“Get the fuck outta here!” Janine screamed again.
There was a crash as the pile of empty glasses Kristen was balancing tumbled to the floor.
“Jesus Christ!” The three women looked up angrily, at the stunned looking waitress standing by their table.
“Jesus, watch your shit!”
“Fuck, there’s broken glass everywhere!”
For a second, Kristen just stood there, stunned. Then something snapped into place, and she nodded, thoughtlessly muttering: “I’m so sorry. I’ll come and tidy this up…”
But as she staggered off to grab a dustpan and brush, her mind was elsewhere.
Had she just heard that woman right?
Some blousey twenty-something with a cheap wedding ring had just claimed to have given Hannibal a blowjob in the parking lot of her school?
Her Hannibal.
And last week. When last week?
Her stomach flipped into a knot. Kristen suddenly felt bile rise in her throat.
Fuck, had her mother been right all along?
She’d been so swept away by this… this thing she’d had with Hannibal, that she hadn’t bothered wondering what he got up to the rest of the time.
While she was working, or in school, was he out banging other stupid broads from Hartford?
Filling him time getting blowjobs from cheating housewives, until he was back in Vegas and get them from the hookers and porn stars like he was used to?
Suddenly feeling like she was going to throw up, Kristen let the broom and dustpan she’d collected clatter to the floor. She clamped her hand over her mouth, and ran desperately to the bathroom.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Hannibal
“Where the fuck have you been, bro?”
Jules was sitting on the wall outside Fire & Iron, and slid off onto the sidewalk as Hannibal drew to a halt in his Bentley.
“Sorry, man,” Baller purred, clambering out from behind the driver’s seat and adjusting his recently-drained cock inside his sweat pants. “I had some… some business to take care of.”
“Is that what you’re calling Kristen now?” Jules smirked.
Hannibal rolled his eyes, and patted his brother on the shoulder. He headed for the gym.
“Nah, don’t bother, bro,” Jules stopped him. “Manny and his girl headed home. They said they were sorry they missed you… But that they were very… erm… satisfied with their experience.”
Hannibal had a sudden flashback, to watching Jules fucking Manfred’s girlfriend, bent over that bench.
“I fucking bet they were,” he smirked.
“So listen, you wanna give me a ride back home?” Jules jerked his thumb towards the Bentley. “I’ll leave my bike here.”
“In a while,” Hannibal turned to him. “Listen, why don’t we go for a beer first.” He patted his brother on the shoulder. “Fuck, you’ve heard it, bro.”
Jules grinned.
“Yeah, boy.” He clapped his hands together. “And, shit, that’s great. I needed to talk to you about something anyway.”
Hannibal narrowed his eyes. That was why he’d invited Jules for a drink, too.
“C’mon. There’s a place around the corner.”
* * *
The Tavern Downtown was a pretty standard sports bar on Ann Uccello Street, and soon Jules and Baller were propping up the bar with two cold pints of Sam Adams.
“This is nice, bro,” Jules raised his glass, and chinked it with his brother. “Hannibal and Julius, back together and back in action.” He slurped his beer. “I’ve fucking missed you, man.”
Hannibal smirked. “I’ve missed you too, man.” And then he patted Jules on the shoulder. “And your schoolwork? And the shit you’ve been pulling in the gym? I’m fucking proud of you.” He sighed. “He’s too much of a horse’s ass to ever admit it, but I reckon Pops is gonna be proud of you, too.”
“Well, he’ll be proud of me when I win that fight next week,” Jules snorted. “I’ll finally show him I’m serious about this.”
And that’s when Hannibal felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Yeah,” he said coolly. “About that…”
Jules looked up.
“Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t try to talk me out of it, man. Don’t make me train for two weeks and then tell me to fucking quit.”
Baller was silent for a second.
Eventually, he said: “Okay.”
Leaning in closer, he continued: “I’m not going to tell you to quit. Shit, I know what you’re like. It’s not like you’d listen anyway.”
