HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  No one is worth your sanity, Jacob. Just walk away.

  I had sent a text message to her and to him, and left them both voicemail messages. In the texts messages and in the voicemail, I explained that if I saw either of them through an open window, I would kill them. I further warned if any police arrived, I would kill them, and that the blood of the officers would be on Steve’s hands, as calling the police would be his choice.

  Now in the middle of a waiting game, I recalled a lifetime of friendship Steve and I shared, and not only how we used to do everything together, but how he considered joining the Marine Corps with me.

  I tossed my cigarette butt out the window and onto the pavement, alongside the other two dozen just like it. I checked the rearview mirror as a car drove past, and blew the smoke out the window and into the night air.

  Our friendship, even as children, seemed to be a lie. Everything we had learned, experienced, and shared led to the event that had me sitting at his home with a rifle, ready to kill him at first sight.

  I lit another cigarette and studied the home. All of the windows in the front of the house were in my view, and were dark. The interior lights were now off, and had been for some time, but I had my doubts the two occupants were sleeping. After having sat and quietly waited for either of them to show their faces in a window for over eight hours, I was tired of the aggravation that was building inside of me.

  I chuckled to myself, knowing I had not only the knowledge – but the ability – to enter the home, kill them both, and leave without so much as a trace. I took a long drag from my cigarette and considered why I had chosen not to.

  I exhaled the smoke, tossed the butt out the window, and stared down at the pile of cigarette butts. It was apparent I had no intention of killing them. I had a habit, not unlike many combat Marines, of policing my cigarette butts, leaving no trace of my existence and no DNA.

  The littered street was proof that subconsciously I had not only let go of Suzanne, but that I had not intended to harm them, only to express my inner anger and disappointment in what I felt they had done to me.

  Controlling a person’s love, I decided, was impossible. If a woman could fall in love with me, who was to say she couldn’t fall in love with someone else? It was quite possible she had actually fallen in love with Steve, and if that was the case, for me to stand between them would be selfish, shallow, and no better of an act than what they had done to me and my marriage.

  I reached over, picked up my phone, and sent a text message to them both.

  I’m filing for divorce in the morning. Enjoy your lives together. I will not harm you as long as you never intentionally cross my path.

  I pressed send, lit another cigarette, and gazed down at the proof of my existence. As I laughed to myself as to what they must have been feeling, I pulled away, knowing my future life would be an interesting one. At least, I decided, I would have the ability to move about the earth freely.

  I realized I would always have to return to Wichita to see my father, but I had serious doubts I would be able to stay, considering all things. As large as the city was in population, it was still reminiscent of a small town, and I knew myself all too well.

  Killing my former best friend and ex-wife wasn’t something I really wanted to do.

  At least not unless I had to.

  Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-One

  Spring 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

  Eighteen months had passed since my divorce from Suzanne. Thoughts of the war still lingered in my mind, stuck there permanently like an ugly stain on the cloth of my life. My once clean mind was now littered with bits and pieces of recollections of the war, screaming Marines as they took their last breath, and the eyes of the men I had killed as they held on to the hope of being able to be saved from the permanency of the very death they hoped to cast upon each of the Marines they fought with.

  I had no regrets over what I had done, but the constant replaying of events in my head told me my subconscious mind viewed things much differently. My time had been spent, entirely, riding my motorcycle and being as free as I believed any citizen of the United States could be. Tied to no one, bound to nothing, and living off of my military retirement and combat pay, I rode with my newfound brethren, my MC brothers.

  Although I made no effort to contact Suzanne or Steve in the time that had passed, from time to time I would catch sight of them at their favorite coffee shop. Each time I did, my temper flared slightly, fueling my desire to get out of town. A club ride to Austin, Texas had been scheduled for a few months, and as the date approached, I found myself itching to make the ten-hour trip by motorcycle.

