Tap Out (20 page)

Dave stumbles out, just like he did when Rob got him. “Coach, I didn't tap.”

Coach Dan clenches his jaw. “And you should have. You always do this Dave. You're not Silva, okay?”

Dave's face crushes into itself. “No, I'm not. I'll be better than him. If I ever . . .” He looks around the room, his lip curled.

“If you ever what?” Coach steps closer to him. “Go on, finish what you were saying.”

Dave looks at him and then away. “Nuthin'.” He turns to get back in line.

“Don't
nuthin'
me, son. You answer my question.”

Dave's body tenses, his traps and rear delts forming knots of anger. He spins on his heel. “I ain't your son! And
you
don't make
me
do shit!”

“Excuse me?” Coach Dan's voice is low but fierce. It's a decibel I am all too familiar with.

“You heard me.”

The room is silent, and I imagine we're all thinking the same thing:
Take him the fuck out.
Coach Dan could do it, I'm sure. And Dave's eighteen, so why not?

“I did and
you
heard
me
. Now answer the question.”

Dave shrugs, looks around the room. “Fine. I'll fucking answer.”

He pauses and looks at us again. In that glance I'm reminded of the football game. I'd like to bust his fucking jaw because everything about him reminds me of Cameron. He's a shifty liar who's got trouble always at his side.

“If I ever find a real trainer, not some washed up Marine who ain't done shit with his life, then maybe I'll have a shot.”

Coach Dan breathes deep, his chest rising. His nostrils flare, and the muscles in his jaw pop. “That's how you feel?”

Dave doesn't answer, only licks his bottom lip.

“Then get out of my gym.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dave waves a dismissive hand. “Coach Dan has his rules that we must follow. Even though they're fucking pointless. Don't matter one bit in the
real world
.” He laughs. “‘Get out'? I'd love to see you fucking make me.” He turns from Coach to us. “Any one of you.”

Coach Dan opens his mouth but Rob steps forward. “Let's go.”

“Yeah, that's what I'm talking 'bout, muthafucka.” Dave slides into his fighting stance and the rest of us back up. I'm
boiling, though. Fuck, if Rob doesn't do this, I will.

“Rob, don't.” Coach reaches out. “He's not worth it. Think of your fight this week.”

Rob's face ripples in doubt, and Dave steps toward Coach. “Fuck you! Let him man up if he wants to. Ain't that the point of all this?”

Coach lunges but catches himself after two steps. Dave doesn't even flinch. Coach's face is red, as if the whistle is choking him, and his words are tight. “You're just a punk, Dave. Nothing but a thug. You have no idea what this sport is about. I knew that the day you walked in. Why I never . . .” Coach turns to Rob. “You don't have to do this, but if you want to, I won't stop you.”

Rob nods. “It's the right thing.”

Coach stares at Rob for a moment and then returns to Dave. “This is it. You're out of here after this.”

“Only if I lose.” Dave swings his arms and jumps up and down.

“No. You are not welcome back. You understand me? I'll call the cops.”

“And be a bitch? No you won't.” Dave rolls his neck but doesn't take his eyes off Coach. “This is your code, Samurai. Live by it.”

Coach's cheek twitches beneath his eye, but he doesn't speak.

“It's all right. I got this.” Rob takes off his shirt, exposing his skinny torso, all ribs and tortoise-shell abs.

Coach looks at him and then to Dave, taking in his linebacker girth. There's doubt in his eyes, but respect, too. I know that look well. All my life people have been doubting me, but on some level saying,
I understand
. They don't, but the guys in here do. No one gives me shit. Fuck, I don't care
if Coach Dan isn't the best coach; he's done some shit right. Still is. He's taking care of Rob, and that's more than enough in my book. My head surges with this, and I'm more amped than I've been in a long time. Feels like if Rob beats this douche then some part of this world will be right.

“Circle around the mat.”

We fall into a circle around the room, making a roughly shaped ring. Dave and Rob move to the middle, and it all feels like slow motion. Coach Dan steps to them and touches their gloves. He looks at each one more time, but they are staring each other down. Guys whisper for Rob, and next to me Amir mutters, “Crush this fucker.” Coach blows his whistle, and all hell breaks loose.

Dave charges like a bull and throws a wide punch, misses, and follows with an uppercut. Rob blocks it and tries to use the position for leverage, but Dave slides away. He kicks and Rob catches Dave's foot at his chest and twists. Dave topples to the mat, hands out for balance, though, and he spins from Rob's grasp.

The room's loud, guys all yelling for Rob. It's like a fight at school, but there isn't a teacher around, just a coach who's watching as intensely as us, and wants the same fucking result.

Rob advances on Dave, who is still on all fours, and cracks a shot off the back of his head. Dave hits the mat, arms splayed at his sides. A cheer rises up. Rob hops on his back and throws jabs. He shouldn't be. He should be trying to choke him out now. I know this, and I see the same look of concern on Coach Dan, who's moving his arms as if to guide Rob, but Rob's plain old fighting. Right now, this isn't about sport.

Dave takes the hits and doesn't react. Rob reels back to blast the son of a bitch and Dave spins, grabs Rob's wrist, and in one fluid motion, pops onto his free hand and pulls
Rob beneath him. He slams a knee into Rob's back and Rob cries out, but his voice is muffled by Dave's arm, which coils around his neck.

Rob slithers, tries to get his arm through Dave's, but can't. Dave slides his body along Rob's back, crunches into himself and ratchets up the triangle hold. Rob flails and tries to connect, but Dave is safely tucked behind his neck, out of harm's way. Coach steps in and blows his whistle. Least Rob won't have to tap.