Jules nodded with a smirk.
“So just listen up,” Hannibal warned. “Mike and I did some digging on this dude you’re supposed to be fighting. ‘Sam Hudson.’”
“And?”
“And he’s not some day laborer Red hired to take a few punches, like that last schmuck you fought.”
“Hey!” Jules snapped in protest, but Hannibal ignored him.
“He’s some old dude. Old, but professional.” Hannibal leaned even closer. “Listen, Jules. I’m worried you might get hurt…”
Jules snorted.
“After what you taught me this week? Not a chance.”
“Kid, I’ve been training for twenty years and I still got my ass beat the other week.”
“That’s different,” Jules spat back, even though it very clearly wasn’t. He followed up with: “How old is old?”
Hannibal pursed his lips.
“Fifty something. Guy’s been on the amateur fight circuit longer than you’ve been alive. At this stage he’s probably tougher than gristle and horse leather.”
“Fuck, man,” Jules laughed. “Some fifty year old peace of shit?” He snorted. “Shit, dude. I thought you were going to tell me he was Rashaan Jackson’s brother or something. Some old dude I can handle.”
And Hannibal was silent at that.
He studied his skinny, scrawny brother. The kid was small and weak, but he was fast and agile. Baller had trained him well that last week and a half, and if nothing else, he deserved to make the decision for himself.
He just hoped that Red’s illegal fight league wasn’t totally without rules. If anything happened to Jules, he’d never forgive himself.
“Well,” the big brother eventually sighed. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Jules patted him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, bro. I know you’re just looking out for me.”
Hannibal’s younger brother drained his beer.
“And actually, Baller… That was what I wanted to talk to you about. Red got back to me about my purse money. I was…” He looked up, clearly a little nervous. “I was wondering if you could shout me some.”
Hannibal blinked.
“What?”
“For the purse money,” Jules explained. “Buy-in is fifteen grand, and after what I spent last week I’ve only got…”
“Fifteen grand?”
Hannibal’s voice was loud enough for the entire bar to turn around and stare at him.
“Y-yeah,” Jules suddenly looked even more nervous. He looked around self-consciously. “I mean, that’s what the other guy’s paying too. Winner takes all, bro. Just like last time.”
“Fifteen fucking grand?” Hannibal blinked again. “As in: Fifteen thousand dollars? To fight?”
“Um, yeah,” Jules sipped his beer quietly. “I mean, I paid five last time. And I got that back, and more.” He leaned closer to Baller. “It’s not a big deal, bro. I’ll pay you back the moment I win.”
“You’re not gonna win,” Hannibal snapped back. “Shit, Julius. The purse money for my last fight was only seventeen grand, and that’s what they fucking paid me. And that shit was televised coast to coast.”
He leaned closer, his breath hot in Jules’ face.
“If Red’s expecting you to cough up that much money, it’s because he’s going to fucking take it from y
ou.”
“That’s bullshit,” Jules snapped back. “Fuck, I won my last two fights. I’m seven grand better off then I was when I bought in.” He poked Baller in the chest with a stubby finger. “You think Red would have handed me all that cash if this was just some scam?”
But the truth be told? Hannibal believed it was exactly that.
This whole thing sounded like one of those pool hall scams. You get playing against some lame kid, who you beat easily enough the first game or two. But then, when the stakes get big, they suddenly reveal their true skills; and take you for everything you have.
“You walk into that warehouse with fifteen grand,” Hannibal growled, “I guarantee you’re not walking about with it.”
“Well, that’s my issue, ain’t it?” Jules spat. “Now, are you going to lend me the money, or what?”
Hannibal snorted.
“And even if I was, where am I going to get fifteen grand from?”
“I don’t need fifteen. I need, maybe seven.”
Hannibal snorted.
“Shit, Jules. I don’t even have seven hundred to lend you.”
