you have. For her. I can see it in your eyes. I had that once. It’s a dangerous thing — a feeling like that for men like us.”
“There’s no ‘us’ between ‘us.'”
Topher laughed, but it was sound without humor.
“Oh, — Oh, yes Cameron, there is an ‘us.' We are men cut from the same cloth, you and I. That is why you are here, and neither your own father or hers are here to settle their own business. Men like us, we’re not without feelings like most perceive us. They see hard, emotionless, ruthless men — that is how the world molded us, out of necessity we grew our shields and weapons like battalions around our kingdom.
But, under that — you and me — we have honor, loyalty, we believe in love and redemption and a code among men.
Would you kill me if I came for her? Yes, I have no doubt. And, I respect that — it does not cause me anger or a wish for revenge. I understand. I have been there. In the end, I could not protect what was mine as you are trying to do with what is yours.”
“Honor? If you have this honor — then all I need to know is we’re done. Don’t take bets from them anymore. If they come, freeze them out. They haven’t changed because they haven’t had to pay the fucking piper themselves. I’ll never come to you for anything ever again, but just put the word out, okay? Don’t let them back in.”
“You think you can change them? If it’s not me, they will find someone else. Maybe the bets will be smaller, perhaps they will end up —”
“Fuck that — I’m talking to you right fucking now. Just promise me, no more.”
Topher leaned back in his chair and his hands took their position over his belly again, and he mouthed his toothpick from the right side and maneuvered it over to the left.
“I can’t do that. I’m a business man. That’s a family problem, not my problem. They still own Southside. The place still has a name, still worth something. They still have collateral.”
Something turned upward on his lips between a grimace and a smile as Cameron spun heel to toe and left him staring at the back of his head.
“You try to save everyone; you will end up sacrificing someone.” Topher’s voice bounced around the bar, and Cameron’s palms slammed into the emergency release on the door, his eyes blinded by the contrast of late fall sun that decided to shine like a July afternoon.
He fixed his black-on-black Oakleys over his eyes.
His mind already racing with ques
tions and possibilities about exactly what the fuck just happened. There was shit to figure out, and his head was still not straight.
All of his clothes were in the trunk of the Camaro, and he wondered where he would lay his head tonight.
The effort it took for each step became magnified to a degree that left him leaning on the roof of the car, staring down at the crack in the pavement as he struggled to fill his lungs.
He had been pummeled by fists in the gut more times that his memory could serve, but the way he felt now, those hits were damn near painless compared to the torture going on inside him.
She wasn’t even here and still, he couldn’t catch his breath.
The dark claws and deep pit inside him began to speak, reminding him there existed no possibility that he could live like this. The metal in the crook of his back served another purpose; he only need make the final decision.
They say time heals, but there are situations where time’s power falls short. Too little, too late.
Cameron’s body shivered; a cold fear wrapped him so tightly inside its blackness, his shoulders fell forward, and he squeezed his eyes shut as to not let the light in or the tears out.
Jesus God, how am I supposed to live like this? How can someone fucking put one foot in front of the other? I’m not going to make it, not like this, not without her.
Well, maybe you fucked up jack wad —
Shut up.
No — you shut up.
How’s it all working out for you? Hard ass? You had it all, everything, the brass ring, the golden ticket. You shut her out, not the other way around. You’re an ass.
Fuck off.
“ARRRRRRRRRR!!!!” Cameron raised his face and let out a bellow that resounded down the alley and upward to the sun.
His body felt wrapped in razor wire, his head full of hammers and his gut rank with some disease that turned his stomach and scratched every nerve until it felt raw and bleeding.
His mind raced; turning, tucking and shutting down all at once.
But, she was the one that fucked up. She sat there, holding my fucking brother’s hands. The same brother that told me he wanted her. She was the one that broke the damn rules, didn’t listen, didn’t call me when something happened. How can I fucking protect her ass if she’s going to go off all half-cocked whenever she gets a wild hair? FUCK! What the fuck do I do? I wish I never came back here.
