17 – Trouble
Addie was halfway to Golden’s when her message window pinged.
Jamal H: Yo, something came up. Meet me at Lazaro’s if you wanna talk. I have ten minutes.
“Shit, shit, shit!” Addie looked at her clock: 6:29. “What are the odds Tony’s fight is on time?”
“I’m sorry, Addie, but I’ll need more data to try to calculate the odds on something like that.”
“Hush, JJ.” She frowned. It was just the first fight, right? Would he even know if she was there among all those people? Looking toward the corner, she could see the spillover crowd from Golden’s on the next street. “He won’t care if I’m a little late, right?” She felt a twinge of guilt, but the need to get whatever Jamal had to tell her on a vid, to add a piece of a puzzle to the mystery of the gang activity at Royal Breeze, tugged on her in a way that her vague, nascent sense of loyalty to Tony couldn’t compete with.
While she hurried toward Lazaro’s shop—a tattoo parlor—she messaged Jamal to let him know she was on her way. Addie kept her head down and her drone high; she didn’t want any trouble, and despite being in her home neighborhood with lots of Boxer corpo-sec on the streets, she knew better than to bump into the wrong person. Glancing up, she saw her little egg-shaped drone blend into the night sky, invisible with all the bright lights and decorations at street level for Boxer Day.
“Dust report, JJ.” Her AUI flickered, and a hazy window appeared:
Dust Purity: Impure -
Dust Capacity: 21/30
She’d burned more than she’d expected but still had plenty—enough to keep the drone flying for more than an hour, probably. The Dust her low-end reactor could pull from her body in the Blast might be “impure,” but it was plentiful; she’d be back to full by morning. Her detour only took her a few minutes out of her way, and before she knew it, she saw Jamal leaning against the wall by the tattoo parlor’s door.
He wore a dark hoodie with the hood pulled low, but Addie recognized his stocky frame and posture—he was trying hard to get noticed by bangers these days. Like most teen boys in the Blast, he was ripe for recruitment. When he saw Addie approaching, he tilted his chin and waved her close. “Yo, sorry about the change. I got an…opportunity, and I gotta fly. Anyway, I said I’d talk, and I keep my word, check?”
“Yeah, I check, Jamal. Nobody’s calling you a liar.” She looked up, her eyes tracking her drone as it came a little closer. “On the record, okay?”
“You gotta hide my face and voice.”
“Easy done.”
“Right, then here’s your tip: them bangers shaking fools down in the Royal—I saw ’em all coming out of a shop near there.” Addie’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “That’s the small part. They came outta the shop, and five minutes later, a corpo slipped out—full suit, fancy threads with bullet-weave. I can scope that style anywhere. It was just like Frazaa wears. No shit!”
Addie pictured it, well familiar with the popular vid-serial featuring a street samurai named Frazaa. “Where’d he go?”
“Haha! I knew you’d think I was talking about a dude. It was a chick! Finest lady I’ve ever laid eyes on. Slipped into the alley, and when me and my boys wandered over to, you know, see what was up, she was gone. Maybe ran out the other end, maybe climbed the damn walls. I got no clue.”
“Where was this? What shop?”
“That creepy-ass funeral home on Glen.”
“Pulliam’s?”
“Yeah, that’s it. The one with the metal flowers on the windows.”
Addie nodded. She’d passed by the place a hundred times—wrought-iron security grates with bars shaped like flowers. “That’s really good stuff, Jamal. You got anything—”
“Nah. I gotta fly.” He straightened up and took a single step before looking down at her, arching one dark eyebrow. “You look kinda pretty tonight, news girl. Did you put on some makeup?”
To her horror, Addie felt her cheeks flush as she looked up at him, startled. “I…” Her flustered response died on her tongue as he chuckled, winked, and sauntered away. How old was he? Fifteen? And he got her all tongue-tied by saying she looked pretty? “Grandma would be horrified!” she growled.
She sent her drone back up and turned, hurrying back toward Golden’s. What was the deal with her? A kid flirting a little made her blush? She knew the answer without thinking: it wasn’t Jamal—she was still hot under the collar from her encounter with Zane, the…what? Not “conjurer.” She refused to think of him as his Boxer Day persona. He was Zane, the corpo goon. Period. It didn’t matter that he had dreamy eyes, a beautiful mouth, and a way of speaking that sent little shivers over the back of her neck. Addie shook her head, banishing the man from her mind.
