Jack
I focused my gaze on my target and rained a series of punches and kicks until everyone in the gym turned to look at me.
I was in a boxing gym which catered to mostly weekend warriors; the frail nine to five workers who practised only on weekends to look macho.
“Brother, take it easy,” One of them called out, putting on hand wraps.
“You wanna fight me then?” I challenged him. I wanted to take out my frustrations on something other than a punching bag.
The weekend warrior raised his hands up in surrender and walked away saying, “No. I love my face too much.”
I turned back to my punching bag, kicking it. I was immensely annoyed. The night before, I'd had an insanely erotic dream. Now, that wasn't the cause of my annoyance. No, I was fuming at the woman who had starred in the dream. It had been the dancing girl at the bar, the same one who had rudely told me off.
“Why am I thinking about her?” I mused as I stopped training to catch my breath. I sat on a nearby bench and took up a bottle of water.
“She isn't the prettiest chick you've ever seen,” I convinced myself as I unscrewed the cap and took a drink, “She's not even your type.”
“Hey! Python!” Someone said from behind me.
I dropped the bottle of water and faced them. It turned out to be Tim, my friend. He was dressed in a formal suit and loafers, which made him look out of place in a boxing gym.
“Don't call me that again,” I hissed warningly at him, “Someone might hear.”
Python had been my professional fighting name, but the name as well as that career, were all in the past.
Tom apologized and sat next to me on the bench. He took one look at my face and whistled, “Someone is in a bad mood.”
Tom could always read my moods, no matter how hard I tried to hide them. There was no way I could tell him about my fixation on the little woman who had danced in the bar, so I shrugged, “Of course, I'm in a funk. No one here will fight with me.”
“Sensible men,” Tom laughed, showing pearly white teeth, “Who in their right minds would fight with you after seeing how you treat the punching bag?”
“You're not funny, brother,” I said, even as I gave him a little smile.
“I'm not a jester,” Tom's eyes twinkled, “But I have just the thing to cheer you up.”
“What's that?” I asked, immediately perked up.
“I got you a gig!” Tom announced, looking mighty proud of himself.
“Thank fuck!” I exclaimed and punched the air. I was so close to being broke, and it wasn't fun.
“And this isn't just any gig,” Tom wagged his finger at me proudly, “It's a well-paying gig!”
“What?” My smile widened into a grin, “You're not playing with me, are you?”
“Would I ever?” Tom asked with mock-hurt. Tom played pranks on me like a close friend would, but never with important stuff like work.
“Tell me all about it,” I eagerly said, almost vibrating with unchecked energy. It had been a long time since I had smelled a cushy gig.
Tom removed his suit jacket and threw it over his shoulder, “This gym is no place to wear my one good suit.”
“Tim,” I called warningly, willing him to get on with it.
Tom nodded, “This isn't your regular gig. It's quite unusual.”
“I think you've said that before,” I impatiently huffed, “Who do I get to fight for?”
Tom winced, “You won't be fighting, per se.”
I was bewildered by Tim's words, “What the hell will I be doing, then? Cleaning? Doing dishes?”
“No, no.” Tom rushed to placate me, “You'll be a bodyguard.”
“Oh hell! I'm supposed to be a babysitter?” I couldn't imagine what Tom wanted me to do, “I'm a fighter, not a bodyguard!”
“I know,” Tom answered, “But they offered to pay a lot.”
“How much?” I was curious.
The figure Tom quoted made my eyes bulge and my jaw hang open, “I get paid that just to guard somebody?”
“Yeah,” Tom grinned, knowing he got me. For that amount of money, I could even babysit an obnoxious toddler. Suddenly, my brows narrowed. Why would anyone pay me such a huge fee to be a bodyguard? Who was I supposed to guard? A warlord? A drug baron? I didn't want to get into trouble with the law, or get killed while on duty. I loved my life way too much.
“Tom, who the hell offered me this gig?” I asked suspiciously, “Did you check them out?”
“Of course, I did,” Tom sniffed, “What do you take me for?”
“What did you find out?” I asked him.
“It's Nico Gambino. He's the boss of the Gambinos. They're an Italian crime family. They're loan sharks and arm dealers.” Tom whispered to me, looking around to make sure he wasn't overheard.
My nostrils flared. Working with the Italian mob was not something I wanted to do. Those folks were brutal and merciless, if the news and the movies were anything to go by.
“And you want me to work with them?” I shook Tom's shoulder urgently, “Do you think I'm that desperate?”
“Have you looked at our finances?” Tom shook his head, “We're supposed to be desperate. Moreover, you're not going to guard Nico Gambino himself. You'll be guarding his daughter. As far as I know, she isn't active with the mob.”
“His daughter?” My eyebrows rose.
“Yup. Nico works out of Sicily, but his daughter is here in the States. I think she's a college student.” Tom informed me.
Okay, with the new information I'd received, the job suddenly seemed less dangerous. All I had to do was tail and deal with a college teenybopper. I would get enough money to live comfortably, and I wouldn't have to fight for shady enterprises.
“So you have no other option but to take Gambino's job.” Tom pointed out.
“I'm open to this offer,” I finally announced.
Tom jumped up, “Yes! Yes! You won't regret this, Jack!”
I laughed at my friend's enthusiasm.
Tom brought out his phone, “I'm setting up an appointment with Nico Gambino. If he likes you, he'll hire you, and we're set!”
He smiled at his phone, “He's going to see us tomorrow at nine o'clock in the morning. So please dress responsibly and drop your cranky attitude.”
I grunted my agreement. Tom wanted me dressed in a suit and smiling like a sycophant. If that's what it took for me to get the job, I would do it.
“Now, for accepting the offer,” Tom unbuttoned his shirt and laid it next to his jacket, “I'll give you the honor of fighting me.”