The room looked pretty much like a normal gym would, with a ring in the middle. Weights and other equipment were pushed to the side wall to make space for people. There were no seats, and it all looked more like an amateur fight of junior boxers.
Despite the slightly familiar atmosphere of a regular match, Charlie still felt nervous. After all, his brother or father have never been driven to a match with handcuffed wrists. Nor did they had a burlap sack thrown over their heads as soon as a couple of dirty cops pushed them inside a nondescript car as soon as the sun went down.
Charlie was still reeling from the ride, trying to fight off the nausea. Sitting in the back of the car and unable to see the road when Kenneth drove in a style to get rid of any possible follower was no fun at all.
At least the handcuffs came off as soon as they stepped into the building.
Charlie didn't have a clue where they were, but that didn't matter that much. He walked past the ring, his eyes taking in every possible detail he could later pass over to Johnson. There were two other men he didn't know milling around, getting the place ready. So far no spectators and Charlie figured that meant he had some time until the match started.
"You have an hour," Douglas spoke, as if reading his mind. He just opened a door to a small room and pushed Charlie inside. "Get ready. The building is locked up, so don't try anything stupid or you will step in that ring in handcuffs. See how much fun that would be."
Charlie took a few steps deeper into the room, deciding not to comment. Douglas took it as acceptance and promptly closed the door. Charlie heard the key turn in the lock.
At least he was left alone for the time being. Only thing worse than having an hour to stress himself out over the fight would have been having to spend that time in the company of Kenneth or Richard. Charlie could honestly say that Douglas was the most composed of the three. He was the leader of the group, and while Charlie didn't enjoy his company, he knew the man would think first before acting. Which made him less dangerous than the other two.
Kenneth was a... sadistic bastard, Charlie thought. The man enjoyed causing pain and discomfort, enjoyed the look of fear and pain in the eyes of others. But he wasn't the smartest of the bunch and Charlie already knew he was easy to provoke. For now he decided not to use that. But if he wanted some reaction, he knew who to aim his jibing at. Now Richard... or Dick as Kenneth and Douglas called him whenever he wasn't around was harder to figure out.
Charlie's first impression was that it was a spoiled brat with a wealthy and influential father who never had to work hard for anything in his life. Charlie supposed the man also enjoyed causing trouble, knowing he was practically untouchable. He didn't seem as sadistic as Kenneth, but... Charlie only met him once. His impression might change easily.
The voices outside of his door brought Charlie back to the present. For a moment he wondered if maybe he could shout for help, but he chased that thought away. After all, he was where he wanted to be. Or at least where he needed to be at the moment. And if Johnson's information were true, the first two matches shouldn't be worse than a normal fight. He should be safe.
He was ready for this.
Charlie nodded, trying to calm down the rapid beating of his heart. He wasn't used to these pre-fight jitters and he wondered how Ray or his father handled this with such an ease. Of course, they did it for the love of the sport and there were rules set up for their protection. Charlie was pretty sure there would be no such rules tonight.
He had to get a hold of himself though. Taking a few deep breaths, Charlie checked out his current 'cell'. It must've been an old locker room. One wall was filled with open rusty lockers. There were two benches in the middle of the room and a small table in the corner. There was chalk powder and bandages, a jar of water and a glass. Well, at least he wouldn't die of thirst, Charlie thought. And he could make sure his hands had at least some protection for what was to come.
He didn't expect so many people. The gym was filled up pretty much the same as when Charlie visited one of Ray's matches. The only difference was the people weren't sitting around. There were no women there either. Mostly folks who looked like hard workers, wanting to let off some steam at the end of the day. And of course several guys who looked like they would be willing to bet on their momma's passing if it got them a buck or two.
As he was pushed not so gently towards the ring by Kenneth, Charlie traced the faces, burning them into his memory for later reference. Trying to figure out if there was someone reporting back to Johnson or if he was truly alone. Unfortunately, Charlie didn't know anyone in the town so his guess was just that. A guess.