She hoped Tony hadn’t started yet. Maybe there’d been a delay. Why was she so worried? It was just a little sparring match, right? She sighed, shaking her head. That wasn’t fair. She really didn’t know Tony all that well, but she was all he had. He didn’t know anyone—not around the Blast, and she could empathize with that.
Addie wasn’t a fighter; she’d fight for something, but that usually involved using her words and a little courage to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. She’d never stepped up, intentionally looking to hurt or be hurt. The idea seemed ridiculous, but she could imagine how Tony must feel—putting himself out there like that, surrounded by strangers, more than half of whom probably belonged to one criminal element or another in the district. “He must be terrified!”
“Jamal, Addie?” JJ once again tried to understand where his grip on the logic of her randomly voiced sentences had slipped.
“No, JJ. Tony.” Addie quickened her steps and, irritated by the slow-moving crowds, concentrated a little and sent her drone ahead. It wasn’t exactly easy to split her attention between the drone’s feed and her eyes, but she could do it, especially if she only used the front-facing cam.
In seconds, Humpty was over the throngs of people and around the corner, and she saw Golden’s gym and the three rings set up in the bay doors. The crowds were boisterous and loud, fists pumping, drinks sloshing, and people jockeying for position to watch the fights. To Addie’s dismay, she recognized Tony in the center ring, and he didn’t look good. Her steps faltered, and she edged through the crowd to a nearby building, leaning her shoulder on the rough bricks to focus on her drone’s feed.
Tony was bloody. His missing eye was wrapped in some kind of red tape, but it was dark, almost black, where it crossed over his brow and eye socket. His nose was bleeding, the slow drizzle of bright red mingling with cut lips and a bloody mouthguard as he grimaced, heaving breaths as he tried to dodge his opponent’s flurry of blows. He was shirtless, his body glistening with sweat. Addie could see abrasions and purpling bruises, no doubt the result of being pounded by a cybernetically enhanced maniac.
That was who he was fighting—a maniac. It was London Roy, probably the only guy in District Seventeen with an English accent. Addie knew of him, but she’d never spoken to him. He was big-time with the Ghostwire Crew, and Addie knew better than to get mixed up with them, even with some casual streetside banter. London was pushing two meters, and, with his metal arms, Addie wouldn’t be surprised to hear he weighed a hundred and forty kilograms. He was a monster, and, worse than his size, he was fast and vicious.
Addie winced as he pounded a sweeping right hook into Tony’s shoulder, knocking him off balance so he could follow up with some kind of high-kneed stomp. Addie’s eyes bulged out as his big foot slammed into Tony’s hip, sending him sprawling back, sliding over the rough mat until he almost fell out of the ring. London’s feet were bare, but somehow, it made him more menacing—he was so big, so vital. Why hadn’t Tony forfeited when he saw the massive man with his menacing dark eyes, his crazy dreadlocks laced with bones and dice, and his enormous military-grade, mechanical arms? Did he have a death wish?
While the big man strutted, pumping his arms up, getting the crowd wild, Tony struggled to stand, using the ropes for assistance. Something in her stomach felt sick. Could those thin gloves even do anything to protect his skull if that monster pounded him with one of his colossal metal fists? She supposed the evidence of blood pouring out of contusions on Tony’s brow said yes. He wasn’t dead yet. Addie let her drone’s focus shift to one of the other rings, and she saw Malik and Devo fighting—two entirely different sorts of monsters. Did Tony think he could fight guys like that?
“Oh no!” Her voice caught in her throat when she saw Tony stand and reach up to wipe his bloody eye. The referee made some kind of sign, and the crowd made a lot of noise—some booing, some cheering, and then London moved over to a corner where he leaned, smirking as Golden, himself, stepped into the ring with a rag and a bucket. Was he going to stop the fight? Addie frowned. She hoped so! “No such luck,” she sighed as Golden started smearing some ointment in Tony’s cuts. Tony took out his mouthguard and spit big bloody wads of saliva into the bucket.
Addie turned her attention back to her immediate surroundings and started pushing her way through the crowd again. Why wasn’t he stopping? London didn’t even seem hurt or even tired! “God! I wish he had a PAI so I could send him a message! He needs to back down!”
