Here's an almost completely new chapter, that hopefully paints the direction more clearly with some slice-of-life bits.
Chapter 3 (Dire Straits - Money For Nothing)
Keeping my eyes glued on the endless landscape I just couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
It's the small things in life after all.
Something as simple as a short three-hour flight from Gotham City to Fort Myers, my very first one by the way, somehow managed to transform me from teenager to giddy little kid again.
Even the scorching heat that hit me like a sucker punch as I stepped out of the terminal couldn't dampen my spirits, simply because I was looking forward to a solid week of quality time with my mom.
One hand shielding me from the gruesome offender above and the other carrying my suitcase I was caught off guard when two soft arms wrapped themselves around me.
Squinting through the glare of the sun I finally got a good look at my attacker and maybe the biggest smile in months split my face in an instant.
"You look like a little Tomasso," my mom gushed and couldn't resist pulling me into another fierce hug, which I gladly returned this time.
I honestly didn't know what to say, she looked radiant, despite the years she looked younger, and I felt a fierce satisfaction upon seeing her like this.
"You look great." I managed to say eventually. She just smiled softly and caressed my cheek.
"My little baby is getting all grown up," she teased a little wistfully. Sensing the mood shift I grabbed the hand on my cheek in my own and walked next to her while looking at the row of parked cars nearby.
"So, what's the plan, mom?" I asked excitedly, absently walking past a small white BMW convertible, when I suddenly felt her hand slip out of mine. About to ask what was wrong I watched as she headed for the driver's side of said BMW and unlocked…wait a minute.
"No way!" I exclaimed in honest amazement and eyed the car in an entirely new light.
"Yes way!" she said proudly while folding the top down.
"First we get you settled in my apartment, then we grab something to bite and for the rest of the day we enjoy the beach." she went on excitedly, her brief burst of melancholy apparently gone.
You know what? Fuck Gotham.
My mom didn't just have taste, she was living quite the snazzy life, too, I thought as I gazed towards the beach from her balcony.
Apparently, she had had her big break, when an elderly lady had stayed in the inn she had worked at. During some pleasant chatter, the oldtimer told her about the daughter she was visiting, who had opened a dainty little boutique on Fifth Avenue South, which it seemed was THE street in Naples, Florida.
Having decided that it was worth a shot, mom had applied for a job and struck gold. Apart from the looks she apparently also had a knack for getting old ladies hooked on jewelry and accessories. Her words, not mine.
"Are you ready to head out?" I heard her call and stepped back inside.
A confident bob and weave, that sent a wild swing sail by my head with inches to spare was followed by a simple short straight-punch to my opponent's midsection.
Having been careful with the spot and my power I was fairly unconcerned as the guy continued to wheeze on his knees and instead waited patiently for the referee to announce the results to the handful of people around us.
"And that's it, hand over the ten bucks," I couldn't help but glance at Marcus, now a senior, and silently wish for a bit more flair.
Sighing, I went back into my 'corner' and watched as the other guy, I reckoned around Marcus' age, stood back up and pulled off the pair of gloves we lend him.
Visibly annoyed he gave the gloves to Marcus along with a wrinkled ten-dollar note.
"Fantastic," said Marcus while visibly folding the note to the rest of the money he previously had in his pocket "Ladies and gentlemen, the pot has now grown to 90 bucks," he announced, holding the little wad of cash for all to see. "Last only one round and win everything, who thinks he got it, who wants to impress his girlfriend?" he asked while pointedly looking at the biggest posers in our little circle.
90 Dollars wasn't much I thought with a grimace but held my tongue, it was quick, easy, and better than nothing.
Originally this was Marcus and Daniel's little hustle, twenty bucks for the janitor and we had the gym for a half an hour after school, where the jocks and the 'streetfighters' could challenge either of them.
50 bucks were always in the pot from the start as an incentive. To win it you simply had to pay ten dollars upfront and last a single round.
This being a high school with idiots and testosterone running rampant there were always some guys willing to try their hand, even more since I had replaced Daniel in the ring.
As far as I knew, he had simply vanished, since neither Marcus nor Coach Wills had been willing to talk.
At first, I had thought he had simply moved away, but having seen Coach Wills' anger when asked I had quickly gotten the notion, that Daniel might have been killed or something.
Tragic, but…
"My friend here wants to have a go!" a blonde guy my age suddenly announced confidently, radiating some serious 'popular kid'-vibes.
Ignoring the jock-in-training, I looked at his Asian 'friend' and frowned. He was almost more than a head smaller than me and with a slight build under his baggy clothes as far as I could tell, which was fine by me, that wasn't the issue. What rubbed me the wrong way was his own visible surprise at his friend's announcement.
"All right then, hand over the ca..," said Marcus, all business, before I interrupted.
I wasn't going to smack someone, who wasn't asking for it.
