 
#

Fighting the Storm

Tommy Knuckles Trilogy: Book One

Jarrah Loh

# Copyright

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by Jarrah Loh

Fighting the Storm

Copyright 2012 Jarrah Loh

Smashwords Edition

The Cageside Chronicles name and logo are registered trademarks of Jarrah Loh

Cover art and logo design by Zenia Lakhani

# Also by Jarrah Loh

CAGESIDE CHRONICLES

Tommy Knuckles Trilogy

Fighting the Storm

Fighting the Forgiven

Fighting the Shadows

Brothers Trilogy

Side by Side

Head to Head

Back to Back

Ultimate:

The Complete Guide to UFC and Mixed Martial Arts

Published by HarperCollins

All books available at www.jarrahloh.com

# Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

Book 2: Fighting the Forgiven

Buy more Cageside Chronicles

Thanks

#

ONE

Punches and kicks rained down on Tommy like lightning and thunder in a furious storm. He knew how to weather this storm though; he'd been in the midst of it many times. The blows came in slow motion waves but it only ever seemed to last for an instant. He simply had to hold on tight and wait for it to pass.

He lay there in the burned yellow grass, balled up with his arms tucked in tight around his face, knowing that if he protected his head, the rest of his body would take care of itself. As usual, the other boys became bored of beating on him after a couple of minutes. But as Tommy climbed back to his feet, tasting his own blood, Gristle still stood there looking him right in the eye. Then he drove a fist straight into it and knocked him back down. The rest of the boys broke into laughter as he hit the ground again. Gristle didn't laugh though; he stood there grinning with those big, black and yellow teeth.

Although he wasn't the eldest of the Diaz brothers, Gristle was the biggest and nastiest. He was sixteen, the same age as Tommy, but he looked years older. He already had a full layer of coarse, black stubble covering his face, and his head was three times the size of a normal boy's – though it wasn't obvious, as it looked at home beside his huge, broad shoulders. But it wasn't his shoulders or that big head resting on them that served as Gristle's most distinguishing feature. It was his left ear. Few knew for sure how his ear had become so twisted and grotesque, but legend had it that one of his own brothers had cracked him on the side of the head with a hot frying pan when they were younger and held it on for a while to let it sizzle. No one dared to ask him how it actually happened, but it obviously served to shape his life, as his general outlook went hand in hand with that gristly and twisted nub of an ear that he was named for.

Gristle had still been standing there when Tommy rose for a second time and limped away, leaving the boys to deal their drugs and yell at the girls who walked past, or whatever it was they did out there all night.

"Hey, little mouse!" Gristle yelled to Tommy as he walked away. "If you want to live, you'll stay the hell off our turf!"

Tommy had managed to avoid the bullies for the last few weeks, and he certainly hadn't missed them. He'd been running late from school this afternoon and as he rounded the corner into the vacant lot that served as the shortcut home, he'd seen the Diaz brothers and their little gang staring back at him. Usually they would wait until later in the day to gather together in the lot, but today they had been early – and Tommy had been late.

Tommy's right foot dragged along the sidewalk as he hobbled home. He knew he'd hurt his ankle somehow, but it wasn't too bad. He just felt sad. It wasn't only the beating; it was that feeling deep down inside. That feeling that had taken him so long to figure out. It was the realization that nothing was ever going to change. Perhaps the last few bruise-less weeks had softened him and given a sense of hope. But when he honestly thought about it, he knew it would always be this way. He'd always be poor, he'd always be the smallest, and he'd always get beaten up.

As he approached home, his little brother sprang from the front step and bounded over to meet him. "Uh oh," said Esteban as his bounding came to a dead stop in front of Tommy and that playful grin turned to a sympathetic lower lip. "Not again."

Tommy ignored his brother and kept on walking. Esteban followed and reached his hand up onto his big brother's shoulder. "Gristle again, huh, Tommy?" Tommy didn't answer, but Esteban nodded to himself. "Yep, Gristle."

They climbed the steps and opened the fly screen door, going into their two-bedroom home. Tommy headed straight for his room, but a voice bellowed from out of the kitchen. "Tommy, is that you?" his mother called.

"Yeah," Tommy answered as he shut his bedroom door behind him and slumped face first onto the bed. He had a few seconds of silence lying there with his eyes closed, and for a moment it wasn't so bad. Then he heard his mother calling him again. And again.

Esteban burst into the room. "Hey, Tommy," he said. "Mama wants you."

"Get out of my room, I'm tired."

"Hey, this is my room, too!" said Esteban. "Come on, Mama wants you."

Tommy turned his head to face the wall.

With that, Esteban walked out of the room, leaving the door open. "Mama, he won't come," Tommy heard him say. "He got beat up by The Gristle."

Tommy sighed as he heard his mother put down whatever she was cooking with. She didn't say anything for a while but he could feel her standing in the doorway looking at him. "Tommy," she finally said in her quiet and calm voice. "Are you okay, my boy?"

"I'm fine, Mama. I'm just tired, okay?" The mattress sunk down as she sat next to him and placed a warm, soft hand on his head.

"Give me a look at you," she said, turning him over by the shoulder. He already had a big, purple smudge where Gristle had punched him that last time. "Oh, Tommy," she whimpered as she pulled his head into her chest. "I'm so sorry, Tommy, I'm so sorry. It won't always be this way for you. You'll see; one day you won't even remember this."

Tears trailed down her face as she stroked the back of his hair, but he wouldn't cry. He had learned that a long time ago. If he cried, it only encouraged more pain, so he promised himself he'd never let anyone see him cry again. Besides, he knew what she'd said was a lie. He'd heard it before and even believed it once, but now he knew better.

"It'll be okay, Tommy," she said, wiping her tears. "C'mon, dust yourself off, dinner is nearly ready."

A loud cry erupted from the other room and his mother stood, patted him on the head and left to attend to his younger sister. He lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, but Esteban came wandering back in again. He stood next to the bed staring at his big brother with a smile on his face. "What do you want?" Tommy said, gruffly.

"I'll fix it all up. Won't be too long now," said Esteban.

Tommy turned to look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I'll be big pretty soon. Then I'm gonna be strong and tough like Dad was. I'll show The Gristle."

Tommy stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"It's true, Tommy!" said Esteban, shaping his fists up in front of his face. "They'll be sorry."

Tommy sat up and shook his head; he wished Esteban _was_ his older brother. He wished he was the little one and had someone to protect him and look up to.

"C'mon, hold your hands up!" said Esteban. Tommy held his palms up flat, facing his brother, and Esteban started punching them. Left, then right, then left again. He danced back a bit then stepped up and fired his left-right-left combo again. Tommy started laughing at the tiny fists smacking into his palms.

Their mother appeared at the door again holding their sister in her arms. "Cut it out you two, dinner is ready."

Esteban stopped his boxing and followed his mother. "Hey Ma, can I go see Cesar Condor?"

Their mother held Grace on her hip and carried the big pot from the kitchen to the table. "The Condor? What are you talking about Esteban?"

"Yeah," he said, sitting down on the red chair that was once his father's but had now been claimed by Esteban. "He's coming back home. He's going to be at Uncle's gym, I heard them talking next door."

Tommy took his own seat at the table. "What are you talking about? The Condor wouldn't come back here."

"He would too," said Esteban. "This is where he comes from! He and Uncle Hector trained together!"

Their mother dished out their dinner with her giant ladle. "You know, he's right. He and your Uncle Hector were best friends. They all were – your father and my brothers. The Condor was just one of the boys back then."

"Yeah, I told ya," said Esteban, looking over at Tommy. "He's coming back to visit. I heard them say he needs new boxers. The Condor is going to take someone back to California so they can be a big champion, just like him."

Their mother picked up Esteban's plate and started to dish his up next. "There's only one Condor," she said. "Even back then he was something special. I remember they used to have big fights at the old gym. People used to come from miles around to see him fight."

Esteban grabbed the plate as his mother passed it back. "Did you see him fight, Mama?"

"Sure, many times," she said, taking her own seat at the table with their sister still on her hip. "You know I don't like all that fighting, but everyone used to watch The Condor. We all knew he was going to be famous. No one ever came close to beating him."

"Can I go see him, Ma?" asked Esteban, as he put his spoon down and started punching the air. "Maybe he'll take me back to California!"

His mother smiled. "Well, what about us, then? Who's going to look after me and your sister?"

"Oh, don't worry, Ma. You'll be okay. When I get rich in California you can come and live with me."

Tommy and his mother both laughed.

"Okay," she said, suddenly changing her tone. "No more talk of fighting."

"But Ma, can I go see The Condor?"

She looked at Tommy's bruised eye. "I said that's enough. No more talk of fighting. Or Cesar Condor."

"But, Ma..."

Her eyes darted across the table at him and they spent the rest of the meal in silence.

Tommy skipped school the next day. It took most of the morning to make his way into the city and no one took notice of him as he walked down the wide boulevards of the Avenida Revolucion. It reminded him of when he was a boy, when the Revolucion was always full of people. When the streets were filled with gringos coming to eat at the restaurants, spending their white money and drinking the Mexican beer for a dollar. It was a place of great noise and celebration. But now they were too scared to come and the Revolucion was quiet. Buses and cars still drove up and down the street and store owners still strode the sidewalk, yelling for customers as their wares spilled out onto the walkway. But there weren't many people buying the cheap wallets and pocket knives anymore. Many of the stores were empty and even more were locked tight with steel shutters that only opened at night for ladies to dance.

He passed the drug store where his mother once worked before Grace was born. It had a huge red sign that was bigger than the store itself. It looked the same as the rest of them that littered the strip, where the Americans came across the border to get their cheap drugs. But Tommy still remembered it well. It had a huge crack running down the side of the entrance, as if it could fall and crumble to nothing at any time, but all of these years later it still stood, and the crack still remained.

He didn't know why he felt he had to come; he didn't actually care about the boxers and their proud chests and flat noses. It was his brother who dreamed of fighting, of wearing those golden belts around his waist and getting kisses from the girls. But Tommy still wanted to see The Condor for himself – the man who had made it. It was said that they loved him in California – even more than they loved their own. They said the Americans were proud to wrap their own flag around his shoulders, but The Condor still fought for Mexico. He entered the ring with both flags flying high behind him and he was unbound to come and go from either country. He was free. Now that he had finally come back, Tommy wanted to see for himself. He wondered if he'd honestly come to take someone back with him to make another champion.

Suddenly, Tommy saw The Condor before him. He appeared strong and proud and he was pointing a gloved hand out at him. _I want you!_ read the poster. It was stuck to the outside wall of a bar and had a picture of The Condor and instructions for fighters to come and try out for fighting stardom. It said he would be at Hector's Gym for three nights, so not to miss out.

It was only early in the afternoon, but Tommy hoped his uncle would already be at the gym. It he wasn't, Tommy figured he'd just have to wait. Like the rest of the stores, the gym was once a busy place filled with Mexicans and Americans alike, all training and sweating hard, his uncle walking among them, yelling and pointing. They all listened and they all obeyed and respected his word. But these days the gym was mostly poor and empty like everywhere else.

Tommy took the alleyway and walked through the open gate into the dusty rear yard of the gym. The two big sliding doors were open and the gym was lit bright by the sunlight. Straight away he saw two fighters up in the ring, but as he drew closer, he realized neither of them was The Condor. There was a man leaning with his back against the huge doorway and smoking a hand rolled cigarette. He didn't say anything as Tommy approached, but he could tell the man was looking at his black eye.

Although the sun filled half the room, the other half of the gym was covered in black shadows, with a sharp line separating the light from the dark. There were only a few men in the gym and Tommy didn't recognize any. On closer inspection he realized the two in the ring were only a few years older than himself and they were being coached by the same man, who was standing up on the outside apron, leaning over the ropes and barking instructions in a deep, husky voice.

Tommy's stomach tightened; he began to wonder whether he should have come at all. He'd been a fool. He rarely saw his uncle anymore and no one else here even knew him; for all they knew he was some punk kid who'd strayed in off the road. He took one more look around for Hector and turned to leave before anyone gave him a hard time.

This time when he passed by, the man at the door spoke. "Hey kid," he said, taking the smoke from his mouth for a moment.

Tommy only stopped for a second and was already walking again before he replied. "I was just leaving," he said. "Sorry."

The man stood up away from the wall and pointed his smoking hand toward Tommy. "Hold on a second," he said as Tommy stopped again. "You looking for Hector, huh?"

Tommy turned to face him. "Yeah, my Uncle Hector. Is he here?"

The man nodded. "Uncle Hector, huh? Yeah, I thought you looked familiar, kid. You must be Lefty's boy, huh? Yeah, you look like him."

It wasn't the first time men had told him that he looked similar to his father. He wasn't sure what it meant. He didn't know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look like his dad or not.

"Looks like you're a fighter too, just like your daddy," said the man, pointing with his smoking hand again, this time at Tommy's blackened eye.

Tommy lowered his head again. "I'm not a fighter," he said.

"Maybe you are, maybe you ain't," shrugged the man. "Maybe you just don't know it yet."

As Tommy was about to respond, an old truck came bustling into the yard in reverse, kicking up a patch of pale dust. The both of them turned to look over as his uncle stepped out of the cab and walked around to the back of the tray. The dust was still in the air as he waved toward Tommy. "Sonny!" he cried, motioning with his hand. "Come help us get this stuff inside."

Sonny dropped his cigarette and walked over to the truck. He and Hector reached into the tray and lifted out a boxing bag. Hector dropped his end on the ground and Sonny hoisted it up onto his shoulder and turned back toward Tommy and the gym.

Another man stepped out of the passenger seat and walked toward the back of the truck. Tommy realized it was him. It was Cesar. The Condor. He seemed to walk in slow motion and the dust parted as if to make way for his stride. He wore a regular pair of dirty blue jeans and a white Everlast shirt, but he immediately looked out of place. Tommy watched as The Condor helped Hector with another bag and threw it up on his shoulder like it was a feather pillow.

"Don't just stand there, kid," said Sonny as he passed by, snapping Tommy out of his daydream. He didn't know what to do, so he slowly made his way over to the truck as The Condor passed by. He couldn't see his face because the heavy bag was in the way. All he could see was that huge arm wrapped around the black leather.

He walked up beside his uncle, who was obviously surprised to see him. "Tommy?" he said, dropping a bloated plastic bag to the ground. "What are you doing here?" he asked without waiting for an answer. He pointed at the bag with one hand as he reached into the truck with the other. "Take those towels inside for me."

The bag was big, but it wasn't too heavy for Tommy to sling it over his right shoulder and he made his way back to the doors. The Condor came back out of the gym and nodded with a smile as he passed by. Tommy barely managed to look him in the eye and continued on through the huge doors.

"Hey!" cried Sonny from the shadowed side of the gym. "Bring them over here." Tommy walked around the ring with the big bag and dropped it next to the small cubed room that served as his uncle's office. "We've got to stock up now that Cesar is here," said Sonny as he grabbed the bag back off the floor. "A lotta folks is gonna come, that's for sure. Everyone wants to be the next Condor."

#

TWO

They unloaded the rest of the gear from the truck and set to work putting the extra training bags up in the gym and re-stocking the locker rooms. Hector had been too busy to even question Tommy's presence, so he continued to help Sonny set up the new equipment.

He was perched on top of a ladder as Sonny bear-hugged a heavy bag and tried to lift it high enough for Tommy to buckle it to a swivel. "Higher," said Tommy as Sonny strained to keep the bag steady.

"Buckle the damn thing, will ya, I can't hold this forever!" The steel made a loud snap as it clicked into place and Sonny relaxed with a big puff. "Well, that's the last one," he said.

Tommy stepped down off the ladder and began to fold it up. "So, you knew my dad, huh?"

"Sure, I knew your pa," said Sonny as he walked off toward the office.

Tommy followed after him. "You boxed together?"

Sonny walked in to the office and sat down on an old, rusted swivel chair covered in ripped, green vinyl. He opened the top draw and pulled out a ledger. "Yeah, I boxed with him. Did lots of things with him."

Tommy sat up on the edge of the desk. "So, you were one of the boys?"

Sonny looked up from the book. "One of Hector's boys? Sure. Still am. Nothin' much changes around here, son. You see The Condor? You see him following Hector around, helping him out? He's still one of his boys. Your dad is still one of the boys, too. He's part of this gym. Your pa may have been American, but we were all brothers here. We still are."

Tommy looked around at the walls and up at the roof, almost expecting to see his father in there somehow. "How come I never remember you being around?"

Sonny sniggered. "Yeah, I wasn't around when you were young."

"Where were you?"

Sonny put his pen down and looked up. "How come you got so many questions all of a sudden, huh? You barely said a word for the last hour, now I can't shut you up."

He was right. Hector and the rest of the gym were running around in a storm, swearing at each other and working hard to get everything ready, but Sonny was calm and easy. He talked to Tommy as if he'd known him for a long time, though Tommy could never remember meeting him before. "Were you in jail?" he finally asked.

Sonny turned back to his book. "It was a long time ago," he said. "Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't. It's hard to say, I guess."

"What was it for?"

Sonny sighed and put the pen down again. "You're not gonna leave me alone, are ya, kid?"

"Was it for fighting? My dad always got in trouble for fighting."

Sonny squinted at him. "How'd you get that black eye if you ain't no fighter?"

They stared at each other.

"I asked first," said Tommy.

Sonny nodded. "Yeah, it was for fighting. Wasn't no big deal. I got into a fight at the bar one night. I got into an argument with some greasy snake over a girl. He turned out to be policia, and it turned out I gave him a pretty good beating."

Tommy looked down at his hands. "They say my pa was killed by policia."

"That's right," said Sonny. "But that was different. That was a different situation... So, I told you my tale. What's yours?"

Tommy put a finger to his eye and winced. "No story," he said. "Some guy gave me a black eye. No big deal."

"Nah, no big deal," said Sonny. "I've had plenty of black eyes myself. All depends on how you got the black eye, though. Even The Condor has gotten many black eyes. But someone earned those black eyes. You know if you gave The Condor a black eye, you've earned it – he don't just give them away. What about you, Son of Lefty? You give that black eye away?"

"My name is Tommy."

"I know your name," said Sonny.

Tommy shook his head. "So what if I did give it away? What else was I supposed to do? Everyone automatically thinks that I must be a fighter like my dad."

"Lefty never taught you?"

"No."

The chair creaked as Sonny lay back in it and crossed his arms. "It's a pity, Lefty was a good trainer. He was your uncle's right hand man."

"My ma doesn't like fighting. She always told Pa that it caused more trouble than what it was worth. I remember she said she wasn't surprised when they found him dead."

Sonny nodded. "Your mama, she's a good woman. Maybe she's right. But you don't get to choose everything in life. Your pa didn't decide to become a fighter – he was born one. Maybe the fight caused the trouble, or maybe it was the trouble that caused the fight."

Tommy shrugged. "I don't know. I can't fight."

"But it does look like you have trouble."

Tommy shrugged again and pretended it didn't mean anything. But as he sat there looking at those dirty walls covered in posters and newspaper clippings, he remembered those feet stomping down on him and the laughter as punches hit with a thud, stealing every scrap of pride he tried to hold to his chest. "Do you think my uncle could train me?" he finally asked.

"Your uncle Hector trained all of us. Me, your pa, even The Condor would be nothing without this gym. Hector was the one that brought your father over from America."

"To meet my mother?"

Just as Sonny went to speak, Hector walked in with The Condor in tow. "How are we looking?" he asked.

Sonny cocked his head to one side and nodded slowly. "Yeah, we'll be okay. It will be good. People don't have much money now, but they need hope like The Condor. They will bring the money, somehow."

"Good," said Hector, who stood for a moment, staring into nothing with his hands on his hips. "Tommy," he suddenly said, looking at the boy. "What's your story?"

Tommy thought about it, but his uncle didn't wait for a response. "Are you going to stick around and help out tonight?"

"Ah, I guess," said Tommy, looking at The Condor, then back to his uncle.

Hector saw the look. "Tommy, do you know Cesar?"

Tommy shook his head.

"Oh," he said, putting a hand on The Condor's shoulder. "Cesar, this is Lefty's boy, Tommy."

The Condor stepped forward as Hector's hand fell from his broad shoulder and he offered a hand to Tommy. "Nice to meet you, Tommy," he said in clear English, taking Tommy's hand in his huge paw. "Your pa...he was a great friend to me." Tommy kept shaking his hand. "That's a nice looking eye you've got there, I've had plenty of those myself," said The Condor as he began to laugh, then Hector joined in.

"So, Tommy," Hector said, cutting the laughter short. "You here to help?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Good," he said. "You do what Sonny tells you and don't give him no trouble. He may look skinny, but he fights like a hurricane!"

All three of the men began to laugh. "It's true," said The Condor. "I got one of those eyes from that damn hurricane."

They laughed even harder, but Hector cut it short again. "No time for games. C'mon, we have a lot to do," he said before heading back out the door. The Condor gave Tommy a wink and followed.

"Is that true?" Tommy said to Sonny once they were gone. "Did you really give The Condor a black eye?"

"Sure," said Sonny. "We all give each other plenty of black eyes and bruises, it's no big deal. We're all brothers here. But he made me pay for them all the same."

Many people came to the gym that night. Boxers came from far and wide to show their skills off to The Condor. But it wasn't just fighters who came. There were old men drinking beer and young women dressed up and covered in make-up. There were families with kids running around asking for a signature or a photo with The Condor. As Sonny had said, all of them had brought their money and they paid well to get into the gym.

The Condor took big groups of men at a time and ran them through drills and exercises. They did push-ups and sit-ups and they skipped. He worked them on the big bags and on the small pads. He tested their combos and their balance and their speed, and one by one he picked them off, sending them home. Tommy watched as each time The Condor patted a young man on the shoulder, all of their hopes and dreams fell to the floor with their long faces. By the end of the night there was only one small group left standing. The Condor told them to return the next night and they'd do it again. So, of the hundreds who flooded in, only a handful left with smiles on their faces and fire still in their bellies.

It was dark and quiet in Tommy's street as the old truck pulled up in front of his house. They'd all finished up pretty late at the gym, so Hector had given Sonny the keys with orders to take the boy back home. He could see a light was still on inside the house and instantly he knew his mother wasn't going to be happy.

"Thanks," said Tommy as he opened the truck door.

"I'll come in with you," said Sonny.