Dave holds on, though, and looks up. His face is evil, lips curled, face nestled so close to Rob, it's as if he's going to devour him. I've seen this image before, too many times.

Coach blows the whistle again, harder. Around us guys are screaming, but it's unintelligible, just guttural sounds. Rob continues to flail, but then goes limp.

“Release him!” Coach screams, and Dave just smiles. Again, that image, and something breaks, just loosens inside of me. And I am no longer here, on this mat. I'm little and he's standing over her, snarling in her ear. I'm older and it's someone else in a drunken stupor looking to see if I want to fight for my mommy. I'm older still and it's a mask of evil, high on smack and ready to take me out if I say one word. And I am silent. And I am a pussy. But no, not here.

I see myself move, take two steps, and feel the energy I've been coiling up to release. I plant my foot and squeeze my leg into a solid weapon, my foot a ball. I tell myself to drop my hips, engage my torso, contract as hard as possible, and then like a spring, release. And I watch myself do just this, my foot slamming into the side of Dave's face. Something within gives and his body sails off Rob, settling to the ground in a heap. I stand next to Rob and my senses return.

Dave lies on his side like a dog, and Rob rolls over on his
back, sucking air like he's just surfaced from water. He looks at me and I crouch to him. “You're all right.” He nods even though it wasn't a question and looks past me. I look over my shoulder and Coach is shocked, eyes wide, eyebrows arched. His lips move but nothing comes. He looks to Rob and Dave and then back to me. He straightens. “Tony?”

I stand, prepared to take whatever I have coming, because it's dawning on me that what I did isn't fair play. I did not engage under Coach's rules. “Yes, Coach?” My voice is surprisingly strong.

“Guess I was right about you.”

I tilt my head like a confused dog.

“Warrior, Tony. Pure.” Coach goes to say more, but is cut off by the room, which erupts in cheers and crushes me like I've scored a touchdown.

Rob's got a zombielike look to him, feet shuffling, eyes glazed. I'm fucking amped from knocking Dave out, but can't really celebrate with Rob, not considering the reason. He would have been chocked out. He knows it. And after Coach escorted Dave out of the gym, which he went along with without argument, without even asking how he got knocked out, Coach grabbed Rob and said, “You need his fire, son.”

He hasn't said shit since then. Hasn't even thanked me, but I understand. Fuck, I owed him, anyway.

The park lights glow from just down the street, and a hog rumbles in the distance. We both stop walking. Another rumbles to life, and the noise grows like a swarm. The first one peels out, its back tire fishtailing. The driver doesn't spill though, just revs it and bullets away. A procession follows,
and all my good feelings go with them.

“Fuck, I gotta go see Amy.” Rob runs a hand over his face.

“Why?”

“Really? You forgot?”

The realization punches me harder than any of the hits I've taken all night. “Shit, I'm sorry. I just . . .” I can't finish.

He bites his lip and nods, keeps looking at the ground.

“You know when she's due?”

“Said some time in May. We get to hear the heartbeat next week.”

Fuck, as soon as he hears that, it's over. He'll be an awesome dad, but what else? Damn I feel for him. But who knows, maybe he'll get this shit right? “Man, I didn't even know you two were hittin' it.”

“We just started. You know, something to do.” He shifts his weight. “Better 'n beatin' off.”

“I hear ya. But now, with the mentor program. You got a real opportunity.”

Rob sighs. “I know. I can work as a trainer by the summer if I complete the course. Coach said he'd even give me a job if it works out.”

He can't fuck this up. I won't let him. I reach out and clasp hands and then hug him. “That is fucking awesome!”

“I know.” He smiles. “I start the program in January. Fucking A.”

We walk on and I'm glad I didn't get the chance to tell him about my conversation with the big man. I don't want to take away from him, and besides, my deal—if it's even something pursuable—is a giant
What if. . . .
At least Rob's got something tangible in front of him. Some way out of this fucking trailer park.

He sighs, again, though, and has that far-off look like he
did back at the gym. He's lost and shouldn't be thinking about this now, not with what just happened and his fight and all that's in front of him.

“Fuck, forget about that for now. Your fight is all that matters.” I turn and start walking.

“Yeah, right.”

“Don't sweat that shit with Dave. It'll never happen in the ring.”

He doesn't answer, and I think it's because we both know I'm full of shit. Honestly, who the fuck am I to talk? What the fuck do I know after being there for a fraction of the time he has? We enter the park, and the air is still laced with the dust from the bikes. I look toward my trailer, and Rob looks over at Amy's.

“Char's all up her ass about this baby, too.”

“You know what her deal is?”

“No. She ain't talkin' 'bout what happened.” He pauses and shakes his head. “She's still got fucking bruises. On her thighs. Around her arms. And the way she looks at me now, it's just different. Char never had fuck-me eyes before. She does now. And won't shut up about the baby and how fucking great it will be. It's like her world. I can't even talk to Amy about an abortion.” He looks away. “That's why I agreed to deal, to pay for that. Amy was going to at first, but then Char came home and found out, and that plan's gone now.”

I look at the trailer and imagine the scene inside. I'm sure if I did the same for all of the pieces of shit here, every one would be filled with some tragedy. This place is a collection of despair. Poor Rob. I clap his back. “Shit, man, good luck.”

I leave him and step inside my trailer and feel the change immediately. Something's off. Something in the air isn't the same. I don't move, just stand and sniff and listen. There's an
odor I can't pinpoint and a soft smacking sound. My heart races and I'm glad I'm still loose from the gym and that my brain's ready to fight. I grab a piece of shit steak knife from a drawer and step into the family room.