by Alex Roberts
But when the truck came that Wednesday, it was a different driver. Heck. Maybe he’d followed through with his plans and quit – gone into MMA.
I wasn’t sure how I would track him down, and I spent the next two days keeping a tedious eye out for anyone who looked like him.
I couldn’t watch for him in dinky little Sommersville. There were a few gyms in Jasper, and I hadn’t actually caught if that was where he did his training, but I could always conduct a drive-by and see if any of them looked like the kind of place martial artists would gather. And yet, I didn’t want to give off the stalker vibe, so I waited until I visited some friends in Jasper that Saturday, knowing well that if I were to catch Jamie, I’d have to spend more time there.
It was dark by the time I left their house. It hadn’t snowed much since the blizzard the week before, but it was cold as hades, and all the snow that had come down previously was still piled up in mounds. I’d gotten my car towed to a mechanic and paid him several hundred dollars to trace down the electric issue draining my battery. The ole girl started up like a charm now. Driving down Main Street, I cranked up the heater and turned up the radio for the expected drive home. It would take an hour, but at least the roads were clear.
The streets hadn’t been busy that afternoon, and they were rather deserted now. The dead of winter had a way of motivating people to just stay in and curl up under a blanket. Most everyone was home by now with a bowl of popcorn and a movie. I could have stayed there in Jasper. I’d grown up there, after all, but decided I preferred the quiet nature of Sommersville. Plus, it was closer to work and the general direction I’d always wanted to go. It’d been a slow process, but eventually I wanted to move East – maybe all the way to the coast. Chicago, at least.
Further down the road, a scattering of houses and newer buildings replaced the old, downtown ones, leading onto the highway. Cars lined the curb outside a local club on my right. I slowed for a group of people laughing and goofing off as they walked across the street.
Misplaced in the crowd, a familiar figure caught my eye. He walked behind the group, his head lowered and hands tucked into his pocket to ward against the cold, but there was no mistaking that confident stride and that big, bulky coat.
I eased past the club and made a U-turn at the closest driveway, drove by again, and stopped at the curb about a half a block down. Son of a bitch, that just had to be him.
I locked my car and hunched in on myself out on the cold sidewalk, trying to produce as much heat as possible. A big, looming building was up ahead. It was built of brick and looked like an old, refabbed factory. I gritted my teeth against the wind and against my own internal struggle to flee from that look of hurt and anger I had last seen on his face. My brain told me I was being a glutton for punishment, but I was drawn to him.
I couldn’t stop now. My feet propelled me, independent of the rebellion occurring upstairs. I stepped onto the same block the club shared and realized why it was that Jamie walked right in front of my car here and tonight. Placards were pasted – first small then progressively larger – advertising shirtless men with hard features and fists raised. Unfamiliar last names with a ‘V’ separating them. Nicknames like ‘The Hammer’ and ‘The Punisher’.
It was fight night.
Thankful I was inches from a heated interior, I yanked the door open. Hard rock music shook me out of my glum mood. I blinked. The pale lighting above and shining spotlights from the stage made it hard to see the crowd ahead of me, not to mention the headache which was brewing behind my temples from the glare.
“Twenty bucks and your ID.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and then blinked rapidly. A big, black dude stared me down, palm out. Shit. The guy looked like he could be nicknamed ‘The Rhino’. I fished my wallet out of my back pocket and handed over my driver’s license. “Twenty bucks?” It was steep as fuck for a cover charge, at least it was in Jasper.
The guy inspected my ID and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Pro fight tonight.”
I handed over the price of admission and peered around The Rhino’s massive frame to see what he was gesturing at. A boxing ring set up on what was usually the dance floor.
“I thought it was supposed to be a cage.”
He looked at me impatiently and waved me along. “You really need to get out more.”