“I’m sorry I can’t help, Addie.”
“Thank you, JJ.” The poor PAI was his most endearing when he admitted his faults. As a gap in the crowd opened ahead of her, she started running. “Come on, Tony! Just drop it. You don’t have to win every fight!” Did he? Somehow, the fact that she didn’t know him well enough to understand his motivations felt wrong. Was she trying not to know him? She didn’t have the answer, but one thing she did know was that she had to get him out of that fight before London did something awful. What would she do if Tony died in there? It could happen!
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***
“You don’t like bubble tea?” Maisie asked, watching Tony sip his cup of lemonade. They were leaning against a temporary fence set up to guide crowds around the gym, and Tony was trying to listen to Golden’s voice over his loudspeaker as he called the next round of fights. He still wasn’t up.
“Nah, it’s fine, but I don’t want anything in my stomach. Those, uh, round things—I don’t know how they’ll sit.”
“Pearls!” She smiled, taking a big drink through her wide straw. “I get it, though. I puke after a hard workout sometimes.” She tilted her head as she took another sip, and Tony watched the little dimple on her cheek.
“Not many people can make ‘puke’ sound cute.”
She wore an army-green tank top, and when she leaned against him, her bare shoulder pressed into his elbow; her skin felt warm as a heating pad. “You think I’m cute?”
Tony shrugged. “Sure.”
“Not exactly a talker are—”
“Maisie!” a deep voice called out, and Tony turned to see a brick house of a guy. He was probably in his fifties but dressed like a banger—leather, chains, and denim. His boots made literal thuds as he strode toward them over the concrete. “Did you talk to him about it?”
“No, I—”
“Hmm?” Tony folded his arms over his chest. What was this, then? Was he about to get rolled before he could fight again?
“Listen, kid,” the big, bearded guy said, leaning close so Tony could smell the chem-sticks on his breath and the spice of his cologne. “We got a proposition for you.”
Tony glanced at Maisie, frowning. “That right?”
“It’s nothing bad!” she stammered.
The older guy nodded. “Yeah, it’s an opportunity.”
Tony had been around enough to get a whiff of the situation. He kept his arms folded and leaned back against the fence. “I don’t take dives. Even in low-stakes setups like this.” He jerked his thumb at the gym.
“Nah, kid, it ain’t like that.” The big reached up to rub his salt-and-pepper whiskers. “Maisie says you move like you know what the hell you’re doing. That true?”
Tony glanced at her again, and she looked down guiltily. “I guess that’s true.”
“Well, they got you fighting London Roy next. You met him?”
Tony shook his head. “Nope.”
“He’s a big monster, and he’s mean as piss. There’s already two-to-one odds against you.”
“Yeah?” Tony didn’t really enjoy this sort of pep talk. He frowned, somehow looking down his nose at the guy even though he was probably a few centimeters shorter.
“Yeah, but if you can drag it out and make it look like you’re getting your ass whipped, Dabrowski will throw up four-to-one odds to try to make some money back.”
“You want me to, uh, let the guy tenderize me for a while?”
“Now you’re getting it. It’s a rare opportunity because everyone knows everyone around here. Nobody knows what kinda beating you can take, though, except for you. Make London look good for a while—until I give you the signal—then, you can take him down. No dive required, and we all make some scratch.”
“And!” Maisie said, nudging the big man’s leather-clad shoulder.
“Oh, right. And the Black Jades will owe you one.”
Tony knew better than to admit he’d never heard of the guy’s gang. “And you?”
“Right, me too. I’m Troy—Maisie’s uncle.”
“What kinda split we talking?” Tony was tempted; stretching out a fight was pretty much the opposite of taking a dive, and it didn’t bother his conscience at all.
“Seeing as it’s my money on the line, I was thinking I’d split the proceeds with you, eighty-twenty.”
“Not my bits, but my life. This guy dangerous?” Tony didn’t miss the look Troy shot Maisie before he answered.
“All right. Sixty-forty.”
Tony nodded. “Okay. I’ll try to stretch it as long as I can. What kind of signal am I looking for?”
