Killer of Giants

by Oliver Lockhart

  “I’m not going to let that happen to my friends.”

  The guard looked over his shoulder warily and nodded.

  With my heart racing, I glanced back at Raj and Allie, and stepped toward the guard. Holding the gun by its barrel, I approached the gate. “Here, take it. Please... just don’t get us in trouble. We’ll make good. I promise.”

  He took the gun and let out another deep breath, slower this time. “Look, if you have a problem, you shouldn’t be trying to–”

  “It’s too late for that.” I ran down the sidewalk behind Raj and Allie. The guard faded into darkness behind the gate as we approached the car. Raj took the guitar from Allie and climbed into the back seat. Allie opened the driver’s door, and I scooted around to the passenger side.

  Inside, Gordie leaned forward between the front seats. “I saw a security guard!” He raised his phone to show us the screen. “Did you get my messages? I tried to warn you.”

  The engine roared and tires screeched as Allie pulled away from the curb.

  I wrapped my fingers around the car’s grab handle. “You’re a real lifesaver, Gordie.” 

  15. An Unsettling Negotiation

  Gordie and I wobbled in the aisle of the 805 bus as it pulled into the curb, air brakes hissing and squealing as it rocked to a stop. With a creak, the doors sprang open and Gordie hopped down the stairs, holding his crutches in one hand and grasping the rail with the other. I leapt out behind him.

  Near the city, Cass Avenue was once filled with car dealerships, but now homeless people burning trash in abandoned buildings filled the area with a smoke haze. A chilly mist dampened my jeans, and the sky was dark enough that the streetlights were already on.

  My phone was at 3:58 p.m. In four hours, Kyle would be waiting for us at Stony Creek Lake. I pushed my phone into what was meant to be my jeans pocket and felt it slip through my fingers. A sharp crack of glass against concrete next to my shoes made my stomach sink. It’s not like I was able to just walk into an Apple store and buy the latest iPhone. I picked it up and ran a finger over the spider-webbed glass and jagged lines radiating from the corner of the screen.

  Gordie looked at it. “That’s a bad omen.”

  “Do you ever think positively?”

  “I used to, but it didn’t work so I stopped.”

  I pressed the home button and slid my thumb across the screen, avoiding the splintering glass. The display lit up with a home screen that looked like a Picasso painting. I pressed the side button and pushed the phone into my jeans pocket. “Raj will be here any minute.” A bitter wind numbed my face and ears as I zipped up my jacket.

  Leaning heavily, Gordie gave a tired groan. “These new crutches hurt my arms.”

  Across the street, Raj stepped out from an alleyway. With a grin, he strutted toward us, pulling a wad of twenty-dollar bills from his jacket pocket. “I tried to hock it on Clifton, but they only offered me three hundred. Then I tried Cash Kingdom and they gave me four!”

  “Did they ask if it’s stolen?” Gordie asked.

  “They made me sign something saying I didn’t steal it.”

  “So what’d you do?”

  “Signed it with a fake name.”

  Gordie shook his head. “Imagine all the stolen goods they’d receive if they weren’t so diligent.”

  Sarcasm isn’t the highest form of humor, but I was happy to take it as a sign Gordie was still coping – at least for now. Raj stuffed the bills back in his pocket and started along the sidewalk. “Let’s go find this Drac guy.”

  I waited for Gordie to get his crutches organized and then walked slowly next to him. There was no telling what would set him off in his fragile state.

  Twenty feet ahead, Raj looked back at us. “By the way, Fink’s not dead. He woke up from an induced coma this morning.”

  “What?” Gordie nearly choked on the word. He stopped walking.

  “He’s in Henry Ford Hospital. Jasmin Fisher said so anyway. Well done on not being a killer, Gordo.”

  Gordie’s mouth fell open, and his eyes glazed with tears. He wiped his cheeks with his sleeve, smiling, and then continued along the sidewalk on his crutches.

  It was good to see him happy, even if it was pretty messed up. I kicked an empty bottle out of his way. “Are you worried about being arrested?”

  “If I am, it won’t be for murder.”

  At the intersection, a crossing light chirped and an old lady shuffled across the street.

  Raj slowed his pace and fell in alongside us. “Where’s Allie?”

  “Computer Club. She said she’d meet us later,” I said.

  He gave a wry smile. “You guys have been getting cozy. Are you two a thing yet or what?”

  “Nope. Let’s just worry about Drac.”

