Fight to the Finish

by Shannon Greenland

  Red chuckled. “Yeah, he’s got Larry two to one in weight.”

  Molly snorted. “What’s that got to do with anything? Everybody’s got me in weight.”

  Red smiled. “True. And you manage to submit ‘em every time.”

  Molly shrugged. “What can I say? I was taught by the best.” The best being Red.

  She’d never seen another fighter more skilled than him. And although he didn’t talk much about his past, he had said he’d been trained in Asia. He’d taught all the other kids that lived here to fight, too. Mostly to defend themselves on the streets. None of the others loved the art as much as Molly, though.

  “I knew the moment I met your scrappy little five-year-old self, you had a gift. You had that boy twice your size bloodied up and in a heap on the ground. Fighting comes naturally for you, Molly. It was easy to teach you. You’ve got it flowing in your blood.” He huffed out a breath. “Yep, you’re something else.” Red chuckled and it rolled right into a coughing fit.

  Cringing at the sound, Molly went to her bed, got a roll of toilet paper, and brought it back to him. She unrolled a wad and handed it to him and watched him spit up blood.

  “Red,” she whispered.

  “Go on now, Molly.”

  “Red . . .”

  “When’s your next fight?” he changed the subject.

  “Not ‘til tomorrow.”

  He nodded toward the door. “Go on now.”

  Nodding, she backed away, staring at his body as he rolled to his side and put his back to her.

  She slipped through the heavy clear plastic covering the doorway and out onto the steel landing. Pulling a slim flashlight from her front pocket, she twisted the head and shined the light down the spiral staircase that led from one floor to the next, five stories down to the bottom.

  On floor four, Red and her and some of the other homeless kids had set up a make shift kitchen with stuff they’d found on the streets: a two burner propane camping stove, couple of aluminum bowls for sinks, dishes someone had thrown out right after Christmas, and even an ice box that kept things cool for a week.

  On floor three they had running water. Red said someone at city hall forgot to turn it off when they condemned the firehouse some twenty years ago. It wasn’t hot water, but at least it was water. There had already been a tub on floor three when Molly came to live here. Red had insisted if she was going to stay she had to bathe every two days, hot water or not.

  Molly smiled at the memory. She’d been so filthy when he’d found her fighting that kid in the dirt.

  Floor two of the firehouse was nothing. Just steel beams. No floor even.

  Floor one was dirty and nasty, but safe. They purposefully stayed clear of it, though, so if anyone on the street happened to look in a window they’d see only a condemned building in dire need of a cleanup.

  The fight club was in the basement below floor one.

  With the fight club on her mind now, Molly put the flashlight in her mouth, stepped from the landing, snaked her body around the steel pole, and whooshed all the way down five stories to the bottom. She crossed the floor to the corner where Red had installed a trap door.

  Pulling the rug aside, she used the rope handle and lifted open the hidden door. Sounds of the fight club shot out the opening. Yells, chants, grunts, and a thumping bass from the room’s stereo.

  A stairwell led from the trap door down to a landing. The landing led to nowhere, just the ceiling rafters of the firehouse’s basement. If Molly or one of the other kids that lived with her wanted to get down to the fight club, they simply slid down a rope that had been attached to the rafters.

  Tonight, though, Molly would stay in the rafters. She was in charge of emceeing the fights.

  Jogging down the stairwell, she hopped onto the landing, grabbed the bullhorn she’d left there last night, and walked out onto the rafters. From her high up view point she surveyed the crowd.

  About thirty of the usual customers. Mostly men. She did recognize a few new people. That was good. That meant the club was growing. All of them entered through a secret passageway in the nearby train station. That was part of the allure. The secretiveness, exclusiveness, the betting, hoping for a gruesome fight. It fulfilled some dark side of them.

  Molly didn’t care as long as they threw around their money. Money her and Red put aside for all the kids. To one day make a better life. She felt a bit of pride at that. Thanks to her, this fight club existed. She’d begged and begged Red to let her turn the basement into a fight club. Last year, he’d finally given in. And they’d seen nothing but profit since.

