Unwritten Rules

Tunnel vision: it’s hard not to see a foaming rabid dog, but I heard he said that’s what he is. Surprisingly I still land the next punch with a towel landing on my head. I punched so hard the bag squealed. It sounds even better than it feels. It gives me a rush.

I use it to wipe away all the sweat pouring from my brow, clouding my vision, and throw the towel back over the top of my head, it means ‘thank you Jeremy,’ and he knows.

High and in a hurry, muscles burn. I rip them apart. Sweat oozes out of my body like fat out of frying meat. I need a break. My arms give out, but my mind keeps going, enough for me to throw the last one out of my vocal cords. It resonates through the halls in true battlefield fashion. I turn around to catch my breath and see Jeremy paying attention, leaning against the wall with arms folded and legs crossed and concern in his eyes. I’ve already crossed my limit.

“Roderick, that’s enough, it’s time to stop,” he says.

I turn around and keep going. He turns the light off instead trying to kill light and lightning, so I let him listen to the sounds of assassination—one thud after another cracking ribs, opening hernias, breaking jaw and neck.

 “Roderick,”

He better not, but his calming voice gets closer, “Roderick, Roderick.”

 Aging, shaky hands press down on my trapezius muscles. He squeezes, and I close my eyes taking deeper and deeper breaths. I lean my head back and finally a chi of serenity flows through my body, and he shares words of wisdom, “Cage the animal Roderick, rules of engagement: destroy the enemy. He’s saving everything for you.”

Jeremy is older, wiser and knows me better than I know myself. The time has come. The three vultures on the outside finally come in. They don’t even wait for me to cool down. If they came in just one minute earlier…two of them hook my arms in theirs, the third one who walks behind with a GLOCK 9mm, is the head crook.

They lead me up the cobblestone stairs through narrow corridors into new quarters where it’s cold and dark on purpose. Tonight I’ve been given the penthouse suite with the view. Under a high full moon outlines of tiny cockroaches dot sandstone walls, giving the appearance of granite.

Tonight these cockroaches are my friends. So I’ll close my eyes and lie back on the pool-side lounge, rubbing sunscreen on my arms and muscles, savoring the warmth of rays of sunshine not seen in months.

Finally there is a mealy-mouthed voice coming from the other side of the wall, “Roderick, I know it’s you. No hard feelings man. Don’t take this personally.”

The rush I had downstairs returns, and I am strong enough to break through the wall separating us. His presence is calculatedly agitating, “I got your message, don’t worry, you’ll be put down in a minute.”

“It brings the money. That’s all it is,”

“How much are you worth in here, you sleeping on a mattress made of money Roland?

Again we listen to water droplets slowly hitting puddles in different spots on the floor from the leaky pipes overhead. No need for conspiracy theories, in here there is an abundance of truth unfiltered, truth the blind can see. They keep us separated but always close enough to be somewhat together, five in total: VIP’s on death row. We can’t even share secrets in case one of us luckily survives.

I’ll remember this serenade of water droplets, the scurrying feet of insects and the aroma of musty earth and mold, but I’ll remember tomorrow. Right now I’ll just enjoy the sunshine.

 When I look out again, a purple sky through the window is fading to blue, and footsteps are approaching. I count six feet in total, but I won’t wait for them to hook my arms under theirs again. Old rusty keys rattle. The iron door creaks and opens. I greet them there and with a smile, “Good morning, where is breakfast,”

Hearty laughter thunders through the room waking the other guests. The one with the stick is the one we call Satan, since he is the foreman in this hell-hole. He taps me on the side of my arm with the stick and says in a grizzly voice, “You don’t look like you need any breakfast. You’re a big burly boy.”

 Again boisterous laughter erupts and psychological warfare continues, “You fight in three hours, prepare,” he says, pretending to give me the old rock-hard soda bread but then he drops it, and it rolls off my foot onto the damp floor.

So I smile and pick it up, “Now there are raisins in it, perfect.”

With every crunch I maintain eye contact with him, he disappoints. He cringes. It’s satisfying how repulsed he is by this behavior. They all look at each other, retching in disgust. The one on the right, Marley, turns purple and vomits next to Satan’s shoe. I’ll choke on this bread if I stifle the amusement, so I laugh without decorum. Marley wipes his mouth. I gladly pick him off first, slamming an elbow into his nose. He slides in his own…rehashing, crashing on his side in it.