  The motorcycle club I rode in decided to look into starting a new chapter in Austin, Texas, and while we were in the area, planned on looking for a clubhouse. As we rode north on Interstate 35 on our way back to the hotel at the end of the weekend, it wasn’t a potential clubhouse that caught my attention, it was a billboard at a local gym advertising a fundraiser for amateur fighters. The same gym was advertised in a flyer for the bike rally we planned on attending the following weekend, and after noticing the sign, I decided to I wanted to see if the gym was open.

  Riding in the front of the group right beside the president, Erik, I raised my hand and motioned toward the sign. He nodded his head and signaled for the group to slow and then motioned for everyone to exit the highway. As twenty of us pulled into the parking lot of the small gym, the sound from our exhaust was deafening.

  After parking under a light pole I got off the bike, stretched my legs, and gazed at the gym. A Harley sat in the parking lot beside the front door and at least some the lights seemed to be on in the front of the building, although the entire side of the building facing us had no windows, we decided to see if they were open for business. I glanced at Teddy, tilted my head toward the door, and walked up to it. After checking the handle and finding it unlocked, I pulled it open.

  In the summer, I typically rode with my leather vest and no shirt. In as good of physical shape as I was when I was at war – or maybe even better – I would have described myself as an intimidating man. The man who stood on the other side of the door when I yanked it open however, was an absolute monster.

  Wearing a pair of sneakers, cargo shorts, and boxing gloves, he stood beside a petite woman and glared in my direction. His upper body and arms were covered in tattoos, which certainly wasn’t anything new to me, but his presence told me he was no amateur to boxing or fighting.

  “What can I do for ya, Brother? We’re closed, we were just locking up,” he said as he cocked his cleanly shaved head slightly to one side.

  To make sure he fully understood I wasn’t intimidated by his size, I stepped inside the door a few feet and cleared my throat lightly as I flexed my chest. “Well, we rode into town for the ROT rally coming up. The flyers for the rally said you were having fights next week. I boxed in the Marines, and while we were at the bar I made a bet with the president of our motorcycle club. He’s boxed a little, and we’d like to see if there’s two spots open.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the woman who stood beside him, nodded his head slightly, but didn’t respond.

  “To tell you the truth, we didn’t think anyone would be here. We were just going to see if we could find the place and saw the scoot in the lot. You ride?” I asked.

  He nodded his head once. “Yep.”

  Man of few words, huh?

  I folded my arms in front of my chest and grinned as Teddy stepped up beside me. “So, have any spots left?”

  “Yeah, we got some paperwork to fill out in the office, but it’s locked. Can you come back in the morning?” he asked.

  I nodded my head and lowered my arms. “We’ll be back in the morning. Can you save me two spots? One of the other fellas said he’ll fight if there’s another spot. Kind of an inside bet with the club. Bragging rights. Hell, if you ride, you know how it is.”

  He nodded his big bald head. “I’ll tell the boss. His name’s Kelsey
. There’s at least two left for sure, ain’t had much traffic on it yet. What’s your name?”

  I extended my hand. “My name’s Alec Jacob, but I don’t really go by that. You ride, so you call me either Train or A-Train.”

  He reached toward me, realized he was wearing boxing gloves, and chuckled a light laugh. “I’m Mike Ripton, you can call me Ripp. Pleasure to meet you, A-Train.”

  I glanced around the gym and nodded my head. It was small, but it was extremely tidy. It reminded me of the gyms at the Marine Corps base in Camp Pendleton. “Alright. Well, it’s a nice place you have here, Ripp. We’ll leave you to it. Appreciate the help.”

  I turned around and pulled the door closed behind me.

  “So, you and Doc going to do some boxin’, huh? Hell I’d get in that little ring and fight, but I ain’t the kind of fucker that follows rules. Probably get my big dumb ass tossed out on my ear if I tried it,” he said.