  A whistle pierced the air above the sound of the crowd. Molly looked down and straight into Bobby’s eyes. He winked at her, indicating he’d gotten all the bets and it was time to start.

  Hanging onto the steel rafters, Molly held the bullhorn up to her mouth. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she yelled. “Welcome to tonight’s fiiiggghhhttt!”

  Everyone screamed.

  “Tonight,” she continued, “we have two of the best street fighters in Chicago. We have Larry the Louse and Charlie big man Cheeseburger.”

  The crowed roared.

  Molly’s hand tightened around the bullhorn. “There are no rules in this fight club. Be clean, be dirty. Fight good, fight nasty. Knock ‘em out, leave ‘em standing. No rules, except . . .” She purposefully paused, just like Red had suggested, knowing it was what the crowd expected, knowing it would get a rise out of them.

  “Blood, blood, blood,” they chanted.

  Molly rolled her eyes. “No rules except BLOOOD. We have to see BLOOOD.”

  The crowd roared.

  And then everything happened lightning quick. Some of the patrons pulled guns out and yelled, “Freeze!”

  Someone else threw a canister and the underground club erupted in smoke.

  Molly didn’t spare a second. She sprinted across the dark rafters onto the landing and up the stairs. She shoved open the trap door, climbed through, shut it behind her, and covered it with the rug.

  Red. She had to get to Red.

  Taking the spiral stairs two at a time, she hoofed it up five stories. And barely winded, she threw the plastic aside and ran into the bedroom. A tall man stood beside where Red lay.

  Without a second of thought, Molly flew across the room, caught air, and executed a round house, landing the heel of her left foot in the man’s sternum, right at his lung meridian point.

  He stumbled back and gasped for air.

  “Stop.” Red commanded.

  Molly came down on both feet, hands up, ready for anything that came next. “Who are you?” she asked the man.

  The man held his hands up, palms out. “My God, Red, you’re right.”

  Red chuckled. “I told you she was something else. This girl’s got a gift.”

  Molly didn’t take her gaze off the unknown man.

  “Thomas Liba,” Red said, “I’d like you to meet Molly. We have no idea what her last name is or when she was born. But she said she was five when I found her, which would make her almost fifteen now. She’s four foot eleven. Ninety five pounds. Red hair. Green eyes. She is, hands down, the best fighter I’ve ever trained.”

  “Molly,” Red continued, “this man is here for you. I want you to go with him.”

  Molly still didn’t take her gaze off the man, Thomas Liba. “What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you.”

  “Do you remember Tommy, that fourteen year old kid I told you about?” Red asked.

  Molly nodded. “Yeah, you said he pulled a knife on you and asked for all your money.”

  Thomas Liba chuckled at that. “And my life has never been the same.”

  “He was a street kid,” Red put in. “Just like you. I took him in and trained him. This is him, Molly. This is Tommy.”

  Molly eyed the man.

  Red coughed. “You and I both know I’m sick. I need help. But I can’t go to a hospital. Tommy can help me. He can help you. There’s a lot about my p
ast you don’t know. One day I want to share it with you. But I have to get better.” He paused. “Molly, look at me.”

  Slowly, she took her eyes off Thomas Liba and focused down into the face of the only family she’d ever known.

  “Go with Tommy,” Red said. “You can trust him. I promise I’ll get better, and we’ll see each other again.”

  “When?” she asked.

  Red shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’ve never broken a promise to you. If I say we’ll see each other again, then we will. If you don’t go with him, I can’t get help. I won’t get help. And don’t worry about the other kids. Tommy’s got lots of connections. He’s going to make sure they get treated well.”

  For a long minute, Molly stared into Red’s eyes. She would do anything for him. And she knew he would do anything for her. If this was what Red wanted, this was what she would do.

  Molly nodded to Thomas Liba. “I’m yours.”

  He nodded back. “Call me TL.”

  Wirenut pulled the ranch’s van into the Boardwalk’s packed parking lot. The Boardwalk stretched three miles along San Belden, California’s coast. Amusement rides, food, dancing, roller blading—you name it, and the place had it. It never closed down.

  He turned around in his seat to face all of us. “Now kids,” he jokingly began, lowering his voice to an authoritative tone. “I want you to remember we represent the San Belden Ranch for Boys and Girls.”

