Post by Deleted on Feb 17, 2014 11:37:09 GMT -6
The tires crunched to a stop on loose gravel in the cracked and neglected parking lot. The older bald gentleman exited the black sedan and squinted at the first rays of the new rising sun. His name was William Abrams. He looked at the old warehouse and shook his head in dismay.
“This place? Jesus Christ, Ronnie…” he muttered to himself.
He walked across and found a door unlocked, let himself in. A few isolated bulbs hanging from the rafters cast some dim light, just enough to get around. An old ring used for boxing or wrestling sat in the middle of the warehouse. The place was littered with garbage… beer bottles, cans. It smelled of piss and rat droppings. He noticed a second level loft landing to the left, and his intuition told him to investigate further. He climbed up an old rusted ladder, got to the top and dusted himself off. He saw two people lying there, and went over to the closest one… nudging him with his boot.
“You… up with you… what’s the meaning of this?”
The man that William addressed sat up on an elbow, groggy-eyed… hung over and possibly stoned or strung out on something. He was of mixed race, black with Asian features, the beginnings of a shaggy afro blooming. He rubs his eye, and spit on the floor.
“What? I’m… uh…. Just…” and that’s all he could manage before he fell back down, unreceptive.
William walked over to the other figure, obscured by a sleeping bag. He nudged it, got no response. He unzipped it and was nearly horrified: a pretty blonde lay there, dried blood streaked from her nose and mouth, a cut from her forehead. She lay there perfectly still on her back, her hands folded up at her chest almost as if in prayer. She wore only black boxers and lime green socks pulled up to the knee. Tattoos adorned her neck and arms. William rubbed his mouth, contemplating what to do. This looked bad.
Just then Aquila Vox aka Veronica ‘Ronnie’ Abrams gasped and sat up with a bolt, her hands flying out to her sides. She staggered out some throaty coughs, and rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes darted around the room like a wild animal, before settling on William, and she slowly lowered her hand… a Cheshire Cat smile forming on her lips.
“Hello Uncle William… what brings you to this neck of the woods, eh?”
“Christ, child… I thought you were dead. The Durhams…and I…. were worried when you didn’t come home or call.”
“Right… ah… my phone’s in my car…” she said.
“Ah, I see… and your car is… where exactly?” he asked.
“Stolen again… I guess. Tell the Durhams to put it on my tab. Bethany can buy me another one… or I’ll just take a cab… hitch-hike maybe.”
“Young lady, you will NOT hitch-hike… Christ. You shouldn’t take advantage of your situation here with Bethany… and the Durhams… after all you’re their…”
“No Uncle… don’t say it. I refuse to contemplate that or recognize them for… THAT. At least not yet… you’re enough family for now… I do hate it for Bethany though…”
“Please… you two should talk soon, Veronica…”
“All in due time. Is it not enough that I oblige them by living with them… spend some of their money sometimes? They seem to enjoy it on their end anyway.”
William looked around… at the ring, the man passed out beside them.
“So what happened here… another all-night fight club? Are you hurt?” he asked.
“Well… it’s a bit like that movie says… we’re not supposed to talk about it. Me… I’ve took some lumps but… heh… I fared better than most of them.”
“And what of this… fellow here? Did you fight him, or something else that starts with ‘F’?”
“Aw Uncle… making jokes are we? TaQuan here wanted to stay after and party a bit… although he may have been doing that so his buddies could steal my car, who knows. Anyway… I got drunk… he started taking… God knows what, and then he passed out. So nothing happened… between us… if you catch my drift. I got cold, curled up in this ratty ol’ sleeping bag and passed out myself. I think that brings us up to speed, don’t ya think?”
He knelt down and patted her knee.
“Don’t mind me, Ronnie… I think in my mind’s eye I still see that little girl falling off her bike, scratching up her knees… running to me crying. Reading you stories until you fell asleep at night. I’m still coming to grips with this… *ahem*… new and improved… young lady that I see before me.”
She placed her hand over his and they shared a smile.
“Thanks… it’s nice knowing that there’s still someone that cares, even after all the shit I put you through.”
The tender moment is broken by TaQuan violently vomiting next to them. Aquila looked over and wrinkled her nose at that display.
“Lovely… what did you eat last night, sautéed tomcat with a side of pickled donkey ass?”
“Heh… I think he’ll live, taste in cuisine notwithstanding… let’s get you out of here and cleaned up, shall we? You’ve got a wrestling fed to impress.” He said chuckling.
He stood extending his hand to her, and she accepted it and gathered her things.
***
Aquila stood in the shower, warm water cascading down her lithe muscular body. She washed the blood and grime away, the washrag brushing over many miniscule scars that lined her body here and there, from years of subjugating herself to fighting for pleasure and money.
‘MSW… here we go, I’m giving this a shot, a fresh start clear of the places that bring up bad memories. A more reputable outlet than the dives I usually find myself in. Uncle William believes in me, believes in my skill, my tenacity. He thinks I’m destined for great things… that may be, but I’m not hanging my hat on it. I’m going to be me… we’ll see what comes my way.
I just know that I will stand in that ring across from anyone and will take their best shot… I’m not being cocky, just stating what I hope to be true: most days, my best shot is hopefully just a little bit better. Then again, that's why we play the game right? A wrestling match takes out all the guesswork and speculation. Anything can happen on any given night, sure... but I watch film, I study tactics, I find my openings where others see no weakness. They call me The Nighthawk… and like that bird of prey I do my best hunting in the evening.
Bear witness to my initial flight.
My voice will be heard… and my actions will speak even louder. I am Aquila Vox. I live for the fight.’