“Thank you, Manny.”
“Now leave us men to dress.”
“Yes, dear.”
And with that, the beautiful English girl clip-clopped on her heels out of the locker room.
For a moment there was an awkward silence between the two men. Eventually Schumacher broke it.
“I hope you’re not… offended, Herr Alexander.”
“No, no,” Hannibal waved his hands dismissively. “Shit, your girlfriend is beautiful, and I’m not one to judge what gets you cats off.” Then he snorted nostalgically. “Shit, if you’d have put me in that situation a couple of weeks ago, I’d probably even have gone along with it.”
“Vell,” Schumacher snorted with a wry smile. “I’m sorry I missed that opportunity.” Then he tossed Hannibal a fresh towel. “Now let’s get washed up. If I can’t offer you my girlfriend, perhaps I can offer you lunch, instead.”
And that was one threesome Hannibal was happy to be a part of.
Chapter Forty-Four
Hannibal
On Friday night, Hannibal parked his Bentley in front of his old house, on that tree-lined suburban street, and sighed.
Peering out through the windscreen, he looked at the old brick and faded wood, and the bowed tree in the front yard.
He’d grown up there. He and Jules and learned to ride bikes on the sidewalk outside that house, and could remember that tree in front from before it was taller than the house.
And yet now, at that moment, he felt like a stranger there.
With a sigh, the big man clambered out of the car and grabbed a bag from the back seat. Trader Joe’s had yielded a six dollar bottle of Rioja that even his father would be impressed with, and a bouquet of flowers for Kristen’s mom that didn’t cost so much he’d feel like he was betraying his own mom by giving them to her.
And then, with butterflies churning in his stomach, he walked down the driveway and knocked on the door.
Immediately, Buttons and Popcorn started yapping wildly from the other side of the big, oak door – and as soon as they did, Hannibal heard Kristen laughing through the door: “That’ll be Hannibal, dad.”
Hannibal felt a brief flash of anger. He’d never even think of calling his stepmother ‘mom.’ It was weird to hear Kristen call Cornell ‘dad.’
But by the time the door opened, he’d shaken it off, and he greeted Kristen with a big smile.
“Hey, you,” she embraced him eagerly, and hung on just a little bit longer than they would have done in previous years. Then, with a glance over her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, Kristen planted a quick kiss on Hannibal’s lips and guided him inside.
The house was warm, and the air was rich with the delicious smell of dinner. As Hannibal walked into the kitchen, he was greeted with a cheery wave from Kristen’s mom, Susie, who was dressed in a neat, black apron and stirring a huge pan of buttered mashed potatoes.
Jules was there too, looking lanky and uncomfortable at the kitchen table as he tried to engage his dad in conversation. As soon as Hannibal came in, he leapt up and gave him a ‘homie handshake’ and a slap on the back, murmuring: “Good to see, you, blood.”
Hannibal awkwardly patted him on the back. They’d seen each other every day for over a week. He didn’t know what made tonight so special!
But when it came to the next face to come bearing down at him… Well, that was a different kettle of fish.
With his grey-black afro looking particularly wild, and his horn-rimmed glasses slightly crooked, Cornell Alexander hefted his rotund form from behind the table, and offered his eldest son his hand.
“Pleased you could make it, son.”
“Thanks for inviting me, Pops.”
And then, almost forgetting it, Baller handed over the wine.
Cornell glanced at the bottle for a second – a 2010 Gran Reserva – and nodded his approval.
“And these flowers are for her… I mean, Susie.” And at the sound of her name, Kristen’s mom wheeled around like a younger, prettier Paula Deen and crushed Hannibal to her bosom.
Crushed between her breasts, it was the first time he’d considered tapping out since his fight with James MacDonald.
“Now sit down, sit down,” she flustered, finding a vase for the lilies. “I made your father’s favorite, pork chops and mashed potato.” And then she winked lovingly at Cornell. “And I know exactly how he likes them.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Hannibal
Two hours later, Cornell Alexander and his eldest son sat on the back patio, smoking cigars.
