Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book One) (8 page)

O
nly the sink dared defy the heavy stillness. In between drips there was no sound, no movement, no breath, only tension.

Darnell’s callused finger began to exert enough pressure to move the trigger. Bretten’s mind stretched that one crushing instant to near eternity. The trigger inched toward setting off a sequence within the .357 that undoubtedly offered sincere violence, and Bretten’s entire body went rigid. Then he thought it best to relax, take the missile without resistance.

Darnell’s finger broke the firmness of the trigger. It met the guard and the hammer began its march toward the primer. Bretten tensed again, and then tried to relax. In his eyes the hammer moved impossibly slow. Then it found its mark...click!

The bullet was not ejected. Bretten doubled over and convulsed, but managed not to throw up for a second time on the day. Cold sweat fell from the tip of his nose and the kitchen went from silent to insane.

Rodrigo lifted his friend up and slammed his chest into Bretten’s, the Kevlar between them. Brooke hugged them both. “Welcome to the house,” she said.

The crowd began to settle when Newcomb stepped forward. “Congratulations newbies, but that ain’t shit. I’ll take my chances without the vest.”

Before either man had a chance to process Newcomb’s idiotic statement, Darnell had the muzzle only two feet from the heavyweight’s barrel chest. “Do it Darnell, I got a one in three chance, besides I can take it.”

Darnell let out a howl and cut off Bretten and Rodrigo’s desperate pleas for sanity by pulling the trigger. Again, the gun clicked. The fighters didn’t chant for Newcomb. He didn’t give them a chance. “Hell yeah, one in two chance, do it again Darnell.”

Darnell emphatically nodded his approval and squeezed the trigger for a fifth time...click!

Bretten had instinctively closed his eyes as the gun clicked. Now he opened them and felt he was in some kind of nightmare. Before anyone cheered or objected, Newcomb yelled. “No problem for Bobby Newcomb, one more time Darnell.”

Darnell was wild-eyed, caught up in the moment. He pushed the muzzle closer to Newcomb’s heaving chest. He squeezed the trigger. Bretten lunged and screamed. “You’re going to get shot!”

He crashed into Newcomb at the very instant the hammer crashed into the primer. For a split second he feared he might be the one to take the bullet since he was knocking Newcomb to the side…click!

Once again, the gun didn’t fire. “What the hell you trying to do Maris?” Newcomb said.

Veins protruded from Bretten’s neck, his face bright red. He looked at Newcomb, then at the gun, and finally to Darnell. “That was six shots you idiots. Thank God it didn’t fire.”

Darnell shook his head in disbelief, dug in his jacket pocket and fished out the bullet. “I palmed the bullet. You think we’re dumb enough to shoot each other with an old piece of crap vest on, let alone no vest at all?”

Bretten had no response. He looked at Rodrigo who seemed frozen by the stunning sequence of events. Finally, Newcomb said, “You guys are the seventh and eighth guys, and girls,” he glanced at Brooke, “to get suckered by the pretend to shoot each other joke. But Bretten you’re the first to ever play hero.” Newcomb smiled from ear to ear and bear-hugged Bretten. “He tried to save me, he loves me. He really, really loves me.”

This broke the group and an even more resounding chant of Bretten, Bretten, Bretten blasted through the kitchen. The two newcomers felt their nerves return to normal and realized how foolish the whole thing had been. These guys wouldn’t shoot at them, at each other...but they sure made it seem real.

Then Rodrigo had a thought. “Wait a minute, have you guys done this for real before? I mean, how’d the vest get a hole in it?”

Darnell laughed. “Man you have no idea how hard it is to dig a hole through Kevlar, we soaked the thing, shot it, drilled it, dug a hunting knife into it, used some kind of special super strong scissors...took all afternoon and we used about every tool in the garage. That’s why the hole has such jagged edges.”

“Yep we dug the hole after we got Tristan,” Newcomb said.

“It was my idea to make the hole,” Tristan said. “By the way Newcomb and Woods, you two are still asses for coming up with the prank in the first place.”

Rodrigo, Bretten and a few others in the kitchen approved of Tristan’s statement. They didn’t know the man secretly wished a bullet was really in the gun just to see what would happen to one of these two fucks if they really took one with the vest on.

It was seven forty-five, and Brooke gathered the troops once more. “Beers up for Bretten and Rodrigo. They now belong at Whit’s.”

Everyone held up their beers in honor of the two new guys, and then guzzled them.

It was a ten minute walk to Ben’s Bar and everyone knew that even though it was a night out, Whit would be there at eight and they’d better be on time.

A
t one minute to eight o’clock the number of occupants at Ben’s Bar nearly tripled when the fighters burst through the door. Whit and Doc were at the other end of the boxcar-shaped room kicked back at the far side of a circular table within arm’s reach of the shuffle board. Surely the two knew the group had arrived, but Doc was engrossed in the telling of one his adventures and Whit rested his elbows on the table listening to the elder man.

Newcomb led the pack and pointed to the bartender. “Five pitchers Dusty, make ‘em cold and full.”

