Level Up- The Knockout

by Dan Sugralinov

  “Who?”

  “The guy has lost it. He openly threatens me. Imagine that! But I don’t think he has a leg to stand on.”

  “Who do you mean and why would they need a leg to stand on?”

  Howell took Lexie to the office and continued, shrugging her questions off, “This one is real cheeky. I’ve been thinking of punching him in the face myself. No one gets to talk to me like that!”

  “Who exactly do you mean?”

  “It’s hard to believe what he says. But if it’s true, we’re up shit creek for sure, and there ain’t no paddles around.”

  “Uncle, I don’t get it... Fuck!”

  Howell opened the door to his office and Lexie saw a huge bulk of a man in her uncle’s chair, his feet resting casually on the desk. One could see the bandage on his head from underneath his baseball cap. He also had Band-Aid over half his face. The other half was recognizable enough to Lexie—especially the predatory grin.

  “Hey, babe. Long time no see.”

  “Mr. Goretsky? Why are you here? Do you want your face smashed again?

  “Alexa!” the uncle exclaimed. “What on earth are you on about?”

  Goretsky removed his feet from the desk and rose. “I came here personally to tell you that y’all will be get subpoenaed real soon. You owe me millions!”

  Lexie replied calmly, “I’ll make a counterclaim in that case. Sexual harassment. And then you will owe me.”

  Goretsky chuckled. “Don’t try to scare me, babe. I’ve consulted with my attorney. You’d never be able to prove it.”

  “Like you have a lot of evidence.”

  Howell placed himself in between the two. “This is the very reason I’m suggesting to settle things quietly. The court of law doesn’t have to know.”

  Goretsky clenched his fist. “There won’t be any settlement! I’ll sue you asses off! Especially your doofus of an employee. You’ll beg me to forgive you on your very knees! Where is he, by the way? Are you hiding him from me? The previous time he attacked me cowardly when I least expected it.”

  “Mike isn’t in today. But he can do the same number on you as he did the previous time.”

  “Alexa!” her uncle started yelling again. “Don’t say anything that could be used against you!”

  “Then get the fuck out,” Alexa pointed to the door.

  “Oh, so that’s how you wanna play it? All right, then. You’ll hear from my attorney!”

  “Yeah, get going already.”

  Lexie dismissed Goretsky, got back into the office, and fell into a chair. She covered her face with her hands and said, barely managing to hold back the tears, “Mr. Howell... Uncle, what do we do?”

  Howell got to the bar, took a bottle of single malt whisky and two glasses. He poured out two generous shots, added ice, and handed one of the glasses to Lexie.

  “First thing, stop whining. I’ve taken a good look at this Goretsky, and I know his type. They love to see someone cry—someone’s that weaker than they are. And he’d love to see your tears. That was the whole reason for his arrival. Also, you should tell me what really happened. Who is this Hagen? And how could he have beaten this gorilla?”

  “Michael Hagen is one of our repairmen.”

  “He must be really good at fighting. It’s weird I never noticed him.”

  “Oh, uncle, you got it all wrong. Mike is no fighter. I mean, he is, but he doesn’t look like one... I’m so confused.”

  “Well, that makes two of us. Hey, wait a moment. Is that the doofus who sits behind the counter? The one who flaps his big ears?”

  “The very one. The short guy.”

  “Call that short? He’s almost a midget. You can barely see him behind that counter. So, are you saying he’s the one who’d beaten up Goretsky?”

  “I saw it with my own eyes. If I hadn’t intervened, he would have pummeled that big boy to death.”

  Her uncle watched Lexie take a sip of whisky, wince, and place the glass on the desk.

  “So, where’s this Hagen guy now?”

  “I’ve given him a day off.”

  “Why?”

  “Sick leave.”

  “Alexa!” yelled the uncle. “Don’t bullshit me! I always see it when you do!”

  “He participated in an underground MMA tournament last night,” Lexie burst out. “And he was barely alive by the end of the fight. I was there with him.”

  “Come again? Are you saying you fought in the ring, too?”

  “Nah, it was a match at the Dark Devil club. He invited me on a date. Of sorts.”