“I’ll talk Golden into giving you a break to, uh, check that you can still fight once the bet’s made.” When Tony’s eyebrows shot up, he shrugged. “Look, you’re gonna get beat up a bit. Can you take it or not?”
Tony thought about it. He thought about how he’d woken up a few days ago missing an arm, an eye, and a couple million bits worth of other hardware. He thought about how his best friend and a woman he’d once loved had betrayed him. He even let his mind drift toward Emily, and his veins turned to ice, and a cold detachment entered his silver eye, a look so different from the expression he’d been wearing since waking up in the Blast that the big, veteran banger took a step back. Tony stared for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, I can take a beating.”
***
“Well?” Golden repeated. “You good or not, kid? Shit, I didn’t think—”
“I’m fine,” Tony interrupted, stuffing his mouthguard back in. He pounded his fists together, savoring the sting of the blood-stop on the many lacerations around his face and skull. Golden hadn’t been stingy with the stuff, and the stinging was eye-watering but also helped him focus. His mind had done a lot of drifting while he let the big bruiser pound on him. Was ‘bruiser’ the right word? He was quick and mean, too, not just a bulldozer like Big J.
“If you say so, kid. Don’t get killed before I get to know you, yeah?”
Tony locked his bloodshot eye on Golden’s soft brown ones and smiled, stretching the cuts on his lips painfully. He nodded and pounded his gloves again. Golden picked up his blood-spattered bucket and crawled out between the ropes. Tony turned his attention to London Roy. It was time for a bit of payback.
“Still in it, eh, one-eye?”
Before Tony could retort—not that he’d intended to—the ref stepped forward. “Let’s get it going!” He looked at Tony. “If we have to stop for your bleeding again, you’re out. Clear?” Tony nodded and smacked his gloves together. The ref stepped back and lifted his right hand. “Fight!”
London Roy charged forward, exuberant in his desire to pound Tony’s skull in. He’d grown used to Tony being a touch too slow to slip his blows. He’d gotten accustomed to pushing the lighter man around the ring. He was so sure he was about to lay another flurry of punches into Tony’s face, head, shoulders, and ribs that his mouth made an almost comical “O” shape when Tony ducked his left hook, came up on his side, and laid a devastating right jab into his ribs.
Tony put everything into that jab—his hips, his shoulder, the full force of his mechanical arm, and the simmering, smoldering emotions he’d been locking behind that door in his mind. London’s ribs weren’t up to the job of stopping that shot. They cracked and popped, not loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd, but definitely palpable through the metal bones in Tony’s fist and arm. It felt like punching plywood the way they crunched and gave under the pressure.
London was mid-twist, trying to chase after him with an overhand right, a hammer blow that hit nothing but air as Tony darted away on feet that were suddenly much lighter and more coordinated. Tony danced on his toes, moving left to right along the ropes as he watched the big guy’s face slowly contort in pain and fury as the damage from Tony’s shot finally registered in his brain.
He stalked toward Tony, furious, but stopped after just two steps, wincing. He lifted a glove to his mouth and coughed, then paused and reached down to brace himself on his knees, suddenly shaky as he coughed again, and blood spattered onto the mat. Tony knew it was over. He’d ruined several of the guy’s ribs, and he was confident he’d sent at least one fragment into his lung. Was it mean? Yeah. Did it feel good? Yeah.
Tony watched as first London, then the ref came to the realization that he’d just made: London couldn’t fight anymore. He helped the big man hobble to the corner where some of his supporters were waiting, throwing dark, menace-filled glances Tony’s way. The ref came over and shook his head, whistling. “That was a hell of a shot, kid. Goddamn!” He grabbed Tony’s arm and lifted it high.
Golden’s voice boomed through the speaker, “Tony S with another win! Looks like he’ll be fighting the Grinder in the championship!” To Tony’s surprise, a lot of people cheered. Was he starting to garner some support? He slipped down out of the ring, yanked his right glove off with his teeth, and scooped up his jacket. He was soaking with sweat and blood, so he just threw it over his shoulder. He only took a single step before a small, lithe figure slammed into him, squeezing him around the waist.
He laughed, recognizing Maisie’s short, red hair. “Easy on the ribs!”
She looked at him, beaming, another shallower dimple on her left cheek joining her more prominent one on the right. Her pink irises glittered as she gushed, “You did it! Troy is over the moon! Damn, but I thought you were going down for a while there!”
