Chapter 3: Deadly Ties
That night, Kobra had a terrible dream.
He dreamed that four men were being obliterated by a terrible monster. The monster churned its helpless foes in its teeth, crushing their bones and shredding their flesh into ribbons. The monster reveled in its victims blood and feasted on their very souls, laughing maniacally at the unforgiving sky. Sweat flowed from the monsters demonic face, wisp of golden blond hair undulated atop its head, and its eyes, two soulless black pits, burned with the fire and intensity of one thousand suns. Destruction was his purpose, and evil was his name...I was the monster.
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Rich sunlight poured through the drawn curtains of Kobra's room, breaking through his trance like sleep. The young fighter stirred, opening his groggy eyes only to be greeted by the cracked white ceiling. He laid in his bed, still trying to discern the world of the awoke from the world of the dreaming.
Speaking of dreams...
Kobra bolted up in bed, remembering the events of last night.
That wasn't a dream...
Kobra felt a strange mixture of emotions churning within him, everything from excitement to unbearable fear. He had done what he had always set his mind on doing: fighting on the streets, without rules or limitations, but he had killed a man in cold blood, and seriously injured three others. All feelings of bravado aside, because Kobra could give a damn about the girls life that he saved. It was nothing but an excuse to engage her tormentors in combat, and now he would have to live with the guilt of what he had done.
I didn't know it would weigh this heavy on my soul. Feelings of despair, anger...power.
Kobra swung his legs out of bed and dressed in dark gray sweat pants and a matching Shorin-ryu hoodie. Suddenly, the presence of the small room was too stifling for him. After making a quick stop in the bathroom, Kobra found his room-mate Kevin sitting at the kitchen table, greedily wolfing down a large bowl of cereal.
"Damn, I didn't think you'll be up for about another 5 hours. Didn't you just get in not too long ago?" Kevin said between mouthfuls of Lucky Charms.
"Yeah." Kobra replied, pouring himself a large glass of orange juice. The small television set was on, a youthful and energetic young woman telling the weather forecast. Kobra downed his glass of juice, not realizing how thirsty he really was until the sweet liquid hit his tongue.
"So, you gonna find a job man, or are you still waiting for your martial arts to pay off?"
Kobra flashed a grin and held his fist up. "Don't worry. These fists are going to pay the bills!"
Breaking news was being reported on the television, Kobra listened in intently, his heart beginning to race.
"...This just in, police are reporting that the body of a young man was found earlier this morning in an alley of Hell's Kitchen. The body is reportedly that of twenty three year old Francisco Spicolli, a reputed felon with an extensive criminal background..."
Kobra tuned out the rest of the broadcast and hastily headed for the front door.
"Hey man! You better be going to find a job man!!" Kevin yelled after him. Kobra wasn't listening as he rushed out of the apartment and into the shabby corridor. Pulling his hood over his head, Kobra made his way to the stairwell, his mind heavy with the events of last night...
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The day in New York was always different from the night. Some people would even call the night a travesty of the drudging daytime streets. People going about their daily lives, public works fixing problems that always seemed to persist in this part of the city, and peddlers trying to sell whatever merchandise they can get their hands on. Kobra traversed through these hectic streets, his hood obscuring his face, hands shoved in his pockets and walking at a brisk pace.
It was a cloudy day, an over cast hanging ominously and threatening rain. Kobra continued to walk down the street, eventually coming across a fenced off basket-ball court. Scores of young mostly black teens were crowded around the rim, wildly cheering and screaming. Kobra watched from beyond the mesh fence, whatever was happening it wasn't a basket-ball game.
Suddenly, a body burst from the crowd, landing painfully across the three point line and laying still amidst the chaos. Kobra felt the same excitement rising inside of him from last night, that same excitement that had led him to kill...
Kobra jumped up and grabbed the top of the fence with both hands, pulling himself over the chain link. He wanted to get a closer look, see what was going on. No doubt just hoodlums fighting over who won a game of b-ball, but something inside of Kobra was anticipating something else, something dangerous...
The crowd dispersed again as another body was thrown into them, several people being taken down by the force.
What the hell!?
Standing there hands held high was a young African American man. Sweat poured from his dark features as he threw a kick, his shin connecting with another youths rib cage. The juvenile fell to his side, clutching his aching torso. All at once, the multitudes of young teens began to scatter about, the injured ones hobbling away with whatever health they had left.
"YEAH, RUN AWAY!! ALL Y'ALL BITCH ASSES!!" The remaining African American youth shouted. Kobra got a good look at him, a snug white wife-beater covering his large and sweat sheened body, a pair of dingy hand-wraps tied roughly around his large fist, and green a black camo pants over a set of large muscular legs.