Tommy stopped and watched as Sonny thumped his shoulder into the driver's side door to open it. "No, it's okay, you better not."

"I'm coming in," said Sonny, and slammed the door behind him.

Before he'd even opened the front door wide enough to walk through, he heard his mother holler, "Tommy, is that you?" He walked in and held the door open for Sonny. "Where have you been?" he heard her ask from the bedroom. "No one knew where..." she trailed off as she came into the main room and stopped to look at them. The room was dark except for a tall lamp by the door.

"Hi, Mariana," said Sonny. Tommy couldn't recall anyone ever calling his mother by her full name.

"Sonny..." she said. "Tommy, are you okay, what has happened?"

"I'm fine," he said. "I've just been at the gym. I wanted to meet The Condor."

"He's been helping us out," said Sonny. "We had hundreds of people come in tonight. Everyone wanted to meet The Condor."

It was silent as they stood there. Finally, she told them both to come in and sit down. Without even asking, she walked to the kitchen and began to heat up some food. It wasn't long before the savory smells filled the house.

"Your mama's a good cook, Tommy," said Sonny in his low voice as he sat in Esteban's red chair. "I always remembered that."

"You want to eat, Sonny?" she called from the kitchen.

He quietly laughed. "I see she still has that hearing too."

"She sees and hears everything," said Tommy.

Eventually she came back into the room with her big pot and served them both their late dinner. The three of them sat there and said nothing. There was only the sound of eating and Sonny occasionally praising the food.

"You didn't go to school today," she said as Tommy finished his meal. But he didn't say anything. "That's not like you Tommy – you must go to school. You must."

"We could use his help at the gym again tomorrow," said Sonny. "Cesar is holding tryouts all weekend."

She gave him a dark stare. "I don't like him hanging around at that gym."

"I know, Mariana. But maybe that's what he needs," Sonny said between spoonfuls. "He's had a bit of trouble. Maybe I could help him out."

She shook her head. "I don't want my son fighting. No more fighting."

Sonny put his spoon down into his bowl. "I know how you feel Mariana, but the boy needs to be his own man. Lefty isn't here to..."

Suddenly her hand came slamming down on the tabletop, rattling the bowls. "You don't have to tell me where my husband is!" she cried. "And you do not tell me how to raise my own boys! I will have no more fighting! No more!" she bellowed, slamming her hand on the table again.

Tommy sat frozen and Sonny slowly exhaled and edged his bowl away. "Mariana," he said calmly. "I didn't mean any disrespect. Lefty was a brother to me. I want to help."

"Help?" she said, raising her voice again. "You can all help by staying out of my son's life. I will not lose my eldest son the way I lost my husband. There will be no more fighting. You talk about his father as if he was a hero. He was no hero – he was a bad husband, a bad father and a drunk. The same as all of you!"

It became silent again for a few moments before crying erupted from the bedroom. She gave Sonny an angry glance and left the room to see to Grace.

Sonny puffed his cheeks up and exhaled again. "Your mama," he said as he stood. "She's, ahh...she's something, alright." Tommy followed him to the door. "So, you want to learn to fight?" Sonny asked.

Tommy never did want to fight. It was his brother who always wanted to be a boxer. He wasn't sure if it was one too many beatings from Gristle, or if it was meeting The Condor in the flesh, but something had changed. "Yes."

"You just get to the gym whenever you can, and let me take care of your mother."

With that, he turned and shut the door behind him. Tommy could hear the truck rumble off down the street as he carefully opened the door to his bedroom. His brother sat up in a flash. "You met The Condor, didn't you?"

For the next few days his mother watched him come and go like a hawk. She looked at him as if she was reading his thoughts. Tommy attended school as usual and walked home the long way so he didn't have any more chance meetings with Gristle. When his mother finally stopped being so suspicious, he skipped a day of school and made his way back to the gym.

Sonny was waiting for him when Tommy walked in through the back gates. He looked him up and down and shook his head. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

"We haven't even started yet," said Tommy.

"What are you wearing?"

Tommy looked down at his worn jeans and tattered t-shirt. "What?"

"Why didn't you wear shorts or something, at least?"

"I don't think I have any."

Sonny walked off laughing.

The gym was mostly empty, so Tommy wandered around the ring looking at all of the old photos on the wall. There were endless amounts of fight posters. He saw Pacquiao versus Marquez II and Chavez versus De La Hoya, and many that were fought long before he was even born. Like Rosario versus Chavez and Tyson versus Holmes – even an old yellow one behind glass that read Frazier versus Clay. He studied the posters as he circled around the gym and back to the office, where a large photo stopped him. The shot was of six young men, taken inside the gym. A couple of them sat on the apron outside the ring while the rest were standing up behind the ropes. The Condor was in the middle, leaning forward with his forearms resting on the top rope. To his right, Hector was standing up straight with his arms crossed and his chest puffed out. Though he still had that same thin mustache, Tommy was surprised at how young he looked. Next to his uncle was Sonny. He was turned to his side, facing Hector, and had one hand gripped around the top rope. To the far left, with an arm over The Condor's shoulder, was his father. He looked happy, almost like he was about to laugh. They all looked happy.

"I remember when that was taken," said Sonny as he walked up. "That was the last fight."

"Whose last fight?" asked Tommy as he studied the picture.

"It was the last time we trained Cesar," he said. "That was just before his big fight with Barrera. It was his first major title and he moved to the U.S. after that."

"Why didn't you go with him?"

"It was The Condor's ride, not ours," said Sonny. "It's hard to get over that thin line, you know, they don't just let anyone across. Especially if you ain't got the dollars."

"So you never went?"

"Sure, I got to go a few times. I saw The Condor at the big show, under the big lights."

"Las Vegas?"

Sonny draped a big pair of shorts over Tommy's shoulder. "Stop daydreaming," he said. "Put those on. Let's see what Lefty gave you."

Sonny put training mitts on Tommy and they set up in front of a heavy bag. "Okay, we're going to find out what style of fighter you are; how you move, how you react. Your Uncle Hector always says fighters are born – we don't make them, we just train them."

"What if I wasn't born a fighter, though?"

Sonny ignored him. "Are you a southpaw? Are you left-handed like your pa?"

Tommy shook his head.

"Well, I guess you won't be taking on his nickname then," said Sonny. "Okay, drop your right leg back and put your left fist forward in front of you...yeah, like that. Now bend your knees a touch and lower your stance. Good, now have a few jabs with your left hand there...that's it, a bit harder, tilt your knuckles forward a little...now, have a big crack with your right...okay, not bad. This time really turn into it and put your whole body behind it. You don't have to hide it, there's no one here but you and me, it doesn't matter if you telegraph it from a mile away."

Tommy pulled his right arm way back and let it fly at the bag. It was hard, but it felt good. He did it again, then again. Sonny spurred him on to go harder and harder, so he did. He took a step back and came at it with a big looping swing that thudded on the bag. Before he knew it, he was smiling. He didn't know if he was doing it right or if he was hitting it hard, but it was good, it warmed him inside. No one was in the gym, so Sonny kept urging him on. "Don't hold back, now," said Sonny. "Give him what you got." Tommy continued to thump away. "Keep them up high, though, we don't want to work his body yet, we're going for the knockout punch here," said Sonny.

Tommy surged forward. It was only one bag in front of him, but it seemed he was knocking them down as he strode long, one after the next, man after man. He thumped and thumped and they all fell to the wayside as he unleashed his fury. His vision was blurry all around – all he could see was his gloves in front of him. But he didn't care; he wanted to take them all down.

"Come on, Tommy!" Sonny called, raising his voice for the first time. "You gotta pay him back for that black eye. This isn't going to be enough. You can't rest now; you can't let him get away. He wouldn't rest on you. He wouldn't give you a chance. Don't give him a chance!"

Tommy gritted his teeth and swung widely like an animal. He let out grunts and noises that came from the deepest parts of his gut. He didn't know where he was punching, he just kept swinging and jabbing and thumping.

"Don't forget that black eye, Tommy!" said Sonny. "He can't have it for free!"

Tommy saw Gristle standing there with his repulsive ear and those crooked and stained teeth laughing down at him. Tommy drew his right hand back as far as it would go. It was in slow motion as the arm came blistering through the air in a big curve, but as it landed heavily on the bag there wasn't a thud but a crack, and Tommy's fist rolled off to the side. Reality came roaring back. Tommy was dizzy and a sharp throb began in his wrist as he doubled over.

Sonny pulled him upright and grabbed him by the right wrist. Tommy winced as he pulled the glove off and freed his hand. Sonny held it firmly and began moving it around and pressing hard into the joint. "It's fine," he said, dropping Tommy's arm. "You only jarred it a bit. It might be a little swollen, but it'll be good to go in a couple of days."

Tommy pulled the other glove off with his teeth. Sonny left for a moment and came back with a towel full of ice and handed to him.

"I guess I'm not a born fighter, I couldn't even last a few minutes," said Tommy as he covered his wrist with the towel.

"You got to the gym," said Sonny. "You're a fighter. You've been fighting your whole life. Don't worry about your wrist; we just need to toughen you up a bit – that's the easy part."

Tommy walked off toward the change rooms.

"Where are you going?" said Sonny.

Tommy turned around. "My wrist," he said, holding it up.

"I meant it was the easy part for me," smirked Sonny. "Nothin' wrong with those legs, boy – it's time to work!"

And work they did. Tommy ran circles around and around and around the gym. He did one hundred squats and one hundred sit-ups before stumbling out into the back lot and throwing up on the fence while he leaned up against it.

"When you're finished out there, it's time to get started," called Sonny from inside.

Sonny made him lift, drag, and carry sandbags all over the gym, then he skipped for what seemed like hours. Then there were more sit-ups, and he had to run again as well. Eventually, Tommy climbed on to an old, creaky exercise bike and pedaled his way to the end. He sat there pumping his legs and watched those same posters on the wall forever.

#

THREE

When they'd finally finished, Tommy lay flat on his back on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling. There were other guys training in the gym now and some of them laughed as they walked by, but Tommy didn't care anymore. His head was so dizzy that his vision was pixelated and blurred, and his stomach churned like a washing machine full of rocks. He couldn't tell if his wrist was hurting anymore because every other part of his body was in pain.

A face abruptly flooded his vision. "Sonny worked you pretty hard, huh?" It was Uncle Hector, and he was laughing. "It's okay, Tommy," he said. "The first day is always the hardest. You'll be ready for the ring in no time."

Tommy's days usually went this way over the following weeks. He would go to school often enough to fly under the radar and sneak off to the gym any spare moment he had. His mother looked suspicious again, especially as he suddenly seemed to have the appetite of a grown man, but Tommy kept quiet and she left him alone – probably because he seemed happier. Now he ran home from school and started getting off the bus further away from the gym, choosing to run the rest of the way instead. All the time he thought of training. When his mother asked him to do chores, he was now more than happy to. It was yet another way to get fitter and stronger.

It turned out he _was_ a born fighter. His muscles were weak and his body was fragile, but Sonny said he could punch and roll with the best of them. The two would always take a quiet corner of the gym to themselves and train every intricate detail of Tommy's style: move the foot a little this way, drop the right shoulder a bit here, keep the chin tucked in tighter. Sonny was constantly working his game, watching and studying and changing, never perfectly happy. He would make changes one day, then the next day change his mind and go back to another way. Tommy could get away with nothing; every punch had to be perfect, every duck had to be lightning fast – Sonny didn't miss a thing. But they only sparred together. It was their secret project. No one else could train or spar or talk with them. It was only he and Sonny – and they worked hard.

The weeks turned into months, and before long all Tommy thought about was boxing. He even thought about the drills Sonny taught him as he lay awake in bed at night. He could only go to the gym a few days a week in order to keep up with his schoolwork and his wary mother, but he trained harder and smarter than anyone. Often Sonny would take him in to the office before training and together they would sit and watch the great fights of old on Hector's little television. They would watch the techniques and the moves and then go out in the gym and Sonny would break them down step-by-step and show Tommy how it was done. He didn't simply learn about the punches and weaves; he learned about the history and the fighters of legend. He learned about the greatest fights and the biggest disappointments, about the different sides of the business and the dealings and the managers. All of the colorful characters would come to life in his mind. With every bit he learned, he craved more. It was a whole new world to Tommy. It was so much more than he'd ever thought and now he was part of that world.

He loved to watch the classic fights with Sonny in that office more than anything. He loved watching Julio Cesar Chavez and Manny Pacquiao and Oscar De La Hoya and, of course, The Condor. But most of all he liked watching the old bouts; so old the footage was in black and white and it seemed to be from a time that no one would even remember. But Sonny knew them all. They would watch Henry Armstrong, Joe Louis and Sugar Ray Robinson from the 1940s. The older it was, the more Tommy liked it. They would watch fights nearly a hundred years old of Jack Johnson and Jack Dempsey – they were the greatest things Tommy had ever seen.

They were sitting there one day watching one of The Condor's first championship fights when, out of nowhere, Sonny told him that it was about time he had a fight of his own. Tommy's head snapped around. "What do you mean?"

"We don't train to train," Sonny said. "We train to fight. You gotta fight sometime."

"You mean spar with some of the other guys?"

"No," said Sonny. "I mean a fight. A real bout."

Tommy had imagined his first fight in his head a million times. He would always be fighting someone in his mind when they trained, but that wasn't reality, that was daydreaming. Or so he thought.

"You _will_ have to spar with the other guys first, though," said Sonny. "Your uncle wants to hold a fight night at the gym soon. You can fight on that."

"Wait, what? When? Who will I fight?"

"I'm your manager – let me worry about that. You keep training the way you've been doing."

"My manager?" Tommy mostly said to himself as Sonny walked out of the room, leaving him sitting on the edge of the desk. Suddenly it all seemed different. All those old emotions came racing back, and suddenly it was no longer fun anymore and he was terrified again. He remembered being stomped on by Gristle and laughed at by his brothers – he didn't want to go back to that. This would be even worse, too. Who knows how many people might come to watch him get his head beat in? He recalled how the gym was flooded with people when The Condor came to town and how many cheered and yelled at the sparring.

"Tommy!" He snapped out of his daze as Sonny called from the gym. He knew it was too late now – he was too far in.

Pedro Ramiro Mendoza. That was his name. A name that haunted Tommy every single day. He didn't know anything about him, and neither did Sonny. Sonny had only told him that Mendoza already had a couple of small fights under his belt and that he wouldn't be a problem. Tommy listened and believed everything Sonny said, but he wasn't exactly convinced when Sonny told him that some fighter from the next town over, who they knew nothing about, wouldn't be a problem. Tommy thought Pedro probably _was_ going to be a problem – a big one.

He was happy with his sparring, though. The first time Sonny put him in the ring, he'd frozen up against gym regular Rico Alvarez, who everyone called Pinhead because of the size of his tiny head in comparison to his big bloated body. The two had started out dancing around, trading a few good jabs back and forth, but once Pinhead came in with a few quick combos, Tommy's concentration turned to mush. He panicked, and all those bad thoughts of the past came flooding in. All he saw was Gristle standing over him, beating him around like a rag doll. Pinhead had him in the corner and Tommy was doing nothing.

When Sonny separated the two of them, Tommy was surprised that he had nothing to say. Instead, he simply pulled him back to the center, nodded at Pinhead, and told them to go at it again. The second go around, Tommy did almost exactly the same thing and they ended up in the corner with Tommy taking shots to the body as he covered up. Again, Sonny merely separated them and started it in the middle. A couple more goes and Tommy began to realize that this wasn't like getting beat up in the vacant lot at all. Pinhead wasn't his enemy and Sonny wasn't laughing from the sidelines. Eventually, he began to duck and fade. He stopped thinking about it and his instincts took over. All of those hours of training kicked in and Tommy found his body working on autopilot. He ducked under a looping left and came back up and fired off a quick right to the side of Pinhead's face. He followed up and put pressure on the bigger man, throwing out quick combos that Sonny had taught him – the combos he'd seen those legendary boxers perform on that small screen. He didn't put much power into them, but it gave Pinhead a handful to deal with, and before long Pinhead was leaving himself open under the pressure and Tommy hit him with his strong right. Pop! His glove smacked into that needle head cleanly. Pop! It smacked again, and before Pinhead knew it Tommy was on his other side firing off with another perfect straight right. Pop! Again. Pop! The blows kept coming and Tommy felt like he was floating above the ring, watching himself punch and move. Each time he let his right hand go it would make that sound, which goaded him on even more. Before he knew it Sonny was separating them again, but this time for Pinhead's sake.

Next up was the white American, Coconut Joe, who stood taller than Tommy but didn't have much muscle on him. Tommy came in confident this time and although Joe managed a few good shots, Tommy rolled with it and buried the American in the ropes with those lightning fast combos and that powerful right that kept popping all day long.

He sparred with Sneaky Pete, but didn't fall for any of his tricks. Then he ploughed through The Giant, who was a tiny seventeen-year-old from the south. Lastly he stood toe-to-toe with El Chupacabra, who was probably the ugliest man Tommy had ever seen. Although he managed to take more shots from Tommy than the rest, Tommy proved that he could take some hard shots himself.

Even Sonny smiled when Tommy climbed down from the ring at the end of the day. "Not so bad, is it?" he said, pulling Tommy's gloves off for him. Tommy was smiling himself. He thought it was probably the first time he'd ever done well at anything. "Mendoza won't know what hit him," said Sonny. "You've definitely got the fight in you kid, you just didn't know it."

Tommy pictured himself up in the ring again, standing over Mendoza with his hands raised high for the first time. He couldn't believe it was all happening. Then he remembered his mother. He'd originally hoped she might get him out of the fight, but now that he was hungry to face Mendoza, he didn't want his ma to stop it somehow.

"What is it now?" Sonny asked him. "You always look worried about something. One minute you're smiling, then the next you're already worrying about something else."

"What about my ma? She isn't going to like this."

"You leave your mama to me," said Sonny.

"We already tried that, remember?"

Sonny chortled. "Yeah, I remember. Don't worry, my mama was Mexican too."

The old truck rolled up in front of Tommy's house in the late afternoon. His brother was sitting on the steps as usual, but stood straight up when he realized Tommy was inside the vehicle.

"Hi!" he said to Sonny when they came to the steps. "You work for my uncle, huh?"

"Yeah, I do," said Sonny. "How'd you know that?"

"Oh, I heard you that night you had a fight with Mama."

Sonny grinned. "Is that right? You're a smart kid."

"Yep," said Esteban. "I'm a good boxer, too. You can help train me one day if you like." Sonny and Tommy both started laughing. "C'mon, put up your hands," Esteban said to Sonny. "I'll show you some of my moves." Sonny put his palms up in front of the young boy, who immediately started punching away.

Tommy's mother was in the kitchen with his sister on her hip, as usual. "Sonny, you're back," she said without turning around to face them.

"Hi, Mariana."

"You are staying for dinner, then," she stated more than asked.

Sonny walked around the living room, inspecting the house. He looked at some of their old photos stared for a long time at a sad looking statue of the Virgin Mary that stood on a table near the front door. Then he joined Tommy, who was already sitting at the table.

"Hey, that's my chair!" said Esteban as Sonny sat down on the red chair. "But you can sit there tonight."

"Why, thank you," said Sonny as he slightly bowed his head.

Esteban made Sonny hold his hands out again to show him his boxing skills. He even ducked and weaved from time to time and came back with a couple of quick punch combinations, which caused Sonny to laugh out loud.

"Knock that off," their mother eventually said from the kitchen.

"But, Ma," said Esteban. "I'm showing the man my boxing. Maybe one day he will be one of my trainers with Uncle Hector."

"Sit down," she said to him as she came over to the table and sat Grace into a chair. "See, this is what happens, Sonny. My children are boxing at the dinner table." Then she returned to the kitchen and came back with four plates full of food, two of them resting on her forearms.

"Thanks, Mariana," said Sonny as she slid a plate onto the table in front of him.

"Would you stop calling me that," she said. "No one calls me that anymore."

Sonny put his fork into his food. They all sat in silence, eating. Grace made a few noises and Esteban's face was beaming, but Tommy looked down at his food and ate.

"Why are you here?" she finally said.

Sonny put his fork down. "Mariana...Maria. You know why I'm here."

"To take my son away," she said without looking up from her food.

"Of course not. I don't wanna take him anywhere. I'm trying to help. He can fight, he really can. He wants to get in the ring. One bout. Why not let him? It will be good for him."

Maria stayed calm, but the look in her eye was not a happy one. "I told you Sonny, do not tell me what is good for my children. It starts with one fight. Then what? How far does it go?"

"I am not trying to tell you how to do anything. Your son has something he needs to do. He is nearly a man grown, but he needs the support of his mother."

"You think I don't know what has been going on around here?" said Maria. "I know my son has been training. I'm not a fool. I let it go because he seems happy. I will admit that – the fear in his eyes is going. But where does it end? One fight? Two? Before I know it he will be sneaking across the border to fight the Americans and I'll never see my eldest child again. Or maybe I get a knock on my door in the middle of the night...again."

"Mariana..." Sonny started, but Tommy cut him off.

"Ma, I want to fight," he said quietly. "I am going to fight."

"Tommy, you don't know what you are getting into," she said. "I am still your mother. I don't want you to go down this road. Please, my son, listen to me."

"Ma," he said again. "I need to do this. How many times have I come home beaten? How many times?" His mother didn't say anything. She sat there staring at her son with her huge dark eyes. "I don't want that anymore," said Tommy as tears began to swell. "I need to do this. I don't care what happens. I am going to fight. I'm not scared."

Tommy didn't cry, but his mother did. She nodded her head and the tears came streaming down her face.

#

FOUR

The crowd wasn't as large as the weekend The Condor came, but it was still packed. It had been a long time since Hector had held a fight night at his gym, but since The Condor's visit earlier that year the locals had shown a new interest in the local fighters. And now they'd all come to see if there was anyone who would follow in his lofty footsteps.

There was a hum of activity as the first fighter of the night came walking through the part in the crowd. He was a red-haired and freckle-faced American with a huge neck and large, rounded shoulders. He had come to take on El Chupacabra, as the ugly Mexican had beaten him once before. Hector thought it would be a good way to kick off the night with both being hungry to fight each other again. Sonny said they were two of the most unattractive men he'd ever seen.