"Time to shine, Chuckles," Kenneth hissed into his ear as he pushed Charlie into the ring.
Charlie gritted his teeth, wishing that it was Kenneth he was supposed to fight. He would have no inhibition kicking that man in the face.
Unfortunately, it wasn't the case. Charlie felt exposed and nervous, standing at the edge of the ring. All the eyes were on him and he hated the attention. At least this fight was a bit different from the usual boxing matches. Which meant that Charlie could keep his pants and shoes on, though Kenneth made him take off his jacket and sweater, leaving him only the undershirt. Still, it was better than the usual outfit. At least Charlie thought so, until he saw his opponent walking in, free as a bird and with a grin on his face.
The guy was slightly bigger than Charlie, definitely more muscled. He was also wearing some broken in jeans and an undershirt. What caught Charlie's attention though were his boots. If he was not mistaken, those had a hard steel toe. If kicks were allowed... well. Charlie most definitely didn't want to get a taste of that.
With the arrival of the second fighter, one of the gym guys jumped into the ring with them as the referee and blew on his whistle. The people around had quieted down.
"Welcome to another fight night!" The referee called out and the crowd grumbled, expectant.
"On the left, we have a new fighter. 170 pounds walking wet, Chuckles from Georgia. So far no recorded wins. On the right, there is Tyron the bull from Mossgiel. 195 pounds, three time champion, one time loser. Bets are 3 to 1 for Tyron, 5 to 1 for Chuckles. Place your bets."
The crowd was waiting just for that. The roar of numbers and names felt overwhelming, until Charlie focused on his opponent. Three times champion...
The man's face looked rather unimpressed. The crooked nose evidence of broken cartilage and lost fights. Somehow, it didn't make Charlie feel any better. He caught sight of Douglas at the back of the room, watching, assessing. When their eyes met, Douglas gave a curt nod. It was clear he expected Charlie to win, or else...
Kenneth behind him chuckled and gave Charlie a pat that was anything but friendly.
"You better watch out for this one. Last time he won, his opponent had to be taken out on a stretcher. Not sure the guy ever get back on his feet either," Kenneth added with a smirk. Charlie decided to ignore him. He had already stretched in the locker room, but he thought it was better to do it again and get the blood pumping. He would have to be fast.
So far, all the preparation Tyron seemed to be doing was cracking his knuckles and rolling his shoulders. Charlie tried to figure out if the man was pushed into this the same as him, but it didn't seem so. After all, the referee said he was a three time champion. Either he was used only for the smaller fights, or... he already killed or seriously injured some other poor sap. Seeing the glint of expectation in the man's eyes and the twitch of his lips, Charlie assumed he was in this on his own volition.
Which made him... an acceptable target. Charlie was worried that he would be put into a ring with some other hapless victim. It would be hard to fight someone who was forced to be there. But a willing opponent? Charlie didn't have to feel any sympathy for that.
A whistle from the referee made the crowd calm down once again. The betting was closed. With a nod of his head, the referee called both fighters to himself.
"Rules are simple, gentlemen. No weapons, no death. First one to stay on the ground for longer than fifteen seconds is the loser. All clear?"
Both Charlie and Tyron nodded. The referee took a few steps back, then gave another whistle.
The match began.
More out of familiarity than anything else, Charlie took up the typical boxing stance he learned from his dad. First rule that was drilled into him by both his father and later on by Hobart was to always protect your head.
Charlie didn't know his opponent's fighting style yet. So he pulled his arms up and took a few steps back, rocking on his heels. Waiting... observing.
Tyron did the same.
For a bit, they circled each other in a slow dance, ignoring the calls of the crowd, cheering for a punch or a kick. After a minute or so Tyron suddenly broke the pattern and moved forward, striking first.
Charlie was waiting for it, his forearm blocked the punch. He stepped back, keeping up the block, dancing on his feet.
Tyron moved around him, assessing. The crowd let out a dissatisfied sound. Tyron attacked again.