"Hold on," I stepped forward and pumped the brakes for everybody involved, "no offense buddy, but that ain't your decision." I finished with a meaningful look towards the Asian kid, which he caught only to surprise me when he somewhat confidently stepped into the ring.
That…caught me flatfooted, really didn't expect that to be honest.
"The cash," I heard Marcus say distractedly, one eye on his watch, "thanks, uh, wait a minute."
"All out, everything goes, right?" the All-American boy asked excitedly towards Marcus' retreating figure and got a disinterested 'sure, whatever' in return, which only made the blonde teen smile and slap his buddy on the shoulder good-naturedly.
"No weapons!" I warily added, feeling the need to point out the obvious.
Walking to a sports bag at the edge of the ring Marcus quickly pulled out a small pair of gloves, one of his old pairs, and tossed them towards my opponent, who caught them and expertly slipped into them.
I knew I was missing something, I was wary but not scared, so I met the Asian kid in the middle to touch gloves. That done…
"Three minutes from now!" Marcus announced and almost instantly my left thigh exploded with pain, and I nearly buckled then and there.
"Motherfu…" I began to swear loudly just to hastily employ some quick backward footwork, that made the second, exact same kick aimed at my thigh miss…barely.
Definitely feeling a bruise forming I eyed the kid in an entirely new light now and ignored the excited crowd around me.
I was recognizing an orthodox stance, but he was much more forward-facing with his feet shoulder-width apart. Both hands up in defense right before his face made me think of the Peekaboo, but his palms were facing towards me.
Some kind of kick-boxer, lovely.
Making my mind up I switched from the simple orthodox stance to the Philly Shell, lead arm close and covering my torso, and my back hand up at the side of my face. My intention was to catch blows to the body and thigh with well-timed twists and dips, and deflect kicks to the face with my right hand.
Wary but confident I began to slide forwards.
Catching my opponent's gaze and his slightly widened eyes I was getting the notion that some of his confidence might have already left. Perhaps he hadn't expected to see me still standing.
Distance closed, about to throw some japs and waiting for another kick with his right leg I quietly thanked my lucky star when I spotted the minute shift, that made me dip and twist left, bringing my right arm forward, somehow managing to catch his left kick with my right elbow.
Absolutely unwilling to receive more of the kicks I went in with an aggressive combo. Jap, jap, hard cross, all parried by raised hands in front of his face, which I expected. Fully intend to keep him on the backfoot I raised the tempo by stepping left and firing two stiff japs again.
'Gotcha!'
Followed this time by a lightning-quick left hook that raced around his outstretched hands. Satisfied and sure of my victory when I felt my fist solidly connect with his face, I nearly crumpled a second time when absolute agony exploded in my left side, faintly reminding me of Marcus' devastating uppercuts to the torso.
Gasping for breath, like a wounded animal I instinctively hid behind my defensive stance, left arm across my hurt side again, and retreated.
Relieved, to an embarrassing degree, I watched my opponent sink to the ground, his right leg still awkwardly extended from the brutal kick he managed to send off.
'Fucking hell!' Instantly aware of our audience due to their shouting and hollering, I did my best to hide my pain in my stance, which, let me tell you, was no mean feat with every breath hurting like a bitch.
"All right," Marcus announced loudly over the audience and stepped towards my still woozy opponent, giving him a quick once-over. "Shows over, people, get lost!" he eventually announced to the crowd and motioned for me to come over.
Eyes on the dispersing crowd, our blonde boy wonder already gone it seemed, I joined Marcus who was currently helping the kid out of his gloves.
"Alright, stay down and take a breather," Marcus told the kid kindly before he stood back up and turned to me.
"We should get him to an ER," I said after a quick glance back down at the kid, who was slowly getting noticeably more lucid again. "Concussions are no joke." I finished with a shrug, eyes back on Marcus.
"I agree, you should definitely get him to an ER," he answered completely straight-faced, which made me pause and stare at him.
He unapologetically met my stare with a flat one of his one before he sent a quick jap directly in my side, which I honestly didn't see coming, and promptly made me double over in pain, wheezing. Bastard!
"You punched his lights out, and I have a job, that I have to get to." unable to see his expression being still bent over, I could only see his feet walk away. "I'm gonna pay the janitor, you'll get your money tomorrow," and then I heard a door close.
"Good fight by the way," no desire for hard feelings, and kinda grateful for the novel experience I decided to break the ice when I finally saw the kid stand up. "I'm William."
"Somchai," the boy pressed his palms flat together and gave a small bow. "Yes, it was good."
"Yeah, uh," a bit unsure about a potential social faux pas, I briefly thought about going with a handshake, before eventually settling on an awkward half-bow half-nod. "Listen, I've got to make a call."
"So, what made you pay for his bill, too?" Uncle Peppe finally asked me from the driver's seat as we watched Somchai walk into his dad's little Thai restaurant across the street.