Sonny had already taped up Tommy's hands, but he let him watch the first fight from the change room door. The two ugly men circled for a while, throwing out a few jabs to feel out the distance, but they didn't engage for some time. But all it took was an angry shout from a local in the crowd and the two went to war. The big redheaded American threw huge looping rights and lefts, hoping to knock out El Chupacabra with a single blow. But like he did when Tommy fought him, El Chupacabra took the blows and fought on, delivering the American some vicious body shots. By the end of the first round, the both of them were already exhausted and El Chupacabra was bleeding from the nose. The American's punches were obviously wild and powerful, but Tommy could see he wasn't very smart. El Chupacabra left openings everywhere and repeated the same combos over and over again. Tommy was able to predict where he would strike next. He knew if he was up there, his fellow Mexican would be finished by now.

The two came out as wild in the second round but with less power and speed as they puffed and panted their way around the ring. Both of them were bleeding by the fourth round and Tommy couldn't pick who would win. They both seemed to be losing. The American looked strong and powerful, but the Mexican seemed to eat up those big right hand blows. In the end, a well-placed hit from El Chupacabra put the redhead to the floor and his legs buckled at the knees when he tried to stand on the count. The locals gave a cheer and a clap as their new local hero walked past Tommy and into the change room victorious.

Mariachi music blared out of the tinny speakers while the crowd waited for the next fight. Sonny patted Tommy on the shoulder and motioned with his head back toward the change room. Inside it was crowded with a wide assortment of different fighters. There was a huge black Brazilian who had his head shaved to the skin and spoke loudly with his two trainers in Portuguese. He was fighting in the main event against a much older local from Tijuana, who Sonny said was once a fighting legend in his younger years but had since lost his speed and power. He said the old man was more cunning than a fox though, and that the cocky young Brazilian better be careful.

His own opponent, Pedro Ramiro Mendoza, was also back there. His name had been bouncing around in Tommy's head every hour of the day. Sometimes he was scared of him, other times he laughed at the name and grew confident it would be an easy victory. As he looked at him now, Tommy was surprised to see he was simply another Mexican teen. They were about the same age and height, though his opponent looked more muscular. He didn't look so confident though, and Tommy thought that he too may have had Tommy's name running through his head for days, waiting for the moment they met in the ring. They didn't speak to each other and Sonny took Tommy to the back corner of the locker room where they could at least have some space together. He sat him down and kneeled in front, checking over his wrapped hands again and went to work putting his gloves on.

"Okay, you're on after this next fight," said Sonny. "Visualize it all in your mind; all that we've gone through, all of your combos. Remember our plan and stick to it. That's all you have to worry about. I'll take care of everything else. I'll take you out there at the right time. You breathe and relax – you have everything you need."

Tommy took a deep breath. They had been through warm-ups all afternoon and gone over and over their strategy. Sonny said his opponent was pretty green, the same as Tommy, and although he had won all of his fights, he had taken a long time to fire up and engage his opponents.

"He's a nervous fighter," Sonny said. "I have seen it in his eyes. It is the look you also have when you walk around in your regular life. Lucky for you, your eyes change in the ring and you have the eyes of a warrior. The warrior doesn't hesitate; he attacks his enemy the moment he sees an opening, and this is what you must do. This will be a quick fight for you, Tommy. He will want to dance around and feel you out, but you will come out hungry and angry. Straight for the kill – that is our plan."

Tommy pictured it all in his head while he closed his eyes and continued to take deep breaths as Sonny massaged his arms. He could see himself in a blur as he attacked Pedro Ramiro Mendoza in a flurry of punches.

When Sonny finally told him it was time, everything changed. His heart beat so hard he could hear it over the noise in the locker room. He was dizzy as Sonny helped him to his feet and the room spun around so fast that he became sick. He could hear Sonny talking to him but he couldn't make out the words. He had his gloves and a robe on as he walked out into the crowd, but he didn't know where he was going. As he'd said though, Sonny had taken care of everything and before he knew it, he was climbing up through the ropes. He could feel a prickly, cold sweat run down his back and his hands grew heavy in the big red gloves.

"Tommy!" came a sharp cry. "This is it! You're a born fighter; this is what you were made to do."

He nodded as Sonny shoved the mouth guard in. He felt alone for a moment. His mother couldn't stand to come and watch and everyone he knew from the gym was busy taking care of their own fights. It was only he and Sonny.

"You can do this," Sonny said. "Stick to the plan. I am here. Your father is here."

The referee urged him into the middle. He said something that Tommy couldn't hear and then he was back at his corner again. Suddenly, everything slowed to a blur and the noise of the gym faded away. All Tommy could see was Pedro Ramiro Mendoza standing across the ring from him. He thought he could hear tribal drums beating from somewhere deep inside himself, thumping and urging him on.

Tommy didn't hear the bell, but as soon as he saw his opponent move, he was off across the ring. To him, the distance was a mile as he made his way through the blur to Pedro Ramiro Mendoza, but it was merely a split second, and then his opponent was caught in a flurry of punches. Tommy came hard with a left hook, and although Mendoza had his hands up, it still thumped his head to the side, where Tommy hit it with a follow-up right. Mendoza tried to make some room and pushed both his hands out, but Tommy danced to the right and cracked one on his ear, which made him stumble a bit, but he recovered quickly and stormed at Tommy with a huge arching right hand.

It was the only punch he would throw as Tommy ducked and came up under with a monstrous uppercut that he drove into his chin. Mendoza's arms spread out in a crucifix as the shock of the punch hit him. Tommy followed up with a second uppercut as his opponent crumpled to the floor. The referee waved his hands for the fight to stop without even bothering to count. Twenty-five seconds was all it took.

Hector called Tommy's mother and told her she should be proud of her son, and when he arrived home later that night with Sonny she had a huge meal waiting for the both of them. She gave him a strong hug when he came in the door, and when Esteban came bounding out of his room she even let him stay up. They all sat there eating and talking for hours about the twenty-five second fight. Esteban looked up at his big brother as if he was a superhero and his mother cried again, but this time she smiled as well.

Tommy noticed straight away that the other kids at school were looking at him differently. They still didn't talk to him, but he could see they talked _about_ him. They could look and talk all they wanted, he didn't care about them – he wasn't scared anymore.

He walked home every day thinking about the fight, and then after a few days he started thinking about another fight – a fight that hadn't happened yet, a fight that only existed in his mind. The man in his head had no face, but Tommy wanted to fight him. They had said to his mother that it would only be one fight, but he knew now that one wasn't enough. He knew now he wanted to be a fighter.

That was his exact thought when he ran into Gristle again. Tommy was walking home, still more than a block away from the vacant lot, but for some reason he was there – as ugly and grotesque and mean looking as ever. He was simply standing there in the street alone, almost like he'd been waiting there all day.

"You ain't nothin'," said Gristle as Tommy stopped to stand a few lengths from him in the empty street. "You think because you got a lucky punch in on some kid you're gonna be the next Condor?" Tommy looked at him for a few seconds and then stepped off to his right to walk around, but Gristle grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt and jerked Tommy back to face him. "Where do you think you're going?" he said. "We ain't finished here."

"Leave me alone," Tommy told him and tried to walk away. Gristle grabbed him by the arm again with one hand and punched him in the side of the head with the other. The shock rocked him to the side and he stumbled along a few paces as Gristle let go.

"Not so tough now," said Gristle as Tommy looked down at the ground holding his face. The bigger boy pushed him backward, but the look on Tommy's face sharply changed as he snapped his head up to stare straight at Gristle. "Oh, here we go," said Gristle. "Come on, Little Condor, take your best shot."

Tommy immediately swung out with a wide right, but Gristle easily dodged it and started to laugh. Then he stopped and looked grimly back at Tommy. The two were paused there for several seconds before Gristle launched out with a right hook of his own. This time Tommy ducked under it and popped back up with a hard straight that landed clean on Gristle's chin, snapping his head back. He recovered quickly and stormed toward Tommy with raging fists swinging left and right. Tommy shuffled backward, dodging and weaving away from the flying punches, waiting for an opening. Then Gristle let fly with a huge looping hook and Tommy darted in close and unleashed a quick three-punch combo, finishing with the same uppercut that took down Pedro Ramiro Mendoza. The punch took Gristle down too, though it didn't flatten him. He just bent down on one unsteady knee.

Again they were in the street alone staring back at each other, both full of adrenaline and waiting for the other to make a move. Tommy knew Gristle wouldn't give up easily, so he kept his guard high and stayed light on his feet. But his high guard didn't help him when Gristle dove in and wrapped his huge arms around Tommy's legs, taking him down with a fierce spear tackle. The world turned black for a second as his back, then his head, cracked hard onto the road with Gristle coming down on top of him.

His vision came back quickly enough to see Gristle mounted on his chest with a leg over either side, towering above him. Then the blows came pounding down. One after the other they came, smashing and beating at Tommy's face. Gristle was relentless. It seemed to last forever. One would hit him in the eye, and then another would cuff him on the side of the jaw. In the end, Gristle became so tired from all the punching that he steadied himself on Tommy's chest with his left hand and poured down a storm of hammer-fists with his right. One after the other they came, relentlessly smashing bones and teeth and cartilage into a bloodied and angry mess. This wasn't like the other beatings Tommy had endured. As he drifted off to darkness he thought Gristle might actually kill him.

When Tommy's eyes opened, he was still laying flat on the concrete. The sky looked dark above and was streaked in lilac colored clouds. The street seemed bare and silent as he tried to look around, but a few seconds later the darkness came again.

When he woke again he could smell strong chemicals and hear distant chatter. He opened his eyes and saw the cream colored walls, and he thought he knew where he was, but as the idea was formulating in his head the darkness came again and he fell back to sleep.

Sometime later Tommy woke up and found himself in the hospital. Then several days later he was back at home and in his own bed. Faces came and dissapeared in front of him, but all he could picture was the fight. After all that training, what had he learned? What had he achieved? He still couldn't walk home in his own neighborhood without being beaten bloody by a boy his own age. Tommy was sure he'd accomplished something special that day he knocked out Pedro Ramiro Mendoza. But now here he was, back in his bed, beaten worse than he'd ever been before.

Although his memory following the fight was hazy, the fight itself replayed in his mind in definitive detail. He could still smell Gristle as he straddled him and broke his face apart with those brutal punches. Tommy kept picturing himself standing there with his guard up, doing nothing as Gristle shot in and tackled him to the ground. It was illegal to do something like that in boxing.

Tommy sat up in bed when he heard his mother yelling at someone on the other side of the door. "Calm down, Mariana," said the other voice. Then the door opened and Sonny came walking through. He strode over to the chair placed next to the bed and sat down. Tommy's mother stood at the door with her hands on her hips, looking furious.

"He's not getting in that ring again," she said. "Look what happened. This is what fighting does. I told you! I told you this would happen. I've seen all this before? You believe fighting solves everything! It only causes problems. I told you I didn't want any more fighting and now look at my son!"

"Mariana, please," said Sonny, turning back toward her. "Is this the first time this has happened? Didn't this happen before?"

"I told you not to call me that!" she bellowed. "This is different. It was because of his fight – I know it was. This is what happens. Once you make him a fighter, that's it, he walks around with a big badge on his chest advertising trouble. I told you this would happen! Didn't I tell you?" Sonny sighed and Maria gave him one last violent look before walking away.

Almost the entire right side of Tommy's face was still purple and his nose was swollen in the middle where it had been broken in numerous places. His lips were still a mess and were black and blue and lumpy. He had a few stitches under his lower lip where one of his teeth had gone right through the skin. Both of his eye sockets were so dark that his white eyes were ghosts in shadows.

"So," Sonny finally said. "What happened?"

"He fought dirty," Tommy said straight away.

"Well," said Sonny. "Nothing's dirty in the street."

"He tackled my legs, and I cracked my head on the concrete. I was beating him until then."

"You did good, Tommy. You did real good. Most people couldn't take what you took. You're lucky you're even alive."

"I should have done something. I saw him coming but I didn't know what to do, I just stood there waiting to box him."

"Fighting ain't always boxing," said Sonny. "Boxing is only a sport. But fighting isn't a sport."

"Well, I don't want to be a boxer then. I want to be a fighter."

"You're already a fighter," said Sonny. "You proved that much."

"I don't feel like one," said Tommy.

"As I said, fighting ain't a sport. The one who goes down ain't always the loser," said Sonny.

"I want to learn to fight against anyone."

Sonny raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You want to be an MMA fighter, huh? An ultimate fighter?"

Tommy looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"MMA. Mixed martial arts," said Sonny. "You know, those guys in the cage – Ultimate Cage Fighting. It's big in the U.S. Even bigger than boxing, some say."

Tommy had seen the UCF matches on television a couple of times but didn't know anything about it. He remembered the fighters in the big cage with the small black gloves on. It always looked like there were no rules.

"Boxing is good for in the cage," Sonny said. "But you need more than that. You have to kick and you have to take them down. You have to learn the jiu-jitsu from the Brazilians. You have to learn wrestling."

"Wrestling?" Tommy had seen the wrestlers on television also. He had even seen their crazy stunts live when his dad had taken him to see the lucha libre jump around the ring in their masks. But he had known all along that it wasn't real. "You mean lucha libre?" he said, confused.

Sonny started laughing. "Not lucha libre – wrestling. You know. Grappling, ground fighting – for real."

"Can you teach me?" said Tommy.

Sonny shook his head. "Sorry, Tommy. All I know is boxing. It's all I've ever known.

"What about in America?"

"America?" said Sonny, surprised again. "Yeah, like I said, the cage is big in the U.S. Why? You think you're going to go there, now?"

"Why not? That's where my father was from. If that's where I need to go... "

"Tommy, you need to relax. Look at you, you're in no shape to leave your bed, let alone the country."

"I'm not scared. He's beaten me up a hundred times. You said yourself – I'm a born fighter. If boxing isn't enough, I'll become an ultimate fighter."

Sonny stood up from the chair. "Tommy, you've had one fight in the ring. You need to take it easy. You're going to give your mama a heart attack. Slow down a bit, you have nothing to prove to anyone."

"I have to prove it to myself."

"Forget about it, Tommy. We'll talk later. Get some rest," he said and walked out of the bedroom. But his words came too late. Tommy already knew what he wanted.

#

FIVE

As the days fell away, Tommy's bruising slowly faded, and as the weeks passed he began to look like the boy he'd been before. The short scar under his lip would remain forever and his nose would never be the same again, but the rest of him healed quickly. His mother didn't let him go back to school for a long time, and she looked worried every time he stepped outside of the house, but eventually she had to let go and Tommy began to lead a normal enough life again. The kids at school looked at him differently again, but as he did before, he ignored them and continued along his way. He didn't care; school was almost over for good. Then his real life would begin – his new life.

Maria didn't let him go back to the gym for even longer, but Sonny visited at least once a week and spent most of his time arguing with her until she finally gave in, knowing that she had no real choice the older he grew.

But it wasn't only the training Tommy focused on now that he had a new vision. America. That was where he knew he needed to be. It wasn't enough to crawl out of his little hole as he'd done. Now he wanted to fly as high as he possibly could, and he knew that America held the key. He sensed it in his bones. Although Lefty had rarely talked about his homeland, and people often claimed he'd been in Mexico so long that he _was_ Mexican, his father had been American. That meant that part of Tommy was American, too. And now he wanted to go there more than anything. He talked to people around the gym and at school. Anyone that might know some way to get him across that border. He knew Sonny could get him across and that he could tell him where to go and what to do to fight in the cage, but Sonny wouldn't talk about it. Every time Tommy brought it up, Sonny would change the subject or tell him to stop daydreaming.

Because the last fight night had proved so successful, Hector decided to put on another. And Tommy was going to be fighting again, too. This time it was much further up the fight card against a twenty-one-year-old up-and-comer whose ring name was El Diablo Silencio – The Silent Devil – due to his sneaky technique and fast pace. Sonny was confident that Tommy could finish the fight as easily as he had the first, even though his opponent had already won a bunch of fights and earned himself a sinister nickname.

Tommy was surprised his mother hadn't even argued when he came to tell her the bout was on. She didn't speak and continued her work in the kitchen as if he'd said nothing at all. It made him feel guilty, but he pushed it away. Nothing was going to stop him getting back in that ring.

The crowd for the show seemed somehwat different to the first. He saw plenty of the same faces, but it was calmer and more organized and the people were much more restrained. Tommy noticed more white Americans standing around the gym and there were a few fighting in the show as well. He didn't feel as nervous as last time, either. It wasn't that he was extra confident – his thoughts were simply elsewhere.

Once he stepped up through the ropes, his adrenaline kicked in again and he unleashed his fury on the so-called Silent Devil. As soon as the bell rang, Tommy lunged forward at a furious pace, launching quick combos of left and right straight punches that seemed to be endless. He kept on pushing forward with punches so fast and furious that his opponent was completely overcome and eventually found himself tied up in the ropes – which held him up long after he'd been knocked out cold.

The crowd were on their feet making a hell of a noise when the referee raised Tommy's hand in victory. Where his first fight was a win of perfect timing, speed and technique, this time Tommy had let go of a brutal and animalistic power that smashed his opponent across the ring. It was the same feeling he had when Sonny had him in front of the heavy bag for the first time. It wasn't something he'd learned – it lived inside. He thought it must have been what Sonny had meant when he told him he was born a fighter.

They returned to the locker room and took his gloves off. The fight had only lasted seconds, so Tommy dressed back into his clothes and the two of them walked out to watch the rest of the bouts. They stood side by side against the back wall and commented to each other about the fights. Coconut Joe was taking on a young and muscled American and seemed to be in a bit of trouble. But Sonny told him that he could take plenty of punishment and the fight would probably go the distance.

As they were talking, a Mexican with a silk-buttoned shirt and a thin mustache came up to Sonny and shook his hand. "Miguel!" said Sonny, looking surprised. "It's been a long time. We don't see you much anymore."

Miguel brushed his fingers over his mustache and nodded. "Yes, yes, it's true. No time to make it home these days. Especially with the border the way it is. Too many headaches for me."

"This is my new fighter, Tommy," said Sonny.

"Yes, yes, I know. I know all about Tommy. That was a hell of a show you put on up there."

"Thanks."

"So, you're Lefty's son, no?" asked Miguel, and Tommy nodded.

"He's only had a couple of fights," said Sonny. "But the other one ended even faster."

"Yes, yes, I know. I had my eye on Mendoza. He was a promising young fighter but your boy put a quick stop to that, so I heard."

"He's a born fighter, Miguel. I promise you that."

"Yes, yes, it seems you are right. The same as his father, no?"

"Better," said Sonny. "Much better."

"Better, you say? What about America?"

Tommy's eyes widened, but Sonny kept watching the fight in the ring. "We'll see."

Miguel turned to Tommy. "What do you think? You want to fight in America?"

Tommy looked him straight in the eye. "In a cage."

Sonny didn't say anything but his head snapped around to glance at Tommy.

"The cage?" said Miguel, looking more excited. "Yes, yes, we like the cage in America. Yes, good money to fight. Boxing is losing interest over the border – they want to see MMA. Yes, the cage is the answer."

"He doesn't know how," said Sonny.

"You said he was a born fighter."

"He doesn't know the ground game. He doesn't know wrestling," said Sonny.

"So he can learn. Enough to get by, enough to keep him on his feet. Yes, it is a good idea. If he is as good as you say, maybe one day he can fight in UCF. Then he can make the big money."

"We're boxers," said Sonny. "I don't like this ultimate fighting."

"Maybe not, but what does it matter what old men like us think?" said Miguel. "It is the way of the future, my friend. Why do you think The Condor came back to Mexico looking for fighters? They don't want to box in America anymore."

"I can't go to the U.S.," said Sonny.

"Send him to me. I can make it happen. Yes, yes, I will get him trained, I can get him fights."

The late evening sky looked was fire to Tommy's eyes. But it was a dark fire. A bloody flame covering all of Mexico after the scorching day. He stared up at the dark streaks in the clouds as they drove down the bumpy road, a million thoughts drifting through his mind as his home and family fell away behind.

He expected his mother to cry as he left the house, but she didn't. She simply gave him a hug and walked away to tend to his sister. She also didn't argue and yell when Tommy told her that he was going to America. She'd sat quiet for a long time and eventually told him that she couldn't stop him if it was what he really wanted to do. She'd given Sonny a look that would kill lesser men, but he'd reassured her that he didn't want him going either.

There was no way he could pay to legally go to America, so Miguel had organized for someone to take him across the border in the night. Sonny had put him into an old beat up Chevy El Camino pickup with a strange man, said goodbye, and now Tommy had no idea where he was going, or what he was supposed to do. They had been driving for several hours already, only stopping for fuel, and Tommy had lost all sense of direction. It was already further than he'd ever been from home. He was conflicted inside as the fear of what he was risking choked his excitement and hope for what was promised in America.

The man next to him had only said a few words the entire time and was so motionless that Tommy worried he might fall asleep. He was fat with a messy beard and a green trucker hat pulled down low, which alone made him look half asleep. Tommy would turn to check on him every now and then, but the car continued on straight ahead.

The sky eventually turned completely black and Tommy began to drift off to sleep himself, but as soon as he closed his eyes the slow whine of the breaks woke him and the car came to a stop. The man turned off the headlights and then the engine. "This is it," he said so deeply that Tommy barely heard him. He looked out the window and saw a building in front of them that he couldn't make out clearly, but could see it was too big to be a house.

"Where are we?" asked Tommy.

"The border," the man replied. "This is the safe house. You will stay here and wait for the coyote." Tommy wasn't sure what to do, so he waited for the man to get out of the car. But he didn't move. "You go alone," the man finally said. "Others will be waiting inside."

Tommy gave him an uneasy nod and looked out toward the building. He grabbed the backpack at his feet and opened the door and stepped out, then turned back and thanked the man, who started up the car again. When the headlights came back on, Tommy took a good look at his surroundings. The building appeared to be an old abandoned school. The fence was lying on the ground and most of the area was bare and lifeless. A few gray and spidery trees swayed in the breeze and the only sound he could hear was the car. He didn't know what to do, so he shut the door, slung the pack over his shoulder and began to walk toward the old building. The El Camino drove past slowly and spun around in a U-turn, blinding him as it came back toward him. By the time his vision recovered, the car was gone and Tommy was alone. He stood still on the dirt road as the wind rustled through his hair and the large broken building cast the blackest shadows across an already dark night. He looked back, but the car had long disappeared into the darkness. There was nothing.