“You got it champ,” came the reply.

The fighters piled around the table and slid into the two adjacent booths. Doc finished his story. It must’ve been a good one because Whit shook his head in disbelief. “No way. That’s wild Doc, great story, but they always are.” He then turned his attention to the group. “Glad you pups decided to show. If not I wouldn’t have had anybody to beat at shuffle board.”

Whit already had the red and blue pucks and wax clumped together in a worn wicker basket at the center of the table. He snatched one of the pucks and tossed it in the air in what could only be construed as pure confidence bordering on cockiness.

“With that knee old man you sure you can stand at the end of the table long enough to throw the puck?” Brooke asked.

This brought friendly jeers directed squarely at Coach Whit. “You’re one to talk beanpole,” Whit said. “Doubt your scrawny little arms can even slide the puck far enough to score any points.”

Now the taunting was directed at Brooke. She answered by raising her arms and hitting a double biceps pose. Her flexed arm muscles showed even through her long sleeve shirt.

Dusty arrived with five pitchers and about a dozen frosty mugs. Beer was poured all around. “Alright guys,” Whit said. “It’s not often we get to do this so I just want to say something real quick and then I think Doc has a toast. Congratulations to both Bretten and Rodrigo, I know you two hurt like hell right now, and I’m sure Darnell and Newcomb pulled their little gun stunt on you.”

The crowd laughed and hands slapped Bretten and Rodrigo on their backs and shoulders. Both Darnell and Newcomb looked like proud new fathers, all teeth as they shook each other’s hands.

“Completing the gauntlet shows that you have character,” Whit continued. “You have what it takes to dedicate yourselves to this grueling sport. I can promise you that as long as you are at my gym I will do everything in my power to make you the best fighters you can possibly be.”

The group cheered again and Whit raised his glass to Bretten and Rodrigo. “Welcome pups, glad you’re here.”

Then Doc stood. The fighters fell silent as if they were first graders waiting to hear a favorite story. He took a sip of beer and cleared his throat. “Tanzania is home to the Serengeti, and the Serengeti is home to lions. Many years ago I caught on with a couple of wildlife photographers who were heading into the African Country. Their mission was to take pictures of a lion who had been eating villagers.”

Whit held up his hands. “Whoa, Doc, you telling us that lions there munch on people regularly? I thought they ate Gazelle, buffalo, zebra and whatever other animal lives in Tanzania.”

“You’re right. Usually they eat all of those animals, but sometimes they eat a tenderer dish...us. Matter of fact, back in 1898 if I remember right, construction workers on the Kenya-Uganda railway were working on a bridge over the Tsavo River when many were eaten by two male lions. Some were dragged right out of their tents at night. The records indicated twenty eight in all were devoured by the pair. But that was just the railway workers. Unofficially the lions killed over one hundred people in surrounding villages.”

Newcomb whistled. “Damn over a hundred people eaten by two lions. I bet they were fat.”

Doc chuckled. “Well that number pales in comparison to a pride in Tanganyika in the 30s and 40s. Tanganyika is now known as Tanzania, and during those years three generations of the man-eating pride devoured somewhere between 1,500 and 2,000 people.”

“My agent better not try to schedule me any fights in Africa,” Darnell said.

The fighters offered an uneasy laugh, secretly wondering if it was possible to triangle choke a lion. Doc continued. “Anyway, on my excursion with the photographers people from a small village in the Lindi Region were unwanted hosts to a man-eating lion. Only six weeks before our arrival the first villager went missing, then two nights later another was gone. The villagers feared they’d become the prey, and they were right. Eventually the evidence mounted and after a month eleven villagers were eaten by the nomadic lion.

“By the time we arrived, weighed down by the cameras and aching from the hike and the relentless heat, the village of only a couple hundred people had lost twenty-four to the lion. The attacks were picking up. The lion had acquired a taste for our soft meat.

“The village basically shut down at dusk since most of the attacks happened just after, but the lion still found ways to catch its prey. Through our translator we explained we wanted to take photographs and looked for places to remain safe but still get good pictures. The villagers thought we were idiots, especially when they saw where we wanted to hide.”

One of them laughed and said, ‘Good, the lion will eat these fools instead of our people.’

“Fortunately, some took pity on us and we were led to safer locations, but recognized that we could still be in serious danger. On the very first star-filled night, I laid on my stomach twelve feet off of the ground on a rickety platform the villagers had constructed. Trees were no good because lions could climb, and I wasn’t so sure one couldn’t scale the platform or knock it over.

“The flies and other insects were terrible, but I dared not swat at them. I didn’t want to give away my location. Only an hour after dusk I sensed movement to my right. I turned my head and saw a gigantic lion, most top out at around five hundred and fifty pounds, but this one was easily six fifty or more. Its long body and taut muscles moved in perfect silence. It searched the air with its ears, eyes, and nose.”

Tristan broke the tension. “Doc your idea of fun is a hell of a lot different than mine.”