  “I’ve heard of the place. It belongs to the mayor’s son. Oh, well. Alexa, Alexa... I won’t start asking you about how you’d ended up there. Or why you’re always attracted to all sorts of hoodlums.”

  The uncle kept pacing the office, the ice cubes in his glass clinking. Lexie wiped her tears trying to decipher what was going on behind that impenetrable wrinkled face. She had imagined herself to be a strong and independent woman, but the experience with Goretsky had unsettled her, and she decided to rely on her uncle’s experience.

  Howell slammed his glass down. “So, this is how it goes. As far as I see, there were no witnesses to the fight between Mike and Goretsky.”

  “I’m not really sure. Anyone could have been there.”

  “Let’s assume you’re the only witness. Thus, Goretsky has no evidence.”

  “But I used my phone to dial 911. If they start investigating the reason I called...”

  “Right. That doesn’t sound good. But let’s cross that bridge as we get to it. The first thing I advise you to do is fire this Mike. He sounds like a weird one, and I don’t handle weird well. He fights in the ring, and he’s attacked a client...”

  “He didn’t attack, uncle. He was defending me.”

  “Forget all about it. Goretsky has a strong point in his favor. The incident took place on the premises and involved one of our staff. A good lawyer could turn it into a million-dollar case. I sure hope this idiot Goretsky fails to find one. You should also fine this bastard Hagen for assaulting a client.”

  “But then it will be...”

  “Yup. We should blame this Mike of yours on everything. DigiMart has nothing to do with it. In that case, we can present it as a personal conflict between Mike and Goretsky. Instead of a legal case—’Goretsky vs. DigiMart.’”

  Lexie grabbed her glass and took a long gulp. “But that isn’t fair!”

  “Business is business. Do you think Goretsky would feel sorry for you if he had an opportunity to sue us for a million bucks? I’ll go see our attorneys right away and consult with them, but I’m pretty sure the only option they’ll recommend is deny everything and make Hagen the scapegoat.”

  Lexie rose from her chair and walked to the mirror to fix her makeup after all the crying. Her uncle was about to exit the office, but he turned around as he opened the door.

  “Another thing. Tell Riggs to watch CCTV recordings for that day. We do have those cameras in the parking lot, don’t we?”

  “I’m not sure we do.”

  “Anyway, the cameras behind the store may have caught a piece of it.”

  “OK,” said Lexie in a quivering voice.

  Her uncle suddenly turned up the sympathy. “Don’t worry. This idiot has given us time to prepare. He should have sued immediately, but you see how he just had to come over here and threaten us first thing.”

  Howell closed the door behind him. Lexie took a deep breath, arranged her clothes, and returned to the main hall.

  The day would be long and hard. She thought she had a few Alka-Seltzers somewhere in her bag. She’d need one.

  * * *

  HAGEN HAD EXPECTED to see Gonzalo bedridden and unable to move, with all kinds of tubes inside him and some medical equipment beeping unnervingly nearby. However, his sparring partner looked perfectly alive—he even came to the door of the ward to greet him. Gonzalo’s face was still swollen—one of his eyes was almost completely shut, and there wa
s a bandage around his head. Still, he was smiling, giving Mike a firm handshake and then surprising him with a hug.

  “What’s up, blood? Yo, you’re officially the fastest fist in the Wild West!”

  Mike tried to smile back. He was looking at Gonzalo with some reserve, wondering how the other guy could be in such good humor. After all, Mike had nearly crippled him, beating him up right in front of the public, and right at the moment when Gonzalo was completely sure of his victory, too. That must have added insult to injury.

  Mike was impressed by this behavior, and his respect for his opponent grew. Gonzalo Herrera aka The Killa must have known something about life that had still been eluding Hagen.

  Gonzalo didn’t take his hands off Mike as he pushed him aside to get a good look at him. “That coat is real cool.”

  “It’s a jacket, actually.”

  “Uh, looks like a coat on you. But it fits. Another thing you have to do is this—real street style, a lone wolf from the inner city.” Gonzalo turned Hagen’s jacket collar up.