I stuffed my license back into my wallet as I wondered toward the bar, wondering if the music was going to be this loud all night. I like loud rock, but shit, even I have my limits. Narrowing my sights, I scrutinized the crowd. There had to be five hundred people in there already — but not the man I was searching for. I did a little quick math in my head. Five hundred times twenty. Dang. How much of that did they share with the fighters. That didn’t even count the drinks everyone would be buying.
Once used to the contrast of lights and figuring out there wasn’t a live band tonight, I pushed my way to the bar and found a spot at the very end where I could actually come into physical contact with the bar top. The place was getting crowded. People roamed around the corner behind me, and with a quick upward glance at the neon sign above the hallway, I learned that was the entrance to the bathrooms. I kept my attention there. No way you could go to a bar and not take a piss at some time during the night.
“What’re ya having?” the bartender asked, his voice raised in a conversational shout.
“Bud,” I answered, uninterested in anything but waiting for Jamie.
“Bottle?”
I nodded and pointed at the ring. “Hey, what—”
He was gone, off to retrieve beers and orders.
The short little fuck directly to my left turned to me. “What’s what?”
“The ring. I thought MMA was, umm, done – in a cage.”
“An octagon? Yeah. Mostly. The UFC does, but not all leagues. Those things can get expensive, too, and in a venue like this without elevated seating, it makes it hard for the crowd to see, too.”
“Ahh.” I had no freaking clue. Didn’t really care, either.
The bartender was back, setting the bottle down in front of me, and I took a long, hapless drink while checking over my shoulder at a big coat entering the bathroom hall. Nope. Not him. I turned back with a surprising tinge of disappointment.
The crowd erupted as a heavy-set guy galloped into the center of the ring.
The little fuck rubbed his hands together. “Here we go.”
The heavy dude in the ring lifted his arm and asked, “Are you ready to rumble?”
I rolled my eyes. I hadn’t watched professional wrestling since I was a kid, but apparently, the callout hadn’t changed. The announcer went through a checklist of attributes and then extended his hand toward another hall. The lights stopped flashing and dimmed then the fighters theme music started, and he trotted from the hallway, coach in tow.
At least the music was good, and no one was jostling me. Most of the crowd vacated the bar area, attention focused on the ring. The opposite end of the bar was packed with waitresses prepping for what was likely to be an onslaught of orders once the first fight was over.
I took station on my bar stool, figuring I’d found the perfect spot, on the hunt — like a cop or detective — seeking out my objective for the night. The crowd was thick, but I could see just about the entire place from my seat. I finished my first bottle fast and moved on to my second, gulping it down just as quick. My brain told myself to slow down, but my nerves won the day. Maybe this whole Jamie business really rattled me more than my brain had led me to believe.
I watched two guys in board shorts duke it out on the elevated boxing ring. It was hard to see anything above the other patron’s heads when someone was tackled to the ground, and I could see the merits of the fight happening in the cage. Multiple times during the fight, the ref had to move the guys away from the edge of the ring when they were wrestling so they didn’t just fall out from under the first rope.
I was already on beer number three by round number three. Not
much was actually going on up there that I could both see and understand. I was expecting something, I don’t know, more brutal. These guys were circling one another and throwing measured punches and kicks.
Another big coat caught my attention. I peered over my shoulder, spotting that big shouldered frame of he followed a guy toward the bathrooms. The one in the lead – he was checking his perimeters as though he was expecting to be watched. I quickly diverted my eyes before he caught me looking. Jamie looked just as sketchy, his shoulders still hunched and his hands still in his pockets, even though he was out of the cold.
as he dragged another man by his wrist around the corner and into the bathroom.
What the fuck?
I scooted out of my seat, immediately realizing I wasn’t the kind of guy who downed three bottles of beer in twenty minutes. I shook it off and stepped away from the bar, following my quarry. I snuck into the bathroom, letting the door swing closed. There were three stalls, two of them open, and one guy pissing at the only urinal. He glanced my way a moment before zipping, and he left the bathroom.