He carefully made his way over to the big clay building. The man had said there were others waiting, but there was no sound and no sign of anybody else. There was only a smashed out window along the back wall, so he walked through the tall dead grass around to the front. The windows were intact and there was a small roofed entryway, but it was still lifeless and quiet. Tommy had the feeling he was being watched, but as he searched behind him he didn't see or hear the hint of any movement.

There were two large wooden double doors at the entrance with paint peeling off them in large coils. He couldn't see any door handles, so he gave the door on the right a push. It creaked but didn't open, so he put his shoulder into it and gave it a hard shove. The door shuddered open and he immediately heard scraping and footsteps scatter away. Tommy froze, and although he couldn't be sure, he thought he heard whispered voices coming from inside. He hesitated in the doorway for several moments and looked back over his shoulder into the emptiness behind him. He took a deep breath, clenched his right fist tight and edged his way inside.

As his eyes adjusted to the complete darkness, he realized he was standing in a short hallway with a couple of other doors on each side, which he presumed led to the classrooms. Up the end of the hall he could see the smashed window he'd spotted from outside. The closest door to him was on his right and was wide open. He approached it slowly and looked into what seemed to be an abyss – nothing but black. He moved onto the next door, which was only slightly ajar. Tommy pushed the bottom of it with his foot and held his fists up in a guard, ready for someone to jump out and attack him the instant it flew open. The door creaked back a few inches and nothing came running out toward him, so he pushed it harder. Although there was the tiniest bit of nightlight filtering in from a side window, Tommy could still see nothing as he peered into the classroom. But as soon as he let his arms drop, a voice called out in the darkness that jolted him so much the room began to spin.

"Are you the coyote?" said the voice again.

"N...no," Tommy said.

"Who are you?" It was a woman. He could hear her down on the floor by the far left wall.

"I'm here to meet the coyote as well," he told her.

"Who are you?" she asked again.

Tommy hesitated for a moment and then told her he was a fighter. He heard sounds from the other side of the room as someone else moved around. He clenched his fists again but kept his guard low, under his chest, waiting for something to happen.

"What's your name, fighter boy?" said another voice from the other side of the room. This time it was a man. He didn't know how to answer, so he told them. There was silence again, then the man lit a match and an intense yellow flame exploded the darkness. Tommy could see him over on the right with his back up against the wall and his knees drawn up against his chest. He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it with the match. As he inhaled, the light bloomed and illuminated his face. He looked much older than he'd sounded. He had a short goatee beard that was peppered white and a weathered looking face. He took the cigarette from his mouth, exhaled and picked up an electric lamp with his other hand. As soon as he turned it on, the room filled with light and Tommy was startled to see even more people. He saw the woman to his left. She looked short, but big, and had a child by her side who Tommy thought looked about the same age as his own brother. Straight in front of him against the back wall was a young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, lying flat on his back on a thin and dirty looking mattress.

"Come in and close the door, fighter boy," said the man with the lantern. "We are all waiting for the same thing."

Tommy did what he was told, and after seconds deciding, he sat down in the right corner, behind the door. The old man turned off the light and asked him questions, but Tommy only answered in vague, short sentences. The man was quite talkative himself though, and muttered away in the darkness in a hushed, deep voice that gave Tommy some comfort. He said that people called him Cortes and that he was going to America to reunite with his wife and child who he hadn't seen for more than five years. He also said that he'd made the journey before and that it was much harder than what Tommy was thinking, though Tommy didn't actually say anything about it. Aside from a few occasional whispers from the young boy, no one else said anything. Cortes told Tommy to get some sleep. He said he'd need it once the coyote arrived. Although Tommy didn't believe it was such a good idea, before he knew it he had his pack under his head like a pillow and was fast asleep on the old, dusty floor.

He dreamed of his father.

Tommy was about the age that Esteban was now, and Esteban wasn't much older than a toddler. Their father was on his back on the living room floor and Tommy and his brother were taking turns diving onto him like lucha libre wrestlers. Their dad would lay flat with his arms by his side until the last second, and then grab them mid air, inches before they landed on him, each time provoking an explosion of laughter from both boys. Tommy's mother was leaning against the doorway, smiling at her boys playing. She looked so happy and young. Tommy forgot that she could look that way. Bright sunrays were streaming in from the open door and the smell of summer was all about. But then her face changed and the look was grim and fearful. The room became dark and the air was thick and smelled sour. They were still inside but wind kicked up around them.

"Lefty!" she cried, though Tommy never heard her call him that.

Tommy's dad put him down on the floor and arched his neck up to look down at his own stomach, where his wife was staring. His dirty white shirt was covered in blood. He half sat up and pulled the shirt up to his chest, exposing a long knife-like wound and a mess of fresh blood.

"Lefty!" she cried again as the storm roared louder and louder.

"Fighter boy," someone whispered and rudely snapped Tommy out of his dream and back into the black room. "Someone's coming."

Tommy was awake immediately. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings, but he heard the noises. There were muffled voices that seemed to be coming from the front of the schoolhouse, and several other noises that could have been vehicles. "Is it the coyote?" Tommy asked as he propped himself up.

"Maybe," said Cortes. "Or it could be the federales. Or worse."

Tommy didn't know what worse was, but it didn't sound good. After the police killed his father, no one seemed worse to him than the federales. "What do we do?" he said.

"We do nothing," said Cortes. "Be quiet."

They stayed in the dark, listening closely. No one came inside, but the noises outside continued. Tommy was shocked when he heard a voice close by. It was an angry voice and Tommy began to panic, but then realized the person wasn't speaking to them. Someone was right outside the window arguing on a phone, because he grumbled a threat that was prefaced with, "if you were here right now!" The man must have been leaning right up against the wall next to the window because his voice sounded as if it was right there in the room with them. He spoke fiercely in a mixed accent and feverously changed from broken Spanish to English and back every few seconds. It was hard to follow what he was talking about, but it was obviously about money.

Then Tommy heard the front door open with a violent thud and the woman gasped.

"Hello?" cried out a man's voice from the hallway, but they all remained silent. Heeled boots walked the timber floors and Tommy thought his heart was pounding louder as the steps drew closer. Then the door flung open and the room was flooded with light. The woman shielded her eyes with one arm and pulled her son in close with the other.

"I found you!" bellowed a man from behind the light. He pointed a flashlight toward the floor, and once Tommy's eyes adjusted he made out a skinny man with a small black Spanish sombrero.

"Who wants to go to America!" he shouted, and exploded into maniacal laughter.

#

SIX

They started out straight away. Tommy was surprised how easy it was to cross the actual borderline. He'd imagined them helping each other scale the huge concrete walls with barbed wire, like the ones in Tijuana. But there was barely a perimeter fence at all outside the old school, only a large gap in the mesh next to a sign that read _Caution! Do not expose your life to the elements. It's not worth it!_ The group simply walked through, and just like that, Tommy was in the land of his father.

The five of them followed the jovial man in the black hat, and an American followed up behind them at a distance – presumably the same man who had been on the phone. There were other men also, but they left in a car.

Tommy had absolutely no idea what was happening. The man in the hat told them that they had a long walk ahead and to keep quiet and follow him. He didn't use a flashlight but walked confidently into the swallowing darkness ahead. Tommy wasn't sure what time it was but figured it must have been after midnight. The weather was warm but constant bursts of wind blew around them and the clouds above hid most of the stars.

The steps came one after the other and it all seemed to go along in a blur. After a time, Cortes and the coyote in the black hat started up a whispered conversation. Tommy walked with the woman and her child and eventually they began to chat as well. Her name was Ana, and she and her son were trying to get to the U.S.A. to find a better life. They were also on the run from her husband, but she wouldn't say anything else about him.

It turned out that this wasn't Ana's first attempt at crossing the border. The first time, she paid a coyote handsomely for a resident card that turned out to only vaguely resemble her, was given a list of family names to memorize and was told she would be driven over the border. Sure enough, the next day a lady in a pickup truck arrived and off they drove to the San Diego border to the checkpoint. But when they pulled up the officer asked for her fingerprint, which didn't match the card. She was escorted to an office, the truck was immediately confiscated and she found herself in a severe interrogation. After five hours and a box lunch, she was escorted back across the Mexican border with threats that she would be held for weeks if caught again.

She then paid another man for a fake driver's license, residence card, and a car to drive herself across. The border patrol asked for her mother and father's name, but since the card had been stolen in the first place, no one knew. They impounded the car, questioned her for a while, then gave her a box lunch and walked her over the border.

Next, she turned up to a pre-specified hotel with no further instruction, and found out when she arrived that she was to join a hiking tour in the mountains with fifteen others. She was told there would be a forty-five minute walk, but after twelve hours of walking in the ranges they were captured by the border patrol. Everyone was packed in a van, taken to San Diego and held for twenty-four hours. Then they were given a box lunch and returned to Tijuana.

Tommy didn't feel encouraged by her stories and began to wonder about the consequences of getting caught. He knew he could walk for as long as he had to, but he was even more afraid of the American police than the Mexican. Sonny had been jailed once for crossing the border illegally, but he'd had a criminal history. Tommy tried not to think about it and kept putting one foot in front of the other.

They walked on for hours and hours. Tommy kept waiting to see first light on the horizon, but everything seemed as dark as ever. No one talked now. They simply walked. Sometimes they walked upward, sometimes downward, but mostly they walked across the flat and hard desert. Then they came to the river.

The coyote turned his flashlight on for the first time and showed them the wide stream. There was another signpost warning of the dangers in crossing, but he told them not to worry. His partner took a long rope from his pack and tied it around a gray and dead tree by the water, then tied the other end around his waist. The coyote stood on the bank shining the light on the water while his partner slowly waded out. The man edged out on foot for some of the way, then pushed off and began a hard swim to the other side. The river pushed him hard, but he continued to paddle at a furious rate and eventually made it across without a problem, though he'd drifted more than a hundred yards downstream.

"The river is down," said the coyote. "But we still have to swim."

"We can't!" Ana said instantly. "My boy cannot swim."

"It's okay," he said. "We have a rope, it will not be a problem – you will see. No problem."

Tommy saw the coyote's partner was tying the rope on the other side, and then he waved his hands to signal.

Ana looked worried, but the coyote reassured her again. "It's okay. Trust me, we do this all the time. I'll take the boy over myself. You will see; I won't even get my hat wet!" He was right, too. The coyote slid through the water like a fish. He looped one arm around the rope and held the boy in the other – bringing him safely to the other side in no time. Getting Ana across, however, was a bit harder. She proved to be an amateur swimmer at best. She flailed in the middle of the swim and let go of the rope when the current pulled at her. The American immediately ran down the bank in pursuit, and although the coyote followed with the flashlight, Tommy didn't know how he found her in the darkness. But he did. He dived in a few hundred yards downstream and managed to drag Ana back to dry land.

Tommy tried to keep his backpack above his head as well as he could, but it, and he, still came out soaking wet. "No problems," said the coyote again. "Everyone will dry out with this warm breeze. No problems."

And off they walked once more. After the river it became more difficult. They climbed big earth ruts and stumbled over their own feet and skidded down loose dirt slopes. But they kept going and going. After their steepest climb yet, the coyote in the black hat signaled for them to get down and be quiet. Then Tommy saw it. There was a huge beam of light gliding down across the plain, far out in front of them. They lay there in the dirt watching before a strange sound erupted. It was a weird sound and a shock to hear such noise in the middle of the nothingness of the desert. Then Tommy realized it was music.

"It's the Border Angels. Bless them," said the coyote, and started into his cackling laugh. "They follow these cowboys that patrol the border and make a light and dance so we know there is trouble. We wait. The border patrol will have no choice but to move on. The Angels will follow them anyway."

They stayed there on the ridge, watching the sound and light show play out. There were three S.U.V.'s parked about a quarter of a mile apart, which were obviously the border patrol. There seemed to be at least six cars driven by the Angels. After driving around in circles blaring music, honking their horns and flashing their lights, they parked two apiece a hundred feet from the border units and shone their headlights on them. The border patrol shouted commands over their own speakers, but the Angels drowned it out with their loud mariachi music.

"Why don't they arrest them?" Tommy asked.

"This is America!" said the coyote. "They are free to do what they want. And soon you will be too!"

They waited until both convoys disappeared into the desert and then the expedition continued. They even took turns carrying Ana's boy when he couldn't stay awake.

Tommy didn't know how long they'd been walking for, but it was well after first light when they stumbled into a huge, dusty parking lot at a roadhouse somewhere in the United States of America. No one seemed to notice them among the big rigs as they emerged from the desert. The young man left them almost at once, and Tommy saw him shake hands with someone across the yard and get into a car. He hadn't said a single thing all night. Ana hugged Tommy and kissed him on the cheek and took her son to meet their pick up. Cortes spoke a while to the coyote then looked back at Tommy. "Hey, fighter boy, you got somewhere to be?"

Tommy had no idea what he was meant to do now, so he simply shrugged.

"Maybe you can come with me," said Cortes.

"No," said the coyote. "He is taken care of. No problem."

"What do you mean?" said Tommy.

"You're going back out to the desert, my boy!" he said, and erupted into his crazy laugh.

Tommy's heart sank. He'd been tricked. He didn't know why, or who did it, and he didn't know what they were going to do with him, but he knew straight away that he was a fool. He'd let his fanciful dreams blind him again. Somewhere along the line he'd begun to believe that he was going to be the next Condor.

"Don't worry, my boy! It is far, but this time we go by car!"

"Go where?"

The coyote exploded into laughter again, "Viva Las Vegas!

They told him it had been over seven hours, but to Tommy the journey to Las Vegas seemed like one of the shortest of his life as he woke up to find himself driving down the famous strip. The sun was going down on the horizon and the magenta sky mixed in with the neon lights of the casinos to form a hazy and blurred kaleidoscope of colors in his sleepy eyes. He saw huge statues above and fountains spraying water into the air and people and cars all over the streets. The city seemed alive and busy. Everything seemed to be going fast.

The coyote turned around in the passenger seat to look at him. Tommy still didn't know his name and he'd scarcely heard a word from the driver that had picked them up, since he'd been asleep the whole time. "So, this is it, my friend. The fabulous Las Vegas. What do you think?"

Tommy continued staring out the window. "It's bright," he said.

The coyote started to laugh. "Yes. But it's dark too. It's very dark – you will see."

"Where are you taking me?"

"To your new gym. Don't worry, they will take care of you. Miguel has set up everything for you."

Tommy remembered the Mexican with the thin mustache and the silk shirt. He had promised Sonny that he could get Tommy to the U.S. to fight, and so far he'd done what he'd said.

"Miguel, he is okay. He will be okay for you, no problem," said the coyote. "He has been here for many years; he knows the game in Las Vegas. You make some money for him, he will look after you real good."

Even though the coyote was trying to make him feel better, Tommy didn't like the sound of what he was saying. What if he _didn't_ make money for Miguel?

"See this gym here?" said the coyote, pointing to a huge, modern, black and white building that read _The Warrior Factory_ in red script across the front. "That is the gym of Randy "The Warrior" Coleman. He is the Ultimate Cage Fighting heavyweight champion – he has been for a long time. He is the biggest there is. He is a hero to the Americans. But you will not be training there." They drove on for a while longer and a tingle down ran down his spine as he looked out to see another gym with a huge mural of a condor painted across the front. Underneath it read _The Condor's Nest_. "You know The Condor, huh?" said the coyote.

"I met him once. But he was friends with my father."

"I see. It is also a big gym. Most of the big boxers left around here train at The Nest. But he lives in California and you will not be training there either."

The car continued on into the suburbs and after a dozen turns they came to a stop. Tommy saw the gym. It was painted white the same as the others, though it looked nothing like them. The color was more a cross between a shade of gray and a light brown. It was smaller than the ones they'd seen on the strip, but it was still much bigger than his uncle's. There were a few barred windows and an old sign in the small parking lot that had a silhouette of a fighter kicking into the air and it read _Valley Martial Arts_.

Inside it reminded Tommy of his uncle's gym. It was old and dirty and smelled of sweat, and the air was hot and thick. The ceiling was tall with exposed steel rafters. It even had huge double doors into the rear yard similar to his gym at home, though they were closed and the whole place was dark. It was a long and sprawling building. There was a small office near the door where they walked in and a middle-aged woman with peroxide blonde hair sat behind the counter. There was a weight training area with heavy bags and speed balls in front of them, and then off to one side was a large elevated boxing ring that looked bigger than the one back home. Further along was a big open area, completely covered in blue and white foam matting. There were many men in karate uniforms, wrestling and grappling on the floor. He saw one man's legs fly up in the air as his opponent threw him down onto the mats with a loud slap. At the end of the sea of foam, against the back wall, was a luminous fighting cage. There seemed to be several fighters in there now; one with his back pressed up against the black mesh as his training partner kneed him.

Tommy must have looked nervous because the coyote slapped him on the back and told him it wouldn't be long before he was beating them all. Then the strange Mexican said goodbye and walked out the door, leaving Tommy standing there with the peroxide blonde.

"Miguel won't be too far along, honey," she said. "You can go have a look around. They won't bite ya."

Tommy gave her a nervous smile and walked over toward the ring. There wasn't anyone training on that side of the gym, so he walked slowly around it, looking it over. It seemed high off the ground and the floor covering looked so clean and smooth. He reached up and grabbed the rope. It was hard and cold. Then he grabbed the next one and pulled himself up onto the apron. Even though it was only a training ring, Tommy felt like he was in a stadium as he climbed through the ropes into the middle. It was nothing like the one back at Hector's. It was wide and spacious. The ropes were tight and thick, and the floor was slick and bright. Tommy started to move; he swayed to each side and then put his hands up in a guard. He threw a few jabs out in front and ducked to the left and put out a few more. He could hear the crowd behind his ear. The lights above were bright and goosebumps covered his body. He let a three-punch combo fly, dodged to the left and unloaded with his big looping right hand.

"That'll do the trick, alright," said a voice from down on the floor behind him. Tommy let his hands drop to his sides and turned to see a dark man with a round, shaved head in a white karate uniform and a black belt tied around his waist. "That's a big right hand you have there," said the man in a Latin accent, though he wasn't Mexican. "But it leaves you wide open."

"I still had my other hand up."

The man rolled under the bottom rope into the ring. He stood up in front of Tommy and told him to try it again. Tommy hit him at only half power with the jabs, but when he shifted to the side, he let fly with his right hand but made sure to keep his left up high to protect his face. Before he knew it he was mid air, and half a second later he landed on the canvas with a hard thump that pushed the air out of his chest with a huff. The man climbed onto Tommy's chest and began half-heartedly slapping him in the face. For a moment Tommy froze up and the room began to spin as memories came flooding back. He could see Gristle towering above him, raining those heavy hands down without mercy. Then it was over and the man climbed from his chest and sat next to him on the canvas. "I can always spot a boxer," he said. "Yeah, you can hit real hard, but you only know half the game."

"Was that karate?" asked Tommy as he lay on the mat.

The man laughed. "No, that was not karate."

"Then why are you wearing those karate pajamas?"

The man stopped laughing. "Do I look Japanese to you? I am Brazilian! That was jiu-jitsu. And these are _not_ pajamas. This is a gi – a jiu-jitsu gi!"

"Brazilian jiu-jitsu?" asked Tommy.

"You're a boxer, alright."

Tommy sat up. "Are you going to teach me?"

The man stood up and adjusted the lapel on his gi and put a hand out to help Tommy to his feet. "That's why you're here, right? You're Miguel's boy, yes?"

"Yeah. I'm Tommy."

"My name is Thiago. I am your new fighting and jiu-jitsu coach."

"I thought I was here to learn how to wrestle?"

Thiago sighed. "You have much to learn my friend."

Then a loud voice bellowed from behind them. "Tommy!" They turned to see Miguel walking over to the ring. "You made it here safe, no? This is good, this is good. I see you have already met Thiago."

"Yes. Thanks for everything. I just arrived."

"Well, you train hard and it will be good for all of us," said Miguel. "Come down and I will show you around. Yes, you will have plenty of time to wrestle Thiago. Yes, yes, plenty of time."

Miguel showed him the different parts of the gym. He introduced him to the lady at the desk, whose name was Dana, and to a couple of the other fighters who were sparring in the big black cage. Then they left out a back door and into an old shabby bunkhouse. There was a small kitchen near the door and a large room with several bunk beds. There were also three other small bedrooms off a short hallway that contained a single bed in each.

"Since you're new, you are going to have to take a bunk," said Miguel as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small padlock with a key in it. "Use this for one of the lockers. The utility room is around the back of the building, but if you are lucky you can sneak your clothes in with the gym gear when Dana washes them. Don't worry, you will be spending so much of your time training that you won't even know where you are sleeping. Yes, yes, you will be tired. Very tired."

Miguel left him there to get settled, but seeing as he only had his backpack, Tommy threw it in a locker and laid down on one of the bottom bunks. It seemed as if he'd been away for weeks, or even longer, but he'd been at home in Mexico less than twenty-four hours earlier. It was different than he'd thought it would be. In America.

#

SEVEN

Tommy woke sometime later with Thiago hovering over him. "You missed training," said the Brazilian. "You missed dinner, too. Hell, you missed everything. Did you come all the way from Mexico to train or sleep?"

Tommy rubbed his eyes and swung his legs onto the floor. "What time is it?"

"When was the last time you ate?" asked Thiago.

Tommy shrugged. "A long time ago."

"C'mon, we'll get you fed. Then I'll beat it back out of you."

They walked two doors down to a cheap and dirty looking Thai restaurant called Nong Nong's that served them huge plates for only a few dollars. Neither of them said much and afterward they walked back into a mostly empty gym. Thiago left Tommy standing near the counter as he disappeared into the office and returned dressed in his white gi and holding a dark blue one. He handed it to Tommy in a bundle and slapped a bright white belt over the top of the pile. "Go put that on," he said. "I don't know whose it was, but it's yours now."

Tommy came out of the change rooms a mess. His kimono was wide open, showing his shirt, and his belt was tied in knots and almost dragged on the floor. He wasn't sure if Thiago was about to laugh or cry.

"I have seen badly dressed students come out of that room many, many times," said Thiago. "But you, Tommy the boxer, are a disgrace to this gym." Tommy didn't know if he was joking or not, but he didn't look impressed. The Brazilian untied the knots in the belt and pulled it off him. "Take your shirt off, for a start." Tommy did as he was told and Thiago helped him put his gi on properly, folding one lapel over the other and doubling up the length of the belt by wrapping it around his waist twice and tying it at the front tightly.

