The house we were in was a crack den. It was exactly the kind of place where nobody would look for us, because no one ever came there looking for anybody. Mel had taken the lock off the basement door and installed it herself in the upstairs bedroom so that we could have a modicum of privacy. She’d scavenged food and clothing for us from the local shelters.

  To accomplish all this, she’d pawned off both the bloodstained, stolen car as well as her newly upgraded laptop. Between the two of us, we were almost out of money.

  The only bright spots in her story were these: she’d managed to get us all the way to Jacksonville, and as far as she could tell, the cops thought we’d died in the Chesapeake Bay when the car I’d steered to the edge had dropped off the bridge and fallen in.

  I felt ashamed of my frustration. I took her hands in mine. “You did good. Better than I could have.”

  “Sorry this isn’t what you expected.”

  “No,” I stopped her. “It’s better than prison by a long shot. And we’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

  “We’ve only got two hundred bucks left. And no car.”

  “You got the money on you?”

  She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small fold of twenties. I took it from her and held it up. “We’re gonna have to turn this into some cash.”

  “How’re you gonna do that?”

  I grimaced, feeling the stitch in my ribs. “I can think of some ways.”

  ***

  “No way,” she objected when I told her my idea. “I just got you patched up, now you’re gonna go get hurt again?”

  “Have you got any better ideas?”

  “There’s lots of ways. We could… we could buy lottery tickets.”

  “Waste.”

  “Find a poker game!”

  “I’m not that good. How ‘bout you?”

  She shook her head. “We could knock over a liquor store.”

  “And get shot.”

  “An ATM.”

  “And then our faces would be recorded, and the cops would know we ain’t dead. And besides that, Rogan would probably figure out we were coming for him. Can’t have that.”

  She blew out frustration. “But you could get killed!”

  I put her hands in my own and held them there. “I can handle it. Prison has a way of burning the weakness outta ya. Besides, I only got to go up against guys I think I can beat, and we only gotta do it enough times to make sure we have the money we need.”

  “But you don’t even know where to find a group like that!”

  I kissed her forehead. “Silly girl. I don’t have to know. I just have to ask someone who does.”

  ***

  That someone, it turns out, was a dealer on the street by the name of Mickey Dodge. I found him lingering near a gym within walking distance of the crack house Mel had put us up in, and figured he might be able to point me in the right direction.

  “A fighter, huh?” he said, looking me over. I could tell I didn’t impress him that much.

  “Look, I ain’t interested in trying to make in the MMA or the UFC. I just need to score a couple of bucks on the side.” I glanced over to Mel, who waited by the fence across the street, and gave her a reassuring smile. It didn’t work.

  Mickey nodded. “I feel ya. See, though, thing is, a gig like this ain’t exactly on the up and up, know what I’m sayin’?”

  “Yes. You’re saying it’s an illegal fight.”

  “So how do I know you’re not the five-oh yerself?”

  “Really? Do I look like a cop to you?”

  He gave my face a once over and shrugged. “Don’t know. You mighta been on the bomb squad and had a bad day.”

  “A cop on the bomb squad who has a bad day and comes out looking like this don’t take another position on the force. He takes his disability and his pension, and he retires to Key West. What he doesn’t do is go looking for fights. Now, are you gonna help us or not?”

  He sucked his teeth. “I gots to have me a finder’s fee.”

  “How much?”

  “Hundred bucks.”

  “And how much to get in the fight?”

  “Another hundred will get you in.”

  “Well a hundred bucks is all I got. What’s the purse if we win?”

  “Two grand.”

  “And if we lose?”

  He sneered. “Ain’t no purse if you lose. You lose you walk out and count yerself lucky yer alive.”

  “I’ll pay double your finder’s fee out of the winnings.”

  “No way.”

  “Triple.”

  Mickey rolled his eyes and stuck an electronic cigarette in his mouth. “Six hundred. Don’t know why I’m doing this. This here’s a bad idea. All way round.”

  “Come on, Mickey. I spent five years hard time. I can do this.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “‘Cause I have to win. I lose, I’ve got nothing left to fall back on.”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel better? Man, what you been smokin’?”

  “All right. If I lose, you can collect the bounty on me.”

  “Bounty?”

  I shrugged. “Parole violation.”

  He sucked his cigarette and blew out a cloud of aromatic vapor. “What’d you go in for?”

  “You don’t wanna know. But if you double-cross me, I guarantee you’ll find out.”

  “I don’t wanna find out nothin.’”

  “Good. We gotta deal?”

  He sighed heavily, and then stuck out his hand. “Fine. You got yerself a manager.”

  “Just get me to the fight.”

  ***

  Mickey was as good as his word. He led me to a warehouse five blocks down, and climbed a set of unmarked, rusty steps. Mel followed close behind me, pensive and fidgety. At a steel door on the second floor, Mickey banged on it with his fist. “Yo, Banger! Open up!”

  A voice grumbled from the other side. “Who’s that?”

  “Mickey Dodge.”

  “Go away, Dodge.”