A low toned conversation came from the closed stall. I balanced myself against the wall by the entrance and bent down, spotting two sets of legs. He was in there, alright, with however that was that he had followed. My spidey senses kicked in, as did the hairs on the back of my neck. Two guys in a bathroom stall in a club…
I needed to go in for a closer listen. I needed to know if I was right, or if I was paranoid. I entered the stall next to them and I unzipped my jeans and summoned up those three beers I’d drained, listening to the action next door.
They were talking in low tones, and I couldn’t catch near every word, but I could catch enough. They were talking supply, borders, money – drugs. Anger roiled up inside me. Was the guy bullshitting me that he had gotten clean, or had he relapsed? Either way, I suddenly felt like kicking his ass instead of having a nice, friendly chat.
I knew what was happening, and it pissed me off. The guy was going to ruin himself if he went down that road again. I shook and tucked myself back into my jeans then meandered out of the stall and to the closed door. As I leaned in to listen closer, the stall door swung open, smacking one of the guys inside.
“Fuck! Privacy!” Jamie’s wide eyes took me in, his mouth dropping open.
My anger took over. I grabbed him by the collar of that big coat and threw him out of the stall.
He turned in mid-stumble, his back hitting the bathroom wall. “Brandon?”
“Son of a bitch,” I growled, stalking up to him like he was my victim. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I grabbed his shirt and gave it a hard yank.
Jamie reached for my wrist, pivoted his shoulders, and twisted. Pain shot all the way up my elbow, and I let go. He pushed me away, and I stumbled back into the bathroom stall and against his dealer.
There was that look of hurt and anger again. Same as before. “What the hell are you doing here, Brandon?”
His dealer, an older man, grabbed me from behind.
“Holy fuck.” I lurched away from the guy and spun, throwing a punch that landed on the metallic stall.
The guy kicked straight out and planted the sole of his foot right in my guy. I fell backward, reeling into Jamie again, who grabbed me and slammed me against the wall.
“Holy sh—”
Jamie turned a venomous look on the guy who had just walked into the bathroom. The dude cut off his words and hightailed it.
“Brandon? What the fuck are you—”
“You’re too good for this,” I said, trying to struggle away from his grip, but he held me fast.
“Seriously, man. You are fucking confusing as shit.”
The older guy stepped out of the bathroom stall, hands up in surrender. “Jamie, do you want the stuff or not? I don’t have time for this. Security’s probably on their way now.”
My shirt in his fists, his forearms pinning my chest, he turned over his shoulder to the guy. “Of course, I want it.”
The older guy headed for the door. “Good. Now get out of here. Both of you.”
Jamie grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the bathroom. The volume hit me like a physical force when we exited, and my heart went scattershot. The Rhino pushed his way through the crowd, and we hurried for the outside door, scooting by a group of people on our way outside. Quickly, he led me around the building, snow crunching under our feet, until we were behind the club. We both crouched low.
I gasped, willing my breath to settle. “What the h—”
“Shh.” Jamie put his finger to his lips and then snuck in front of me to peer around the corner. “The club has a lifetime ban for anyone who gets into a fight on fight nights. Doesn’t matter who started it.”
That’s what he was worried about? “Sorry you’ll have to meet your dealer in a less convenient location.”
I crept a little closer to him. Waiting. Watching. Wondering what the hell was going on. Hoping The Rhino hadn’t followed us out here. Sure enough, the bouncer stepped out into the freezing night air, seemingly impervious to the temperatures in his stretched tight polo. The hulk moved to the edge of the sidewalk, looking both ways.
“The guy who came into the bathroom probably gave a description.” Jamie stood and took a step from the building. “Okay, he’s walking back. I think he’s leaving. So, why the hell are you here?”
“I should be asking you that.”
Jamie rubbed at his face then held his hands out to me. “I don’t get you. I like you, Bran, I really do, but I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”
He was really going to play dumb? “You’re buying drugs in a club bathroom. Seriously man, I thought you said you kicked that shit.”