“Bullshit,” his little brother snapped back. “I heard Mike tell me how much that German is paying you for lessons…”
“Yeah, but I don’t get paid until afterward,” Hannibal snapped.
“And what about your car, man? You drive a fucking Bentley.” He poked a finger into Hannibal’s chest. “I’ve seen you on TV, with the hotel suites and the porn stars. You’re fucking loaded, man. So hand some of it over.”
Hannibal snarled: “I’m fucking broke, man.”
“Bullshit!”
“It’s not bullshit,” Hannibal snapped back, loud enough for the rest of the bar to turn and look at them again. “I spent every dime I got. You think hotel suites and clubs and hookers come cheap?” He snorted. “I was on your level of dumbass, back in Vegas. I blew through all that money like I was playin’ Monopoly or something.”
Jules blinked.
“Bullshit,” he growled again, but this time didn’t even sound like he believed it himself.
“Jules, I got nothing,” Hannibal laid a hand on his shoulder. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.” He leaned forward, and murmured to his brother: “This whole thing stinks, bro. It’s a scam.” He gripped Jules’ collarbone. “Just call it quits, and let’s start looking for a real league for you to join.”
Jules brushed off the hand on his shoulder.
“Fuck you, Hannibal,” he snapped. “This league is real. And I’m fighting next week whether you give me the cash or not.” Slipping off his bar stool, Jules turned to Hannibal and snapped: “Thanks for beer, bro. And the lessons. But I’m on my own now.” He flipped his brother the finger, and swaggered to the door. “Next time you see my ass, I’ll be a fucking champion.”
And then he was gone, with only his half-finished Sam Adams to indicate that he’d ever been there in the first place.
Hannibal looked at it and sighed wearily.
Just as he’d thought it was all coming back together, his life and his family was going to shit again.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Kristen
With tears streaking her face, Kristen lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Suddenly, the cell phone on her nightstand buzzed.
She didn’t even need to look at it to know who it was.
With a wet-sounding sniff, she picked up the phone and accepted the call.
“Yo, Krissie,” Hannibal’s warm voice filled the speaker. “I miss you, girl.”
Kristen didn’t say anything at first. She just sniffed.
But then, placing the phone against her ear, she demanded: “Who is Janet Regis?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Who is Janet Regis?” Kristen repeated, coldly.
“Janet Regis?” Hannibal’s voice was quiet, and reticent. “She’s some bitch I went to school with.” He paused. “Why?”
“Why?” Kristen laughed bitterly. “Because she was sitting in Chili’s this afternoon, joking with her friends about giving you a blowjob during recess last week.”
“Oh, fuuuuuuck,” was Hannibal’s instinctual response.
To Kristen, that was all the confirmation she needed.
“So who else is there, Hannibal?” Kristen hissed. “Any other ‘bitches’ going to come crawling out of the woodwork.” She sobbed, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh, I was so fucking stupid. I should have listened to my mother.”
“No, wait,” Hannibal begged. “Krissie, this isn’t how it sounds…”
“Oh, it isn’t?” Kristen snapped. “What is it, Hannibal? Was she lying? Did she really give you a blowjob in the parking lot?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, and that told Kristen all she needed to know.
“Holy shit,” she sobbed. “Aww, shit. Part of me was hoping the bitch made it up. Part of me was hoping…”
“Kristen, it’s not how it sounds,” Hannibal pleaded down the phone. “Look, the first day I came back – before I’d even seen you again…”
“Shut it, Baller,” Kristen snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t want to hear it. It doesn’t matter.” She dragged in a ragged breath. “You’re free to let as many bitches suck your dick as you want.” And then she squeezed shut her eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to be one of them.”
And them, hand trembling, she stabbed the ‘end call’ button and tossed her phone across the room.
Flipping over in her bed, she buried her face into the pillows and wailed in anguish.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Hannibal
It had been many, many years since Hannibal had been woken up by his mom screaming at him.
But apparently, today was a flashback.
