Five million dollars.
Tommy shook his head and smiled ruefully at the thought. The money was never meant to line his pockets; every single penny had been destined for Pilar and the kids; the widow and offspring of his dead Marine brother. Still, the smell of the money had been practically in his nostrils, within his grasp, and it had been taken away from him by his own brother.
The winner-take-all fighting event known as Sparta had been the turning point in his life; one that he'd needed for a long time. It had marked the beginning of the end of running away. He'd run away as a teenager with his mother to escape the abuse of his drunken father. Little had he known at the time that his brother Brendan would also be in the rearview mirror of that shitty old Ford. Tommy had been numb when Brendan had told him that he was staying to be near Tess. It didn't equate that some stupid girl could have been more important that his own ma and brother. It really didn't equate that Brendan would choose to stay behind and endure more of the hell that his father threw down on a daily basis.
His mom had driven all the way across the country, hadn't stopped until the ocean halted their travels west. Then she'd driven as far north as possible and they'd started a new life in Washington State. Things had been good for a while; his mother had never laughed so loud or smiled so widely. She'd seemed like a new person and it had rejuvenated Tommy in ways he hadn't thought possible. It had felt like a whole planet of worry had been lifted from his 16 year old shoulders. But then he'd begun to notice the way his mom's color seemed off, like she was fading. He'd also started to hear her in the bathroom late at night, when she'd been sure he was sleeping. He'd heard her retching and agonized moans that she'd obviously stifled with a wash cloth or something like it from the muffled sound of it. But young Tommy Conlon hadn't wanted to believe that God could be that fucking cruel. Surely he'd already paid in full at the hands of his pop; surely his ma was owed something for not letting that Irish bastard break her.
The first winter in Washington went quickly and when summer hit it had become more obvious that something was seriously wrong with his mother. She'd been burning hot to the touch but her body refused to sweat. Her hair, her lovely red hair, had fallen out in clumps every time she ran a comb or brush through it. Tommy had begged his mom to go to the doctor but she had only smiled at him and told him that God would provide a way for her to be well. She had honestly believed that right up to the end. Even as her body had started to produce cysts that painfully emerged through her skin and burst. Even as she had vomited blood and could no longer keep water down. Even as her eyesight had faded to nothing and she had been bedridden. Even as she had struggled to form the words to beg Tommy to rub her arms and legs down with holy water and to pray for her.
For years after her death he had blamed himself. He'd prayed for his ma but he hadn't had any faith that it would help. The words were practiced but hollow; pretty sounding but empty. He might as well have been praying to the bum on the corner who had unfailing asked for a "fucking dollar" every time he'd run to St. Anthony's to refill the Holy Water. Tommy had never believed there was a God; if there was he was a fucking jerk for letting people like Paddy Conlon, his father, beat on a saint like his mother.
The summer his Mother had passed had been the hottest one in history for Washington. She had smelled so bad, more like death than any living thing ever should. She'd kept calling out for Brendan but Tommy hadn't known how to get in touch with him, hadn't wanted to risk speaking to Paddy if he'd called the old house looking for his brother. That bastard had had no right even knowing that his wife was close to death. All Tommy had been able to do was hold her hand and pray those empty words into her ear. His sweet mother had fought the good fight, but at 3:13 on a humid, hot Monday morning she had sat straight up in the bed and smiled. "I know you," she had whispered to someone that Tommy hadn't been able to see, and then she had lain back gently and breathed her last.
Tommy had found himself living on the streets of Tacoma four months shy of his 17th birthday. Once he'd turned 17, with the help of a recruiter, he'd gotten his GED and joined the Marine Corps, essentially running away again. He had fit into the military like a hand in a glove. He had loved the discipline, embraced the brotherhood and had actually been excited when his card had been pulled for a tour in Iraq. That's where he had met Manny, where he'd found a real brother, a brother who wouldn't desert him.
Tommy shakes his head, refusing to think about Manny. It's too painful still to think about the loss. The alarm clock chirps on his bedside table and he reaches a heavy hand out to stop the annoying sound.
I don't know why I set the fucking thing, he thinks to himself. He never sleeps through the night anymore, not since he stopped taking multiple pills to induce a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. It was robbing Peter to pay Paul when he thought about it. He wasn't poisoning himself with the chemicals anymore but now he wasn't sleeping more than three or four hours a night. It didn't matter how much he trained, how hard he fought in the ring, his body refused to give him a dreamless reprieve.