Jamie’s hands dropped and his shoulders slumped. He shook his head and turned to walk away. My heart raced again. This wasn’t what I had come here to do, and now he’s leaving. I grabbed his arm and tried to turn him, but he just wrenched out of my grip and kept moving.
“Wait.”
Jamie huffed out laughter. “Why?”
I pursued him down the street. “I think we both have some explaining to do.”
“Whatever. I don’t need to explain anything.”
“Bullshit.” I pulled up next to him, keeping pace. “What the hell was going on in there?”
He shook his head again. “Bezophinite.”
“Huh?”
“It’s the active ingredient in the best protein supplement on the market.” He turned his head, finally looking at me, and annoyance registered at my obviously flummoxed expression. “That product is expensive as golden shit in the US. Alan – whom you just met – takes orders and drives up to Canada every month to buy a trunk load at half price from a wholesale store up there.”
My stomach dropped into my shoes. “Oh. Wait. Protein supplement? You’re buying a protein supplement?”
“Jesus Christ.” Jamie picked up his pace, and we passed right by my car.
“Hey.” I stopped near my rear fender. He actually stopped and turned, which was encouraging. I guess. “Are you fighting tonight?”
He broke into a smile, and his chest heaved in silent laughter. “No. I was just here to watch some competition. And buy some drugs.”
“Oh. Sorry about that. Do you have some tape you could watch?”
His smile grew. “The guy has some fights on YouTube, but this was a pro match he was fighting tonight. Don wants to set up my first pro match with him.”
“Do you think there’s a way we can get back in?”
“Nah. Not tonight. Monty will be on the lookout for us. I don’t want him to connect the fight with me. I come here a lot.”
“Monty. The Rhino?”
“The what?”
“Nothing. Just. Hey. Here’s my car.” I stepped aside and presented it like a magic trick.
He laughed out loud that time. “Holy shit. You need to take that to Vegas. Good trick.”
“Thanks. The trunk is full rabb
its already. Don’t ask.”
“I won’t. Totally your business. Electrical?”
“Yeah. You were on the spot. Had to pay over four hundred bucks for a guy to find the short, but it’s fine now.”
Jamie whistled. “Four hundred. Shit. I would have found the problem for a good lay.”
I swallowed hard, and my stomach turned. About that… “Listen. I can return the favor. You know, give you a ride. A car ride. Back to your place, not mine. And drop you off.”
He cocked his head to the side, transitioning between a frown and a smirk. “Try that again.”
I closed my eyes and gathered my fraying thoughts. “I can give you a lift to wherever it is that you are staying – if you would like.”
“You see. When you speak English, I can understand you.”
Good. Fantastic. Jamie rounded the car, and I rushed to get my keys out. I plopped onto my seat and reached across the car to yank on the passenger side door handle.
Jamie bent himself inside. “Let me guess. That’s broken, too.”
I revved the old girl up and patted the steering wheel. Like a charm. “Yeah. Bought it like that.”
“I can fix it for you.”
I put the car in reverse and glanced at him. Sure enough, that shit-eating grin was up.
I maneuvered onto Main Street again and turned the radio on. Something to fill the silence until I figured out how to start. I’d come up with multiple scenario’s in the past week, but it all crumbled now.
“Umm, which way?” I asked.
Jamie leaned forward and pointed. “Left on Jamison and down to Monroe.”
After driving out of the city limits, I turned onto a small paved road leading around snow packed fields. I nodded, unable to find the words to express myself. Instead, I focused on the sounds of the outside air rushing past, the hum of the motor, and the soft drone of the stereo.
Just man up and dive in. “I’m sorry.”
He shifted on the seat so he was sitting half against the door. “For what?”
“I’m sorry I kicked you out like that.”
“Oh, that.” He cocked his head to the side again. “You have some issues, don’t you?”