Not fast enough, as quickly as I make the fist and pull it back Satan drops the stick while getting the drop on me, and he doesn’t blink, forcing my surrender.

“There’s too much money on this fight to let you die this way, even if you want to, turn around,” he says, and so I face the sunlight with hands on top of my head waiting for fancy bangles.

The elbow I landed earlier I get back in kind to the back of the head. I’m satisfied. I’ll let it slide.

They take no more chances. They’ve finished winding rope and I become a giant walking sausage, but I can’t resist the temptation to try again, “My friend next door is awfully quiet. Is he dead?”

They look at each other, taking the question seriously. Satan tells Marley, “He can’t run away, go check,”

When Marley comes back he shakes his head,” he’s alive, let’s go.”

 This walk back down the stairs is the hardest of them all. Two walk beside me and Satan walks in front. This is it, there is no going back.

He is excited, “A friend of yours in Washington has agreed to an exchange. They really want you but your buddy Roland has volunteered. We are happy to oblige him,” he says, they all laugh again.

“Who are you asking for? They don’t have any fairy god mothers,”

“It doesn’t matter who we want, as long as they get who we want,” he says.

 “How does that work if I win?”

They just keep laughing me down an extra flight of stairs underground towards an open arch beaming with light and cheerful noise on the other side, but they open an iron door to my right before we get there and shove me inside from behind. Jeremy is in there waiting.

The iron door slams shut and mine and the devil’s eyes meet again through the viewing window, “You die in three hours,” he says, and they leave.

Jeremy is always so calm, but today he paces the floor in anxiety, and then he turns to me and looks at me as if he is seeing me for the last time, saying, “Roderick, it’s time to warm up,”

“What’s the point Jeremy, it’s rigged,”

“I have a feeling we are both in here for a reason, warm up Roderick, let’s go,”

As usual, Jeremy’s right. Four feet on the outside are in a hurry to get here. Four feet and two shadows stop in front of the door, one is inhumanly taller than the other. Rusty keys jingle, the door opens, in walks a giant of a man, standing at least seven feet tall with shiny steel chains wrapped around his fists, “Who is ready to die first?” he says in a deep, trombone voice. The door slams behind him.

His smile reveals three gold teeth, two incisors and one canine. He is bald-headed and sweating with three times my muscle mass. His beard is plaited and stops in the middle of his chest. He walks up to me and the earth shakes. I look into his eyes and my neck breaks.

“You Roderick?” he asks.

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” Jeremy replies and gets his attention. He goes to get Jeremy instead.

I call him back, “I’m Roderick,”

He turns around. Jeremy lunges first but the giant pivots into a devastating upper cut, smashing the old man’s chin into his face. Jeremy goes limp and his body slams into the ground. Now it’s in my head. I grow two feet taller and weigh a hundred pounds more!

In a high I stare into his soulless, mindless eyes and let him know what’s coming, “I’ll kill you!”

His stare alone is enough to break me in half, “I’ll kill you first!” he says, huffing away at the gunky air we share.

Am I ready? No.

 I’ll let him come. Bare, heavy feet grip the moldy cobblestones on take-off, but I know he won’t be able to stop and neither will I, he gets bigger and bigger. At the last minute I push against the wall, tackling him in a slide, plunging him head first into the sandstone wall. Now his head is stuck in it. His arms go limp with the rest of his body, and he hangs like an old winter jacket.

I’m ready Roland. Marley comes back and opens the door. He jumps when he sees a dead giant stuck in the wall. His jaw drops and he steps back. Slamming the door he runs away, shouting, “Boss, Boss, he killed him, he killed the giant!”

His voice travels far and wide through narrow corridors. I hope they can hear him inside the arena the way I hear them.

Jeremy is in the same position, and isn’t breathing when I rush to his side. His eyes are rolled over in his head. Blood is draining out of his right ear. His mouth is open. His jaw dislocated. His left arm is slumped across his chest. I check for a pulse on the side of his neck, he’s already travelling. Should I accept this? Maybe this is how he’d want it to end knowing he won’t be free any other way.

 I’ll close his mouth and his eyes, let him sleep, “If you can hear me Jeremy, I’ll see you soon.”