"I am going to teach you the ground game," Thiago told him once he was dressed. "That's fighting on the ground: wrestling, grappling, whatever you prefer to call it. I am a professor of jiu-jitsu, so that's what I teach, but it is the same game. You already know how to stand on your feet, and we don't have time to change that yet, so I will teach you how to stay up there and how to get back up when you are taken down – and you _will_ be taken down. MMA isn't boxing. The referee doesn't jump in when you hit the canvas. The fight is done when you are done; there are no easy ways out. Okay, you understand?" Tommy nodded. "Now, I will take you through the basics of jiu-jitsu. There is a lot to learn – a lot. I teach children who know more about this style of fighting than you, so you need to be in here all the time – _all_ the time. We only have one rule when we roll: the fight is over when somebody taps out. That means you have given up. This is not like boxing. You will learn to swallow your pride quickly. Your hand tap will be your most used technique, because you will be losing constantly."

Thiago then proceeded to pick Tommy completely apart. Every time he told him to punch, his legs would be collected together and he would hit the mats with a thud. Every time he tried to push Thiago off, his arm would get caught in a hold and he would be tapping in submission before it broke. When he tried to roll away, the Brazilian would take his back and wrap his tanned arm around Tommy's neck like a python, and within seconds he'd be tapping his hand on the mat as he began to lose consciousness.

He was shocked to see all of the bruises down his arms and legs when he slid the gi off. He had a long shower in the locker room and limped back to the bunkhouse with his new gi under arm. Bright light illuminated the open door as he walked up the narrow path, and he could hear music coming from inside. There were three guys in the main room. One was sitting on the edge of a top bunk with his legs hanging over the side, while another was underneath, hard up against the wall so the shadow of the top bunk was hiding his face. The third was sitting on the edge of another bed, reaching down to a junky looking radio.

"Hey, mate," said the guy on the top bunk in a strange accent as Tommy entered. He had long, dirty and twisted blonde dreadlocks that fell down past both of his shoulders. He jumped off the bed and shook Tommy's hand. "Welcome to the Rat Shack, man. This is Little Deebo over here," he said, pointing to the broad shouldered black guy messing with the radio, who sat up for a second to nod hello. "And under there is Big Deebo; though, as you can see, they ain't related." As Tommy came closer, he could see the face under the bunk, and he figured the man was joking because the two of them looked identical – though the one in the shadows looked older and smaller. "And," he continued, "They call me Max."

"Yeah," said Little Deebo. "Mad Max. He don't get too mad, though."

"Whatever, man," said Max. "So, what's your story? You fresh from the border, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm Tommy; I came up from Mexico today."

"That's cool, plenty of imports training around here," said Max. "These guys came over from Baltimore, and I'm from Australia."

"Where's that?" asked Tommy.

"Where's Australia?" repeated Max, laughing. "It's down under, mate – the other side of the world. You know: kangaroos, the outback, the Sydney Opera House and all that stuff." But Tommy only shrugged. "Well, I reckon you're gonna learn more than fighting, mate."

Tommy locked his dirty gi in the locker and slumped back down on the bed he'd slept in earlier. The Australian talked a lot, but he didn't hear much of it as he drifted off to sleep again.

Tommy was sitting in the passenger seat of his uncle's truck and licking on a quickly melting popsicle. His dad was behind the wheel and they had the windows down. It was a perfect day outside. The sky was a bright blue and the purest of white clouds streaked the heavens like cotton wool. The both of them had a grin on their face, and although he couldn't remember exactly where they were heading, excited butterflies filled his stomach.

The truck pulled up in front of a store, but Tommy knew it wasn't where they were supposed to be. His father ruffled his hair and told him he would be back in a minute. Tommy smiled and kept at his popsicle.

As he'd said, Lefty emerged from the store a minute later giving Tommy a big smile as he walked past the hood of the truck to the driver's side door. Then there was a loud call from inside the store and his father stopped and turned around. A short, fat man with a hairy face came out of the store yelling and waving one of his hands around. He walked right up to Lefty and started pushing his finger into his chest and cursing furiously. Tommy thought the man was funny. He had big, rubbery red cheeks that jiggled while he barked at his father like a dog. But his father wasn't amused. The smile from his face was gone and suddenly the clear skies above turned dark and gray clouds rushed the horizon from all directions. Tommy's father grabbed the fat man by the back of his head and drove his own head right into his face. Lightning splintered across the dark heavens in a brilliant blaze, and Tommy had to drop his popsicle to hold his hands over his ears as the thunder deafened him with a terrifying crack. The man doubled over, but Lefty grabbed at him again and pulled his knee up to his chin. Then the dog-faced man fell to the ground, yelping and wailing away. Tommy could no longer see him over the hood of the car, but he could see his father raise his foot and stomp down, over and over again. At last his father climbed back in the truck, reversed a touch, and drove off, leaving an ugly heap on the side of the road. He turned to Tommy and told him everything was okay. Then he smiled at him, but the sky stayed dark.

"Your popsicle has melted," he said.

The room was still dark when he awoke to Thiago standing over him again. They went straight back to the gym and rolled and wrestled and sweated until lunchtime finally came. Tommy hobbled back to his bunk after he ate and was woken by Thiago an hour later. But they didn't go back to the mats. Instead, he was introduced to his new kickboxing coach, whom he trained with for the rest of the afternoon. And again, after he had dinner at Nong Nong's with the rest of the kickboxing class, he crawled back to his bed, only to be woken an hour later by Thiago for the nightly jiu-jitsu class.

And this was his life. The days melted into each other and he could barely distinguish night from day. Train. Eat. Sleep. Train. Eat. Sleep. Train. Eat. Sleep. Train. Eat. Sleep. Train. Eat. Sleep. His life was the gym, the Rat Shack and Nong Nong's.

He met many people at the gym. Every day he met someone new. There were a few who spent most of their time at the gym, but even Mad Max and the Deebos ventured out of a nighttime or skipped a day of training here or there. But not Tommy. He saw hundreds come and go, but he stayed.

He was sitting on the mat at the evening class, stretching before the session, when a girl with a shiny black ponytail and a purple belt came and sat down next to him and started stretching herself. "Hi, Tommy," she said. He remembered seeing her at the gym a couple of times, but was surprised to hear his name as he couldn't recall ever meeting her. He simply smiled back. "How's your training coming along?" she asked.

"Good," said Tommy. "I'm glad you decided to come back to training."

The girl looked puzzled. "I was here last week. I'm always here."

"Oh," said Tommy. He swore he hadn't seen here in over a month.

She snorted. "I've seen guys like you before. You probably don't even know what day it is." He didn't. Tommy gave her an awkward grin and stretched out to grab his foot. "My mom said you haven't left this place since the day you arrived here."

"Your mom?"

"You don't even know who I am, do you? We've met a bunch of times."

"Sorry," said Tommy, blushing. "I have a bad memory."

The girl shook her head. "My mom is Dana. You know, Dana?"

"Ohhhh," said Tommy, as if he'd remembered, though he couldn't recall Dana from the front desk ever mentioning a daughter.

She lay back on the mat and stretched her legs up, one at a time. "You fighters are all the same. In your own little world." Then she popped up again. "Well, I'm Gina, anyway – for the fourth time!"

"Hey, Gina," he said. "I'm Tommy."

"Yeah, we already established that." Tommy blushed again and turned over, stretching to hide his embarrassment.

When the class started, the two of them partnered up, seeing as they were next to each other. Tommy never rolled with any of the girls, it was a waste of time to him – he wasn't there to play, he was there to fight. But seeing as she was right there, he didn't want to be rude.

As soon as they touched hands to signal the start, Tommy was on his belly and being tied up in knots. Gina climbed on his back, reached around to his chest and used the lapel on his own gi to choke him. Tommy was tapping before he'd even taken two breaths. Then Gina was next to him, resting on her knees and ready to start over. They slapped hands again and somehow she rolled him over and had his arm caught between her knees. She spun around and Tommy tapped the floor in desperation as his shoulder threatened to pop out of its socket. Then she was there on her knees again, grinning. This continued on for another few minutes until Thiago instructed everyone to switch partners. Tommy was relieved.

He showered after class, and seeing as he'd slept through dinner, he headed for Nong Nong's for a late feast. Gina was at the front desk talking with her mother as Tommy walked past. "Hey, Tommy," called Dana as he reached for the door. "Why don't you take Gina with you? I won't be finished up here for a while. She doesn't appreciate my cooking, anyway."

Gina didn't even wait for an answer and pushed past him out into the street. Tommy had to walk fast to catch up. The woman at the restaurant door greeted Tommy when they came in, and he sat at his usual table in the back, next to the kitchen. Then a waitress came and took Gina's order before disappearing out the back. "Hey," Gina called after her. "They forgot to take your order."

"Krapau fried rice with shrimp," said Tommy.

"Oh," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I guess you eat here a lot, huh?"

Tommy nodded.

"So...where are you from?"

"Mexico. But my father was from America"

"Where in the U.S. was he from?" she said.

"I don't know."

"Really? We1l, where in Mexico did you live?"

"Near Tijuana."

"Cool," said Gina, and grabbed the menu to read it again. "You live there your whole life?"

"Yes."

She raised her eye up from the menu. "You don't talk much, huh?"

Tommy shrugged. He didn't know what to say to her. Girls like this never talked to him. He'd never even met a girl like this. He didn't know how he could have forgotten ever meeting her; she was beautiful. She seemed so bright and happy and full of life. He wondered what she was doing at a dirty old fight gym like Valley Martial Arts.

"Well, I come from California. You know Huntington Beach?"

Tommy shook his head.

"You don't know Huntington Beach? Surf City? Orange County? It's only a couple of hours from TJ!"

He shrugged again.

"Well," she said, and looked at the menu. "I guess we're all in Vegas now." Five seconds later she put the menu back down. "You don't talk much, do you?"

"I let my fists do the talking."

"Oh, now he has something to say! Just when I thought you were the strong, silent type."

Tommy exhaled and shook his head.

"So, are you gonna punch me up if we have a conversation then?" she said.

"Huh? No."

"Well, if you let your fists do the talking and you're not going to punch me up, I guess I'm going to be sitting here talking to myself."

Tommy was relieved to see the waitress emerge from the kitchen with two full plates. He was halfway through his rice before it even hit the table. Gina sat there watching in amazement as he shoveled it into his mouth at breakneck speed. Still hunched over his plate, Tommy stopped and looked up at her staring. "Whobt?" he said with his mouth full.

Gina burst into laughter. Then Tommy began laughing too, almost choking on his rice. He started to cough and sputter, which only spurred her on more. He reached over for his glass of water and nearly knocked it over, so he quickly grabbed it with his other hand before it fell, but managed to clip the edge of his plate with an elbow on the way and his krapau fried rice with shrimp snowed onto the sticky maroon carpet like confetti.

Gina stopped laughing and sat there looking at the mess with her mouth open. The rest of the half empty restaurant hushed silent, but it didn't last long as Gina exploded into hysterical laughter once again.

A month later, Tommy found himself in the big black cage in the back, standing across from his first serious sparring opponent since he'd arrived. He was a short but solid black guy who Tommy had talked to a few times but had never paid much attention to. They both had shin pads and headgear on and there were a bunch of other people watching from outside the wire.

Mad Max from the Rat Shack was in Tommy's corner fitting his mouth guard while Thiago was on the outside of the cage coaching both of the fighters. "Don't sweat it," said Max. "Do what you do best, mate. Remember, it's only training and this is your first hard go in the cage, so take it easy."

Max left him standing there and Tommy heard the cage clang shut behind him. Then it was quiet and he stood alone.

"Okay, guys," shouted Thiago, and a buzzer sounded.

His opponent led off on his leading foot, edging his way toward Tommy, but when he came close enough Tommy flanked back and circled to his left. The two shot slow jabs out every few seconds to feel the distance, but both were reluctant to engage. His opponent let a kick fly and Tommy caught it on his left thigh, but he barely felt it and the circling continued.

After a minute or so Thiago called out for them to get on with it, then Tommy found himself being pushed up against the cage. His opponent grabbed with both hands around the back of his neck in a clinch and Tommy knew that his head would be pulled down into a knee at any second, so he pushed out hard with both hands and slid out to the side, and his neck was free and he was circling around the cage again.

He could see his opponent gain confidence with all of Tommy's back footing and he knew that as soon as he stopped circling the stocky man would charge. But Tommy would be ready. He circled around until he was almost in the center of the mat, to give himself plenty of distance from the cage, then gradually stopped moving so it looked as if he was tiring of the chase. As he'd predicted, his opponent lunged and Tommy ducked to the left and began to unload a chain of punches that caused the man to bend low and cover up with his arms. Tommy unleashed left and right and left again, then fired an uppercut, trying to reach underneath the defense. His fist contacted, so he let loose with his right uppercut again and again. In the heat of the moment he suddenly realized he was probably punching too hard and backed off a bit, shocked that he might have hurt his training partner. He looked over to his right and saw Thiago behind the mesh. He had his arms crossed with a blank expression, but he wasn't saying anything.

His opponent stood up straight again and Tommy could see he was bleeding from the lip, but he didn't seem hurt and came to engage again. Tommy tried the same move as the man charged forward. But as he weaved to the side, he felt himself being lifted from the floor and then he no longer knew where he was. For a split second the room spun and Tommy had no sense of balance or direction. But as soon as it began, it ended, and his body was jolted out of the haze and he was on his back with his opponent above him. A knee dig into his chest and punches started coming down. Tommy was still confused and as he began to feel the strikes, he thought he could see Gristle above him. His horrifying face looming above – snarling and laughing and hating all at the same time. He could hear his mother crying and his baby sister screaming. The red gloves kept coming down and it looked like blood – thick blood streaking all of his sight. Everything was blood. He could taste it in his mouth and could feel it in his stomach. Then there was white light.

#

EIGHT

There was a voice. "Tommy, let's go." A blood rushed through him as someone helped him to his feet. "Round's over, man," said Max. "C'mon, sit down." Tommy sat as Max guided him down to a seat. "No problems. You were caught on the ground there for a few seconds, but no problems," Max told him. He continued to talk and Tommy's vision began to focus again. He was sitting on a stool against one side of the cage and all the people from the gym were still standing around the outside. He found Thiago among them but he was talking with Miguel. It was the first time he'd seen him since the day he'd arrived.

"Tommy?" called Max. "You listening to me? Are you okay?" He snapped back to attention and nodded. "Okay, look, don't sweat it too much, it's only sparring, remember? Stick to the plan – stay on your feet and overwhelm him with your punches. You nearly did it, so don't back up this time. If you have him caught, wail away; they'll stop it if it's too much."

They stood up and the buzzer sounded again. The black man ran straight at him and dived for a takedown, trying to wrap his arms around Tommy's legs. But Tommy did exactly as Thiago had taught him and threw his legs backward and put all his weight to the front. The man hit the ground face down with Tommy on top of him, head-to-head. Tommy spun his body around on his opponent's back so they were facing the same direction, and began to throw punches to the side of his face before his opponent could work his way up from the floor. The man brought his arms up to shield himself from the blows and covered up like a turtle. This time Tommy didn't stop and began to work overtime, looking for holes in his guard and firing away at any little gap he saw. He kept at it for a long time before someone finally pulled him away, and it was all over. Max patted him on the back, took his mouthpiece out and held a water bottle up to his lips. His opponent came over and gave him a hug, and then Tommy followed Max down the couple of steps from the cage where Miguel greeted him.

"Tommy! Good to see you, my friend! You are doing well, no? I think you are ready to fight in the Las Vegas Cage Fighting league, no? Yes, yes, I think the LVCF needs you."

"He learns fast," said Thiago. "Faster than anyone. But he doesn't like my jiu-jitsu. He only uses his knuckles."

Miguel began to laugh. "Knuckles? Yes, yes, this is good. Knuckles are good. Thiago, the boy has the hands of his father – this is good. Only, he has the right hand, not the left, no?"

"The head is smarter than the knuckles," said Thiago.

"Don't you worry, Son of Lefty, you keep using those knuckles," said Miguel.

"Knuckles!" said Max. "Tommy Knuckles. That's your name!"

Thiago shook his head, but Miguel started laughing again. "Yes, yes! Tommy Knuckles!"

Max laughed too. "Tommy Knuckles. Definitely."

"I am not calling him that," said Gina as she sat back on Max's bed, propped up on her elbows.

"Why?" called Max from the kitchen area. " _That_ is a great name."

"I am _not_ calling you Knuckles," she said to Tommy, who was sitting on his own bed, fiddling with the radio. He ignored both of them and continued on with the task. "More like Tommy Knuckle _head_ ," she smirked.

"What the hell are you doing, anyway?" Max asked Tommy. "Put the music back on."

"I'm looking for it."

"Not that mariachi music again? I don't know how you can listen to that," said Max before stuffing most of a peanut butter sandwich into his mouth. Tommy shook his head and put the radio back on the floor. Leaving it silent, he lay back on his pillow.

Gina stood up and sat next to him. "Hey, you okay? You miss home, huh? I guess we all do sometimes," she said.

"Whoa! Not Tommy Knuckles," said Max as he came over. "He's too tough to be homesick."

"Shut up. Leave him alone."

"It's true!" said Max, still with a mouth half full of peanut butter. "He's gonna be champion of the world one day. You're making him soft."

Gina picked a pillow up from the floor and threw it at Max, knocking his second sandwich from his hand, which sailed across the room and landed face down on the ground.

"Oh, man!" Max blurted. "Why does it always have to land on the good bit?" He picked it up, leaving a patch of peanut butter on the floor, then sniffed at it and shrugged before piling it into his big mouth. Gina burst into laughter and even Tommy chuckled a little.

"Maybe we should go out tonight," said Gina. "Maybe it's time you had a break."

"Yeshh!" barked Max with his mouth full.

The casino wasn't simply a casino. It wasn't merely a gaming room with a few card tables; it was a full complex of stores and bars and even a cinema. It had spectacular water features and neon displays at every turn. And although Tommy was dazzled at first by the glitz and glamour and the high expense that attempted to make it classy and sophisticated, it didn't take him long to get the true feeling that it was actually dirty and stinking sleaze polished hard to make it shine in the warm night.

Aside from venturing out a couple times in the suburbs with Gina, this was the first time he'd been out during his entire time in Las Vegas, and it was the first time he'd been anywhere near the famed strip since that first day. People crowded in everywhere as the three of them made their way up an escalator and into the heart of the entertainment complex. Tommy followed helplessly as he trailed Max through the modern maze. He had been completely dependent on the gym since arriving, and they paid for all his meals – he essentially lived there all day, every day. With no money to his name, all he could do was tag along.

As the escalator reached the top, the red carpet panned out in all directions and Tommy stood at the top for several moments, trying to take it all in. There were music stores and clothes stores and restaurants and people – more and more people.

"Over here!" Max signaled toward a bar called _The Outback Sports Bar_. "Yes! Now you'll see!" he bellowed as they walked through the entrance. It was dark inside and there were large television screens behind the long bar and on most of the walls. He recognized the artwork from bits and pieces he'd been shown by Max. There were kangaroos and koalas, boomerangs and didgeridoos, akubra hats and blue flags with stars. Max sat on a stool at the bar and patted the seat next to him. Tommy sat down and Gina sat next to him. "This is my world," said Max with pride. "An Australian bar. See? We even have our own bars. You may not have heard of us, but everyone else has, mate."

Tommy continued to look around the room.

"Three beers!" he heard Max call over the loud music.

"No, not for me," said Tommy. He knew Max liked to drink and he'd often come back to the dorm barely able to walk, but Tommy wanted nothing to do with it.

"What? Whadaya think we're here for? You'll be right," said Max.

"I don't have any money."

"No worries. My shout, mate," said Max. He slid a beer to Gina and then thumped one down in front of Tommy, who watched the foam slide down the glass. "Cheers," said Max, raising his beer before putting it to his lips. Tommy looked to Gina, who gave him a crooked smirk and picked up her own drink. Max looked shocked that Tommy wasn't sculling his beer down like a dehydrated camel. "Don't tell me you don't love beer?"

"Never had it before."

Max slammed his empty glass down and sat staring opened mouthed at Tommy. Then he looked over at Gina with his eyebrows raised. She shrugged, "Well, I guess he has more important things to do with his life than waste his days drinking at Australian bars."

"Don't listen to her, mate," said Max. "This could turn into the greatest day of your life."

The room was streaked in colors and slanted shapes. Everything was moving slowly, yet somehow fast at the same time. Tommy almost felt like he was in a fight, but he had no adrenaline and no focus; he drifted through the crowds, checking every so often to make sure Max and Gina were still in view. He'd forced down a couple of Max's beers, but they didn't settle in his stomach at all. Then Max gave him a pill that he said would make him feel better. And it did. Tommy didn't know what being drunk was supposed to feel like, but he didn't think he was drunk. He stepped lightly on his feet, and although people pressed from all around, his thoughts were alone and insular, as if looking out from deeper and further back inside his eyes than ever before. It was almost like looking through a tunnel, and he was happy to float along with it all.

Max took him to different bars and to roulette tables and slot machines. But then Mad Max was gone and he was with Gina in a video arcade that made him feel like he was in the future, with its incessant neon lights, digitized sound and cartooned images. He remembered shooting a basketball and Gina was laughing – always laughing. They ran around playing games and collecting tickets and laughed more. Some people looked at them strangely, some laughed with them. Then they ran again, with Gina always leading him by the hand. Lights streaked by, faces were a blur and time ticked away, but sometimes it stood still. He smelled ash and dirt, but then he smelled perfume and liquor, and he smelled Gina. And they played and they laughed. He tasted salt on his lips and he tasted water. Then he was on the floor, looking up and up. Through a tunnel he saw Gina, worried, frozen. Then he was up again and they laughed again and they ran and they laughed and they played. In circles they spun, on and on. It was minutes, then hours, then days as they danced and laughed and ran and played. And they were unstoppable and they were forever.

Then Mad Max was there again and they were elsewhere, wading through schools of people swimming in different directions all around them. No one asked him his age or who he was. And even if they had have, he didn't have anything to show them. He was no one. He had no money or paperwork or address or job. He simply was.