  “How are you doing in general?” Hagen asked.

  “I told you, I’ll live. It’s just that the doctor wanted to keep me as an inpatient for a few days. But it’s so boring here I can hardly bear it. Hey, homie. How about a couple of brewskies?”

  “Where would we get them? Can you do that in a hospital? Or is there a bar nearby?”

  “Don’t be a chump. And I ain’t going out like that,” Gonzalo pointed at his robe.

  Gonzalo opened the door and peeked into the corridor, than gestured to Hagen to come closer.

  “See the door at the end of the corridor? That’s where the fire escape is. The patients use it to have a smoke without the doctors or the nurses seeing them. The interns join us often, too. They’re cool. Got good bud. I’ll wait for you there, and you could run to the liquor store just down the block. We have to celebrate, don’t we? And you must have gotten enough dead presidents after your victory to afford it.”

  “Sure, no problem!” Mike nodded energetically.

  “So it’s on!” Gonzalo beamed at him.

  As he was on his way out, Gonzalo added,

  “Hey! You’re limping for reals! So I’ve done a good number on you, too!”

  Hagen sent another text to Lexie en route. Then, as he was waiting for the checkout, he even got confident enough to dial her number. But Lexie didn’t answer and he got switched to voicemail.

  Hagen hid the phone in the pocket of his uncle’s jacket and decided not to impose too much. The girl must have been really busy.

  There were indeed a couple of people in hospital robes at the landing—one of them had even dragged his infusion pump with him. He was sitting on one of the stairs, manspreading so wide everyone could see his plumbing, smoking, and telling anyone who’d cared to listen,

  “It will all become clear tomorrow. I might survive, I might not. The doctors are giving me a 50% chance. This might be the last cigarette I’ll ever smoke.”

  Gonzalo was sitting next to the guy, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t get all mopey, homie. You’re a strong one, and you sure can stick it to the Reaper! Oh! Here comes our beer!”

  Gonzalo took the pack from Hagen, passing the bottles to everyone. Everyone raised a toast and made a swig.

  The man with the infusion pump put out his cigarette. “Does anyone have any smokes?”

  “Hey, bro, we don’t smoke. We’re into sports,” Gonzalo said with a chuckle, drinking deep from his bottle.

  Hagen remembered that he still had his uncle’s packet of Camels in one of his pockets, so he handed that and the lighter to the man. “Help yourself.”

  The man with the infusion pump chortled. “So it wasn’t the last cigarette in my life, after all!”

  Gonzalo nudged Mike to get upstairs. They passed a few stories and reached the roof.

  The sun was about to set. A couple of plastic chairs stood next to the railing. Herrera sat down on one of them, and invited Hagen to follow suit.

  “The interns brought these. They come here to relax once their evening shift is done.”

  Mike placed himself on one of the chairs gingerly, looking down at the streets.

  Gonzalo took another swig of beer. “Hey, I know all about you, Mikey boy!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re no real fighter, bro!”

  Hagen instantly got the paranoid feeling that Gonzalo had somehow discovered his secret, and knew all about the interface. But how? How could Gonzalo have possibly sussed it out? And why was he so calm about the whole thing?

  Hagen put his beer away and asked in a flat voice, “How... do you know?”

  Gonzalo squinted at the setting sun, visible through the tops of nearby trees. “You and me are similar, cuz. I often try to pass for someone I’m not .”

  Hagen collected his thoughts and calmed himself. Gonzalo wasn’t talking about the interface, after all.

  “We’re different, of course, but we have something in common. We’ve both chosen martial arts as a means of bettering ourselves. Do you know how I got the final realization I would fight in the ring for the rest of my life?”

  “How?”