“Trust me,” Doc said, “I wasn’t having much fun, especially when I inched the camera toward my face and snapped a picture. The nearly inaudible click of the shutter alerted it to my presence. It froze, and so did I. I was paralyzed with fear. The lion was paralyzed in analysis as he sought his dinner. For two or three minutes we remained unmoving. Then it broke the stillness and crept along on its original path.

“Something came over me. I guess I was spellbound by the cat. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass so I snapped another picture. Again the lion froze, but this time not for long. It sensed my location and turned toward the platform. To this day I swear it looked right into my eyes, and I returned the stare simply because I was too petrified to move. The man-eater was only fifteen feet from my rickety perch. It had ended the lives of at least twenty-four people and wanted to make me its twenty-fifth.

“I prayed the stand would hold. I prayed the lion wouldn’t climb it. Then I decided since it had obviously found its dinner I might as well take another picture. This one captured the cat’s entire face, teeth and all. Its eyes looked blood red and blazed with determination. It took another step, then another, and crouched just twelve feet below. In one sickening instant I realized my naivety. I wasn’t even a photographer, had no business in the African night, and the enormous lion would easily pluck me off the platform.”

Doc, the masterful story teller, paused and took another sip of his beer. He eyed his audience. The hardened group was captured by his words. “The two of us, man and beast, engaged in a stare down. The lion did nothing to indicate his impending attack, but I sensed it was inevitable. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breath. The lion crouched, preparing to leap, but a split second before it hurled itself up the platform toward its frozen dinner,
me
, a clap of thunder shot through the hot night. The lion roared in fury and I heard another thunderous boom. This time the lion roared and staggered.”

“What the heck Doc, lions can’t handle the sound of thunder?” Rodrigo asked.

“So it seemed, but I remembered that the night was clear. There was no thunder, no storm. The crack was from an old rifle. The lion turned to face his assailant, or maybe in search of safety from the nagging bullets, but was struck by a razor sharp spear and then another. He turned to escape letting out a tortured roar. But it was matched by another. Out of the darkness rushed a slender young villager, no more than eighteen years old. In his hand he held a long spear. He leveled it on the dazed cat and with a lethal combination of courage and fury shoved the tip into the wounded lion’s neck. Even as it fell it clawed at the young man.”

“Did you get photographs of all of this Doc?”

“I was too stunned at first, but I snapped a couple as the gasping lion collapsed on its side, even though the villager’s face was partly obscured, it wore so much emotion: savage anger, fear, relief, pain. The photograph was in numerous magazines and won many awards.”

“I don’t get it. Were they trying to save you?” Whit asked.

“Oh no, we were bait. There were only three young men involved in the attack. Nobody else knew they were going to attempt it. When we arrived they thought the lion might become preoccupied with us giving them the opening they needed. One shot the man-eating cat, the other hurled the spears, and the third charged in to finish the job. Their plan worked to perfection.”

“What happened next, Doc?” Brooke this time.

“The village celebrated. The men were heroes, and the lion was burned. We hung around for a couple more days. By the time we left, the village had settled back into the rhythm it had held for hundreds of years.”

Everyone was so sucked into Doc’s recount of those long ago events that it took them a moment to pull themselves out of the Tanzanian night.

Finally Bretten spoke up. “That’s one incredible story.”

“He’s got many more just like it,” Brooke said. “He’s our own Forest Gump...well except he’s a lot smarter”

Doc smiled, glad that the group appreciated his adventures. “And Bretten and Rodrigo, I bore you with this lengthy story in an effort to offer what I can hope will be a little bit of wisdom. Today you, just like those brave villagers, battled a lion. Not in the form of the gauntlet. It only offered you opportunity. We all have our own personal lion and it is found within. If we let it, it will keep eating us, day after day, year after year. Today my young friends you at least in some small way fought your lion. You became stronger. You became part of a unique family of modern day warriors. And this is the true reason we celebrate tonight.”

The chills attacked both men. They nodded at Doc and he held up his beer. “To defeating lions!”

“To defeating lions!” the thick mugs clinked all around, signifying an end of past lions and a renewed resolve to face the present. Bretten and Rodrigo now really were part of an exclusive bunch. Very few men and women possessed enough fortitude to step into a cage, to offer themselves so completely to the masses. But everyone standing as a group in the back of Ben’s Bar was willing and capable.

The newest members stood between the round table and the dartboard. Brooke was on the other side next to the shuffle board, too far away to meet their mugs during the toast. Bretten made his way around to her and raised his beer. “Missed you on the toast.”

Brooke, surprised by the gesture, tapped her mug against his. “To defeating lions.”

“And to finding villagers willing to fight for you,” Bretten said.

The thoughtful continuation caught her off guard. She glanced into his blue eyes and an odd sensation coursed through her veins. She felt it was visible so she looked away and took a drink of her beer. Brooke stared into her mug and realized that the sensation was affection toward this man she barely knew. She pushed it away as fast as it came. She’d spent years feeling controlled and hopeless. Now she was free, her own woman, and one that could kick ass. She couldn’t go back to being attached, even if it might turn out right. At least that’s what she told herself, but another glance at Bretten made her second guess.