Blood Red Turns Dollar Green Volume 3

by Paul O'Brien

  “You’re the one who has been lying and stalling me—treating me like a fucking mark, instead of the chairman. If you had delivered what you said at the beginning of all of this, you wouldn’t have to be worrying about anyone, you giant fuck-up. That was our deal.” Joe removed Babu’s hands from his collar. “You would have all had a job, here, and you would have all been well-paid. Now look at the place, falling apart. Again!”

  Joe had a great view of the city from his window. He could almost see all of the angles in which the territory could be taken.

  “You said that no one would get hurt,” Babu said.

  “And I meant it.”

  “So, where’s Ricky?” Babu shouted.

  Joe was so incensed that he rushed Babu, this time. “He’s fucking dead! It happened in some dirty, shitty road in Tokyo.”

  Babu grabbed Joe with more force and commitment than before, but this time, he grabbed him around his neck. Within seconds, Joe was about at his breaking point: his eyes were bulging.

  Behind Babu, Donta sneaked in from the next room with a baseball bat cocked over his shoulder.

  “Why did you do it?” Babu asked, as the tears slid down his face. Babu knew that if Ricky was dead, it was also on his huge hands, too. He had been the one who broke the deal with Joe. “You should have taken it out on me. It was my deal—I fucked you around. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?” Babu roared.

  Donta smashed Babu across the right Achilles with such force that he was sure he’d broken his leg, and torn up his ankle. The giant howled in pain as he hit the ground, and Joe collapsed.

  Donta came down across Babu’s head and face twice more with the bat, resulting in the sound of more bones breaking. He then hammer-fisted down onto Babu’s huge skull, causing thick, dark red blood to stream from the comatose giant.

  Joe watched the carnage as he tried to catch his breath.

  Donta stood, and stomped the heel of his shoe down around the eyes of Babu time and again, until Babu was listless.

  “I fucking warned you,” Donta shouted down to the limp body under him. “Don’t fucking make me do something!”

  He began to kick Babu’s head over and over again, even though there wasn’t a breath, a sound, or any signs of life left. “Marching around this place for years, like you’re someone. Fuck you! You deserve to die.”

  Donta spat on the body of the giant, and, in anger, he straddled him, and began choking his huge neck.

  Babu was already unrecognizable: his face was swollen and contorted.

  “You’re all tough men when you’re allowed to be with your fake fucking—”

  Like a mechanical piston, Babu’s right fist came alive, and drove Donta backward, toward the big windows.

  Babu was struggling to get up, but he knew that he was close to dying. He needed to make it out of there so he could get home to his wife—he wasn’t going to do her the disservice of dying at the hands of a cunt.

  Donta was now covered in blood. He was hunched over, so Babu kicked him in the ribcage as hard as he could, which lifted him from the ground. Babu felt no pain, for he was all shock and adrenaline. He caught Donta by both sides of his head, and lifted him clean off the ground. Babu then drove his horribly disfigured head into Donta’s face, which destroyed his features completely. Babu ran his attacker’s rag-doll body toward the wall, where Donta was squashed between bricks and a furious giant.

  Joe tried to crawl his way out of the room.

  Babu wanted to make sure he had finished him off, so he picked him up above his head, and launched Joe’s hired hand as far as he could across the room. Donta landed like a person who had been projected from a rapidly moving vehicle.

  Babu then moved for Joe: he stepped on the chairman’s ankle, and broke it easily; Joe screamed in agony. The giant grabbed him by his hair, hoisted him to eye level, and pinned him against the wall.

  Joe couldn’t look Babu in the face. It was like an encounter between a wild, beaten bear, and the human who had done it to him.

  “Please,” Joe begged.

  “He’s dead,” Babu said.

  Joe looked at the damage that had been done to Babu. “I’m sorry, Chrissy.”

  Babu punched the wall beside Joe’s head with such power that it made Joe panic.

  “None of us can explain this away, Joe. Clean it up, and make it go away.”