Charlie blocked the first punch, but he didn't really expect the second one that followed right away. The fist connected with his stomach and he grunted, his arms slipping down in reflex. He saw the fist coming his way again and knew he couldn't block it in time. He did the next best thing.
Leaned over more, almost cradling his stomach. The fist flew over his head, brushing his hair.
Charlie barely felt it. During the move Tyron had opened himself as well. Still in a slightly bent over position, Charlie charged forward, hitting the man square in the chest.
They both careened into the ropes. Charlie heard the air rush out of Tyron in a surprised 'oomph' sound. The crowd cheered.
This was a no rule fight.
Charlie, still practically leaning on Tyron, used the proximity and gave him several quick punches in the gut.
The man's stomach felt like stone however and Charlie realized his mistake quickly.
Tyron let out a pissed off growl and with a hard show pushed Charlie off of him. Charlie stumbled back. As soon as there was some distance between them, Tyron kicked out.
It was pure luck that the boot with the steel toe hit Charlie in the thigh instead of the stomach. It still hurt like hell. Charlie cried out, stumbling once more, feeling as if his leg would buckle under him at any moment.
The crowd started chanting something Charlie didn't really catch. He had enough trouble keeping on his feet and all he could focus on was Tyron. The man's face turned into a dark grimace and this time it was him who leaned forward. His eyes shone with madness.
In that moment Charlie understood the man's nickname.
With a roar, the man charged forward like a bull.
Charlie's eyes went wide. He had but a second to react. He had to get out of the way or he was dead.
Bill's words suddenly rang in his ears.
'If you are to be hit, make yourself as small a target as possible.'
With no time left, Charlie turned sideways. Tyron was aiming at his chest, instead he clipped him on the shoulder.
Charlie was thrown off his feet, onto the ropes. Tyron turned, madder than before.
Charlie cursed as he saw the man charging again.
He felt like a blasted toreador instead of a boxer. He backed into the rope, then used the elasticity to give him some speed. He had to finish this, before Tyron got in another hit.
Propelling himself forward, just as Tyron was heading at him, Charlie sidestepped and used his arms to push Tyron past himself. Then as the man went head into the ropes, Charlie followed him with a furious kick at the back of the man's knee.
There was a resounding crack, followed by a scream. Bill would have been proud.
All Charlie felt was disgust as he watched Tyron crumble to the floor, his arms reaching for the knee. Even without a medical degree Charlie could tell it was broken. The unnatural angle of the leg was enough.
The whole room went silent, except for the pained screams and grunts of Tyron, who was now rolling on the floor.
The referee stepped forward and started counting.
The crowd started shouting, for Tyron to get up, for Tyron to stay down.
Charlie didn't listen.
It all felt like a roaring wave. All he could see was the man on the ground, the bent knee. The fact it was him who caused the damage.
He didn't even note the referee saying fifteen, grabbing his right arm and raising it in the air, until the crowd cheered.
Charlie had won his first fight.
All he could think was 'What the hell did I do?'
Charlie's head was in a bit of a fog. Not the least because once again he had a sack thrown over his head and was unceremoniously thrown into the back of the car. At first, he just went with the flow, relieved that the fight was over. He wasn't sure if there were more fights to happen tonight. The crowd was still at the gym as he was ushered out by Kenneth.
He caught sight of a balding, angry looking man berating Tyron, who was grimacing in pain, supported by two other guys. Charlie looked around and spotted Douglas heading toward the man, most likely to try and calm down the situation. Richard was sitting behind a desk in the corner and paying out the bets.
So it was Kenneth and Charlie heading to the car. It would have been a perfect moment for Charlie to escape really. All he had to do was overpower one guy, grab his car keys and leave town. Of course, Charlie wasn't about to do any such thing, That would go against his whole plan. But... he had to play the role and so he got ready for another show. He followed Kenneth without a word, without a struggle, even though the man was having a bruising grip on his left arm.