Cornell had been smoking Topper Ebony cigars since he was in his early twenties, and perhaps the few occasions that Hannibal felt like he and his dad had ever really connected were the rare occasions when he’d crack open that richly-smelling box and pull out two of the Connecticut-made cigars for the both of them to enjoy.
“Dinner was good,” Hannibal murmured, as he breathed rich smoke from his nostrils.
Cornell snorted.
“Don’t tell your stepmother,” he admitted, buoyed by three glasses of Rioja, “but the only time I miss your mother is porkchop night.” He sighed. “Your mom could cook a mean porkchop.”
“She still can,” Hannibal shrugged. It was the first meal he’d requested after coming home.
That neatly killed off conversation for a couple of minutes – but you don’t need much conversation when you have a good cigar.
Eventually, though, Cornell asked: “So what’s next?”
Hannibal turned to him.
“What do you mean?”
“For you,” Cornell explained. “I mean, you got kicked out of the fighting game, right?” He took a puff from his cigar. “Kristen’s got your old room, but if you need a place to stay for a while…”
“Pops, I’m going back into the league,” Hannibal said coolly. “I was suspended, it wasn’t a ban.” He puffed his own cigar. “I’m considering it a time-out. Maybe I needed one.”
“Sounds like you need a longer one,” Cornell grumbled. “How long’s it gonna last next time? Six months? Less?” He narrowed his eyes. “How old are you gonna be when that butcher’s shop finally spits you back out? Thirty? With no college degree, no job and no future.” He snorted, smoke billowing from his flared nostrils. “I thought I raised you smarter than that.”
“Oh, in this family there’s plenty of dumb to go around,” Hannibal growled back. “But I’ll make you a deal, Pops. As long as I’m here, I’m gonna keep Jules in school. Whatever he intends to do with his life, I’m gonna make sure he always has that to fall back on.”
“And what will you fall back on, Hannibal?”
The fighter looked his father dead in the eye, and crushed his cigar butt into the concrete patio.
“I’ve already done my falling, Dad,” he explained. “In fact, I think God, or whoever it was who brought me back here, did it to help me get my head back in the game.” He clambered stiffly to his feet. “Because if there’s one thing the past few weeks have taught me about ‘falling back,’ it’s that when you’re on the ground, the fight ain’t over. It ain’t ever over until you tap out.”
And then, as he headed back inside, he called over his shoulder: “And I’m done tapping out.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Kristen
“You’re nuts.”
That was the first thing Hannibal murmured to Kristen, as she dragged him around the corner into the deserted TV room, and pressed her lips wetly against his.
“Do you know how hard it’s been trying to keep my hands off you all evening?” Kristen whispered hotly, wrapping her tiny hands around his massive shoulders. “It’s been driving me crazy.”
“Well, can you sneak out later?”
“Where to?” She snorted, standing on her tip-toes to nibble on his ear. “Somewhere with a full-sized bed, I hope.”
Hannibal’s mind started whirring, considering the possibilities – even considering the big, leather couch over at Fi
re & Iron.
But that’s when the scream interrupted them.
With her arms still wrapped around her stepbrother, Kristen and Hannibal wheeled around and found Susie starring across the room at them.
“What the hell is going on?” she screamed.
Kristen squeezed shut her eyes. She’d forgotten that the TV room had another entrance, by traveling through the sunroom.
“What the hell is going on here?” Susie repeated, and that time it was loud enough for Jules and Cornell to come stumbling into the TV room as well.
Kristen let go of Hannibal’s shoulders, and roughly shoved her stepbrother aside.
“Hannibal Frederick Alexander,” Cornell boomed, so loud the windows rattled. “What was that display?”