  Joe nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

  Babu released him. “Why, Joe? Why did you go after Ricky?”

  The Chairman looked at the blood that had been spilled, and the lives that had been ruined. “You think I got to Ricky?” Joe said. “Look a little closer to home.”

  North Carolina.

  Tanner knew that it must have been bad. He felt like he was carrying around a lead balloon in his stomach. His body was failing him, and the beating from Donta hadn’t helped. Neither did getting on the plane back to the States without seeing any medical personnel in Dublin.

  Tanner wanted to die at home, but it looked like he wasn’t going to get that wish. He was, however, going to have the time to fuck with his old colleagues.

  He picked up the pen, and signed over his territory to Ade Schiller. She had always been working in the background.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall, with a twenty minute time limit,” said the small ring announcer with the struggling comb-over. “This is for the undisputed heavyweight championship of the world.”

  The crowd rose to their feet; they knew that they were seeing history in the making. The Garden was packed, dark, loud, and ready to see the Kid who Killed Boxing.

  “Coming into the ring at this time, and weighing in at two hundred and ninety-seven pounds, from North Carolina, the NWC World Heavyweight Champion, the Prince of Panache: Emmet Cash!”

  The crowd booed as Ricky watched on in agony. He knew that Ade was also in the unlit crowd somewhere.

  Emmet Cash made his way to the ring, and stood on the ropes to argue with the fans. Even though he was a champion, too, they had come to see the other guy. This meant that Emmet would play the role of heel.

  “And his opponent, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-three pounds, from right here in New York City...” The crowd roared their approval. “The Kid who Killed Boxing, and also The NWC World Heavyweight Champion: Kid Devine!”

  The wall of sound hit Kid in the face as he made the short walk to the ring. He had never felt or seen anything like this before in his life. He was nervous, and adrenaline was flowing, but at least now he knew which way to go.

  Outside, Lenny and Jimmy were both stuck to the window of the taxi as it slowed down. The Garden was still an awesome sight, even though Lenny had seen it a thousand times before. He imagined what it was like in there. Were they cheering for his boy? Would he make it through the match all right? Lenny had grown up wanting to be champion, and now his own son was doing just that.

  “You ready to go home?” Lenny asked Jimmy. Jimmy looked down, but nodded valiantly; Lenny kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go,” Lenny said to his son.

  “What?” Jimmy asked.

  “Let’s take you home.”

  If the cop had seen Lenny, or if they had found some evidence of him, there was one place on Earth that he wanted to spend one more night at.

  As tempting as the match at the Garden was, and as tempting as New York was, he couldn’t risk not seeing her while he was free. Lenny knew where he’d spend his last night as a free man, and it wasn’t in the thick of the wrestling business.

  “I just need to collect something, first,” Lenny said.

  Jimmy kissed his father on the cheek, and the car pulled off, again.

  Kid reached out to the crowd, and they began to chant his name. Emmet Cash pulled the young wrestler off the canvas by his hair, and the ref gave Cash a five count to let go. Cash, being a heel, blocked the ref’s view, and raked Kid’s eyes for good measure.

  Edgar lay on his hallway floor with the lights off. H
e had a flashlight and a shotgun pointed at Tad, who was facing away from Edgar. He was in his underwear, and on his knees with his hands behind his head.

  “I will blow your fucking head off, you pervert,” Edgar shouted.

  “It’s me, I swear! It’s Tad Stolliday,” Tad shouted.

  He was terrified. Edgar continued to pretend to not know who the invader was. He did, however, take a few Polaroid pictures to show to the cops.

  Babu lay on his bed, facing away from the light that came in through the door. He waited for his wife to join him, and snuggle into him one last time, like he had promised.

  Joe Lapine had just come back from the window, where he had seriously considered ending it all. The New York skyline had talked him out of it, though. The city was too alluring—too close to let go.

  So, Joe rolled Donta’s body up in the giant rug in the middle of his room.