Kenneth had led him out through what seemed to be the back exit, into a dark alley. Charlie grimaced. It was late night and there was really nothing he could use to identify the place, especially as he wasn't a local. No signs visible, only several other buildings, seemingly empty in the darkness of the night. The nearest lights were coming from the end of the alley, but all Charlie saw was a corner of another building and a road. Nothing else.
So far, even if he managed to get to a phone and call Johnson, there was very little he could tell him. Charlie would be able to identify or describe several people and Johnson would most likely find the gym easily, but by the time that happened, the place would be cleaned up.
All this, combined with the fact he was just being dragged by Kenneth like some unruly kid, made Charlie's emotions hard to stomach.
They had just reached the car, and Charlie was about to pull back, possibly smash Kenneth's nose against the car door. God, how satisfying that would be...
Charlie managed only to pull his arm out of Kenneth's grasp, when the car's engine suddenly came to life, startling the living heck out of him. There was someone inside the car, sitting behind the wheel.
Kenneth snorted.
"What... you thought I am stupid? It's clear you would try to flee when given the chance."
Charlie gritted his teeth.
"You have my ID and money. Where the hell would I go?" he argued half heartedly.
Kenneth shrugged, obviously not caring and not convinced.
"Only place you going is the back seat," he said and showed Charlie inside.
"Don't fucking touch me!" Charlie hissed, hands curled into tight fists. He was sore all over and Kenneth wasn't exactly gentle. He was half expecting a punch for the sole impudence. All he got though was a slap on the back of his head.
"Watch that mouth, or I'll make sure next time we bring a pair of old socks to gag you."
The guy in the front seat chuckled, then threw the dreaded burlap sack at Charlie. It bumped against his chest before he caught it on reflex.
"Put that on."
"You can't be serious," Charlie muttered, half mindful of his tone. He didn't know how short a fuse this other guy had and he didn't feel ready to find out.
The guy just raised an eyebrow. Kenneth had slammed the door next to Charlie closed, barely missing his hand. Charlie cursed. His hope that Kenneth might leave them alone and return to the gym was dashed when the man had settled on the passenger seat.
"You told me I could go after the fight," Charlie said, hardly containing his anger.
"After three fights. Did Tyron hit your head too much? Did you forget to count?" Kenneth asked in a mocking tone.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Back to jail, unless you put on the damn sack," Kenneth warned.
Gruffly and with great distaste, Charlie pulled the sack over his head. His hands were free after all. Maybe he could take a few peeks during the drive and try to figure out where he was heading.
As soon as his eyes were covered, the driver started the car and pulled off. Charlie moved closer to the door, partially leaning against it. Really, this style of riding in the car must've been his least favourite. The burlap was also thick enough that the voices were muffled and Charlie had to keep one hand up holding at it and occasionally lifting it away from his face. Breathing was uncomfortable and every turn or bump of the car carried the risk of nausea.
„Keep that damn thing on!" Kenneth barked at him one moment as the car slowed down and he noted Charlie's hand.
„I have to breathe," Charlie snapped back, lowering his hand a bit. Kenneth said something that was lost in the noise of the engine. Whatever it was it made the other guy chuckle loudly. Charlie didn't care asking for him to repeat it.
Instead he turned his head to the side and tried to lift the corner of the sack as inconspicuously as possible. The darkness inside the car played in his favour and Kenneth seemed to be busy recounting the fight to the driver.
„You should have been there, Ben. I swear, I heard Tyron's knee snap. Dude screamed as if someone chopped off his leg," Kenneth laughed and Charlie grimaced. Of course the bastard enjoyed that. The mere thought of the incident, the memory of the sound made Charlie's skin crawl.
He finally managed to get a look outside. He recognized part of the town they were currently driving through. He had walked these parts the second day of his arrival to Leighton, hoping to familiarize himself with it. He frowned. If he wasn't mistaken, they were heading to the edge of the town. If they drove outside to some recluse place, Charlie's chances at contacting Johnson or even telling him his location were drastically lower.
