Death Blow (8 page)

“What happened to your family?” he asked.

“Oh, jeez,” Lila tried to lighten the mood. “My mom died
when I was little and my dad’s had a bit of a drinking problem since then, that’s
all. Nothing too serious.”

“Hey, hey,” Tiffany cooed from the other side of Jackson.
“Everyone’s problems are their own, don’t minimize yours.” Jackson patted her
leg.

“Babe, don’t go analyzing Lila, you only just met her,
okay?” He turned to Tiffany, smiling, and kissed her.

“I’m not minimizing them, just been living with them for a
long time. They don’t seem so serious anymore.” Lila said it more into her wine
glass than to them. She didn’t want to just dump all her shit on these people
she’d only met yesterday. And besides, she
had
been living with them for
a long time. Most days, they didn’t seem like serious problems anymore, more
just the way things were.

“God, kids these days. When I was your age, we just wanted
to have a good time!” Cassandra broke in, lightening the mood. “Nowadays y’all
are all so dark and broody and—“ she made a sad face and bobbed her head from
side to side. “Take it easy! Be grateful for the things you have! Drink your
damn wine and let loose a little!” She laughed and got up, pouring them all
more wine and finishing off the bottle. “Also, great choice, Lila, this was a
real good Cab Sauv.”

“Oh! You picked this?” Tiffany exclaimed. “I figured this
was one of the Morans’ choice stock!” She picked her glass up and clinked it to
Lila’s, over Jackson. Lila giggled.

“Thank god. I was so worried I’d bring the wrong wine and
y’all’d never speak to me again!” They all laughed.

“A toast,” Cassandra raised her glass. “To Lila, the bright
and shiny new member of our little gang.”

“To Lila,” Jackson and Tiffany echoed, looking at her.

Lila raised her glass and toasted them, grinning at each and
every one, and she took a sip when the rest of them did—but something, a tiny
little thing deep down inside her, didn’t feel quite right. Some small kernel
seemed…off.

At that moment, Lyle made his entrance. He rubbed his hands
together as he noticed the empty wine glasses. “Whoops,” he grinned sheepishly,
“did I miss all the wine?”

Cassandra jumped up and rushed over to him, slinging her
arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “Yep, baby, you missed the great
bottle that Lila brought over for us. But, take it from me,” she fake
hiccupped, “it was real good.” She and Lyle laughed.

“Guess that means we need another one, right?” Lyle looked
around and everyone nodded. “And my apologies, Lila, for missin’ out.”

Lila grinned. “It’s us who should be apologizing, Lyle—we
all got to have some.

Jackson laughed. “Yeah, we’re sorry we couldn’t save you a
glass, Dad, but it was too damn good. And also, we started on some heavy shit
and the wine was the closest thing that could distract us.”

Lyle groaned and sighed, walking back into the kitchen and
over to a temperature-controlled wine rack. “Leave it to y’all to bring a guest
over and shoot for her deepest, darkest secrets right off the bat. My apologies
again, Lila,” he called from the kitchen, “my family don’t seem to want to play
things lightly no matter how much alcohol you give ‘em!”

Lila finished off her second glass of wine. “Not a problem,”
she called back. She felt strangely formal with Lyle, no matter how friendly he
acted towards her. “Cassandra tried her best to keep things light, but you
raised a broody little boy here in Jackson.”

Jackson smirked at her and wacked her once in the thigh.

“Ouch!” Lila faked. “And violent towards women as well.” Her
and Jackson laughed. “Tiffany, this is a safe space—if Jackson’s hurting you,
you tell me, and I’ll—“

Jackson cut Lila off. “You’ll what? Give me a good smack in
the face?”

She laughed and punched him in the arm. “I’ll do worse than
that, Jackson. Barrett Warde will think I took it easy on him compared to you.”

“Barrett Warde?” Lyle asked, coming back in with another
bottle of red. “What about Barrett Warde?”

Tiffany giggled and sat forward. “You didn’t hear?” she
asked. “Lila gave Barrett a palm to the cheek last night.”

“I’ll be damned,” Lyle gasped, corking the bottle. “If
you’re ever lookin’ to get in the ring, Lila, bet we could make some money off
ya.” He winked at her. Tiffany groaned again, sitting back into the couch.

