Consequences

A frail old man wrapped Jacob’s hands as he chewed on his mouthguard. Jacob hopped off the chair and rolled his shoulders back. He slipped thin MMA gloves over his fists and turned away as a tall man in a leather coat handed a stack of cash to the room supervisors who nodded and left.

Jacob flexed his hands and bounced on his toes as the man in the coat came and stood in front of him. He put a cigar between his teeth and held a lighter to it.

“Repeat to me what the plan is.” he ordered.

“Play it safe for the first two rounds. Get him tired and knock him down in the third.”

“Don’t just knock him down. I want you to kill him, like this.”

The man put his fists in front of his face and waddled forward like a penguin trying to demonstrate footwork. Jacob stayed light on his feet, putting one foot slightly ahead of the other, and when the man got close and comfortable enough to throw a punch, Jacob exploded off his toes. His heel sliced through the air like a scythe and extinguished the man’s cigar. Jacob drew in a deep breath and forced a smile.

“Boss, I know what I’m doing, okay? I’ve got it all panned out. It’s the shot that you never anticipate that hurts the most. And please, don’t smoke around me, at least not tonight.”

His Boss eyed Jacob head to toe.

“Sure thing, kid.”

The Boss nodded slowly, grinning as his head bounced on his neck and he turned away, waving farewell. Jacob stopped him.

“Hey, this it it, right? This is my last job and I’m done?”

A pause, a glance over the shoulder and a chuckle was the only solid answer Jacob got.

“Whatever you say. Go home to your son after this. And don’t forget, there’s water under the window if you need it.”

The walk in, the announcements, the crowd, all went over Jacob’s head. His eyes were fixed on his opponent who was circling inside the cage as if he was a lion locked onto his prey. And when he entered the ring, he held his palms up and looked to his hands where one name was written on his gloves.

Ian.

He kissed the name, the bell rang and Jacob lifted his hands. His opponent, Francis, opened aggressively with a pressing blitz, but Jacob held his ground, slipped low and belted Francis in the stomach, halting his advance. As the bout progressed, there were several occasions when Jacob could have ended the fight with one swift blow, but he would disengage and play the role of the friend. Francis grew to rely upon this mercy and would take bigger risks, making bigger mistakes.

The third round rolled along, and in the fleeting minute before it started, Jacob caught a sideways glance and nod from the referee. Jacob chuckled and pushed away the team wiping his face so he could get a clear view of Francis. He drew in a deep breath and held his eyes on his opponent, intent not to catch the gaze of his friends, his coaches or his potential his family. The referee called the fighters up, and when they touched gloves Jacob spoke subtly.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t personal. You’ve done good.”

Francis frowned and shook it off. He jumped forward and Jacob’s knee shot up like a piston, his leg snapping up and crushing Francis’s jaw before he even had the chance to see it happening. Francis was stunned, and the fight should have been stopped, but the referee stood by as Jacob jumped on his opponent dropping blow after blow after blow. Francis’s coach begged the referee to stop the fight.

The crowd was exploding with excitement, but as Francis’s body stopped responding to Jacob’s fists their mouths formed no words and their eyes spoke for them. Jacob raised his hand one more time and froze. His chest rose and fell quickly as he got to his feet and the referee caught him by the wrist and raised it in the air, declaring him the winner.

Coaches and medical officers swarmed into the ring and crowded about Francis, urging him to wake up and holding an ice pack to his head, but Francis wasn’t waking up. Jacob took his leave quickly, avoiding anyone that called his name while he ripped the gloves and wrapping off of his hands.

Jacob was just finishing changing and slipping his sneakers on when a stranger charged through the door and leaned on the wall, his shoulders rising and falling with his panting. Sweat dripped from the man’s scalp and tears built up in his bloodshot eyes. His body shook violently. Its frequency matched his quivering lip.

“What do you want?” Jacob demanded.

“You killed my brother!”

The stranger drew a silver Smith & Wesson from his pants and Jacob closed the distance between them before it was fully drawn. He pulled the trigger, Jacob ducked and drove his shoulder into the man’s pelvis, folding him over, sending them tumbling into the hallway. The man’s head snapped back and cracked against the door wall. Jacob punched him in the nose and heard people running in his direction from down the hallway. He sprinted to the window and at the end of the hall. Thunder clapped and the glass pane shattered ahead of him. Another bullet tore a hole in his shirt. Then, a voice, as sharp as a blade and charged with intent, rang above the gunfire.

“My name is Vincent, and I’m gonna kill you!”

Jacob jumped through the window and fell, weightless, for a few seconds before hitting the river below, hard. A cold blanket engulfed him and it muffled the world. Jacob’s eyes shot open and he saw darkness.

He looked around frantically until he found out which way was up. He swam to the surface but swam back down and to the flank of the seawall when bullets pierced the water around him. Jacob scooted to the side, straining his eyes against the void and the much. The shooting stopped and he peeked his head out of the water. He was safe, for now.

The moon shone heavily on his back as he lifted himself out of the water and he caught his breath on the pavement. He squeezed his eyes shut as he wiped his face, but Francis’ face flashed under his eyelids. Jacob shook his head, slapped himself and forced himself to his feet.

He took a long walk home to let himself dry off. Stretched shadows reached across the streets and Jacob stuck to their bases. Controlling his breathing was his primary task until screeching tires screamed in the next street over. He pressed his back to a wall, wishing he could sink further into it until the night grew silent again.

Jacob leapt over the side fence of his house, bounded up the steps and unlocked the door to slip inside. He made double certain to lock the door behind him and walked toe-heel through the house in the darkness. When he got to the front entrance, a light flipped on behind him and he dove for the closet, pulling a pistol out of the jacket.

“Dad?”

In front of the muzzle of a .45, Jacob’s son stood in the living room, his eyes stunned wide open and his lungs failing to draw air. Jacob cursed, tucked the pistol away and knelt down in front of his son, embracing him.

“Ian, I’m sorry you just scared me is all. What are you doing up so late? Why are you stalking around in the dark?”

“I thought I heard something and I wanted to know what it was. And you always told me that not being seen is more important than being able to see.”

Jacob chuckled and rubbed Ian’s head. But the laughter was a dry sound that wasn’t quite laughter. Death lingered in the air. Blood was never as easily washed off the hands as Jacob anticipated. His heart opened to a bottomless pit as the moonlight on the other side of the window caught the glinting barrel of a silver Smith & Wesson.