At five a.m. there ain't much going on, even in Pittsburgh. Luckily there is a mom and pop kind of diner right around the corner that is open 24 hours. Lily, who runs the place this time of morning, always knows to make him an egg white omelet with dry wheat toast; sometimes it's waiting at his usual spot at the counter when he walks in the door, steaming hot. Lily had joked with Tommy on several occasions in her smokers rasp that she's psychic. He doesn't doubt her for a second; she's almost spooky with her predictions of when he will show up and what he'll be in the mood for.
Sighing loudly Tommy rolls over to the edge of the bed and drops to his knees on the cold floor. Shifting onto his toes he feels and hears several loud pops issue from both of his knees. Stretching his arms up above his head, a myriad of smaller, less noisy sounds come from his back as he does his best to realign his vertebrae. A fighter's life is hard; no matter how well you're trained the toll it takes on your body is inevitable. Every morning is like this, Tommy laughs as he realizes he sounds like a bowl of Rice Krispies instead of a human being.
Standing slowly he bends from side to side, feeling his body respond to the cold air of his apartment. The air conditioner runs 365 days a year in this place. After that summer in Tacoma and the time he spent in the Iraqi desert, he has no tolerance for heat when he tries to sleep. Even the hot air of the gym gets to be too much sometimes. Speaking of, if he doesn't get his ass in gear he might be late for work.
After Sparta he'd been sent to Camp Pendleton and has spent nine months in the brig for something he didn't let himself think about anymore. His record had been expunged at the behest of a nation of newfound fans and the urging of the Corps psychologist assigned to him. PTSD had been the official diagnosis. He didn't argue but he also didn't really feel right about being let off the hook for deserting his unit. After he made his way back to Pennsyvania Tommy had spent a month with Brendan, Tess and the girls. It hadn't taken long to realize that even though a lot had been resolved in the ring there was still a mountain of unresolved conflict between him and his brother. It had all come to a head one night after too many Cerveza Modelo's and shots of Patron. Both he and his brother had been two toes over the line and in the mood to do some truth telling. It seems that deep down he really wasn't over his feelings of abandonment by his brother and Brendan wasn't over not being told that their mom was sick. It had come to blows and this time it had been Brendan who had gotten the short end of the stick. Tess had called the cops, he'd spent the night in the drunk-tank and the two brothers hadn't really spoken since. Brendan had called a few times since, wanting to talk but Tommy just hadn't felt ready; so the calls went unreturned, the hard feelings festered and the divide grew wider with each passing day.
Paddy was another matter entirely. Even though they had made an uneasy truce during the Sparta trip Tommy was no closer to the man than he had been before. Try as he might he just couldn't make himself feel anything towards his Pop anymore. There wasn't even anger there now, just blatant indifference. Somehow it seemed that feeling nothing towards his old man hurt more than being pissed at him. So since the day he'd comforted the old drunk in the hotel in Atlantic City there had been zero talk between the two of them. If the man knew that Tommy was back in Pittsburgh it was because Brendan had told him although he doubted that line of communication was open either.
After the blow up with Brendan he'd meandered back to his pre-Sparta stomping grounds and had asked Colt Boyd for a job at the gym. Tommy suspected that originally he'd given him one because he knew curiosity of the runner up from Sparta would bring in more business, and he was right. Eventually a friendship had grown between the two and he was someone that Tommy considered more than just an acquaintance. It didn't mean they were holding hands and taking warm showers together. It just meant that Colt knew him well enough to not ask him too many questions and to trust him with keys to the business. Tommy spent most of his time there, either training himself or training others. Colt was always ribbing him about how the female membership had risen by 50 percent since Tommy had started offering personal training there. Colt knew Tommy well enough to run when he said shit like that too. The pay was good, he got a base salary from Colt and a percentage of all personal training he did. It was enough for the apartment and anything else he needed.
Tommy jumps into a tepid shower just to clean the remnants of the ever present night terror sweats off. It never fails that no matter how cold the air in the apartment, he will wake up screaming, shaking and drenched. The dream never varies; Manny is there, dangling over the void, reaching out his hand for help. Tommy never makes it in time to grab that hand, only in time to see the last finger hold slip, to peer over the edge of the precipice as Manny screams and falls into the abyss. Then he sees Pilar's face streaming with tears, then Manny's poor fatherless kids. The little boy who looks like a miniature of his father looks at him with disgust and slowly raises an accusing finger to point at him. That's when he shoots straight up out of the bed and has to pace the room, sometimes for an hour, to get his mind and heart rate slowed.