The African American continued to shout insults at the fleeing crowd as Kobra continued to stare at him. Definitely a fighter if I ever saw one. His body, the way his hands were always in guard position, that kick...
"The fuck you looking at man?" Kobra was snapped back to reality as the African American questioned him. Their eyes met, and Kobra saw the same intensity that he was all too familiar with.
"I said what the fuck you looking at man!?" He proceeded to walk towards Kobra, menace evident in his sweaty face.
"Whoa! Calm down dude! I was just admiring your fighting ability." Kobra backed away, his hands up, trying to diffuse any possible situation that could happen. "You're pretty good."
The other man eyed Kobra with a look of suspicion before nodding. He motioned to Kobra's hoodie, the red and blue Yin-Yang insignia emblazoned on his breast.
"You fight too?" He asked, the agitation in his eyes swept away by curiosity.
Kobra nodded. "I train in Shorin-ryu Karate. People call me Kobra."
Kobra extended his hand. He didn't know what was about this man that had so transfixed Kobra, but whatever it was it was mutually felt amongst the two of them.
"Braxton Devereaux." He took Kobra's outstretched hand and squeezed very firmly.
"Who were those guys?" Kobra asked, indicating the spot where the mob of people had been.
Braxton scoffed, waving his hand indignantly in the direction that his attackers had ran. "Just some punk ass dudes starting shit, like they always do. Man, I just came over here to jog and these cats came up to me talking all kind of jazz! So I just said put up the dukes and let's go..."
Kobra listened to Braxton recall the tale of his struggle. He spared nothing, offering every minutest detail, every exaggerated gesticulation, and every piece of filthy dialog. Kobra found himself recalling his run in with the thugs from last night, the way he beat them nearly to death. Nearly...
"You say you train too man?" Kobra could see Braxton's eyes beaming with curiosity. "Said something about some shambuey-ryo shit?"
"Shorin-ryu." Kobra corrected him.
"S-h-o-r-i-n-r-y-u." Braxton sounded it out. "That's a mouth-full."
"I can show you some if you want."
"Oh! Is that a sort of challenge!?"
Kobra smiled, brushing a few strands of hair away from his eyes. "It's whatever you want it to be man."
Braxton seemed impressed, nodding approvingly. Not here though, we can jam back at my gym. I gotta warn you though, I go all out."
"Not a problem." Kobra said with a hint of mischief in his voice.
"Man, you a trip! Come on, I'll lead the way. At least I can get my exercise in."
Braxton and Kobra took off down the busy New York street as the beginning drops of rain began to fall.
I hope he really can fight as good as he talks...
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Braxton's "gym" was nothing more than a abandoned ware-house located in a run-down industrial quarter. The only light source came from the large grease tinted windows located high above the make-shift gym. Various athletic equipment adorned the grungy space, everything from weight machines and dumb-bells to speed and heavy bags. In the center of the spacious room was an improvised boxing ring, nothing more than a raised Lei Tai platform enclosed by four steel cables forming ring ropes. The mat was nothing but a large burlap sheet, offering little in protection and adding to the under-ground flavor.
It was in this ring that Kobra and Braxton restlessly sparred, their sweat, pride, and very souls laid out on the abrasive canvas.
Cautiously peeking over the ring apron was the curious eyes of a thirteen year old boy. Kobra had seen him when they had first entered the ware-house, rigorously punching a heavy bag with gloves that were too big covering his small hands. The grit and determination was evident in his brown eyes, and Kobra had concluded that he was Braxton's little brother. Now he was totally fixated on his brother and Kobra sparring in the middle of the ring, each one trying to best each others skill.
During their time in the ring, Kobra had learned a lot about his partner. Born in Brooklyn, Braxton and his little brother Cody had been on the streets since they were little, their father abandoning them when Cody was born and losing their mother to gang violence. When Braxton was twelve he began to take free classes at the Brooklyn Center for Combat Arts, but was disillusioned with the strict rules and kosher environment. He took his skills on the street, and bettered himself as a brawler.
"These martial arts won't work out on these streets." He told Kobra, spitting jabs towards his face. "You wanna survive? You gotta be grimy as hell just like these punks out here."
Braxton stopped and wiped his forehead with the back of his worn and battered glove.
"Yo Cody, did I tell you to stop on that heavy bag? Get back to work man!"
Cody groaned with the temperament of a child being told to finish chores by his parents and got back to work on the heavy bag, hitting the 100 pound bag with all the strength his body could muster. Kobra and Braxton sat on the ring apron, breathing heavily and soaked with sweat.
"That kid is going to be something one day..." Braxton said, nodding to his younger brother. "These streets ain't no joke man. I wouldn't want my brother to go through half of the shit I had to go through..."