  I glanced over my shoulder toward Teddy. There was no doubt in my mind that he was a tough man. Hell, I’d seen him in a few fights. But he had no finesse, no style, and no formal training. He was just a big brawler who did his best to protect those he cared for and what he believed in.

  I, on the other hand, needed to get into a fight just to keep my sanity. Being in a good fight was similar to being at war. It kept my adrenaline level up, gave me a little excitement, and allowed me to appreciate the mundane pace of my day-to-day post-war activities a little more. With absolutely no excitement in my life, I yearned for something to keep me on edge.

  The violence of a fight was miniscule compared to the violence of war, but the same principles applied. The adrenaline, excitement, and uncertainty of a fight allowed me to believe – if even for a short period of time – that I hadn’t stepped so far away from the war I desperately missed.

  “So what did they say?” Doc asked as I climbed onto the seat of my bike.

  “Said to come back tomorrow. Seems they’ve got a few spots left, but there’s still time to back out,” I said with a laugh.

  Erik was a massive man, but built like a natural athlete, not a bodybuilder. He was big, muscular, and physically fit, but he didn’t look like a gym rat. I’d never seen Erik in a fight, and had only heard stories about his quick fists and keen eye. He boxed his way through college, and fought in the golden gloves arenas, but it wasn’t something he yearned for.

  He rolled his shoulders and flexed his chest. “Back out? That’s not going to happen, Train.”

  I flipped the switch on my hand controls and started the bike. As the engine came to a roar, I tossed my head toward his bike.

  “Well, we better get the fuck out of here, then. You’re going to need some sleep, Old Man,” I said.

  He shook his head and coughed a laugh. “Saddle up!”

  As we rode to the hotel I wondered if there would be a chance I could fight the big fucker at the gym.

  Ripp.

  Fighting that guy would put me in a damned good mood.

  One that just might last for the rest of the summer.

  Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-Two

  Spring 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

  We went back to the gym to fight in the boxing matches we had signed up for, only to find out Ripp had been arrested and was being detained for murdering a man. The stories around the gym varied, and his best friend, the man who was scheduled to fight for the Heavyweight Championship of the World, Shane Dekkar, shared a little information which I suspected was the only real truth we would hear on the matter.

  It was still unclear exactly what prompted it, but someone did something to Ripp’s little sister, and when he went to question the man who did what he did, the man pulled a gun. He reacted the way I probably would have by fighting the man, and somehow, in the fight, broke the man’s neck. Now in jail facing murder, his girlfriend, an attorney, was preparing his defense.

  Although I really didn’t know Ripp, I felt compelled to talk to him about the challenges not of going to trial, but of living with the horror of taking another man’s life. There weren’t many people a man could talk to regarding such matters, and I felt I could offer him a little advice, possibly helping him accept what happened as being God’s will, and further allowing him to focus on the upcoming trial.

  We proceeded with our fights as scheduled, with me feeling uneasy the entire time, knowing Ripp was being forced to deal with so much emotion. I recalled the first time I killed someone, and how difficult it was to accept it as being what was just, proper, and acceptable in the eyes of God. At the time, I had other Marines to talk to, men who had experienced the same things as I. Ripp had no one, or at least I expected he didn’t. Mentally, as we prepared to begin the fights, I considered staying in Texas for a while, hoping to provide Ripp a little support.

  The small gym was crowded with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the local hero, Shane Dekkar. Erik knocked his opponent out in a matter of seconds, but his challenger was some kid with a big mouth and a jaw made of glass. As soon as Erik hit him once, the kid wadded up in a ball like a crab.

  My opponent was a local who was about as big as Ripp, and twice as pretty. As the crowd cheered in anticipation of me losing my respective ass against the guy, we stepped to the center of the ring and touched gloves.

  An extremely informal match, and really for nothing but fun, I had hopes of not only lasting the entire match against the guy, but giving the crowd one hell of a show. It was my understanding the money was going to a good cause, so I felt giving the crowd a good show would allow them to feel they got more than what they paid for.