  “God sent me a sign. I used to be a member of a cholo band that provided protection for two-bit dope dealers a few years ago. We were actually protecting them from ourselves or other wannabe gangsters like us, but we developed a taste for it eventually. And it started to bring in some serious money. We became a power to be reckoned with in our neighborhood. All the brothers eventually got guns and huge pimped-out cars. So we started to expand our sphere of influence and got involved in other kinds of operations. That’s when I started going to Ochoa’s gym. To get even tougher. I wanted to learn a few effective moves to get better at beating up those poor bastards who would refuse our protection. Actually, I took up boxing at the college...” Gonzalo chortled. “So what? I’ve been to college! Isn’t it weird I never became a doctor, or a lawyer, or the kind of bigwig you see at the club? Well, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, one day the cops came for all the gang, since we had started to squeeze money from businesses under their protection. Nearly everyone got arrested, apart from me and a few more guys. Do you know why I got lucky?”

  “You’d changed your mind, perhaps?”

  “Ha-ha-ha. You’re a funny one, Mikey boy. No one can change their mind until something happens to make them. Nope. I was training at Ochoa’s gym at that moment. The rest of the gang were at the garage. Our headquarters, like. That was when I realized God was giving me a sign. Showing me the way. That’s when I decided to pursue a career in MMA, leaving all of that shit behind me. Well, as much of a career as an amateur can afford, cuz. I realized what I had to do. But where exactly do you want to go? Don’t get me wrong, bro, but you’re no fighter.”

  “Why would that be?” said a disgruntled Hagen.

  He thought it unfair, having knocked Gonzalo out in the ring. So why wasn’t he a fighter?

  “You’re too afraid when you enter the ring, blood. And then you start to see your partner as an enemy to overcome that fear. I saw it with my own eyes how scared you were. Then you decided I was your enemy, and it got easier, didn’t it? Being afraid of an enemy is less shameful, isn’t it, bro?”

  Hagen didn’t know how to reply, so he gave a vague nod.

  “The thing you need to realize, Mikey, is that a partner is no enemy. The person you’re fighting in the ring may irritate you or whatever. But even your worst enemy would be a fellow fighter in the ring. A victory over someone doesn’t mean killing them out of hatred. Any martial art is a match between masters. Not enemies.”

  Gonzalo fell silent. So did Hagen, mulling over his words. Then Mike looked at the red ball of the setting sun, so close to the horizon.

  “Thanks, Gonzalo. I’ve had lots of self-doubt.”

  Herrera grinned. “Don’t let it get to you, homie. I like to philosophize sometimes. I’ve visited a few lectures after all. So, what do you think of me?�
�� he gave Hagen a friendly nudge.

  Hagen grinned back. “I think my Mom was right. You’re a real G.”

  “I don’t know how your mom comes into this, but I quit the gang a long time ago. A gang is no arcade that you leave once you’re out of quarters. No one really quits a gang. But I got lucky, in a way. Those guys left instead of me. Many of my brothers are still in prison, but we keep in touch. I have to say it again: no one ever leaves a gang. Once you have that dog turd on your shoe, there’s nothing you can ever do about it.”

  Gonzalo’s confession left a deep impression on Hagen, so he kept silent as he saw him back to his ward. They said their goodbyes warmly. Mike wished the guy with the infusion pump the best of luck, then exited, heading for the parking lot.

  He checked his phone once he got to his car—he’d forgotten all about Lexie as they chatted with Gonzalo on the roof. His heart started to throb excitedly when he saw an unread message from her. It said,

  Your leave is extended until Friday. I will tell you when you’re needed at work.

  So brusque. Lexie was clearly unfamiliar with the concept of hellos and goodbyes.

  Hagen tried to call again, but the call got redirected to voice mail. He had to remind himself: Alexa Hepworth was a businesswoman. So it was just her manner of communicating.

  The heart-to-heart conversation with Gonzalo had perked him up, so he decided to drive to the gym. A slight limp was no reason to skip practicing with the punch bag. Besides, Hagen took his janitor’s duties seriously.

  Janitors made the world cleaner, after all.

  Chapter 11. A Psychological Victory

  Are you always this stupid, or are you making an extra effort today?

  Red Dead Redemption

  MIKE BJÖRNSTAD HAGEN was happy with both himself and the work done during the day. Once the rooms became uncluttered—and as it turned out, they hadn’t been that small, after all. The removal of the silly curtains revealed the windows: large, and letting in a lot of light.

  Is it that we clutter our own space only to complain about feeling hemmed in? Hagen thought.