ER visit plus pills for a light concussion and an ER visit plus a pack of pain relievers for two bruised rips summed up to about 350 Dollars, which frankly had turned out to be a really unpleasant surprise but seeing Uncle Peppe refraining from commenting the whole drive to the hospital and during the waiting afterward had made me bite my tongue and take the bills.
A sizeable chunk from my savings, but not the end of the world for me.
"The whole thing was partially my gig and the end more or less my fault," I admitted, eyes on the teen, who had turned out to be just a year younger than me, disappearing through the front door before I glanced back at Peppe, who had his eyes on me. Shrugging slightly, I went on, "plus, I got some lessons of this Muay Thai thing in return."
Upon seeing Uncle Peppe's raised eyebrow I elaborated.
"It's like the Thai version of Kick-boxing," I paused, the pain in my rips dulled but not gone and a stark reminder. "those fucking kicks. He isn't even close to junior flyweight, and they still felt like baseball bats. Can you imagine what a guy with my build could do?"
"And that's my office." Peppe held open the door for me to take a peek inside. A quick look around revealed a perfectly normal and incredibly tidy office with a plaque on the big desk that boldly read 'Consultant'. Since I didn't see anything out of place, I kept quiet and let Uncle Peppe steer me inside towards a big map of Gotham City at the wall to my right.
Since Mateo had been groomed for management in the pizzeria for a while now and was perfectly handling the day-to-day business Uncle Peppe had decided to involve himself more in his other job, which I hadn't even known about until recently.
"So, what exactly are you doing as a consultant? I mean, it's a pretty big office and I didn't even know you had the job." I asked as I studied the map, that had little flags dotted around, which seemed to mark out a territory encompassing the whole of Chinatown and a sizeable portion of Old Gotham.
"I handle the city council regarding our territory and the prices," he explained while pointing at the map and at what I had rightly assumed was said territory. "and negotiate with competitors when a route is up for bidding."
"Ey Peppe," a cheerful voice suddenly rang through the office, and I turned to see a middle-aged man stand at the door. "Connie told me you were here," he said as he stepped inside.
"Dick, this is Billy," he clapped me on the shoulder, "Billy, this is Dick Barone, owner and manager of Barone Sanitation." he introduced us to each other before he stepped forward and good-naturedly shook hands with the guy.
"Nice to meet you, Sir." I followed suit and we shook hands as well.
"Likewise," he turned towards my uncle, finishing the handshake, "let me guess, that's your Little Marciano."
"That he is, listen, Dick, we got to talk," Uncle Peppe said and gently but firmly and steered the guy towards the door. "let's go to your office, take look around Billy." he finished offhandedly, motioning around his office, while they headed out.
Shrugging I headed to the row of windows to my left and entertained myself by looking out at Gotham River, or more precisely by watching the big crane, that was currently loading a barge with heaps of garbage.
As far as I could tell this was a pretty big lot down here at Dixon Docks, multiple mounts of trash, an office building, and a big warehouse, plus the crane on rails, that almost ran the entire length of the facility all the way up to the company own dock.
To think that I never even heard of this place or this business in the five years I had been with Uncle Peppe…
I wasn't blind or stupid, I was fairly certain by now, that this Dick Barone was probably an associate of the family, but it was still endlessly fascinating to see more and more of the 'business' slowly getting revealed to me.
Rules, terms, families were one thing. Seeing the stuff, that paid our bills was something else.
"Come on Billy." shaken out of my reverie by Uncle Peppe waiting at the door I wordlessly followed in his wake out to the parking lot, when I couldn't help but stop and stare in confusion when Uncle Peppe headed for the passenger side of his Chevy Caprice.
Spotting my visible confusion, he simply pointed towards an empty part of the facility where two garbage trucks were parked with some distance between them.
"I'm going to teach you parallel parking," he explained before a small smirk split his face, "I won't have any bumps and scratches in my car when you are going to chauffeur me around next year."
"He's a true out-fighter," Coach Wills said intently while binding my hands before he went on to elaborate. "he's quick on his feet and beats you on reach so be careful with his japs as he's probably going for the points."
I listened numbly and eyed the little crumpled leaflet on the floor with New Jersey Amateur Boxing Finals '92 still readable.
Not noticing my silence or not minding it Coach Wills carried on, laying out my fight plan.
"You got to go in, swarm him, take away his superior reach and use your stamina."
It all sounded so easy if it hadn't been for the previous visitor in my locker room, that somehow had managed to catch me when I had been alone for a moment.
"The boss wants you to go down in the second round," said Mateo plainly after a short brief hello and after my initial surprise at seeing him here in Atlantic City had died down.
"Uncle Peppe wants me to lose?" I asked incredulously, barely able to keep my voice down.
"The
boss," he repeated meaningfully, "wants you to go down."
"Oh."
