Consider Us Even Page 3

  * * * * *

  I fought. Not by choice, but necessity.

  The concrete in the basement at Raul’s was damp, that wasn’t unusual. Neither was the smell of mildew. A crowd of no more than fifty stood in a circle around both of us. It was a slow night, and Berger and I had been at it for a few minutes.

  I bounced on the balls of my feet, my hands up near my face. Berger swung and I jumped backward. He missed by inches. I jabbed my left and bloodied his nose. He shook his head and blinked twice. I followed with a right that Berger blocked. He buried a fist into my stomach. I made an odd coughing and grunting sound. Sweat stuck my long-sleeved t-shirt to my chest. The soles of my black boots squeaked as I danced around the floor.

  The crowd was rowdy and the circle began to close. Berger and I moved apart to force the men to spread back out. We came back together after a moment and I moved in close and got him into a hold, wrapping my hands around the back of his neck and pulled him to me.

  “Nice shot,” I whispered into his ear. “Knocked the wind out of me.”

  “Couldn’t wait a couple of minutes before drawing blood?” he whispered back.

  “Small crowd tonight. Wanted to get them riled up.”

  Berger pushed me away.

  “Then try to bloody me again,” he shouted and the crowd whooped and hollered. Berger came toward me, his hands up near his face. He shook his left hand, just enough for me to notice, then swung. I ducked. An uppercut caught Berger on the chin. A right cross sent him stumbling back. The crowd pushed him into the middle of the circle. He wobbled toward me then fell against my chest.

  “Nice job, champ.” The crowd was shouting and I could barely hear him. “I don’t think I can make it much longer. Think they’d be happy to see me fall yet?”

  I raised my right arm and waved my hand in a circle. The crowd got louder and I said to Berger, “Yeah. We’re good.”

  I pushed him off of me and he stumbled to the middle. He struggled to stand and I hit him with a flurry of punches. A right. A left. Another right. A hard left and Berger’s head snapped back. He fell to the ground and the crowd shouted. A pair of men fought through the mob and grabbed Berger under the arms and dragged him into a back room. I followed, accepting congratulations.

  Once the door shut behind us one of the men waved smelling salts under Berger’s nose. He shook his head and his eyes blinked open.

  Raul stood up from the desk in the corner. He approached with two stacks of cash. Berger’s was bigger than mine since he took the fall.

  “Sorry it can’t be more, boys,” he said.

  “It’s alright.” I spoke for the both of us. “It pays the bills.”

  That’s why I did this, not because I wanted to, but because I had to.

  I sat with Berger for a few minutes after Raul left. He’d given me the keys and asked me to lock up. We were in the basement below his store, a shop that sold a little of everything but specialized in nothing.

  “Sorry that one was so rough,” I said to Berger as he pushed himself off of his back and onto his elbows. “I think I got carried away.”

  Berger smiled and told me not to worry about it. “I’ve taken worse beatings,” he said. “At least I’m getting paid for it now.”

  I agreed. At least we we’re getting paid for it.

  Berger offered to buy me a late dinner and we left. At the restaurant, he barely fit into the booth, his gut fighting to get between him and the table. He was embarrassed so I tried to say something to break the tension.

  “Before you were a fighter, what’d you do?” I didn’t know Berger. We’d fought in Raul’s league a few times, but he was new. Still working his way up. All I really knew is that he could take a beating. That night was the third time I’d laid him out like that.

  “Soldier,” he said. “A lousy one, but I was a soldier.” He studied the menu then laid it to his side. “When the government fell and they let us all go I started working the docks over at south bay. Did that for a while and hated it. Started delivering goods for a guy I met working there and that’s how I met Raul.”

  “You should talk to him about winning. You’re good. Your body blow really rocked me earlier. You don’t need to be his butterball forever.”

  Berger nodded and thanked me for the kind words. “So, what do you do when you aren’t in the basement?”

  “Whatever I can to make ends meet,” I said.

  Our food arrived – a club sandwich for Berger and a ham sandwich for me. They were served on thin sliced white bread and mismatched plates that were chipped along the edges and looked like they could use a good scrub. But they were what you’d expect from a place like that. The chairs and tables didn’t match either and the paint on the sign in the window had dripped to the wooden frame.

  Berger took a bite of his sandwich then mumbled with a full mouth, “And what did you do before you got started fighting?”

  “I was a cop. And before that, a soldier.” I looked for the woman who took our order and asked her to bring us two beers. “These are on me,” I told Berger. He nodded his thanks then asked more questions.

  “That where you learned to fight? The military?”

  “That’s where they taught me how to throw a proper punch. Nobody teaches you how to fight.”

  The redhead sat two plain brown bottles on the table. They were a home brew and I took a long drink. It was bitter and I shut my eyes tight as I swallowed, fighting to get it down.

  “So, a soldier, huh?” I said to Berger and reached down to my boot. I pulled a pistol that I’d holstered to my ankle before we left Raul’s and put it on the table. “I guess you know how to use one of these.”

  Berger smiled and said, “Yes, I’ve used a gun before.”

  “How long ago did you shoot?”

  “Basic training.” He put what was left of his sandwich in his mouth and washed it down with a swallow of the home brew. “I worked the kitchen, and let me tell you, I make better sandwiches than these things. Better beer, too.” He slid his empty plate to the middle of the table and pulled his napkin from his lap.

  I chuckled and pushed the pistol across the table. “Shoot it a couple of times to get the feel for it again. I think I have a chance for you to make a little cash if you aren’t afraid to pull that trigger.”

  “Depends on how much cash we’re talking about.”

  “Help me and it could be plenty,” I said. You won’t get to quit fighting at Raul’s, but you’ll do OK.”

  “Help you do what?” Berger picked the gun up off the table and pointed it at the ground. He eyed the sight and pretended to shoot something only he could see.

  “I do a little freelance security work for a guy running data. He keeps it quiet, but I could use an extra hand.”

  Berger pointed the gun toward the back of the restaurant and held it sideways like some kind of gangster from the movies. I reached over and twisted his hand so he was aiming it upright. “Not so fancy cowboy. That’s not how they teach you in basic.”

  “Is it hard?” Berger asked. “This job?”

  “Nah, just go along with the clients. Make sure they get where they need to go. Pretty simple stuff.”

  Berger sat the gun back on the table and asked “You ever had to shoot anyone?”

  I shook my head no, but told him I was ready to if needed. “But that’s just the cop in me. You agree to help out I’ll be the first shot. You’re just there for back up.”