They drove for ten more minutes and Charlie had to let the burlap sack fall over his vision when Kenneth once again turned towards him. Catching the growled warning, Charlie didn't dare try again. There would have to be another opportunity.
When the car finally stopped, Charlie didn't wait for a permission. He pulled the sack off, taking in several deep breaths.
„Hey, what the hell do you think you doing?" Kenneth snapped at him and Charlie heard the car door opening. Before he could say anything, Kenneth had opened the door he was leaning against, grabbed his shirt and pulled him outside. The move was so fast and Charlie was so disoriented that he ended up on the gravel. It wasn't a big fall, especially as Kenneth was half in the way, but nevertheless, he landed on his already bruised side. Charlie let out a pained gasp and a curse.
„Did I tell you to take it off?" Kenneth asked, throwing the sack at Charlie angrily. Charlie winced.
„I was about to puke, you asshole," he growled out, spitting satisfyingly close to Kenneth's foot. Kenneth cursed and was about to deliver a swift kick that would have most likely hit Charlie right in the face.
Ben, the driver, saved him though.
„Hey, chill man. You don't want to damage the package before the next fight, do you?"
Kenneth spat, but stepped back.
„As if someone would notice if I screwed over his face a bit."
Ben chuckled.
„Douglas would. And he needs to be in one piece still. Not like he can go and call for help. There's fucking nowhere to go."
Ben was right.
While Kenneth was fuming, Charlie slowly got back up on his feet. He couldn't see a damn thing. The only light was coming from inside a sturdy looking brick house about twenty yards away. Charlie noticed some lights in the distance, but couldn't make out how far they were. All he saw were few gum trees and bushes. Just like he feared. They were somewhere outside of town, on private property.
Kenneth must've seen the lost look on his face because he relaxed.
„You're right, Ben. Nowhere to go, Chuckles. You better remember that."
Charlie gritted his teeth.
With some rather unnecessary nudging, he headed towards the entrance. Ben unlocked the door and Charlie noted there were at least two locks on the door. That didn't bode well for him. The house was quiet and Charlie realized the light that was on was in the hallway to the stairs. He was led through a narrow hall, past two different doors. He caught sight of a kitchen and a furnished living room. The place smelled... lived in. There was some dust in the air and Charlie was pretty sure there was no woman around sprucing it up like Jean did. The most overpowering was the smell of cigarette smoke. Charlie cringed his nose at that, but didn't comment. He was half hoping to be led upstairs, to a room with windows. Maybe he could figure out where he was during the day. His hopes were dashed quickly though as Kenneth gave him a nudge and pointed him towards the door under the stairs.
Charlie shot him a look of disbelief.
"You can't be serious." Was he going to be locked up in some cupboard? How much space could there be?
Ben and Kenneth smirked.
"Oh, stop being a drama queen."
Ben walked ahead past him and Charlie just now noticed that the door was also locked up. Once it was open, Ben switched on the light and Charlie could see stairs going under.
"Come on, I don't have all night," Kenneth pushed him ahead. Charlie reluctantly walked down the concrete steps. He was expecting a cellar or a dungeon at this point. Instead he reached a spacious hall with several doors. It seemed like the owner built another floor underground, just as large as the house upstairs. For what reason, Charlie didn't know. He wasn't about to complain either though.
"You have free reign over here, Chuckles. Bathroom is over there, kitchen is there. Pick a room with open door. Anything locked is out of bounds. Oh... and be sure not to piss off the other guy. I'd rather not look for a new fighter just yet."
With that piece of wisdom, Kenneth looked at Ben.
"If he tries anything... well. I'm sure you still have that cattle prod lying around somewhere." Kenneth's eyes actually twinkled. Charlie shuddered as Ben gave a short nod.
Finally, Kenneth had left the building. Ben had headed towards the stairs as well, keeping a safe distance between himself and Charlie, as if expecting him to bolt any second. Frankly, Charlie was too tired for that.