Hannibal and Kristen were silent, glancing at each other anxiously. It was impossible to tell how much Susie and the others had seen – or what they’d thought they’d seen…
“Yo,” it was Jules who cut to the chase. “Are you two… are you two hooking up?”
Susie gasped, and slumped against the couch.
“T-this isn’t what it looks like,” Kristen held up her hands.
“Yes,” Hannibal snapped at her. “Yes, it is. It’s exactly what it looks like.” He turned to Susie and his dad, and said coolly: “Kristen and I… We like each other.”
There was stunned silence, interrupted only by Jules hissing: “Ewwwww, dude. You’ve been hooking up with our stepsister.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask her to be our stepsister,” Hannibal snapped back. “I mean, no offense Susie,” turning to Kristen’s mom, he said flatly: “Nobody asked you to marry our Pops.”
Susie gasped, as if he’d slapped her.
Cornell reared up to his full height – still a good foot shorter than Hannibal.
“I think you’d better leave, Hannibal.”
“Hey,” Hannibal snapped. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I don’t even know where to begin with what you’ve done wrong,” Cornell snapped back, “but your tone’s enough to start with. You get out of my house, right now.”
Hannibal rolled his eyes. This was like a flashback to the previous night.
“C’mon, Krissie,” he reached for her hand. She didn’t take it.
Turning to his stepsister, Hannibal saw her big, blue eyes were glistening with tears. He followed her gaze, and saw Susie’s round, tan face was glistening with tears of her own.
“Aww, fuck,” Hannibal snapped.
And with that, he marched to the door, practically kicked it open, and stomped on down the garden path.
A moment later, the sound of squealing tires reverberated down the street, as the powerful Bentley screamed off into the night.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Kristen
“How could you?” Susie sniffed, sitting on the couch. “With him.”
“With him?” Kristen was trying to console her, but every time she reached to stroke her mother’s hair, Susie would bat her hand away. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Yes, Susanne,” Cornell was standing over them now, using his can to lean on. “What exactly is wrong with my son?”
Susie scoffed.
Looking up at her husband, she cried: “He’s a thug! You said so yourself! Everything you told me, every night when he was gone. He’s irresponsible, a womanizer. He takes no responsibility for anything.” She sobbed. “You spent the last year telling me what a monster he is, and now he’s trying to corrupt my daughter.”
“I never said…” But Cornell fell silent.
Everything Susie had said was true.
“Mom, he’s not really like that,” Susie rubbed her mother’s shoulder. “The tattoos? The women? That’s all just an act, for the audience.”
Susie wiped her cheek.
“Is it?” She spat. “I’ve seen the tabloids. I saw the video of the fight that got him suspended.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re just a silly girl, Krissie. You didn’t ever think that maybe this,” she gestured to Cornell’s old house, filled with books and paintings. “You think maybe this was the act? That he’s just back here pretending to fit into our world. That maybe he really belongs in that circus back in Vegas?”
She looked up at her husband.
“Tell him, Cornell. You said it yourself, that he’s just a thug.”
“I… I…” Cornell’s mouth flopped open like a fish. “That’s my son, Susie.”
“And this is my daughter,” she hissed. “And I don’t want him corrupting her like he did Julius.”
“Hey!”
Up until now, Jules had just been hanging back, listening. But, at the mention of his name, he stepped forward and growled: “Baller got me back into class. He’s giving me lessons for two hours every day.” He narrowed his eyes. “If making me work my ass off is ‘corrupting’ me, maybe that’s exactly what I needed.”
“Oh, shut up, Julius,” Cornell snapped. “You’re just a kid. You don’t know anything…”
“I know enough not to put up with this bullshit,” Jules spat. He grabbed his coat from the back of the couch. “Don’t bother about giving me a ride home. I’ll catch a cab.” And then he snorted loudly. “See, I’m gonna win an MMA fight this week, and then I won’t need to listen to any of you motherfuckers again.”
The walls of the old house shook as Jules slammed shut the door, stomping off into the night.