  Ade watched the match from the fourth row. She didn’t care that her marriage was in tatters. She didn’t care that her home was smashed to pieces. She didn’t care that her husband’s career was over. Thanks to Tanner, she had her place back in the wrestling world; she also had one of the world champions. Ade was hoping that Kid was going to do what was right, and bring the belts back to her, too.

  Ricky sat behind Ade. She had no idea that the man she’d tried to have murdered in Japan was only an arms-length away from her. He would let her know just as soon as his plan had crossed the finish line.

  Ginny Ortiz sat in his first floor corner room, with his pants unbuttoned to give his belly some more room. He would never have to worry about ice cream or moving, again—not now that Ricky was back in town for good.

  “Are you alright?” the ref shouted, so the crowd could hear. “Kid, are you alright?”

  Kid was unresponsive. His opponent, the Prince of Panache, Emmet Cash, had him in a bear hug. The ref ran around the other side to get a better look, and to whisper to Kid, “go home”.

  Kid had been waiting for those words, which meant the end of the match was coming. The ref lifted Kid’s hand into the air, and dropped it. If it fell three times, then it meant that Kid was unconscious, and unable to continue. The ref raised it a second time, and the crowd shouted and pleaded for Kid to fight back.

  His hand fell, again.

  The referee looked almost nervous as he lifted the hand straight up in the air for a third time, where he again let it go.

  Kid’s hand fell, but only halfway.

  The crowd cheered, screamed, and screeched collectively, as Kid’s hand rose slowly back into the air by itself. His eyes then opened. Emmet Cash looked like he had seen a ghost; he tried to squeeze harder, but Kid punched his way out of the hold.

  Emmet threw himself off the ropes, but Kid ducked under his clothesline attempt, and tied him in the same chokehold that had rendered the world heavyweight boxing champion unconscious.

  Madison Square Garden rumbled with collective chaos. They knew: this was the move that killed boxing.

  With the terrifying, exciting, and freeing sense of not knowing, Lenny sat in the taxi with no shoes, a faded gnome, and the happiest son in the world.

  As city turned to country, and building turned to tree, Lenny waited for their stop to come. Jimmy watched the road signs like a hawk.

  “We’re nearly there,” he informed his father every three or four minutes.

  Lenny wondered about the Garden, and he wondered about Ricky. He knew that, no matter how the match went, he—or his family, if he wasn’t around—would never have to worry about Ricky stiffing them.

  Even that night’s one match would set them up comfortably for a long, long time.

  Lenny tried to remember if he had touched anything other than the ladder. What about Jimmy using the phone from inside? Surely they could trace that. Maybe they would just put it down to a prank, because nothing had been taken, and a man in a tuxedo had left through the skylight.

  It could go either way. Lenny tossed both scenarios around in his head for the two-hour trip. He was ready for anything, especially now that he’d get to see Bree.

  “We’re here,” Jimmy said, as he excitedly made his way to the front of the taxi.

  Lenny and Jimmy walked down the street to Jimmy’s house. It was a quiet night, punctured here and there by sirens, and the occasional truck rushing by on the small road.

  “Her car is there, and the light is on,” Jimmy said.

  Lenny’s heart began to beat with the same rhythm of a hopeful teenager.

  Jimmy hung back, but ushered his father along with his hands. Lenny proceeded ahead.

  All of the years that he’d been trying, all of the stupid things he’d done and the trouble he’d made, all of the jobs he’d taken and the chaos he’d brought, from crashing the van to hiding the money; to getting beat up at Danno’s anniversary, educated by Ricky Plick, threatened by Proctor King; to leaving for his family, returning to New York, and pulling the trigger—it had all been because Lenny was trying to go home.

  Even though he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcomed or hated, he needed to know. Even if it was just for one visit—even if they took him away—Lenny just wanted to go home.

  He stood on an unfamiliar street, in front of a totally unknown house, but he knew exactly where he was.

  So, he knocked at the door, and waited.

  The End.

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