It takes less than ten minutes to shower and dress. He'll jog the mile and a half to the diner and then another three to Colt's gym. He's off today but will spend the whole day there taking out his frustration on the equipment and any fool dumb enough to step in the ring with him. You'd think after his showing at Sparta and the YouTube video of him destroying Mad Dog Grimes in the same gym he works at that people would know better. Shit, Colt had had to make up a separate waiver for anyone who decided to try their luck in the ring with Tommy Conlon. And believe it or not, fools keep trying. In a way it makes sense; most of these morons are 'roid raging and their gusto is writing checks their ass can't cover. There have only been three fighters who have even gotten a punch in and each of those have only served to make him see red.
Then there are the ones who like to come to the gym and talk smack; the ones who say that the whole fight at Sparta had been set up between the two brothers and that they had split the money between them. No amount of protesting from Tommy would ever change their minds so he doesn't bother. He knows the truth and that is all that matters.
The truth is that the night of the Brothers Brawl Royale in the new house his sibling had splurged on with a good chunk of the prize money; Brendan had told him that he and Tess had decided to give him one million of the purse. Tommy had declined, had been insulted. He couldn't understand how Brendan didn't realize that the money was never meant for him. Looking back now he should have taken it and sent it to Pilar, but at the time all he could feel was rage and resentment at the thought that his brother was trying to buy forgiveness that he didn't earn.
Tommy slows his pace to a brisk walk as soon as he sees the neon of the diner sign. His breath comes out in huffs, forming large clouds in front of his face in the cold morning air. He's broken a sweat and it pisses him off. He feels better if he can push himself and not sweat; it makes him feel more like a machine than a man for some reason. Machines don't feel, don't think, they just do. It's probably the deep seated reason he builds his body up like he does, the process is mindless, and the repetition doesn't require thought.
As he enters the diner he sees that his food is ready, steaming on the plate. There is a side of home fries on a separate plate and he shudders. He had seriously been thinking of adding the extra carbs this morning since he planned on doubling his workout and skipping lunch. The old woman was uncanny…
"Morning Tommy dear," Lily rasps from the grill without turning around. Her voice reminds him of an old crow cawing. She's wearing the same uniform as always, a blue pinstriped shirt with a Dale's Diner logo embroidered on the front pocket, a navy blue half apron that she shoves her pack of Winston's and a lighter into, and navy blue slacks. Then there are the candy apple red high heels that aren't befitting of a woman of her age but that she never fails to have on. Tommy likes to joke that she'd never be able to see over the counter without them.
"Mornin' Lil'," Tommy calls back as he takes a seat in his usual spot. The smell of her Charlie perfume mixes with the grease and onion smell of the diner. It's not a particularly nice smell but it's comforting because it's become familiar to him. As he digs into his omelet he hears a muffled snore coming from one of the booths further back in the narrow building.
"Some chick came in with a guy about an hour ago. He left her there. Figured I'd just let her sleep it off, call her a cab when she came to," Lily answered as if she knew what he was about to ask. The older woman was busy running a wire brush over the flat top grill, scrubbing away grease and burnt on food.
The potatoes are sinfully good; something Tommy very rarely allows himself. The grease and pepper are enough to make his eyes roll back in his head. He hasn't spared the snoring woman another thought until Lily comes over and stands in front of him. She pops a piece of Juicy Fruit into her mouth and gestures towards the booth with a nod of her head.
"Not a bad looking little heifer. She's in bad shape though; looks like the creep who dumped her here mighta roughed her up before they came in."
Tommy's nostrils flare at the implication. He downs the last of his potatoes along with half a piece of toast in one bite and washes it down with an entire glass of milk. He stands, wiping his mouth, and slaps down enough money to cover his meal along with his usual tip. He gives Lily a curt smile and turns to head out the door. Not your fucking problem, he chants to himself mentally. The snoring gets louder and then he hears a cough. Something about it stops him in his tracks. It reminds him of the wet, hacking cough his mother had at the end.
Looks like the creep who dumped her here mighta roughed her up before they came in.
Lily's words echo through him and he spins on his heels, heading back to the source of the sounds.
Tommy looks down into the padded seat of the booth at the tiny frame of the woman. Immediately the smell hits him and he reaches down to pull her hair from over her face. She's lying in a puddle of vomit and a great amount of it is coming out of her nose.
"Lily, call an ambulance!" Tommy calls as he lifts the woman's head up and uses his fingers to clear as much as he can from her airways.
He hears the phone beep as the cook calls for help. The snoring is lighter now that her nose is emptied. Tommy leans in to get a better look at her.
"Oh shit, Penny…" is all he has time to say before she vomits again. He turns her head to the side in time to keep her airways clear, his meager military medical training kicking in. He tries to lift her up in the seat to keep her from aspirating into her lungs if she hasn't already. That's when he notices the track marks on her arm.
"Lily, tell them to be prepared for a possible heroin overdose."
Fuckin' hell Penny, how did you end up like this?