Susie let out another wail.
Kicking the coffee table, Cornell turned his back on the two of them, and stomped miserably into his study.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Hannibal
“Part of me wondered if you’d even bother coming.”
That’s how Hannibal greeted Jules, as his younger brother came skidding to a halt on his fixie bike outside Fire & Iron.
It was the following morning, and from the bloodshot appearance of Hannibal’s eyes, it was clear he hadn’t got much sleep.
“Nah, blood, we good,” Jules slid off his bike and gave Hannibal his signature ‘homie handshake.’ “What they were saying about you last night… Well, that was bullshit.”
Hannibal snorted bitterly.
“Maybe… I dunno.” He paused. “How’s Krissie?”
“Beats me, brother,” Jules shrugged. “When they started going off, I bailed. Fuck if I’m going to sit around and listen to them badmouth you.” He snorted. “Shit, you’re the only fucker around here who even listens to me.”
Hannibal allowed himself a wry smile, and patted his little brother on the shoulder.
“Thanks, man.”
Jules shrugged it off.
“C’mon, man. I came early, like you said. I want to see you train with this German dude.” He sniffed. “I might learn a thing or two.”
“Well, hurry your ass up. He’s waiting.”
Hannibal led Jules into the dark, cool comfort of Fire & Iron. It was a Saturday, so the gym was pretty busy, and the clank of free weights and the thump of gloves on punching bags echoed through the redbrick warehouse.
Waiting at the boxing ring was Manfred Schumacher – and, of course, his beautiful girlfriend, Sally.
“Holy shit,” Jules’ eyes widened the moment he saw her. “Who is that?”
“His girlfriend,” Hannibal hissed. “Play it cool.”
And then he introduced them.
“So, you are Baller’s little brother, ja?” With his typically over-aggressive friendliness, Schumacher gripped Jules’ hand with an iron grasp and got right up into his face to say hello. “I hear ve vill be seeing you on the fight circuit before too long.”
“I hope so, cuz,” Jules feigned confidence, but it was clear Schumacher’s in-your-face behavior threw him a little. “Maybe we’ll have a tangle one of these days.”
Schumacher snorted when he heard that, and then examined Hannibal’s little brother very seriously for a second.
“Put some weight on,” he finally nodded, slapping Jules’ shoulder, “and we’ll talk.”
“Speaking of talking,” Baller was stripping off his hoodie, “maybe we ought to do a little less of it.”
“Ja, ja,” Schumacher held up his hands in mock apology, “you are a busy man.” He turned back to Jules. “Vhy don’t you sit down viz my little girlfriend, Foxy, and enjoy the show.”
And that’s when Sally extended her slender hand, and Jules’ eyes widened as he shook it.
Hannibal watched from up in the boxing ring. He guess he couldn’t blame Jules for being a little star-struck. Sally Fox really was lovely. But after fucking porn stars and hip hop models in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, Hannibal was beginning to understand that ‘hot’ was an overrated attribute.
Manfred climbed into the ring, and slapped his fist into his palm a couple of times.
“Ready to go, mein Freund?”
Hannibal wheeled around, and grinned dangerously.
“As you said the other day, Manny: Come at me, bro.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Hannibal
Emotion is a dangerous thing in fighting.
It can be a distraction, or make you act irrationally. An assault driven by emotion is never as strategic as one plotted out beforehand.
But focused emotion – anger, and frustration – has its place. An angry punch lands faster and harder than a level-headed one, and fury will wriggle you out of an arm bar or choke hold in a way a cooler head never could.
And that’s why Hannibal was especially dangerous that morning.
Still furious with his father, he focused that pent-up aggression into his training with Manfred; and didn’t give the German a moment of respite.
His punches flew like jackhammers. He blocked so aggressively that the deflected blows actually hurt Schumacher. Fists and feet impacted with Hannibal’s muscular body time and time again, and he brushed off the pain like it was rainwater.
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