"Say man, you got a girl?" The question took Kobra by surprise, mainly because of their machismo laced conversations.
"Me? No, I wouldn't have the time for that."
Braxton chuckled. "Good. Women make your legs weak man, stay away from 'em. Spend one night with a chick and all that pent up anger and stress that you need to fight is gone."
"I'll keep that in mind, thanks."
"Yeah, man, it's like...
"OOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!"
A loud cry echoed throughout the building. Kobra looked around, perplexed as to where it had come from.
"What the hell was that?"
Braxton seemed as confused as Kobra, but there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes. "Uh, nothing man, probably some shit from outside."
"It sounded like it came from inside."
"OLLIE OLLIE OXEN FREE MOTHER FUCKER!!!!!" There was a powerful knock from the ware-houses automated shutter. A rough grinding sound emanated from the steel sheet as it was lifted from its hinges. Braxton stared at the unreal scene with a look of dismay and buried his face in his hands.
"Oh man..." He muttered. Two men stood in the entrance to the garage. Both wore intricately tailored black suits and sported dark sun-glasses, but that is where the similarities between the two ended. One of the men stepped forward, his taunt, rigid face squinting into a mask of disgust upon seeing Braxton and Kobra. He was tall and gangling, with fair light brown hair propped neatly on his head.
The other man stood in the doorway, the garage door impossibly propped up by his massive arms. He walked in, letting the door slam shut behind him with thunderous crash. Unlike his partner, this man was bald, with a short squat build and muscles hidden by his dark suit. He swiveled his head to side to side in a peculiar fashion, seemingly sniffing the air animal like.
"Braxton! Didn't you hear us knocking!?" The fair haired man said. He spoke with a heavy British accent and smiled from ear to ear like a sleazy salesman.
"I wasn't expecting you two so soon." Braxton said, his voice quivering slightly. "What y'all want?"
"Who are these guys?" Kobra whispered. There was something about the two of them, enough to even make Braxton nervous.
"I HEARD THAT!! I HEARD THAT!!!!"A hoarse cry erupted from the bald headed man in a thick Cockney accent. He rushed towards Kobra, his arms outstretched menacingly. "WHAT DID YA SAY ABOUT ME?" The fair haired man grabbed his partner, keeping him at bay for the moment.
"Allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Lionel Tavish." The fair haired man said. "And this handsome fellow is my brother Leonard. The Tavish Brothers."
Leonard calmed in his brothers arm, but Kobra could still feel his gaze upon him even through the sun-glasses.
"Cody, go find something else to do." Braxton ordered his little brother. The younger Devereaux did not need to be told twice as he hastily retreated away from the three men.
"Good of you to send the little sport away. We wouldn't want him to see us conducting business." Lionel said, his shark like grin becoming even wider.
"Business!? What the hell you talking about man I just payed you two weeks ago!"
"WATCH YOUR TONGUE!!"
Leonard struggled in his brothers arms again, this time his rage focused on Braxton.
"Keep your bro in check man! Now I want to know what you're talking about, I payed up."
"Well, you don't call the shots tough guy. We're going to need some more business from you."
Business?
"Just what the hell is going on here?" This time Kobra spoke up, interjecting on the uncomfortable scene.
"Kobra man, stay out of this. Trust me. These are some rough motherfuckers, just leave it alone!"
"We delve in some very lucrative business. We can let you in too...if you're interested."
Kobra narrowed his eyes. "What kind of business?"
"Well, my brother and I own some of most finest under-ground fighting arenas in New York, California, and London."
"DON'T FORGET ABOUT GLASGOW!!" Leonard shouted.
"We've been using Braxton's 'talents' for the longest now, but now I guess he just seems content to stay in this shit-hole with that brother of his, pity..."
Under-ground fighting? A new sense of intrigue was growing in Kobra. This was another opportunity, another chance to test himself...
"I want to fight too."
The Tavish Brothers eyes Kobra with a look of incredulity, furiously whispering back and fourth amongst each other. They finally reached a conclusion and faced Kobra, surveying him up and down with extreme interest.
"You want to fight? Fine, we can work something out. At least SOMEBODY wants to fight around here, but I got to warn you kid, this shit ain't for the faint of heart."
"I'm prepared for anything..."
Lionel smiled and lightly rapped his knuckle on Kobra's jaw. "Atta boy! That's the spirit!! We're going to need you for tomorrow night. I look forward to a plentiful relationship. For the both of us that is."
The Tavish Brothers exited the ware-house, leaving Braxton and Kobra alone.
"Oh man, you don't know what you just got yourself into Kobra. These guys are dangerous, I'm talking hardcore killers!"
Kobra wasn't paying attention as the thought of engaging in unarmed combat consumed him to his very core.
I'm ready...I was born ready.