“Come on, Dad, let’s not talk about the ring while Tiffany’s
here, okay?” Jackson wasn’t asking so much asking as telling, and Lyle didn’t
seem too happy about that.

“Sure, son,” he said through a forced smile. “We ain’t got
to talk about that while Tiffany’s here.” The way he said her name assured Lila
that neither Cassandra nor Lyle particularly liked Tiffany’s influence on
Jackson. Lila’d have to look further into that. Now was not the time though.
Lyle filled everyone’s glass again, and they moved the conversation onto
lighter topics.

The dinner was great—Shelley made a mean jambalaya—and the
company was even better. Lila found it strange that the five of them talked as
if they were a family. There were few awkward silences, and thankfully none of
that often painful catch-up exposition chat that so often happens between new
acquaintances. They spoke to each other as if they’d been living in the same
house all their lives.

After dinner, they’d all sat around and had a few more
glasses, before Cassandra and Lyle turned in for the night.

“You kids hang out down here as long as you’d like,” Lyle
said, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his dress shirt and heading to the
stairs.  Cassandra kissed the top of Jackson’s head, which he grudgingly
allowed, and moved to give Lila a hug.

“Absolutely,” she echoed. “And Lila, if you want to stay
here tonight, we got a guest bedroom with your name on it.” She wrapped her
arms around Lila’s small body and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Towels are
there and everything.”

Lila smiled into Cassandra’s hug. “Thanks,” she said
quietly.

“Don’t drive home if it ain’t safe,” Lyle said from the
stairs. With that, they disappeared up the stairs, and Lila, Jackson, and
Tiffany remained on the couch.

Tiffany gave a huge sigh and stretched out, putting her head
in Jackson’s lap. Jackson ran his fingers through her blonde hair and motioned
for Lila to grab the bottle and pour him some more. She did.

“Pretty good wine,” she said stupidly into the silence as she
poured.

“Yeah, I’m not a huge fan of wine,” Jackson said, even as he
took a sip. “But Mom and Dad always entertain with it, so whatever.” Tiffany
was half-asleep on his lap, but murmured a
hmm
of affirmation anyway.

“I’ll drink it, for sure,” Lila said, filling her own glass
and sitting back down. “But give me a good strong something else any day.”
Jackson laughed and held his glass out to hers, and they cheersed with a soft
clink
.
“What time is it, anyway?” Lila groped around the sofa for her cell phone.
12:37AM. Not too late.

“Hey, Tiff,” Jackson said quietly, smirking at Lila.

“Mmm?” she breathed from his lap.

“You asleep?” Still grinning.

“No.” She said it so quietly Lila could barely hear it. Lila
smiled back at Jackson now.

“Sure?” he asked.

“Mmhm,” she responded.

“Then you won’t mind if Lila and I just throw down a round
or two right here, right now, right?” Jackson was talking in such a low, quiet
tone, so calm, so soothing, Lila was starting to feel a little sleepy too.

“Nope, nope,” Tiffany muttered, smacking her lips a couple
times as she rolled over onto her side.

“Out like a light,” Jackson winked. Lila sipped her wine and
sat back. She and Jackson sat in silence for a minute or two, Jackson still
stroking Tiffany’s hair as she fell fast asleep. Lila was a bit surprised at
how tender Jackson was with Tiffany. She hadn’t expected him to have that side.
And Tiffany didn’t really strike Lila as the type of girl Jackson went for.

“How long have y’all been together?” she asked.

“You’re wondering why we’re together, right?” he retorted.

Lila shrugged. “I know that’s what you’re wondering,” he
smiled a little now. “Tiffany’s not exactly my type, I know.” Lila kept silent.
She’d never really been in a relationship, what did she know? Plus, she could
tell Jackson wasn’t done talking, and she was happy to let him finish. “I’ve
dated a lot of girls,” he said, again as if he could hear Lila’s thoughts, “and
a lot of them have been exactly the type of girl you’d expect me to date. But
not Tiffany.” He dug his fingers into her hair a little more. “She’s good for
me. She’s bubbly and happy and normal, and she knows how to deal with my moody
ass.” He chuckled a bit to himself.