  He jabbed my arm with his fist. “If you don’t ask her out, I will.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” I was done hoping for things that weren’t going to happen.

  Gordie stopped and adjusted his crutches. “How far is this place? My arms are killing me.”

  “Another block. Not far.” Raj pointed at a side street. “We can cut through there.”

  We slowed our pace to Gordie’s hobble and continued along the sidewalk. Raj usually talked too much, and he talked even more when he was nervous, so his sudden silence wasn’t helping my uneasiness. Was Drac dangerous? Would he report us to the cops? Would we even find him? I dug my hands in my pockets. “How do you even know this badass will be at the gym today?”

  “Because this.” Raj swiped his phone’s screen and handed it to me. It read:

  Fighter Profile: Drac Valeshnikov

  Drac’s trademark blistering uppercuts and dizzying roundhouse kicks have earned him the Michigan State Middleweight Title for three consecutive years. When he’s not competing, Drac trains youths at his gym, Valeshnikov Boxing, in his hometown of Detroit. With eighteen knockouts to his credit, he most recently defeated…

  At least he had the right credentials. I handed the phone back to Raj. “Let’s hope he’s there.”

  Moving slower by the minute, Gordie gazed into the distance and wrinkled his brow. “How does this work? Do we just give him the cash for beating up Kyle?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t want to be on the hook if Super Drac gets carried away. His job is to scare Kyle, not put him in hospital. That’s if he even wants our money.”

  As soon as the words left my mouth I realized I’d just poured more fuel on his heebie-jeebies. He paused and blinked hard, searching my face. Without speaking, we crossed at the lights and turned down a street lined with dive bars.

  “So what do we say to him?” Gordie asked.

  “It’s like in the movies,” I said. “We offer half now and half when he finishes the job – keep him honest.”

  Gordie stopped and leaned on his crutches. “What about the gun? It’s not going to matter that Drac’s a badass if Kyle has a gun.”

  The same thought had occurred to me last night. Maybe I should have cared more about Drac getting shot, but what other option did we have? I put my hand on Gordie’s shoulder. “Relax, when Kyle finds out Drac’s looking out for us, he’ll leave us alone. Let’s just keep the gun on the down low.”

  We started along the sidewalk again, and Raj asked, “What did your old man say when he couldn’t find his gun this morning?”

  “He thinks someone broke in last night and stole it. I might have left the back door open to make him think that.” He gave Raj a half-smile.

  “Never let it be said I don’t have your back.” Raj pointed to a building with tinted windows on the corner of the block. “That’s the place.” Next to a metal tread-plate door, a weather-beaten sign hung on the wall with the words, “Valeshnikov Boxing.” If Drac was trying to scare away customers, he was off to a good start. We crossed the street and followed the sidewalk to the door.

  I gripped the handle. “Ready?”

  “No,” Gordie said. “Not ever in this lifetime
.”

  Raj waved for me to go in.

  What was the worst that could happen? He’d say no and we’d have to figure out what to do. I pushed the handle and a bell attached to a chain clanged against the door. Inside, the air was thick with the stink of old sweat and stale cigarettes. A bulb with no shade hung from the ceiling, giving off a hazy glow. Rectangular sections of frayed carpet covered some of the concrete floor around an empty boxing ring, and a larger-than-life Mohammed Ali print hung on the far wall. In the corner, two old guys wearing Adidas sweat suits were perched on stools, smoking cigars and drinking what looked like whiskey.

  Gordie whispered, “How do they exercise with all this smoke?”

  Next to the two old guys, a sweaty mass of tattooed muscle grunted, puffed, and shuffled as he smashed his fists into a punching bag. The impact was like rapid blasts of thunder. His eyes locked onto the bag in a fierce stare, every cell of his body focused on destroying it. A deep scar ran from his jawline down to his thick, meaty neck, and his oily black hair was slicked back with a widow’s peak hairline, like Dracula. The veins in his bulging arms throbbed, almost exploding out of his skin with each blow. This monster could destroy Kyle, Fink, and Bundy with one hand while taking on a team of commandos with the other.

  “That’s him… I hope,” Raj said under his breath.

  Gordie turned away. “This was a bad idea. Let’s go.”

  Stepping closer, I tried to not flinch every time his fists hit the bag. Gordie and Raj moved in behind me. Spending more time at the gym would’ve given me some clue about workout interruption etiquette, but it didn’t