As she released her hold and Tony tilted his head up, looking for an easy path through the crowd to the water stand, he froze in his tracks. Addie was there, standing just a few meters away, her funny little drone hovering over her head. She wore a strange expression, like a mixture of surprise and something else—her cheeks were flushed, and her chest was moving up and down as she tried to recover her breath. Had she just run somewhere?
“C’mon,” Maisie said, pulling his wrist. “You should rehydrate before the final.”
“Yeah. Just a sec.” Tony smiled at her, then nodded toward Addie. “Lemme talk to my friend here. I’ll meet you, okay?”
Maisie looked from him to where he nodded, and her eyes locked on Addie’s. “Oh, right. No worries.” She gave his wrist a lingering squeeze, then walked past Addie, smiling up at her as she sauntered by. “Hey, Addie.”
Addie didn’t respond; she was still staring at Tony. He walked closer, still trying to read the expression in those blue eyes. “Hey.” He glanced up to Humpty, where the drone hovered overhead. “Hi, Humpty. Glad you could make it.” Addie’s eyes narrowed, and she inhaled. Then, she started to speak and stopped. She did that twice more before Tony asked, “Is everything cool?”
Addie shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut for about half a second, then looked up at him and shrugged. “Everything’s fine. I’m glad you had someone in your corner. I was afraid…” She trailed off and shrugged. “It’s nothing.”
“You sure you’re good? Any word from your contact?”
“Um, yeah. It’s not important. We can talk tomorrow. Are you done? I missed the end, there—God, I was afraid you were going to get your head knocked off!”
Tony grinned. “Nah, I’m good. I have one more fight.”
Addie’s eyes flew wide as she ran them over his face. “Are you insane?”
Tony tilted his head to the side, looking at her askance. “Come again?”
“If you could see your face…” Addie shook her head and held her hands up. “You know what. Never mind. I was worried you were alone here and needed some support, but it seems you’re fine. I can’t watch—” To Tony’s shock, it sounded almost like a sob choked off her words, and she turned and started away. He reached out and took her wrist, not intending to overpower her or anything but not wanting her to go off upset.
She didn’t pull away, and, standing there amid the boisterous crowd cheering for more fighters in the ring from the aug-75 division, he put his mechanical hand on her shoulder and leaned close so he could speak into her ear. “Hey, what is it? I’m fine, really. These cuts are just bleeding a lot ‘cause that’s what cuts on the head do. I’m not hurt at all.”
Addie looked up at him with watery eyes, blinking rapidly. “I’m sorry, Tony. It’s been an…emotional evening. I just kind of want to go home.”
“All right. I’ll walk you.” He started to steer her toward the exit, pulling her close to his side to get through the jostling, yelling crowd.
“No!” She pulled back. “You can’t do that. You’ll miss the fight.”
“Thought you didn’t want me to fight?” He shrugged. “I don’t really care.”
“You’d do that—skip the fight just to walk me?” She stepped close, and Tony could feel the softness of her yellow jacket against his bare skin. Her eyes were big as she looked up at him.
“You kidding me? What would I tell Bert if something happened to you?” He tried to smile, but his cut lips pulled, and he didn’t have the adrenaline to ignore it.
Addie shook her head. “No. No, I’m not being fair. I’ll stay. Just promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”
This time, Tony couldn’t stop the smile despite the pain. “All right. That’s a promise.” He jerked his chin toward the water table, where he could just see the red top of Maisie’s head. “Walk with me for some water?”
Addie glanced that way, then shook her head, yelling to be heard, “I’ll find a spot outside the crowd. It’s too noisy! I’ll watch through Humpty!”
Tony nodded. “We still gonna hang out afterward?”
Addie raised an eyebrow. “If you’re still free.”
“Oh, I’ll be free. We had plans, right?”
Addie nodded, and this time, when she turned to walk away, she was smiling. Tony walked toward the water table, still confused by the encounter. When he cleared the crowd and saw Maisie standing there, arms folded, toe tapping, and a glare aimed into the crowd toward where Addie had gone, he slowed, his confusion clearing. He wasn’t always good at reading people’s expressions, but he had a feeling he might have gotten himself into some trouble.