  As the bell rang, I shuffled to the center of the ring and studied my opponent. An apparent right-hander, or at least fighting right-handed, he was in for a surprise. I was ambidextrous, and could fight southpaw or right-handed. I stepped to him right-handed and waited to see what he had planned.

  He swung an immediate right hand directly in front of my face.

  I don’t know if that was for show or you intended to land it, but you were off a mile, Big Boy.

  I leaned back, and as the punch passed my face, I swung an uppercut that landed against the bottom of his chin. A quick left hand to his ribs was rewarded with a shallow cough of breath from his lungs.

  As I mentally prepared a left cross, he leaned into me and tried to hug me.

  A three round bout for charity and you’re going to try and dance?

  I shoved him off, and as our bodies separated, swung a left jab and a right hook, the first connecting with his lower chest, and the second with his mid-section. His wild punch that followed was countered by my left jab – again landing against his chest.

  I thought they said you were a pro? I’m nothing but a retired Marine, let’s see what you’ve got.

  I stepped away from him and waved my gloved hands toward my chest, indicating I was ready for a fight and he wasn’t bringing it. The small crowd began to cheer, and I heard Teddy begin to talk shit to my opponent. In an actual boxing match what I chose to do would have been considered extremely disrespectful. In the match we were fighting, it was enough to rile the crowd into a wild cheering session. He clenched his already tight jaw even tighter, and came to me like a madman.

  It was just what I was after.

  He swung a well-telegraphed uppercut, and I leaned back and let it fly by my face. As he stumbled from the shock of missing the punch completely, I leaned toward him and unleashed a five or six shot combination of punches to his face, connecting all of the punches solid.

  The small crowd was in an uproar.

  As he again began to stumble, trying to keep his footingI continued with my advance, pummeling him with a series of punches, each one unanswered.

  It was exactly what I needed. I felt alive. Every ounce of my frustrations that had built up over the years was being exerted with each punch. As I leaned forward for what I expected to be the punch to end the fight, the bell rang, signaling the end of the round.

  Shit.

  I went
to the corner for a short breather, and was met by Erik and Teddy.

  “Holy shit, A-Train, you’re fuckin’ that dude up somethin’ fierce. This fuckin’ crowd is lovin’ it,” Teddy said.

  With a mouthpiece in my mouth and no trainer to remove, it, I simply nodded my head in agreement.

  “You’re not even breathing hard,” Erik said with a laugh.

  I did my best to grin and shrugged my shoulders.

  I ran almost every day, and did strength and weight training on a daily basis. There weren’t many men at any age that were in better physical shape than I was, and I attributed it to my Marine training, and still living the life of a disciplined Marine.

  As I mentally prepared to step back into the center of the ring and give the crowd what they seemed to enjoy, an elderly man ducked under the ropes and waved his hands.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, this fight is over,” he said.

  I widened my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. With his eyes fixed on mine, he shook his head from side to side and walked to the corner of my opponent.

  Well, fuck.

  After Erik unlaced my gloves and removed them, I pulled my mouthpiece. A few seconds later, and the old man in charge of the gym was outside the corner of the ring beside Teddy and Erik.

  Standing beside Erik in sweats, a silk jacket with the gym’s logo on the back, and Kelsey stitched on the front, he pressed his hands into his hips and shook his head. “Jesus Christ. Ripper said you were some Army guy that fought on a military base. You were beating the hell out of my boxer. Just who the hell are you?”

  I grinned at his question and did my best not to sound arrogant in my response. “I’m a Marine, I wasn’t in the Army, Sir. And I’ve fought a little.”

  “You’ve fought a lot,” he growled, his voice old and gruff. “That guy you were educating on the sport is a local who was undefeated and we’d like to keep him that way. His trainer stopped him from a serious old fashioned ass whipping, that’s for sure. You ever think about considering boxing as more than a hobby?”