They were at a fountain. Water cascaded and shot in the air and colored lights colored the water and the water floated, then it fell, then it danced high above, changing, always changing. Then they were sitting and Tommy became tired and sore and he rested on the seat and Gina and Mad Max talked and talked and wiped their mouths and talked more. Then he had a beer again, but it was good. It was so cold. He needed it cold. It rushed down his throat and cool his chest. It cooled his stomach and even his head.

Then there was a shadow. He felt it more than he saw it. It covered him and it covered Mad Max, but it didn't seem to cover Gina. There was a sinking feeling in Tommy's stomach. Some men approached. He'd never seen them before. There was one who stood to the front. Others were behind him, but their faces were obscured in the fog, in the shadow and the haze. The man stood over Gina and talked, but Tommy couldn't understand them. She smiled slightly and her face was bright and happy. But Mad Max was dark and quiet. He looked to Tommy and they didn't speak, but he knew there was trouble.

The man was young and tall and thin, and now he was looking at Tommy and sneering. He was speaking to Gina but looking at Tommy. His face was pretty but his expression was ugly and hate-filled and vile. Then Tommy was up and he was speaking and he was walking away. He felt rage and anger and jealousy. He didn't even know why, but it was all wrong – the man was wrong.

Tommy threw the beer over his shoulder and he heard the glass shatter and tumble across the floor behind him as he walked away. The sea of people parted before him and he left the bar into the crowded walkway. Then he was turning around and the man was facing him and yelling. The words were not clear, so he had to focus and they began to form on his lips.

"...you think you are, you dirty wetback piece of crap? I should smash one of those glasses over your stinking head to teach you a damn lesson!"

Then Gina was between them. "Stop it, Bron, leave him alone."

"Yeah, I know you – another roach sneaking over here to take our money to fight us as bred dogs. Stay on your side of the city."

Then Gina was pressing Tommy to walk away.

"Tommy? His name ain't Tommy," said the man. "It's Diego or Miguel or something. Think you can use one of our names, then come on over and take over our country and our girls?"

Then Mad Max was there between them and pushing the man away and they were yelling and calling at each other, too. They pushed and pulled each other and Gina was knocked down. Then Tommy was among them and angry and proud and aggressive, and there were other men grabbing and pushing and yelling everywhere. Then it was over and men in black uniforms were there.

"Yeah, we'll meet, don't worry about that," cried Bron. "We'll meet soon enough, dog."

But Tommy wasn't scared, and he stared at him and gritted his teeth like he _was_ a dog. Gina pulled hard at Tommy's arm, but he resisted. Adrenaline surged through his body and his fists clenched together tightly. Then Mad Max grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and the three of them made a quick exit.

"Damn it, Tommy," Gina said, punching him in the arm as they rushed away. "You're so unpredictable."

"Wasn't my fault," he said as the world became clearer.

"Why did you do that? We were only talking," she said, shaking her head as they walked. "You can't do that."

"He started it," said Tommy.

"Started what?" she asked. "Because he looked at you?"

Tommy stopped walking and thought about it. He didn't even know what had happened. Gina grabbed him by both of his shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "I never know what you're thinking in there," she said. Then she kissed him. His heart raced and a prickling heat covered his body. Everything started to swirl and he changed from racing to calm and relaxed. He was swimming again and the world was swirling in electro green and cherry red and mountain majesty purple.

"C'mon, Tommy Knuckles," Max said. "We've gotta get out of here."

"Who was that guy, anyway?" asked Tommy as they started walking again.

"That's Bron. He's a fighter," said Max. "You could almost take him if you put on a few pounds."

Gina looked surprised. "Maybe," she said. "He's the LVCF champ."

"You could take him, Tommy," Max said. "You could make lightweight, no probs. Miguel was setting you up for a featherweight match, but we should tell him to bump you up a division. You're putting on weight all the time anyway."

"I guess."

Max started talking rapidly. "Nah, this is good, mate, this is good. He'll have to fight you if you ask now or he'll look scared. A victory against Bron would put you right up there. This could be real good. This could be your ticket, Tommy Knuckles."

Tommy held his hand steady and Max sat in front of him, wrapping it neatly and tightly. "My big bro taught me how to do this," said Max. "I have been doing it my whole life. I could do it with my eyes closed. The trick is to get the perfect balance between tight and strong, but with that bit of flex still in there – but not too much. He used to make me do it over and over again. If I didn't do one fold exactly right, he'd make me unfold the entire thing and start from scratch. He said too much tape was cheating. He said it was the cheap and easy way."

There were lots of people in the dressing room for his first fight in the LVCF. It wasn't as crowded and small as the dresser back home, but there were still a few fighters to each room with their own team. Gina sat next to Tommy on the bench, looking untypically nervous, and Thiago stood over them, watching Max wrap his hands closely. Though Bron accepted Tommy's challenge, Las Vegas Cage Fighting had told them he wasn't experienced enough to get a shot at their champion. If he notched a couple of wins on his belt, they said they would talk again.

"Please, Tommy," said Thiago. "Use your head. Remember your takedown defense – remember your range. We don't know much about this guy. He only came in from Canada a week ago. He is more of a kickboxer, so you might not have too much trouble in the grapple, but that doesn't mean the grapple isn't going to come. Please Tommy, remember, this isn't a boxing match."

Tommy breathed. Then a laugh came from the doorway and Miguel walked through. Tommy looked his way, but Miguel walked over to another fighter in the other corner.

"Stay focused," said Thiago.

Max finished up one hand and grabbed the other, beginning his methodical and careful ritual again. It was the most focused and serious Tommy had ever seen him.

"Well, well," said Miguel when he did make his way over. "The Son of Lefty, here in Vegas! It is a great thing, no? Ha, ha! Tommy Knuckles, you make me proud out there, my boy." Tommy told him he'd try. "Yes, you will win this one, no?" Miguel said in a softer voice as he raised his eyebrows. "We brought you all the way from Mexico, trained you for a long time, Tommy. You will win, yes?" Tommy looked at Max, who gave him a disconcerting look. "It's okay!" Miguel erupted again and leaned over and gave him a heavy pat. "Ha, ha! You are in good shape! Lots of Thai food, no? Ha, ha! You beat this guy and you will get your shot at Bron in no time."

The fight couldn't have gone better. Much like Tommy's other fights, it was pretty much over before it started. He was stunned for the first minute as the crowd of a couple of thousand froze him near solid. Luckily, his opponent obviously hadn't had much experience in front of a large crowd either and seemed even more rigid and distracted. The cage was bigger and stronger than the one back at the gym. The lights lit up the stage bright and made him feel like he was spinning in a microwave, with everyone waiting on the outside for their meal. Finally, Tommy came to his senses and the fight was over as the dazed Canadian fell to Tommy's brutal right hand.

Tommy was surprised to see Thiago laughing as he walked out of the cage. "No jiu-jitsu?" he said, still laughing to himself. "No need, huh?"

They passed Miguel on the way back to the locker room, who gave him a big smile. Then Max cut his tape and unwrapped his hands almost as carefully as he'd put them together. "Miguel won't give you any money yet," Max told him. "You'll need to pay off what you've cost them. But don't worry, if you keep performing that way, you will be making more money than you will know what to do with."

#

NINE

They had to wait in the locker room for several hours so all of the other guys from the gym could have their fights. Only once everyone had finished for the day did they walk out to the bus to ride back to the suburbs. Tommy walked proudly through the arena parking lot with Gina on his arm. For once he wasn't thinking about the past or the future, he was happy. The night air was cool and sharp and he felt full of life. Then he heard someone call to Gina. As the both of them turned around, they saw Bron and his team walking through the lot back toward the arena. The champ looked different than what Tommy had remembered. He was tall and skinny and young, but not as young as Tommy. He didn't seem nearly as evil and angry as he'd been that night at the casino, either. Tommy realized he was just another fighter. But as they came closer, the champ sneered at him and spat on the ground. He faked a lunge and Tommy flinched ever so slightly and was immediately embarrassed when his friends laughed.

"Anyone can crush a can like the one you fought," Bron said as his team brushed by. Gina rolled her eyes and pulled Tommy back toward the bus. "Better be careful, Gina! Soon you'll be walking around with a little brown baby!" Bron cried out before turning his back on them.

"What a pig," she said as she stepped on the bus. Tommy slumped down in his seat, all the happiness sucked out of him. "Don't worry about that jerk, Tommy," she said. But, as usual, he simply gave her a thin smile and nodded.

Thiago shook him from his sleep early in the morning. "C'mon Tommy, we need to get straight back to it."

"Huh?" Tommy said through blurry eyes. "I just fought!"

"It wasn't much of a fight," he said quietly. "Miguel has already found you another one. We don't have much time. You're certainly not injured, but you are going up against Chip Hoopman. He's a top grappler, so you are going to have to practice hard."

"Chip Hoopman?"

"Yep. The guys at LVCF were impressed by your showing. They said that if you beat Chip, and Bron agrees, you will get an early shot at the title."

"What? Already?"

"There aren't many lightweights around right now. UCF takes them all. Besides, Bron already told them he wants to fight you, so you need to get past Chip."

It seemed too much, too soon, but Tommy realized it was what he needed. After leaving the arena he had been down and depressed again, missing home and feeling pointless. But this was perfect.

"That's not all," said Thiago. "As I said, Ultimate Cage Fighting is taking lots of lightweights. Bron is already on their radar. They will be watching him closely. One more title defense and he probably has his ride to the big leagues. That's probably why he's happy to fight you as well. It's not because he has this little grudge, I'd say he figures it's an easy win to get his ticket." Tommy lay there, trying to take it all in. "So, if you can manage to beat him..."

"I get his ticket."

Again, Max wrapped his hands carefully, layer by layer, paying close attention, never letting the wrapping slack or fold over even a touch. Gina also sat next to him again and Thiago stood talking to Miguel. They had all worked hard with Tommy, training him even harder than before, but trying not to overexert him for his fight. But they were happy. Thiago was, and Miguel was, and even Tommy was. He breathed strong and confident. A fire crackled inside that he hadn't felt leading up to a fight before. It was the goal. He had a strong, feasible goal in sight. It wasn't shooting wildly for a vague target somewhere in the misty future. Now he knew what he had to do. Chip Hoopman was merely the hurdle to where he needed to be.

The crowd gave him a slight cheer as he emerged from the back, obviously remembering his devastating knockout a fortnight before. Chip was already in the cage when Tommy arrived. He was short and stocky and had a blonde mohawk curving around his big head. He looked confident. But Tommy was more confident. He knew he had this. As usual, it was only a matter of time. Chip was known for his jiu-jitsu, but his chin wasn't so strong. It would only take a touch of Tommy's knuckles to finish him off.

The ref waved them on and Tommy came in like a hurricane, firing off shots as Chip met him in the middle. Tommy swung high with his right again and again and again. Then he circled left and fired off low to the body, pounding away as if he was in a boxing ring. Chip crouched low and dove in for Tommy's legs for a takedown, but Tommy was too fast and ducked back quickly, even managing to throw in an uppercut as his opponent dove in.

"Good, Tommy!" Thiago yelled cageside. "But don't box him. Don't box him!"

Tommy backed off, forcing Chip to his feet, and then engaged again. This time he used his combos: left and right, right and left, left, left, right, then he even threw in a left kick that had Chip stumble to one side and had the crowd cheering.

"Yes!" cried Thiago. "Yes! That is it! That is it! You are a fighter! Fight him!"

Tommy felt goosebumps as he chased down his foe. He _was_ a fighter. He felt it. He wasn't closed in and insular behind his two hands. He felt his body, strong and lean – all of it was a weapon.

Chip tried to charge, but Tommy weaved to the side and clipped him on the way with his right. It left him with his back close to the cage though and his opponent rushed him, pushing him hard against the mesh. There, Tommy was helpless to the knees that dug into his thighs and stomach. Then Chip reached up with both of his hands to catch Tommy in a clinch and pull him down to one of those hard knees. But as he pulled down, Tommy shot in a short and tight uppercut under the chin that rocked Chip for a second. It was enough for Tommy to grab the advantage and he spun his opponent around so that he was up against the fence instead. Chip reacted with a sharp elbow that glanced Tommy on the cheek. He managed to shrug it off and replied with a three-punch combo that had Chip covering up. Tommy saw the opening and secured the clinch himself. Grabbing behind the opponent's head, he pulled him down and let go with his knee, striking again and again. Chip was hit hard with the first knee, but did well defending himself and eventually managed to push Tommy away hard enough to get a gap. As he came forward again, Tommy faked with his dangerous right, and when Chip covered up, Tommy let fly with his left kick again, cracking him on the other side of the head and toppling his opponent to the floor as the round bell sounded and the crowd rose to their feet.

Max gave him water in the corner and Thiago spoke. "Tommy, you are doing well. Stick to it, but don't get messy. Keep mixing it up. He was expecting boxing, but you showed him something different – you need to keep that up. Now he will be expecting that left kick again, so give him something else, okay?"

Chip didn't look as confident coming into the next round, which only spurred Tommy on. His opponent circled around in a low stance, making it obvious to Tommy that he was going to be looking to take the fight to the ground. Tommy circled the opposite way, making his opponent chase him. He knew he would shoot in for takedown after a fake, so Tommy waited, letting Chip make his own mistakes. They circled again, both reluctant to engage, but finally Chip became restless and lunged ahead, sliding his lead foot forward and striking wide with an overhead left. Tommy swayed to one side to dodge the strike and, as he'd predicted, Chip ducked in low and tried for a double-leg takedown, clawing for Tommy as he dove in, but Tommy casually stepped back to safety and his opponent belly-flopped to the canvas.

Again, Tommy let Chip stand up. But the second he was on his feet, Tommy was on him, punching from every angle. His opponent was in trouble and although he covered well, even the crowd could see he was in distress and they grew louder and louder in anticipation of the finish. Tommy swung wide with his left, but Chip weaved back and grabbed at Tommy desperately, looking for the clinch around his neck again. Tommy was ready to block the knees, but they never came, and suddenly he was falling forward.

Chip had pulled guard. He'd grabbed Tommy behind the neck, lifted himself off the floor and wrapped his legs around Tommy's midsection, pulling him back toward the floor. Chip landed with a heavy thud on his back with Tommy falling on top of him. It was a desperate and dangerous move for Chip, as Tommy was now on top of him on the ground, but now he had Tommy tight between his thighs.

It took Tommy a second to realize where he was before he pushed hard with his hands against Chip's chest to prop himself up. He managed to rise up and unload a punch from the top, driving down with his right while propping himself up with his left. Chip moved his head as best he could, but Tommy caught him here and there. Then Tommy realized his arm was caught, but it was too late. Chip had grabbed Tommy's left arm with both of his own hands and pulled it down to his chest. Tommy tried to push off, but Chip had him and pivoted with his hip, sending his whole body out to the side, and Tommy felt his opponent's leg over his face. As he struggled, he found himself face down with his arm caught between Chip's legs, and before he could figure how to get himself out of the mess, he was slapping the canvas in agony as the armbar threatened to break his elbow. Then the pain in his arm was gone.

Tommy stood slumped up against the bathroom wall with his face buried in his good arm. The other hung at his side as he let the shower drown him in his own misery. The rooms were empty and quiet except for a few movements that echoed through the empty arena every now and then. Tommy blew out hard, clearing the water away from his mouth. The streams kept coming hard, but he didn't move. Everything seemed so dark again. As soon as he'd begun to care and believe that it was really happening, it all came down fast. The pain wasn't in his arm; it was everywhere. His mind was swallowed and consumed. There was nothing else.

When he left the cage and walked back to the dressing room there had been many words and faces, but it was all a smear. How could this happen? Tommy asked himself over and over again. He knew he was better than Chip Hoopman. He was stronger and fitter and had trained harder. He _knew_ he was better. He almost had it in his hand. It was right there, and then it wasn't. It was not how it was supposed to go. All of the training and traveling and pain and hope and sacrifice. It was gone.

"Tommy," a low voice finally interrupted his thoughts. It was Thiago. "We have to go."

Gina tried to comfort and reassure him on the ride home, but Tommy couldn't hear her. He didn't speak to anyone.

Thiago was standing over him when he woke the next day. "C'mon, Tommy, let's go."

Tommy turned over.

"Tommy, listen to me. There is a time for this, but it's not now."

"Leave me alone."

"You know I won't. C'mon."

"Leave me alone. For once, let me sleep."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Let's move."

Tommy sat up in his bed. "Sorry for myself? Is that so bad? Is that unfair? I lost it. I lost it all."

"You didn't lose it all," Thiago told him.

"I did. You know I did."

"Well, you didn't lose me. Let's get back to work."

Tommy shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know if I can do it anymore, Thiago. It was all a waste. I came all the way here and trained so hard. So hard. And what did I get in the end?"

"It's not the end yet."

They trained, but not hard. Tommy hadn't been so weak and exhausted since that first day at the gym with Sonny back in Mexico. He remembered how hot his lungs had burned and his heart had beat so hard and loud he thought he'd collapse and die at any moment. He wondered if he should go back. America was nothing like he'd imagined. He wanted to return a real fighter. A champion. When he returned he wanted to be Tommy Knuckles. Not Lefty's Son. Tommy Knuckles: the new Condor. Now he would return in shame, his tail between his legs.

But they trained on, and in the following days Thiago continued to bug him and wake him up and push him. But Tommy didn't change. Everything he did was without heart and passion. He was weak and lazy. He was slow and soft. Often Tommy would saunter off to bed during the day. Not because he was exhausted from training like his early days in Vegas, but because he couldn't face the world. Life. He knew now he had to go back. It didn't matter if he returned a failure. It was where he belonged.

Then Thiago was standing above him again. "Let's move, Tommy."

Tommy sighed hard. "Can't you leave me alone?"

"No."

"Why? I don't see you waking up the other guys every morning. Why are you always on my back? Leave me alone."

"Maybe I don't like you."

"Huh?"

"Maybe I like to see you suffer."

Tommy rolled his eyes and turned over in the bed, so Thiago sat down next to him. "I was younger than you when I came to America. It was different back then. I was so scared, you wouldn't believe."

Tommy turned back over. "When you came from Brazil?"

"That's right. My uncle was living in Los Angeles teaching jiu-jitsu out of his garage. I was getting into trouble back home. There are many gangs in Rio...there are lots of opportunities for a young mind to find trouble – and I was finding plenty of it. So, my uncle told my father that I could come and work for him, teaching jiu-jitsu and living with him in California. You are lucky – when I came here I didn't know any English at all. I had to teach with actions and pointing. But it was good. We had no money and only a little food, but I loved it in California, and more and more people started to hear about Brazilian jiu-jitsu, so eventually we had to get more and more people to teach it. Many of the different martial artists in America were upset that we were the new flavor in town, so they used to come and challenge us. I would beat them all. I was only young, but it was easy. None of them knew our style. They would come with their karate and I would take them down and choke them out. It was amazing. It was like walking into an ancient Amazon tribe with a handgun. I began to believe I was unstoppable. It was around this time that MMA started to happen in America. Ultimate Cage Fighting was still only a small company and the fights were barely legal. It was rough back then, there were no rules."

"Did you ever fight?" asked Tommy.

"Sure. As I said, I thought I was unstoppable. So, when UCF had a show in California, I put my hand up and they selected me to try out. This was before they had all the small feeder leagues, so everyone was tested through tournaments and demos. I beat everyone they put against me in the trials, so they put me in their next show. I went in there with nothing but jiu-jitsu. Brazilians had done it before, so I figured I could do it too."

"So, you were a real UCF fighter?"

"No. I only fought that one night. I was foolish. I thought I could walk in with my jiu-jitsu and that I would submit everyone that came at me, like back in my uncle's garage. But they had already learned about jiu-jitsu and they were strong and smart. They were real fighters. I was matched against a big guy from Croatia. A kickboxer. I tried to take him down straight away, but he sprawled. I couldn't get him down. He was so strong. He kicked me so hard to the head that when I blocked it, it broke my arm."

"And that was it?"

"Pretty much. But I was never a fighter. I've been training my whole life, but I'm not made for the ring or the cage. Not like you, Tommy. You are a fighter."

"I was."

"When that Croatian beat me, I thought it was the end of the world. My arm was useless for a long time. I was crushed. I wanted to go back to Brazil and feel sorry for myself. But why would I? Was I better off there? Was I a good fighter back home? Did I have a better life and a better future? Was the whole reason I was here to become a fighter? No. I am here to live my life and this is where my life is now, this is where I was meant to be."

"I want to go back to Mexico."

"I know. But why? What is there, Tommy? What was so good there? Why did you come here? Did you leave so much behind? Was life so good there before you left? Is all you have gained fight training?"

Tommy tried to consider what Thiago was saying.

"When you first came here, you were not happy. I do not believe that America made you unhappy. You looked like you had been unhappy for a long time. But I have seen you happy here."

"Sometimes," Tommy conceded.

"Life is only ever happy sometimes," said Thiago. "Everyone, everywhere...and only if they are blessed. What about Gina? What about your friends? Did you have them before?"

"No."

"I will not make you train today, Tommy. But you reflect on your life. You remember how your life was before, and how it is now. You come and tell me if all of this was a waste. If it was, then maybe you _should_ go home. If not, then we have some training to do."

With that, Thiago stood up and left him alone. He was right, of course. Tommy knew there wasn't anything to go back to. He had nothing at home. He lived a miserable existence. He'd had no purpose until he'd begun fighting.

Then Gina came walking in. He hadn't seen her much since the fight. He'd barely said a word to her, so she gave him his space, but now she was back, sitting where Thiago had been only minutes before. The two of them looked at each other for a few moments, and then Gina ripped the pillow from under his head and started hitting him with it.

"Hey!" Tommy cried, trying to grab it off her.

"Who do you think you are, Tommy Knuckles?" she said sternly. "You think it's all about you!"

He grabbed hold of the pillow, trying to take it, but she gave him a stern face and refused to give it up. "What do you think you are going to do?" she said stubbornly, pulling the pillow away. "I'm twice the grappler you are."

"Get out of here," he said.

"You get out! You quitter! I thought you were more, Tommy. I thought you had something." Then she hit him even harder.

He finally got a good grip on the pillow and pulled it free from her grip, sending it sailing across the room.

"Who do you think you are, anyway?" she yelped and started hitting him with her hands.

"You're crazy!"

" _You're_ crazy!" she spat back.

He eventually pushed through her slaps and grabbed her tight, pulling her close and holding her near. Then she started laughing. And so did he.