 I can kill a giant. I can also kick this metal door right off its hinges, but they come running. I count six feet. I’ll wait for them at the door and step back in anticipation. They keep this promise. Satan kicks the door in. They barge inside. All three want to shoot me so I surrender. They inch…and inch…and inch.

 I’m standing my ground, “How does this work if I win?”

Satan chambers a round, “Don’t worry; we can soften you up ourselves, Marley, go tie him up,”

I tell him, “Marley doesn’t look so confident,”

“Marley, go tie him up,”

“Marley doesn’t look so confident,”

“Marley…”

This record is as broken as Marley. I already learned how to superbly execute my upper cut, and I did and Marley has fallen forward. Conveniently they shoot him in the back trying to shoot me. I’ve already inched, crouching behind his lifeless body and they weren’t smart enough to split up. Now they’re empty and I’ve dropped Marley and grabbed the rope he wrapped around his arm.

Satan stands in front of me while his caddy, Russell, tries to circle and go behind. I can’t see him but I can feel his cowardice. If I dispatch Satan he’ll just run away.

We dance around each other for a minute, and then I listen to feet behind me skittle away when they line up again with the exit. Now Satan has my full attention. He drops the useless pistol and kicks it away. Now we circle each other. I’ll ask him, “Are you still counting on Roland to win?”

“All the money is on you, but yes, because I bet on Roland,”

“So you and Roland split the money?”

“Ha! Roland gets all of it to sell your secrets, and we’ll get a whole lot more because you’ll die in here, like Jeremy,”

“Where is your giant?”

Satan lunges first with a jab and I lean out of it to the other side but then he counters with a left hook forcing me backwards and out of it and he backs off immediately.

All this dancing around leads to good conversation, “So you are retired, aren’t you?” I ask.

“Did Jeremy tell you about our long history?”

“Not really, but I’ll guess he’s the one who put you in retirement, am I right?”

He sours. Now we are getting somewhere. He glances at the coiled rope I’m still clutching. I toss it to the side. This is too personal. I lean in to sucker him and he takes the bait with his weak left hook so I grab his arm, and before he can blink I pull him in and rotate my elbow into his jaw.

 It throws him backwards and rattles him. He jams his foot into the ground trying not to keel over, but he slides, balancing only just, grabbing his face and it changes color. He is red hot with anger, perfect.

 Tunnel vision: he chooses feet but these are my cobblestones. He tries a back heel sweep and I jump so high I basically levitate out of it, planting both feet solidly back on the ground on the return. He plants one foot trying to get up and slides, landing on his ass and his head snaps back onto my cobblestone and I watch his eyes run around the room in vertigo.

He tries to get up but keeps falling. I fetch the rope and climb on top of him, wrapping it around his neck like a sausage and then pivot behind him, squeezing and tightening. His arms flail, he screeches for air kicking and scraping my arms, but I squeeze for Jeremy until the devil’s red changes to blue and his eyes start popping out of his head. He struggles less, until he struggles no more.

Now, where the fuck is Roland? On my way out there is a room adjoining mine. I use my foot to hoist the door right off its hinges and find Roland sitting on a pile of rags with a serious look of despair on his face.

I’ll try to cheer him up, “Did you hear all that, I’m so sorry Roland,”

As usual, he talks with a mouth full of shit, “You’ll never get out of here alive. They’ll turn you into a strainer on your way out,”

“Why not give them a show then, because I am going to kill you,”

He sighs, “Well Roderick, the arena is right over there,” he says, pointing towards the arch of beaming light and noisy spectators.

While we walk there together I listen to a desperate man on a death row confession. In here there is an abundance of truth unfiltered. Roland tells me everything, including why he did it and now I have no hard feelings towards him, but I still have to kill him to stop him.

The underground arena goes silent and is stunned seeing us entering side by side, but we can’t do it without them. We shout and growl and thump our chests to rile them up again and they love it. They begin to roar and get even louder. Roland opens the door to the cage and graciously allows me to enter first. When he enters behind me a door made of rebar clangs shut. This is it. There is no going back. We circle, searching each other’s eyes for answers, but there is only one. He extends his fist in good faith and gesture and I acknowledge.

I still hear Jeremy’s voice; the animal is in its cage.