  Mickey hit the door again. Presently, Banger opened the door. He was a squint-eyed, bald man with a face like a potato. Something about him screamed Italian mob, but I wasn’t about to say so.

  “What do you want?” he huffed.

  Mickey pulled his e-cigarette out. “Got me a fighter.”

  “A fighter. Is that so?”

  “That’s right.”

  Banger nodded in my direction. “This him?” He looked me over and nodded at Dodge. “What’s his name?”

  “Didn’t give it,” I replied.

  Banger put his lips together into something that was a cross between a pout and a smile, like he’d just bit into something sour and was pretending to enjoy it. “Gotta put a name up on the board. What do you wanna be called?”

  “Call him ‘Torch’,” said Mel.

  “Torch? ‘Cause of the—” he waved his hand in front of his face. “I get it. Torch it is. You got the money?”

  I handed him the hundred bucks and glanced back at Mel. I mouthed the word, ‘Torch?’ She shrugged.

  “He explain the rules?” Banger said.

  “Not really.”

  “What?” Banger glared at Mickey. “I gotta do everything for ya?”

  “He said a hundred bucks to get in. Two grand purse if I win. Nothing if I lose.”

  Banger nodded. “Oh. He did explain the rules then. Apologies. Come in.” He opened the door wide, and we went inside.

  Banger led us across a wide catwalk to a corrugated steel and glass office that overlooked a spacious factory floor below. “What is this place?” I wondered aloud.

  “Ain’t nothin’ now,” Banger answered. “Used to be a factory, turned out packaging materials and such. Then those bastards in Sweden outsourced the jobs all to India. Left me to watch the place till they can sell it. ‘Course in this economy?” He glanced back and gave me a sly grin. “Right now they’re sitting pretty what with the tax right off, and we gets to use the space for free.”

  “I take it they don’t know what goes on here.”

  “They don’t wanna know. That’s the thing. Rent’s free. Power and water still work just fine. Gives us all a place to do our thing without nobody being the wiser.”

  “I see.”

  He opened the door and let us inside the office. “It also means that we all gots to have an understanding.” I watched him as he sat down in a steel office chair and leaned back, folding his hands in his lap. “You ever see the movie Fight Club?”

  “I might’ve.”

  “What’s the three rules about fight club?”

  “We don’t talk about fight club.”

  He smiled broadly. “That’s right. We don’t talk about it. Do we, Dodge?”

  Dodge pulled the e-cigarette out of his mouth. “Hey Banger, he came to me. Not the other way round.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is, actually,” I replied.

  “Don’t recall asking you.”

  “Don’t care if you did or not,” I spat. “I’m the one you gotta deal with. All Mickey’s done is point me in the right direction. Now if you don’t wanna take our money, we can go somewhere else. Sorta doubt the pansies in this place’d be worth my time anyway. Fight club. Get real.”

  “All right. Torch. So maybe you is what you say you is. Lemme make this clear then. You come into fight, you fight. I learn that you got someone in your corner betting against you, and you lose, we ain’t gonna honor that bet, and you’re gonna lose a lot more than the fight.”

  “Sounds fair.”

  “Mmm. Who’s this pretty young thing behind you? She your manager or something?”

  “I’m the manager,” Dodge mumbled.

  “Trainer, then?” He laughed.

  “Girlfriend,” I answered.

  Bangor’s eyebrows shot up. To Mel he said, “You down with your boy-toy getting all banged up?”

  Mel cleared her throat. “He ain’t never been much to look at.”

  “True love, huh?” He snorted. “Is he paying you?”

  In less than a second I grabbed Banger by the throat and threw him over the back of his chair, pinning him to the floor. His eyes bulged at me. Dodge swore and shrank to the other side of the room. Banger’s hands clutched at my fingers, trying desperately to claw them away from his windpipe. I took my other hand and gently moved the hair out of his eyes, giving him my broad smile. “What was that?” I asked. “You didn’t just call my girl a whore, did you?”

  Tears rimmed his eyes, and he closed them in pain. Satisfied, I released him and stood. Banger coughed and writhed on the floor, trying to recover his breath.

  I pulled a hundred dollars out and slapped it down on his steel desk. “So we’re all set, then?”

  Banger pushed himself to his knees, glaring at me. He lashed a hand out, caught the money off his desk, and curled it into his fist. “You gonna get your ass kicked, mo’fo!” he rasped.

  I nodded. “See you tonight, then.”

  With that, we left.

  Chapter 16

  “Damn, Torch!” Mickey said as we left the warehouse. “You shouldn’ta done that.”

  “He had it coming.”

  “No argument, but still. I ain’t never seen nobody throw down on Banger like that. It’s bound to come back on you.”

  I shoved my hands in my pockets as we strode across the street to the concrete walk on the far side. Mel fell into step beside me as Mickey hung back. She fished my hand from my pocket and took it in her own, clenching my arm with her other palm. “I don’t want you to do this.”

  “Got to, Babe. We need the money.”

  “I know,” she licked her lips, “but these guys are dangerous.”