#

TEN

The wailing was loud. It was hard to focus on anything. Everyone and everything seemed to be moving and living on autopilot. The thunderclouds were racing in around them and although the rain didn't fall, it threatened to at every turn. As Tommy stood in the graveyard, with people milling all around him, flashes of blood and panic coursed through his mind.

Then he was in his bedroom. He'd gone to bed hours before, but he couldn't get to sleep. Then there was noise all around. Banging at the door, cars in the street, yelling and panic. His mother was screaming and crying and yelling. Tommy opened the door and all he saw was blood. Uncle Hector was by the door on his knees, blood on his hands, on his clothes. His mother was on her knees and she was hitting Hector and screaming from deep inside. There was something between them on the floor – lifeless and limp, a pile of skin and bone. And blood. It was all blood. Then there were other men in the house.

"Mama!" Tommy heard himself cry. But she didn't hear him, so he yelled again, but there was nothing. Then a man was there. Tommy didn't know him, but he looked like Sonny, and the man forced him back in his room and shut the door.

He was in the graveyard again and his mother was still wailing. But as they lowered the dark brown coffin into the earth, the clouds slowly parted above and the rain didn't come. Instead, the sun shone and Tommy looked up at the sky and basked in its warmth. The darkness evaporated and he held his arms out wide, drinking in the rays. And he smiled.

Tommy didn't step straight back onto the mats when he woke the next day, but he did slowly make his way back into his full-time schedule. Thiago trained him hard and relentlessly. He didn't let Tommy rest for a moment. There was no time to ponder the past anymore. It was training, always.

Then, a few weeks later, Miguel finally came back into the gym. Tommy was on the floor rolling with Max, and the stern look on Miguel's face stopped them immediately. He knew it could be the end. Miguel had paid for everything, taken care of all of his needs and all Tommy was supposed to do was win his fights. He knew it was bad, but he was ready and he knew he could face him.

It was forever until Miguel stopped at the end of the mat and spoke with Thiago in hushed tones. Every few seconds one of them would look over and say something to each other, but he had no idea what it was.

"Tommy," Thiago eventually called. Max patted him on the back as he stood up from the mat and walked over to them in his sweaty gi.

"Tommy, my boy," Miguel said in an uncharacteristically low voice. "How's your arm?"

"It's fine."

"You sure? Chip wrenched on it pretty hard, no?"

"It's fine – one hundred percent."

"Ha, ha! You're a tough one, no? Lefty's son, no doubt about it. Well, I hope it _is_ one hundred percent, because you will need all your strength to take on the champ, no?"

Tommy was stunned. "Wait, what?"

"Ha, ha! Yes, yes. The champ," laughed Miguel. "Chip Hoopman. He is injured, no? He will be out for a long time with a bad knee like that. Chip is out – Tommy Knuckles is in!"

Tommy looked at Thiago, who gave him a proud nod.

"You don't have long, though. Yes, yes, they needed someone quick. I told them Tommy Knuckles – and the champ said, yes, Tommy Knuckles!"

Tommy couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wasn't going to waste a second chance, so he began to train with everything he had. He listened to Thiago. He knew he needed more than his boxing. This time he wanted to be smart. He wanted everything he could possibly get.

They watched videos of Bron's fights and studied his style. They looked for his weaknesses and his telltale moves. Every time Tommy was on the mats or up in the ring he was fighting Bron. Always the champion was in front of him, taunting and pushing, urging him on. But Thiago had told him not to give in to the fury and the passion, not yet. This time he was going to fight smart.

For the first time in his life, Tommy had to watch what he ate. After putting on the extra weight for his first couple of fights at lightweight, he had struggled to get back to his normal size after his loss. So, sitting at Nong Nong's with Gina, he was devastated to see only a half serving of krapau fried rice with shrimp in front of him.

"After your fight you can eat whatever you want," she told him.

"I guess," he said, and dug in.

"Besides, aren't you sick of eating that every other day?"

"Nohw!" he blurted with his mouth still full.

Gina laughed and started into her own krapau fried rice with shrimp. Tommy had managed to convince almost everyone at the gym that it was the only dish worth eating at the Thai restaurant. He watched Gina brush her hair out of her eyes and tackle the meal like a grown man. He often laughed to himself at the perfect contradiction that she was.

"Whabt ?" Gina said with her own mouth full.

This time Tommy laughed out loud. He thought again how lucky he was that a pretty girl like Gina would even waste her time eating a meal in a dive like Nong Nong's with him. But here they were. Tommy thought he must have been crazy to consider it was a good idea to return home.

"I've never been to Mexico," she said, as if reading his mind.

"I've never been to California."

"Are you still thinking about going home?" she said, now looking concerned.

"Maybe..." said Tommy.

"Oh," said Gina, and slowly returned to her food.

"...if you came."

She put her fork down and smiled at him. "You know, California is on the way to Mexico."

It was dark when they left the restaurant, but Tommy could see there were three men standing outside of the gym as they approached. He saw straight away that one of them was Thiago, because he still wore his gi. As they came closer he realized that Miguel was also there, and then it dawned on him who the other person was. He seemed to be from another life. It was Sonny.

Tommy hugged him. "What are you doing here?" he asked as he let go.

"Well, I heard my star has a shot at the local title. You didn't think I'd let you take _all_ the glory, right?"

Tommy's smile faded. "What are you doing in America, though? How did you get here? Isn't it risky?"

Sonny shrugged. "No more risky than any other day. Don't worry, Miguel got me here, no problems."

"Yes, yes, this is going to be good, no?" Miguel bellowed. "Ha, ha! Tommy Knuckles – your time has come!"

"Tommy Knuckles, huh?" said Sonny, and Tommy smirked.

"Okay...I guess we can't really call you Righty, can we?"

The reinvigoration Tommy had felt when he found out about his second chance at the title was nothing compared to what Sonny gave him. He was alive and electric. They had to force him to slow down at training to prevent injury. There was no stopping him now – he was stronger than ever. With Gina, Max, Thiago and Sonny all focusing on Tommy's game full time, he had himself a true fight team to call his own. They all worked around the clock on the same project. The title wasn't only Tommy's for the taking, it was all of theirs. They all wanted it as much as he did.

Although it was a small room, this time Tommy and his team had a dresser to themselves. Max had already wrapped his hands and now they were all quiet, waiting for the time to pass. Tommy sat facing the floor with his elbows on his knees, concentrating on his breathing, trying to let it all go and not think too far ahead.

Sonny came and sat next to him. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready."

"Good," Sonny said. "This is your time, Tommy. This is it. I know you thought it was something back in Mexico. That was nothing. That wasn't even the beginning. This is your life now, Tommy – this is it. This is where it starts. Right here, tonight – this is what you were made for." Tommy took it in, nodding his head and breathing hard. "Do you remember what we used to talk about? This is the time, Tommy. You were born a fighter. You didn't choose this – this is your destiny, and it always was. This is the right place and the right time. Bron has had his time. Now it's yours. It was all made for now. Remember Gristle, remember your past." Tommy remembered. He remembered the ogre beating and cursing him, degrading and abusing his life. "It was hard, but it was meant to be, Tommy. Can you see? Can you see now?"

"Yes," croaked Tommy and a tear appeared in his eye.

"It was all for you, Tommy. Your mother...and your father. All they battled through, it was all for right now. I know you're angry with him, Tommy. I know. You don't have to say it. We all know. That's why your mother is so angry with him. She's not angry for her, Tommy, she's angry for you. He gave up the fight, Tommy." He still faced the floor and breathed even harder as the tears rolled. "He gave in to his demons!" Sonny suddenly shouted. "He was too weak! He gave in! He was _not_ a fighter, Tommy. _You_ are the fighter! _You_ are the one! There is no shadow for you. You prove your worth. You show us all, Tommy Knuckles – you show us!"

"Yes!" cried Max.

Tommy looked up and saw they were all standing in a semi-circle around him. He saw Gina crying and Max bouncing where he stood.

"This is it!" Sonny started up again, slamming his hand into a locker door. "You don't let them take it away from you! You are strong. You will not give it away for free anymore! Remember? Do you remember, Tommy? Not anymore. You do _not_ give it away anymore. If they want it, they must earn it! Gristle can't take it from you – your father cannot take it from you! You're not Son of Lefty. You are Tommy Knuckles. You are Tommy Knuckles!" Then, for the first time in his life, he stood with true pride. "Yes!" cried Sonny. "Yes! This is it, Tommy. You've already won. You're a fighter. I told you – I told you! You've already won."

Mariachi music played in the arena as they emerged from behind the curtain and into the crowd. Max laughed loud. "I love it, Tommy. I love it!"

He became light and weightless. He felt warmth and happiness. Thiago patted him on the back as he entered the cage. Then he was alone under the lights.

The crowd erupted in cheer as Bron's song thundered through the arena. He didn't even look at Tommy when he entered the cage. He walked around the edge, waving to the crowd – it was as if Tommy didn't exist. Even when they met in the middle to touch gloves, the champion turned his back.

Although he was confident, when the bell rang and the fight started, Tommy found himself on the back foot. Bron stalked him around the cage, not pushing hard or fast, but always pushing forward and forward. His arms were high like a Thai fighter and his stare pierced straight through Tommy. On and on they circled around the cage, neither fighter willing to commit, but Bron obviously being the aggressor. The sound from the crowd showed they were becoming restless, but Tommy didn't want to waste his chance. He would wait. As long as he had to, he would wait.

Finally, the champion became impatient and threw out a jab, then another. Tommy was too far away to be in any danger, but he could tell Bron was sizing him up. Just as he started to get aggressive, Tommy decided to fire. He leaped forward with a left and a wide right that pushed Bron back, and as the champ readied himself for more boxing, Tommy backed off again.

Bron followed him, then Tommy skipped his legs back and forward like he was going to kick, which surprised Bron, but he realized it was a fake, so he bought his hands up to his head to guard the punches. Tommy backed off again and started to dance to the right, then the left, keeping himself unpredictable. As Bron came in again, Tommy kicked his leg, which startled Bron, so Tommy kicked the other. Then he stepped back again, taking wide arcs to the side, turning the fight around the cage. But Bron wasn't deterred. He kept coming. He dashed forward and punched at Tommy, but Tommy managed to block most of it and threw a knee up that glanced off the champs chin.

Tommy thought he wobbled him and came in strong with his fists. But it was all show. Bron stepped back and as Tommy came in exactly as expected, the champ let fly with a swooping overhand right that caught Tommy cleanly on the left temple, and sent him straight to the floor as his legs gave out underneath him.

Tommy scooted back on his butt when Bron dove like a hungry animal, letting go with flurries of punches and putting Tommy flat on his back. Tommy rolled over and got to his hands and knees, clawing desperately to escape, but the champ leaped up and around to Tommy's front, unloading punches to the side of the head. Tommy tried to roll to his left, but the champ was there, then to his right, but Bron's punches were everywhere. In a burst of energy, Tommy pushed with all of his strength and Bron lost his hold and Tommy sprang to his feet. It was only for a fleeting second though, as the champ's hands came in like lightning, exploding from the floor, and Tommy was falling backward. He stumbled and stumbled, but his feet wouldn't do what he wanted. Then he was flat on his back again and the champ was all over him.

The punches rained down in a furious storm of pain. The darkness came over him and he saw Gristle's gnarled and distorted face over him, punishing and taunting, grinding his bones and eating his blood. Lightning scored the sky and they were in the vacant lot, but he could still hear the crowd in the distance. The energy was electric. But Gristle was so strong and so big. He worked away at Tommy, taking everything he had. But the crowd cheered on. His anger was piercing and consuming. Then Tommy thought he saw his father's face above him, angry and mean. He was strong, so strong. Tommy tried to fight and move, but he was paralyzed. His arms were heavy and his breath wouldn't come fast enough. A storm rose up around them, gusting and roaring violently. As the punches continued to come and come, he had the sensation that he was falling. Down and down he fell, but his father was still over him, taking his strength and will. The further they fell, the darker it grew, and before long there was nothing else but them. But still he couldn't fight back. He was helpless and lost.

Then Tommy heard a single voice in the darkness of the storm. It was barely a whisper in the fury. It was Sonny. "Don't let him take it from you, Tommy! Dammit, Tommy! Not this time. They can't take it from you, anymore. You will _not_ give it away for free – you will _not_!"

Tommy didn't know if it was truly Sonny speaking or if it was his memory. But he continued to fight. He moved and stretched and wriggled away from the blows as they came down and he could see Lefty getting angry and frustrated, but Tommy wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He kept on fighting, refusing to give up. Then, like a thunderclap – _BANG!_ – he was back in the arena. He could smell it and hear the crowd, and the lights were over him like the midday sun and his senses were on fire. Gristle was gone and his father was gone, but the lightweight champion wasn't giving him an inch. Tommy covered his head and moved and moved, but he could not find an opening. But he kept pushing and pushing, looking for a gap.

He finally managed to force a knee in between them and pushed with all of his might. Bron gave him an inch and Tommy snaked his leg out and managed to get his foot onto the champ's chest. He pushed up, but he didn't have the strength. But then, the champ was standing up. Tommy didn't know what was happening. Then he thought the bell must have rung. But there was no sound and no ref and the crowd still cheered. He looked up and saw Bron was offering to fight on their feet. Tommy didn't need to be asked twice and rolled forward to shoot up, but as he was in motion it dawned on him that it was a trap. Bron was diving forward with a huge right hand swinging in. He could see it coming and knew it could signal the end, but it was too late. Tommy took the fist on his jaw and dropped back to the floor again. But as his shoulders hit the canvas, Tommy brought his leg up and caught the champ on the chin with an up-kick as he dove in.

Then Bron was gone and Tommy staggered back to his feet, and the crowd roared. Bron was back on him quick though, flying through the air. But Tommy had pure focus. It was slow motion. He knew what was going to happen before it did.

As Bron roared forward, Tommy let go with his right uppercut and broke the champs jaw. He didn't follow with one of his quick combos or a duck and move. He let his right fire again and hit the target. Then he squeezed the trigger again and again and again. There was no style, no finesse. It was all Tommy had. Then he was falling forward, landing on a soft body. He sensed darkness coming again, but he had nothing left.

Someone was grabbing at him and rolling him to the side. The world spun around in a daze as he was put on his back. He looked up and saw the ref waving his hands. It was over. Tommy wasn't sure if he won or lost or if it was the end of the round. But it was over for him. He had nothing.

Then he saw Max and he saw Thiago and then he saw Sonny. They were happy and joyful and laughing. There were people all around and he was being pulled to his feet. He saw Bron on the floor out cold. Max hugged him and shook him. Thiago patted him on the back and was laughing. Sonny pulled him in close and squeezed but didn't say anything. It was all confusion. Then they were putting the belt on him and pictures were taken and there were handshakes and laughing and happiness.

As they left the cage, Tommy looked for Gina, but there were too many people everywhere, crowding from all around.

Miguel was standing in the dressing room as they entered, a big, stretched smile on his face. "You really did it this time, Tommy Knuckles. Ha, ha! Yes, yes, you really came through. Look at that belt. It's your color, no?" Tommy sat down on a chair and exhaled. He took the belt from off his shoulder and studied it. _Las Vegas Cage Fighting Lightweight Champion_. "You earned it this time. Yes, yes, you earned this one." Tommy looked up to see Miguel handing him a fat envelope. "You came through for me, I came through for you, no?" Tommy thanked him and took the heavy envelope from his hands. Miguel patted him on the shoulder and went to walk out, but he turned back. "I am thinking you will want to go back with Sonny, no?"

Tommy looked startled. "Back home?"

"Sure," said Miguel. "I will take care of it. But not for long, yes? No, no. We need you back here, Tommy Knuckles, the lightweight champion. Yes, yes, UCF will be eager to meet you. Yes, yes, very eager. This is only the beginning for you!" With that, he spun on his heels and left the room, his booming laugh echoing down the hallway.

Thiago and Sonny picked up the sacks of gear and headed for the door. "We will get everything together, Tommy," said Thiago. "You sit there and relax...champ."

Tommy sat back heavily in his chair as they left. He tried to run through what had happened in the fight, but it was all a blur of images and sounds and smells. Bits and pieces. It hadn't even gone a full round, but it had been epic in his mind. He felt aged and wise, like he'd returned from battle. A battle hard won.

"I guess you think you're pretty good or something, huh?" It was Gina. She was propped up against the locker room door.

He looked back at her for a long time. "I'm going back home," he said.

"I know."

"Only for a while," he reassured her.

"I know," she said. "I'm coming with you."

###

# Read on for your free chapters

as the story continues in...

#  
#

Fighting the Forgiven

Tommy Knuckles Trilogy: Book 2

By Jarrah Loh

The story continues as Tommy Knuckles travels to beautiful Brazil in an incredible journey to fight the ghosts of his trainer's past. As secrets are unveiled, he'll discover new friends, amazing adventures, and come face to face with the rival of a lifetime.

# If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review at your favorite retailer.

CLICK TO SELECT YOUR RETAILER

# About the Author

Jarrah Loh is the creator and author of the MMA fiction book series Cageside Chronicles.

He is the editor of Australia's number-one mixed martial arts magazine, Inside MMA (in association with FIGHT! USA) and the editor of the world's leading and longest running kickboxing/Muay Thai magazine, International Kickboxer. He is also the author of the HarperCollins full-color, non-fiction book Ultimate: The Complete Guide to UFC and Mixed Martial Arts.

Connect with Jarrah Loh:

Twitter: twitter.com/jarrahloh

Facebook: facebook.com/jarrahloh

Sign up for updates as new books are released at

www.jarrahloh.com

# Also by the Author

CAGESIDE CHRONICLES

Tommy Knuckles Trilogy

Fighting the Storm

Fighting the Forgiven

Fighting the Shadows

Brothers Trilogy

Side by Side

Head to Head

Back to Back

Ultimate:

The Complete Guide to UFC and Mixed Martial Arts

Published by HarperCollins

All books available at www.jarrahloh.com

#  
#

Fighting the Forgiven

Tommy Knuckles Trilogy: Book 2

By Jarrah Loh

#

ONE

The phone was ringing again. Diego had set it to vibrate, but he could still hear the thing shudder across the kitchen bench. He knew who it was, but he didn't care. He didn't have time for all of that. He didn't have time for all of the business and politics and schedules. His job was to fight and that's exactly what he planned on doing. He'd let the managers do the managing and the fighters do the fighting. Finally the phone stopped its incessant dance and Diego's mind snapped back to his training.

His apartment was only small, but it was all he needed. There was no furniture or television or distractions in the living room. There were only weights and sand bags and a large grappling dummy that resembled an archaic robot wrapped in black duct tape. Diego had made the dummy himself after failing to find something that he thought would cater to all his needs. He'd created it late one night like Dr. Frankenstein, fashioning it together with lengths of pool foam, some old pillows, a mop, several feet of wire and about a mile of tape. And it was up next.

Diego dropped the kettlebell to the floor and grabbed the dummy by one of its fat arms and dragged it to the middle of the carpet. For a moment he stood over it, looking out the window into the nothingness. The little apartment was on the outskirts of Las Vegas and even though the real estate agent told him it was an overpriced dump, Diego knew it was perfect. There was nothing out that window. Nothing but dirt and desert. And since he was about the only person who seemed to be out here, it was his dirt and desert. The rare few times he did leave was only to get food or to train with living sparring partners at one of the many and diverse gyms in the city. He often thought that if his dummy was a little smarter, he wouldn't even need to do that.

The single thing that could bother him out here was that damn phone. And it started to ring again. Diego dropped his knee down hard on the dummy's chest and started to pound away at its big stuffed head. He punished it for a long time, tying it up in impossible submissions and unleashing dangerous elbows that would have left any man a bloody mess. Eventually the relentless attack ceased and Diego lay on his back exhausted. The sweat stung his eyes and tasted salty in his mouth, but he loved that taste, that feeling. He knew today would be a long training day because he felt so strong. He was going to push it as far as he could.

Then there was a knock at the door. Diego already knew who it was. It was the same person that kept the phone ringing. Suddenly he didn't feel so strong. The knock came again and he slowly sat up, looking out into his desert. A third time the knocking came before the door opened.

"Diego? You in there?"

Diego kept staring.

"Diego?" The voice called again, and a tall, young man in a gray suit walked slowly through the door. "Diego? You okay, buddy? I've been trying to call you all day."

"Hello, Jerry," said Diego in precise but heavily accented English.

"Man, I know you don't love to be disturbed, but I'm your agent. C'mon Diego, you gotta work with me here, we have lots to do."

Diego walked to his kitchen to work on a protein shake while his agent looked disconcertingly over at his grappling dummy. "That thing gives me the creeps. I think you guys are spending too much time together. Maybe you should start getting out a bit more."

"You jealous, Jerry?"

"Hey, I don't wanna question your methods, but everyone needs to get out. You're gonna go crazy out here in the desert by yourself."

"I'm not alone," said Diego, motioning to the dummy.

Jerry shook his head. "Maybe it's already too late. I bet you have a name for that thing, huh?"

Diego's big white teeth lined into a smile. "His name is Jerry."

Jerry puffed up his cheeks and slowly exhaled. "I wish you'd answer your damn phone when I call."

"What do you want, Jerry?"

"I got a call from UCF."

"And?" said Diego, bringing a huge steel cup to his lips.

"And there's a problem with the fight. It's Pinkie – he's out."

Diego put the cup on the bench. "Why?"

"I dunno. Injured or something. Whatever. He's out. But they've already got a new guy."

"It makes no difference. No problem," he said, and drank again.

"Good. This should be easier anyway; it's some kid from Mexico. It's his first fight for the UCF. Same money, easier opponent. It's actually a better deal."

Diego slammed the cup down on the bench. "Wait! What? What kid?"

"As I said, some Mexican kid. A rookie. It's an easy fight."

Diego shook his head, walked back into the living room and looked out the window.

"C'mon," said Jerry. "You said yourself it makes no difference. Same date, same money. What's the problem?"

"I didn't come all the way from Rio to fight some rookie! Easy money... What's the point of a few dollars if I don't get any respect for it? Who is this rookie?"

Jerry looked at his phone and pushed a few buttons. "Tommy Knuckles. Yeah. He trains at that piece of junk joint in the valley. Don't worry, he's new, but he's not without a little hype. He recently won the Las Vegas Cage Fighting lightweight belt."