  Wirenut looked at me. “Okay, Miss tall Blondie. You will behave yourself. No hacking into anyone’s computers. You hear me, GiGi?”

  I saluted him, hiding my smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “And you.” Wirenut looked at Beaker. “No mixing of strange chemicals. And absolutely no more body piercings.”

  Snapping her gum, Beaker nodded her pink dyed head. “You got it.”

  “And you.” Wirenut narrowed his eyes at Bruiser. “Youngest member of our clan and today’s birthday girl. No beating anyone up.”

  Flipping a red braid over her shoulder, Bruiser batted her lashes. “I’m only here to celebrate my sweet sixteen.”

  “And you.” Wirenut switched his attention to Parrot. “No speaking any foreign languages. English only tonight.”

  Parrot smiled.

  “You.” Wirenut nodded to Mystic. “Mr. Thick Neck. No reading of fortunes.”

  Mystic put his hand over his heart. “Never.”

  Wirenut turned to the van’s passenger seat where Cat sat. “You,” he softened his tone, “my gorgeous, Mediterranean, goddess are allowed to break into anything you want to.”

  “Hey!” we all objected.

  Cat reached across the space between them and tugged on Wirenut’s dark goatee. “And you are absolutely not allowed to tinker with anyone’s electronics.”

  Wirenut pulled her over for a swift kiss. “Deal.”

  I smiled, a little sad despite the happiness around me. They’re cuteness together made me miss David.

  “Okay, enough already,” Bruiser said, pulling open the van’s side door. “Let’s paaarrrty!” She jumped out. “It’s my birthday. Yo, yo it’s my birthday. Everybody say woot-woot, it’s my birthday.” She danced across the parking lot. “It’s my birthday. Yo, yo it’s my birthday. Everybody say woot-woot, it’s my birthday.”

  We laughed at her silliness as we piled out of the van.

  As we walked through the parking lot, memories of David flooded back. We’d gone on our first date here at The Boardwalk. We’d ridden the Ferris wheel and explored all the eclectic shops. We’d eaten too much junk food and shared beautiful kisses. He’d won me a stuffed giraffe.

  Inwardly, I sighed. I had really messed things up with him when I told him about kissing Professor Quirk on my last mission. David had said he needed space and time to think. And then TL had sent him on a pre-op assignment that had turned into a month long trip. I’d heard from David exactly twice a week via text messages. Unfortunately, they were the kind of texts he’d send a friend, not a girlfriend.

  HEY. JUST WANTED U TO KNOW I’M HERE SAFE.

  HEY. THINGS R GOING WELL.

  HEY. I’LL BE COMING BACK SOON.

  No I miss you. I’m thinking of you. Or even sweet dreams.

  He came back yesterday, gave me a hug hello, and told me we would talk. We hadn’t had that talk yet, and I hoped beyond hope that when we did, things would be back to normal between us. Fun, romantic, light hearted.

  Parrot looped his arm through mine, and I turned and smiled into his dark eyes. Our friendship had gone to another level since our mission together. We’d bonded in a way I hadn’t bonded with my other teammates. We’d almost died in the jungle on that cliff.

  I still shuddered every time I thought of it.

  Actually, I’d experienced one too many close calls since joining The Specialists over a year ago. Being kidnapped in Ushbania, thrown in a dungeon in Rissala, and coming face-to-face with my parents’ killer in Barracuda Key.

  “What’d you get Bruiser for her birthday?” Parrot asked, bringing me from my thoughts.

  “A gift certificate to that T-shirt shop she loves.” Bruiser lived in T-shirts, each with their own unique saying. She wore one today that read, KISS ME. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY & I’M AWESOME. “What’d you get her?”

  “Well, my mom has recently begun making Native American jewelry. I bought Bruiser a pair of turquoise earrings.” Parrot glanced over at me. “You think she’ll like them?”

  “Oh, Parrot.” I smiled at his sweet question. “Yes, I’m sure she’ll like them.” I squeezed his arm, so glad he’d decided to stay. After being reunited with his mom, none of us were sure if he’d stay on the ranch or leave. I can’t imagine life without you all, he’d said very simply.