“What in the hell did you do, Hannibal Alexander!”
Trudy Alexander came stomping into the tiny bedroom with her voice screeching and her hackles raised. The windows rattled in their panes as she screamed: “You’ve got some explaining to do!”
Hannibal sat up blearily, demanding: “What’s going on, Moms?”
“Don’t you ‘Moms’ me!” She thwotted him with a rolled up newspaper. Hannibal blinked, and batted his mom’s arm away as she actually hit him with a rolled up newspaper.
“Get your sorry ass out of bed this instant!”
“Jesus Christ!”
Slap! The newspaper hit him again.
“Jesus, Moms!”
Slap!
“For fuck’s sake!” Suddenly he snatched the paper out of his mother’s hand, and tore it in two.
Trudy Alexander paused her assault, and stood her ground as her eldest son clambered out of bed and stood towering over her.
“W-what time is it?” He looked at his watch, and saw it was just past ten in the morning. He turned to Trudy. “Jesus, mom. What is going on?”
Trudy slapped him.
“Get your sorry ass downstairs!”
Hannibal was 235lb of trained MMA muscle – but even a heavyweight champion contender yields to Trudy Alexander when she’s got her slapping hand out.
“What the fuck… Ow!”
“You watch your mouth,” Trudy spat, hustling her son out of the bedroom and down the tiny staircase.
At the bottom of the stairs, Hannibal stumbled to a halt in shock.
Standing across his mom’s tiny dining room was Cornell.
“D-dad?” Hannibal blinked. “What are you doing here?”
But Cornell didn’t answer. The rotund black man simply snarled at him, and demanded: “What the hell did you do?”
“Jesus!” Hannibal growled, and dodged another blow as his mother followed him down the stairs. “What did I do?” He wheeled around to his divorced parents. “What the hell is going on?”
“What did you tell Julius?” Trudy snapped.
Hannibal blinked.
“I… I didn’t tell him nothing.”
That’s when Cornell snarled, and held up a printed out sheet of paper.
“I got a call from the bank this morning,” he hissed. “It seems like your brother went down there the moment it opened and cleaned out his college fund.”
“W-what?” Hannibal blinked.
“Twenty thousand dollars, Hannibal,” Trudy screamed. “That was all the money your father and I had put away for Julius to go to school.” She shuddered. “Gone. Every last dime.”
Hannibal blinked.
“W-what?” He slumped into one of the dining room chairs.
“I don’t know what you’ve been telling your brother,” Cornell roared, “but he’s taken it into his damned stupid head to take every penny of his college money – and God knows what he’s going to go and do with it.”
Hannibal froze.
He did know.
He was going to use it to buy into that fight.
“This is all your fault,” Trudy was screaming at him. “You came back here and have been filling his head with nonsense.”
“And I don’t know what you did to your stepsister,” Cornell added, “but she’s in floods of tears back home. Susie was ready to come looking for you with my .38 last night, ‘til I talked her out of it.”
Hannibal felt a stab at the sound of Krissie’s name.
“You’re a goddamn curse on this family,” Trudy cried. “As if we weren’t going through enough, you come back here and tear us all apart again.”
“Mom, Pops,” Hannibal held out his hands. “This ain’t my fault.” His eyes widened. “Listen, I can explain…”
“I don’t want to hear it, Hannibal,” Cornell spat.
“Me neither,” Trudy growled. “You go and get your stuff and you get out of my damn house.”
“And don’t even think of coming back unless it’s with your brother, and that twenty thousand dollars.” Cornell shook his shaggy head. “And to think, I was defending you to Susie the other night.” He sighed. “She was right about you all along.”
Hannibal stood there, stunned.
He felt hollow inside, and then that empty space began to fill with anger.
“So this is it, yeah?” He growled, grabbing his sports bag from the floor. “Everything goes to shit, and you decide to blame me again.”
Baller: An Interracial MMA Stepbrother Romance Page 15