"Are you a cop too?" Charlie asked out of the blue. He didn't remember seeing Ben at the station, nor in any of the files Johnson showed him. Not a mention of the man.
Ben shook his head.
"No. That doesn't mean I can't kick your ass if you try anything though."
Charlie gave him a look.
"Whatever man. I just want to take a shower and lie down."
Ben nodded towards the bathroom.
"Do keep away from the other dude. He's... a bit temperamental."
"What other dude?" Charlie was confused. He still didn't hear any movement and he couldn't see sign of another person.
Ben pointed towards one of the doors, the one at the farthest end of the hallway.
"You will see. Now go scramming. If you need anything, knock on the door. Or scream. I should hear."
Well, that was encouraging. Not. Charlie waited until Ben closed the door and locked him in. Wonderful. Charlie had just exchanged one prison for a different one. He wondered if he wouldn't have been better off stuck at the police station's holding cell.
His feet gave a twinge of protest upon standing in one place for too long. His muscles were already getting stiff and sore from the fight. It was time to take a quick look around and then get that shower. Not much else to do there it seemed.
Charlie made a quick sweep of the hallway. Five doors total. He decided to leave the furthest one for later. He had no interest in finding out who his 'temperamental' companion could be. He headed for the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat. The old fridge was rumbling loudly. There was a pot with something home cooked, but one look at the concoction made Charlie force down a swallow. It smelled wrong.
He discovered some toast bread and a jar of jam, so he made a quick sandwich and put it on a plate. The second door was the bathroom and he was pleased to see there was an actual bath tub there. Nothing better to soak sore muscles, under the provision that there was hot water of course. The next two rooms were both unlocked bedrooms. Unoccupied and furnished the same. Charlie picked the one that didn't neighbour with the 'other guy's' room. He wolfed down the sandwich, settling on a bed with a firm mattress. There was a table and a chair, a clothes hanger. No window, no way out. There was a key in the lock, though Charlie was sure it was more protection from the other occupant of the prison. He would bet that Ben had a copy of every key from the house.
He didn't have any spare clothing and there wasn't any in the drawer either. Charlie grimaced at the thought of having to do with the one set he was wearing now, especially seeing as it had blood and sweat covering it. He decided to ask Ben for something to wear in the morning. Till then, he would just have to do.
Charlie locked himself in the bathroom and peeled off the dirty clothes. He wished to slide into the bathtub and let the hot water warm his bones and sooth his muscles, but it was late and he was tired. Too tired to stay up much longer and he really didn't wish to fall asleep in the tub.
So he took a quick shower, washing off the dirt and blood. He noted the growing bruise on his thigh. The bastard got him good there. His stomach also felt sore, along with a few ribs, but he was pretty sure nothing was broken yet. He wasn't sure what Kenneth or the others might do to him if he got seriously hurt. Somehow he doubted they would offer medical help. More like a bullet in the head, or just drive him out into the bush and leave him there.
Charlie couldn't let that happen. He knew he won this fight as much by luck as by skill and it worried him. What awaited him on the next one? And how could he contact Johnson? So far, he haven't seen a phone in this house. True, he didn't get a chance to look properly, but he had a feeling he won't get that anytime soon. What was there left to do?
Find out as much as possible, stay alive and in one piece. Then find a way to contact Johnson.
It sounded so easy, Charlie thought as he was towelling himself off, putting back on his underwear and shirt. Everything else was too dirty to wear to bed.
He was already lying beneath the blanket in the darkened room, half asleep when he heard steps outside of his room.
Charlie blinked, then realised that even though his eyes were used to the dark there was no light whatsoever. He still heard the knob turn slowly, the click... then several seconds of silence, before he caught the sound of retreating footsteps.
Charlie let out a breath he was holding, thanking the lord he didn't forget to lock the door.
It took a moment longer for his heart to settle down so he could finally get some sleep.