  Mystic and Beaker came up beside us. “I made her my own personal blend of herbal tea,” Mystic said. “She should drink it once a day for tranquility, relaxation, and sedation. Lord knows she could use it twice a day.”

  Beaker snorted. “You know as well as we all do that she’s not going to drink that.”

  True. Mystic and Bruiser were always messing with each other. Him trying to calm her down and her trying to toughen him up.

  Mystic smiled. “I meditated about it. She’ll drink it.”

  “What did you get her?” I asked Beaker.

  “Six hours of argument-free chemistry tutoring.” She waved her blue nail-polished fingers through the air. “No more. No less.”

  “Very generous of you.” Beaker had tried on numerous occasions to tutor Bruiser, but they always ended up in a fight.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see Wirenut and Cat holding hands, meandering across the parking lot toward us. I knew Cat had gotten Bruiser a makeup kit in an effort to bring out her feminine side. That kit would go in a bathroom drawer and gather dust. Bruiser had no girly-girl side; she was a tomboy through and through.

  And Wirenut? Funny enough, Bruiser had begged him to show her how to hot wire a car. So after today’s outing, that was the first thing on Bruiser’s list. Hot wire a car.

  We stepped from the parking lot onto the sidewalk that began The Boardwalk, and I stopped. Slowly, I turned around, feeling that creepy sensation that someone was watching me. I’d felt it a lot since returning from my last mission. I searched the full parking lot, looking for anything, anyone that may seem odd. I’d never been the paranoid type, but since I’d found out I had a sister, subconsciously I’d convinced myself she was looking for me, too.

  Parrot tugged on my wrist. “You okay?”

  Nodding I turned back around. “Thought I heard something, that’s all.” Maybe I was just being paranoid.

  Up ahead I saw Bruiser talking to David. He’d driven separately with Adam. David’s yum factor was pretty much off the scales today. With that dark, five o’clock shadow and form fitted long sleeve T . . . sometimes he was so hot I could barely stand it. He said something and Bruiser laughed. David laughed, too, and the sound made my stomach flutter.

  They were the only t
wo that had come from Team One. The rest of them, Piper, Curtis, and Tina, were gone on missions.

  Leaning down from his towering height, Adam gave Bruiser a birthday kiss on the cheek. Her freckly face turned bright red to match her hair as she playfully pushed him away. I smiled. That was probably the best gift ever for her. Bruiser had a big time crush on Adam.

  We all approached and David glanced up at me before giving me a slight smile. I wanted to ask him when we would talk, but now wasn’t the time. This was Bruiser’s day.

  Wirenut came around and put Bruiser in a head lock. “Okay, birthday girl.” He knuckle rubbed her head. “What do you want to do first? Sky’s the limit.”

  She flashed this innocent, dimpled grin. “Sky’s the limit?”

  Everyone nodded, but me. I knew that innocent grin. She was up to no good.

  Her grin got bigger. “Anything I say goes?”

  Everyone nodded, but me. I didn’t like this one bit.

  Bruiser batted her lashes. “I want one of those old timey pictures. Ya know, black and white, where we all have on a costume.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Something wasn’t right. An old timey picture sounded a little too easy.

  She looked at each of us through wide, childlike eyes. “Everybody in?”

  They all nodded.

  “And it’s my birthday, so I get to choose what you wear, ‘kay?”

  No one nodded that time, probably because they’d finally realized she was up to no good.

  Cat stepped forward. “Come on everybody. It’s her birthday. Let’s all be good sports.”

  Reluctantly, let me repeat that, reluctantly we followed her down The Boardwalk to the old timey photo shop. She’d made a reservation, the little twerp, and so we got right in. She’d even pre-arranged our outfits.

  And I had to admit they weren’t that bad . . . for the girls.

  There we all stood, we girls dressed in old western gunfighter outfits, complete with duster coats, suspenders, six shooters and holsters, leather pants, black boots with spurs, and cowboy hats.

  And the guys? Our barmaids. Complete with fish net stockings and garter belts, high heels, form-fitted dresses, hand fans, and feathers in their hats.