Diego shook his head furiously and kicked the grappling dummy across the room. It hit the door headfirst. "I saw that fight! He was lucky to win. He was lucky the ref didn't call a TKO – he was in la la land!"

Jerry looked back at Little Jerry, upside down in a heap in front of the door. "Look, Diego..."

"And, he barely looked big enough for a lightweight – what the hell is he doing fighting me?"

Jerry exhaled again and dropped his arms to the side. "Look, I dunno, buddy. If this clown wants to fight welterweight, what do you care? As I said – easy money. At least he has this championship belt."

"A champion! Ha. Only you Las Vegas fools think the LVCF belt is something to be proud of. I know why he got the fight. I saw his team. He was all buddy-buddy with Miguel Juan Benito."

"Yeah," said Jerry. "The deal came through Miguel. I dunno, it probably has something to do with The Condor, too."

"Yes, it all fits into place. Mexican kid, Condor, Miguel. They think they can simply take some punk and push him up the ladder? This is absolute crap, Jerry. I'm past fighting these kids..." His phone cut him short as it began ringing again and he shot an angry glance over at Jerry.

"Well, it ain't me!"

Diego stormed over to the counter, grabbed the phone and threw it across the room. It hit the door with a crash and fell to pieces, showering the dummy in bits of plastic. There was silence for a moment, then Jerry finally spoke. "So...we're good? I can sign away? Not that we have much choice."

"Well, what the hell do I pay you for then? Maybe I should sign on with Miguel... Yeah, sign the damn thing. Let's get this fight out of the way."

"Good," said Jerry as he tried to open the door and step around the grappling dummy and the broken pieces of plastic. "I'll get you a new phone."

***

"Okay, now drop your right leg back and put your left fist forward in front of you. Yeah, kind of like that. Now bend your knees a touch and lower your stance. Good, now have a few jabs with your left hand...that's it, a bit harder."

Gina stopped hitting the bag and let out a quiet growl. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Tommy smirked. "What? Can't handle being the rookie for once, huh?"

"You're so dead once we get back to the mats in Vegas."

"C'mon, focus. Keep those hands up. This isn't jiu-jitsu – punches are coming in all the time."

Gina hit into the bag hard, throwing lefts and rights. Tommy didn't let on, but she was picking it up quickly. It was late in the day but the sun was still burning through the huge open doors in the back of Hector's gym and both of them were sweating profusely. They'd spent most of their time in Mexico down at the gym. Mostly it was because Tommy had no other place to take her. School was long over for him and since he had no other friends or family, the gym was the only other place to go but home.

"Keep going," Tommy told her. "Tilt your knuckles forward a little...now throw a big one with your right...but really turn into it, put your whole body behind it."

When Gina had first told him she was coming back to Mexico with him, Tommy couldn't have been happier. But as they drove across that desert highway, his stomach began to churn. What was he taking her to? He had nothing. He had less than nothing. What were they going to do? Hang out with Esteban and his mother in their tiny home? He knew straight away she wouldn't be able to stay. She wouldn't be able to handle it. The Rat Shack behind the gym in Las Vegas was one thing – that was meant to be dirty and poor and desperate. But this was his home. Even in the poorest parts of America he didn't think they lived as his family did. And it wasn't only their poverty; it was everything about his life. He was a loser. Sure, maybe in Las Vegas he was beginning to become somebody – at the gym he was quickly becoming the number-one star – but back in Mexico, he was only Tommy.

As they drove on and on, he realized how much he had changed since he'd left. He couldn't believe he'd thought about running back home at one stage. Thiago had been right to question what lay behind. There was almost nothing. At first, what he was so excited about he began to dread. What really did wait for him back home? Haunted dreams, enemies in the streets, and lonely memories.

But when he did finally arrive back home, it wasn't that way at all. Life _had_ changed. He didn't have to be scared anymore, and he didn't have to hold onto those old anxieties. Everyone was so happy to see him, and wherever he went, he saw smiles. But mostly it was Gina. Tommy felt guilty for thinking she would be so shallow. She was great. She laughed and played with Esteban and cooked with his mother, even though she was terrible at it. He wasn't sure how it happened so smoothly, but Gina fit right in. They all loved her and she always seemed to be so happy. Before long, Tommy was smiling, too. He thought it was probably the happiest his family had been since his father had died.

"Don't hold back, Gina," cried Tommy as she belted into the big canvas bag. "Give him what you have. This isn't going to be enough. You can't rest now, you can't let him get away."

But the punches didn't get harder and eventually she stopped hitting.

"What are you doing?" said Tommy. "You can't stop now. You need to take him out."

Gina shook her head. "I'm tired."

"He wouldn't rest on you. He wouldn't give you a chance. Don't give him a chance!"

She looked at him, obviously puzzled. Then a strong voice came from behind them. "You're not going to be able to teach her much that way." It was Sonny, coming from the office.

"She gave up too early," said Tommy.

"Maybe she's done enough for now."

"I'm trying to teach her what you taught me," said Tommy.

"Everyone's different, Tommy. You can't teach everyone the same."

Tommy nodded. "I guess."

"I told you a hundred times, Tommy. You're a born fighter. That's your lot. Not hers."

Gina frowned. "Well, what do I have, then?"

"Brains, for one," said Sonny, smirking.

Gina laughed and punched Tommy in the arm.

"Well, you need to be smart to outwit a fighter in the moment," said Tommy.

"There's a difference between instincts and brains, Tommy. You have the heart of a fighter, no doubt, but that stuff she does on the ground, that jiu-jitsu – that's brains. As Thiago says, the ground game is like a game of chess. He's not half wrong."

"Ha!" cried Gina.

"I dunno," said Tommy. "It reminds me of monkeys wrestling sometimes."

"You ever play chess, Tommy?" said Sonny.

He shook his head.

"Gina?"

She nodded proudly.

"Yep, she's got the brains in this relationship," said Sonny.

Gina laughed again as Sonny walked away and Tommy stood there shaking his head. Sonny stopped before going back into the office, reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. "You can drive yourself home, I've got work to do," he said, and threw them to Tommy. "But take care of that old truck...and buy a chess board!"

Tommy sat at the end of the table next to his little sister in her high chair. As usual, there was food piled high on each of their plates and their mother was still working in the kitchen on more. Esteban sat in his red chair next to Gina, telling her about every aspect of his day in great detail. He couldn't believe his little brother was becoming a teenager. He looked a lot older than the last time Tommy had seen him.

Chess pieces lay strewn across the living room floor. Gina had tried to teach Tommy, but he'd given up quickly and told her it was a waste of time. And he did believe it was a waste of time. But now that he was sitting up at the table, he'd noticed the little pieces down on the floor and was intrigued at how they all fought their little war on the checkered board. He'd never let Gina know, but now he was desperate to learn.

"Ma!" Esteban suddenly cried. "Do you think Tommy will take me back to Las Vegas with him?"

Maria looked horrified. Her eyes darted straight for Tommy, but he simply continued eating his meal. "I don't even want him to go back there," she said, coming to the table. "Besides, who is going to take care of me and Grace if all the men are gone?"

"Then we should all go to Las Vegas," Esteban said in a flash.

"Esteban, my dear, we are not going to Las Vegas. It is very expensive and very difficult for us to go to America. You know that."

"But Mama, now that Tommy is a famous fighter it will be easy for us."

Tommy and Gina smirked at each other. "I'm not famous, yet," said Tommy.

"Then I will come and live and fight with you, and then we will both have enough for Mama and Grace to come, too."

"Yeah, sure," said Tommy. "You can sleep in the corner of my bunk bed."

"Okay, that's enough," said Maria. "Can't we have one night without talk of fighting? We stay in Mexico. This is our home."

"But Ma...," started Esteban again, but a quick glance from her stopped him mid sentence.

They finished the rest of their meal in near silence, aside from a few random questions Esteban fired at Gina. Then, as Maria was clearing the table, there was a knock at the door and Sonny came in without waiting. Esteban jumped off his chair and intercepted him before he even stepped a few feet from the door.

"Hey, Sonny!" he said. "Can you train me a bit since you're here?"

"Esteban!" cried his mother. "Let him get in the door."

Sonny laughed and ruffled the boy's hair on his way to the table.

"You can sit in my chair!" said Esteban.

He still hadn't managed to get out a word before Maria dropped a plate of food down in front of him. "Thanks Mariana, but I'm not here to eat."

"It doesn't matter why you're here. A man needs to eat."

Sonny grinned and shifted his plate closer.

"He's here to pick up the truck," assumed Esteban.

Sonny nodded with his mouth full but gave Tommy a stern look. His mother must have seen it too, because she scooped up Grace and told Esteban it was time for him to go to bed. He kicked up a fuss, telling her it was too early and that he wanted to talk with Sonny, but she eventually herded him off to his room.

"So, what's up then?" said Tommy when they were gone.

Sonny finished his mouthful. "Miguel called," he said as Maria came back to her seat. "He signed you up for another fight."

Tommy didn't seem fazed, but his mother's face was an explosion of emotions. "Again?" she said. "He needs a rest. He's already fought enough for now."

"C'mon, Ma," said Tommy. "I have the belt now. I am going to have to defend it."

"No," said Sonny. "This is different. UCF are giving you a shot. That's why it's so soon. They need a replacement."

Tommy and Gina looked at each other. Ultimate Cage Fighting. There was nowhere higher to go as an MMA fighter than UCF. It was the biggest fight company in the world. They owned all of the best fighters and held the biggest events around the globe.

"They loved your title fight against Bron," said Sonny. "They said you've got a lot of heart."

Tommy was almost lost for words. "When?" he finally asked. "Against who?"

"The fight's scheduled for next month in Vegas. It's only on the undercard. You're fighting a young guy out of Brazil. Diego Silva, his name is. He's a pretty tough character, actually. His original opponent is injured or something and they needed someone on short notice."

"Is he good?" asked Gina.

"I don't know much about him," said Sonny. "But he has a black belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu. I'd say he's going to be a tough customer. Plus, this isn't his first fight for UCF. I'm not sure, myself. I'm not sure if you're ready for this, Tommy."

Tommy scrunched up his face. "What do you mean? I'm the LVCF champion, aren't I? After all this, now I'm not good enough?"

"Calm down, Tommy," said Sonny. "I'm not saying that. Your ma is right. You need a break and you still need to work on your ground game. You've only had a few fights. I mean, this guy was probably born on the mats, and you haven't even been graded off your white belt yet."

"Sonny's right, Tommy," said Maria. "It's too much. Too much fighting."

Tommy shook his head. "If Miguel thinks I can do it, then we should listen to him. Thiago can train me. This might be my only chance at the big leagues."

"There will be plenty of chances," said Sonny. "Remember Chip Hoopman? He was a jiu-jitsu guy and that didn't end so well. I'd say Diego is much better than Chip Hoopman was."

Chip Hoopman. How could Tommy ever forget that name? After he'd lost, he thought he would never fight again. He'd almost given up. But he didn't. And now he didn't want to stop ever again.

"I made a mistake," said Tommy. "That's all. Thiago will know what to do. This might be the only chance I ever get."

"I don't know, Tommy," Gina said softly. "Maybe they're right, maybe this is too soon. As Sonny said, you've only had a few fights. Maybe you should defend your belt a few times before you try for UCF."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," said Tommy. "After all we've gone through and all you guys have taught me, now you don't believe in me at all?"

"Tommy, you know that isn't true," said Gina. "But I have been in Vegas for a long time now. I have seen so many fighters eaten up and spat out. Sonny's right. UCF isn't going anywhere. You will have to give up your LVCF belt when they sign you, and if you rush in too soon you might lose everything."

"She's right," said Sonny. "You will have to give up your title. Once you sign with UCF, you can't fight for anyone else."

Tommy looked as if he was about to start yelling at both of them, but he forced himself to remain calm. "I'm ready," he said. "This is meant to be. I can feel it. Tell Miguel to book it."

Sonny shrugged, obviously disappointed. "He already did."

Maria put her face in her hands.

"Then what are we arguing about?" said Tommy.

"Miguel can't force you to do anything."

"I owe him. For all he has done for me. I owe him this much, anyway. If he needs me to take this fight, then I take it."

"There's something else," said Sonny as he shifted a little and reached deep down into his jeans pocket. He came up with a booklet and several pieces of paper that he put on the table and slid over to Tommy. "He finally got your passport. Your visa, too. That's it – you're legal."

Tommy picked up the little blue booklet that read _Mexico Pasaporte_. He opened it and saw the little photo of himself, then flicked through the rest of the pages, which were empty.

"That's not all," said Sonny, and slid another paper Tommy's way. "You're flying back to Vegas this time."

#

TWO

Tommy threw his luggage into the locker, but it wouldn't fit. They'd bought so much junk in Mexico that he'd had to buy a new pack to carry it all. He was too tired to fuss with it now, so he simply dropped it next to his bed and crawled in under the bunk. The flight had been much faster and easier than traveling across the desert in a car, and a million times faster than walking the border, but Tommy wasn't sure if he liked it better. All the desks and checking in and searches and waiting in lines and collecting luggage. He felt as if he was being herded like cattle. But the flying. The flying was amazing. They'd been sitting in their seats for what seemed like forever before anything happened. Tommy had sat there nervously tapping his foot, but when those engines fired up and they roared down that runway, adrenaline pumped through his veins and his heart began to thump. It was similar to the start of a fight. But before long they were back in Vegas being herded out of the airport as livestock again.

He didn't realize until he returned, but it was good to be back at the Rat Shack. The old rundown gym and its pathetic excuse for a dorm house weren't much to look at, but walking back through the doors, Tommy felt as if he belonged. It was starting to become his home.

As his eyes became too heavy to hold open anymore, a loud voice piped up. "So, the Prodigal Son has returned!" Tommy looked up from his pillow and saw a huge grin beaming down on him. It was Mad Max. "Good to have you back, mate," he said. "But you don't sleep here no more."

"Huh?"

Max grabbed Tommy's pack and started dragging it down the hall. "Tommy Knuckles is moving up in the world!" he cried.

The room wasn't big. But it was a room. And it was his. In all the time he'd lived at the gym, he'd barely even seen inside one of the individual rooms. Only the top pro fighters had a room of their own, and most of the time they were away fighting and training, or they were sleeping.

Max patted him on the shoulder on his way out. "Good work, Tommy. I can't believe you got yourself a room before I did."

He felt guilty. Many of the guys at the Rat Shack had been there much longer than he had, and they all worked hard. "Hey, Max," he said. "Maybe we could share the room. There should be enough space for two beds."

Max stopped at the other end of the hall. "Forget it! Then I'll be homeless when they finally kick your butt out. Don't worry, Tommy, you earned it, mate. Everyone knows you earned it."

Tommy nodded to himself and headed for the bed.

"I'll wake you up in a couple," called Max. "We gotta go to Nong Nong's and fatten you up!"

Tommy sat on the bed and kicked his shoes off. "Fatten me up? I have a fight coming up!"

Max's laughing echoed down the hallway. "Didn't you hear? You're a welterweight now!"

Welterweight? Sonny didn't say anything about fighting at welterweight. He'd already moved up to lightweight to take on Bron for the title. Though he'd put on weight while he was in Mexico and everyone kept telling him he was still growing, he wondered how much bigger he could get. It was with that thought that he finally began drifting off to sleep.

When he woke, Thiago was standing over him. "It's okay, you're not having a nightmare," he said.

Tommy rubbed his eyes and sighed. "Are you going to be doing this for the rest of my life?"

"Are you going to be late for the rest of your life?"

"Late? I just returned from Mexico," said Tommy.

"Yes. Back for training."

"C'mon, Thiago," said Tommy as he rolled over. "I have jet lag, or something."

"Jet lag? It's a one-hour flight! Get up. Now."

And so it began. Again. For some reason, Tommy had the idea in his head that after his first title win his life would somehow get a little easier – that he would train a little less and carry on some form of normal life. But it wasn't to be. Thiago had him straight back on the mats, working his ground game. He had to roll with everyone. All the fighters, all the students. Men, women, children. Black belts, white belts. Everyone had to wrestle with Tommy. And whenever he thought he was getting the hang of it, he would get submitted by a sixteen-year-old blue belt and realize he wasn't getting anywhere.

"It's good for you," said Thiago as the two of them sat alone on the gym mats. "You need to stay humble."

"I need to stay humble?"

"That's right. I think maybe you are getting a bit cocky by taking on this guy, Diego. And at welterweight. What do you even know about him?"

"Not you, too? Does anybody believe I can win?" questioned Tommy.

"Of course I think you can win, or I wouldn't be wasting my time with you. But we are moving too fast. What do you know about Diego?"

Tommy shrugged. "Miguel booked the fight and I do what I'm told. Why is everyone on my back? A few months ago you were all on my team telling me I can win, now you've all turned on me."

"Tommy, Tommy. No one has turned on you. You just need more time. Some of your fights have been close calls. Just because Miguel wants you to do something, doesn't mean you have to do it. You have to be a man now. Not simply in the cage, but in life."

Tommy lay back on the mat and exhaled. "Alright, alright. Well, it's done now."

"Right," said Thiago. "So what do we know about Diego?"

"Not much. I know what you know, I guess."

"No. I know Diego," said Thiago.

Tommy sat back up. "You know him?"

"I know of him. I know his family. I know his gym. They are from Rio."

"And?" pressed Tommy.

"And he is dangerous. He earned his black belt from his father, Carlos Silva. Carlos is a famous name in Brazil. He was one of the best in the country when he was younger – some would say _the_ best. Diego's family has been training for generations. It is evident that he has been training his whole life."

"So what do we do?"

"I'm not sure," said Thiago.

"Great."

"Not yet, anyway. Miguel is getting me the videos of his fights. We will find a way – we always find a way. We will do what we always do. We train, and we train some more."

"Great," Tommy repeated.

Thiago stood up. "You have become lazy, though. Yes, your trip has made you lazy."

"What?" said Tommy, and jumped up.

"Maybe you need some time away from the girl."

"Gina? Are you crazy?"

"Then stop complaining and start training. You thought Bron was hard. Ha! Bron wasn't a fighter. Diego is a fighter. He is from Brazil. He has been fighting from the moment his mother bore him."

***

Diego sat on the edge of his bed in the dark. He was hot. Really hot. He was breathing hard, too. Something was definitely wrong. He stood up and walked out the back door and into his desert. The cool air gave him some instant relief, but he knew it was too late. He could feel his blood boiling under the skin and could taste bitterness in the back of his throat. His chest was heavy and his back was sore. He cursed the sky above, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He was sick. Only days to go until his fight and he was sick. Options ran through his mind, though he knew they were useless. He could cancel and lose his fight purse. But to stay in the U.S.A., he needed his fight purse. There was no time for healing. He would fight sick – of course he would. What would his father say? He would say it is nothing. He would say that in real life you don't choose the circumstances of a fight. He would say Diego was weak. His weakest son.

Diego walked inside and picked up his new phone from the kitchen counter. It only had one number in it.

"You never answer, then you call at two in the morning?" said Jerry on the other end. He didn't sound tired.

"I'm sick."

"No."

"I think it's bad."

Jerry sighed. "What are we going to do?"

"What can we do? What can _you_ do?"

There was silence for a few seconds. "Not much. The fight is in a couple of days. Dammit, Diego, this is not good timing."

"Gee, do you think?"

"How bad is it, really?" said Jerry.

"I don't know. It feels bad. I have a fever and I'm hurting. But I know it's only starting."

"Well," said Jerry. "Maybe you'll feel better by fight time and..."

"No," Diego cut him off. "It's too late. I need to make weight and I'm already dehydrated. It will only get worse from here."

"Well, if you can't fight, you can't fight."

"I didn't say that."

There was silence again. "I'll call UCF," said Jerry.

"What about the money?" asked Diego.

"If you cancel? No money. It's too close."

"I need the money."

"I thought you said you didn't care about the money?" As soon as Jerry said it, Diego knew his agent regretted it. He knew Jerry could almost feel Diego's anger through the phone. "Alright, alright," Jerry said. "You still have two fights on your contract, so you're not going to lose your job or anything, but they won't be happy. An injury, that's one thing, but the flu..."

"You don't understand. It's not the flu. I get these fevers...I've been getting them forever."

"Well, it's your call, Diego. You said yourself this kid is nothing. Get in there, choke him out, and get the hell outta there."

"Okay."

***

They were all there again. Thiago, Mad Max, Gina, Miguel. They were all backstage at the Monsoon Cove Center. Tommy had his own room with some mats on the floor and a little TV in one corner. It was air conditioned and catered. It was certainly a step up from LVCF.

"Yes, yes, you have made me proud, Tommy Knuckles," said Miguel. "Your father would have been proud, no?"

Tommy sat, concentrating on his breathing as Max rubbed his legs.

"This is your chance to show the world! Ha ha! This is the big stage, now."

"How many people are here?" asked Gina.

Miguel rubbed his chin. "Oh, maybe ten thousand," he said. "Yes, there are many people here, many people. But that is nothing. There are millions watching at home. The world watches UCF. They might be watching you, Tommy Knuckles!"

Tommy gave him a weak smile and tried not to think about it.

"You are only fighting on the preliminary card and it is non-televised," continued Miguel. "But if you two fight like warriors... Yes, yes, they will replay it on air. No doubt – a good fight is a good fight. Yes, yes, millions could see you tonight!"

Television. Tommy hadn't even thought of television. He knew that Las Vegas Cage Fighting filmed their fights, but that was for the internet, or those dodgy DVDs they tried to sell at their shows. But television. Worldwide television. Suddenly he didn't feel so excited. He realized how big this was. This wasn't fighting out of Uncle Hector's gym anymore; this wasn't even fighting out of the local cage – this was real. People would see him. They would be talking about him. This was The Condor reel.

"Tommy!" said Thiago, snapping him back to reality. "Don't worry about all that. Focus. Stick to the plan. He wants to go to the ground and you want to keep it standing. It's a classic struggle. Do what you have to do to stay up. Keep an eye on his stance and keep your distance. Your power is in your hands, so you need to try and finish this early. But don't rush in. He will know exactly what you are planning, so don't be too eager. But we do want to be finishing in the first round."

# Buy this book or other Cageside Chronicles to continue reading right now!

CLICK TO SELECT YOUR RETAILER

# Thanks

I would like to thank all of my friends and family that have supported me and my career over the years. A special thanks to Molly Morelli and Zeenia Lakhani.

Thank you to God, who gives me every word.