  “So am I.”

  “I’ve seen this type before. Banger reminds me a lot of Gill. You humiliated him. He’s gonna make you pay for it.”

  I nodded, thinking, He’ll try anyway.

  “He’ll probably throw his biggest guy at you. Not some starter stud you can take out with ease.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  That stopped her. Me too, ‘cause she was still clutching my arm. “You really think you can beat a guy you’ve never met in a fair fight? He could be twice your size.”

  I met her eyes and spoke deliberately. “Let’s get a few things straight. Number one: Banger made an insulting pass at you. Nobody does that, and you’re worth defending. You always have been. Number two: putting his best guy against me will increase the odds, which means a bigger pay out when we win. Number three: he ain’t gonna fight fair. He’s gonna cheat, which means that, when I do what I gotta do to win, he won’t be able to say nothin’ about it. And number four: I’ve been fighting people I never met for as long as I can remember. In the Marines. In Ontica. And pretty much for the past five years in prison. I’ve learned the hard way how to beat guys I’ve never met who are a whole lot bigger than me. Lull them into a false confidence, and then tear the rug out from underneath them.”

  I pulled her close to me then and whispered into her ear. “And number five: I’m not going to fight him. I’m going to kill him.” I kissed her ear lobe and walked away.

  ***

  I don’t really know why I assumed she’d understand, but it was the wrong assumption to make. Far from comforting her, my words seemed to fill her with dread. Like I said, I assumed she’d understand.

  There’s a big difference between fighting a man and killing a man. In fighting a man, you do whatever you got to do to win. But you know you can lose. You can walk away if you have to. In killing a man, you do whatever you got to do to survive. Losing isn’t an option. There ain’t no walking away. Banger wasn’t about to let me walk away. I understood that implicitly.

  Besides, it’s not like either Mel or me were strangers to dealing death. We both wore indelible stains on our souls. I’d accepted damnation a long time ago. I had no illusions about who and what I was.

  I’m not a cold-blooded killer. I don’t take lives for money or for sport. I’ve met paid assassins. There’s a deadness in their eyes that will never be reborn. They don’t laugh and they don’t love. They care only for the money or the mission, and they have no purpose beyond either one. Once their ultimate objective is achieved, they often kill themselves, if only because there’s just no reason not to.

  I’ve met psychotics in prison—even dispatched one once. They can’t feel. Too scarred inside. The mad heat of their rage and pain has burned out the last vestiges of humanity in their souls, till the monster is all that remains. Rehabilitation is impossible—a cruelly amusing joke on the naiveté of the liberals. Killing them is a mercy on the rest of humanity.

  My kills were born from necessity. Nothing more. Kill or be killed. I took lives to protect others, or to ensure my own survival—and only when there was no other choice.

  Like now.

  Mel should’ve understood that. Like I said, I’d assumed she would. Instead, as we walked back to the crack house we temporarily called home, she kept her arms crossed over her chest and wore the look of a beaten dog. Mickey left us at the corner with a handshake and my assurance that we’d be back in time for the fight. I could tell he’d have rather we’d just go away instead. I didn’t envy him. His business with Banger was finished either way, and I think he knew it. But that was hardly my problem.

  As we stepped over the few drugged-out bodies that remained, Mel led me to the couch in the living room and sat me down beside her. “I don’t think we should do this.”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “I know. But I don’t think you heard me.”

  “Okay. So tell me: what’s changed? We still need the money. This is our best way to get it.”

  “This is not the best way.”

  “When it’s pretty much our only option, then yeah, it is, in fact, our best way.”

  “I don’t think you should kill this guy. Not for this. Not for money.”

  “Call it a figure of speech then, if it makes you feel better. Just know that I’m gonna do whatever I have to so that when it’s over, I’m still standing and the other guy ain’t.”

  “But what about your ribs? He sees those busted ribs, he’s gonna go for it.”

  “I’m expecting him to. If he’s smart, he’ll just feint for them, hit me high, and then go for my ribs to put me down. But that’s only if he’s smart.”

  “And what makes you so sure he isn’t smart?”

  I smiled and pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “He’s fighting for money. How smart can he be?”

  I swear the look she gave me was priceless.

  ***

  There wasn’t much else to do at that point but wait. I found the young lovers I’d spoke with earlier and somehow convinced them both to go out for some Chinese. It was the Asian chick who insisted her boyfriend Vic buy us some.

  “Look at him,” she said of me. “He’s had a hard life. Don’t you feel bad? I feel bad.”

  I felt like telling her, ‘Hey! I’m right here, y’know?’ but didn’t. Instead, I turned to Vic. “I’ll pay you back. Just a little short right now.”

  He grimaced, but reached into his back pocket and pulled out his billfold. I confess, my eyebrows went up when I saw the size of it. His wallet was packed with money. Several hundred, in fact. I began to suspect my good friend Vic here was the man in charge around this house, the chief supplier of the poison that filled the lungs and veins of those who lay collapsed around us in their inebriated stupor.