“She doesn’t seem to like the fighting much,” Lila said. She
swirled the wine in her glass as she watched Jackson. His face darkened a
little at this comment.

“No, she doesn’t. And, to be honest, when we talk about it,
I don’t much like the fighting anymore either.” Something clicked in Lila’s
mind, and the slightly cool attitude that both Cassandra and Lyle took towards
Tiffany suddenly made sense. They were worried about Tiffany’s influence on
Jackson. “The ‘rents don’t much care for her talking that way, obviously,”
Jackson’s brow furrowed. Seriously, he seemed to know exactly what was on her
mind.

“How long you been fighting?” Lila asked.

“Let’s see,” Jackson sat back, his eyes cast upwards towards
the ceiling. He took his hand out of Tiffany’s hair and ran it through his own.
“I got started in that when I was, maybe, 17?” Lila exhaled. That was young.
“Yeah, I know, but I’d been boxing since I was maybe 10 or 11. Dad got me
started and I loved it, I was a natural.”

“I bet you were,” Lila grinned. “Looked like a natural born
killer to me last night.”

“Hah, yeah,” Jackson forced a laugh. “But lately I’ve been
wondering if being a natural at something means you should do it. You know?”
Lila shook her head. She didn’t really know what being a natural felt like. As
long as she could remember, she didn’t have skills or hobbies or talents—she wasn’t
really allowed to, didn’t have time.

“I’m not a natural at anything,” she responded honestly.
“But I can see what you mean. Fighting’s not really a thing that you can do for
the rest of your life, either.”

“Exactly,” Jackson locked his eyes on hers. “I mean, it’ll
make me—well, it’ll make my parents—enough money that I wouldn’t have to do
anything else…” He trailed off as his eyes slid down to Tiffany, sleeping like
an angel.

“But it also might kill you.” Lila finished his sentence for
him. He looked up at her again.

“Yeah. It might do that, too.” Jackson fell silent, swirled
his wine around and then threw it back. “Eugh,” he grimaced a bit. “We’ve had a
lot of this tonight. How much is left in that bottle?” he nodded in its
direction. Lila hoisted herself up and checked.

“Enough for a glass a piece,” she smiled, throwing hers back
and refilling both their glasses. Jackson faked a shudder as she poured, and
they laughed.

“So what about you?” he asked, taking his turn to stare at
her intently. Lila felt small under his gaze, she felt like the world’s most
boring person, like she’d have nothing to talk about now that the focus was on
her.

“What about me what?” Lila deflected.

“You know what, don’t give me that.” Jackson was smiling but
his tone was firm. “So what’s the deal with your parents?” Jackson cut through
the silence, somewhat harshly.

“You don’t already know?” Lila asked.

“I know a little bit, from my parents. But I want to hear it
from you.”

“Oh boy.” It was Lila’s turn to sink back into the couch.
“Well, speaking of my parents, my dad’s probably passed out on our kitchen
floor right about now.”

“He do that a lot?”

“Yep, although, tonight he might be waiting up for me. He
was last night, very weird—but yeah, he messed his leg up on a construction
site when I was about 6, I guess, and he’s never been able to do much since.”
Jackson nodded at her from his side of the couch. “My mother dying certainly
didn’t help,” she said softly, looking into her wine glass.

“Yeah. I bet not.”

“You might have—“ Lila stopped short.

“Met her?” Jackson finally finished, not looking at Lila.
“Yeah, I think I did. I kind of remember it—but not that well, I was young.”

“Yeah? How old?”

“About 7, I think,” he answered nonchalantly.

“So we’re the same age.”

“22?” he asked.

Lila nodded. “She died in a car wreck,” she said quietly.

It hung in the air, silent except for Tiffany’s steady,
heavy breathing. Lila was staring at the carpet until she realized, and then
she looked up at Jackson. He was already looking at her. She settled back into
his gaze and that was all they did for a moment—just look at each other. It was
maybe the calmest, quietest moment Lila had ever had, by herself, let alone
with another human being. They just
looked
at each other.

“I’m sorry, Lila,” Jackson said finally. He said it so
gently she wanted to cry.

She’d always thought that if she talked about her mom with
anyone, they might say the wrong thing, or ask a bunch of questions, or look at
her with that awful pity that she’d gotten from some classmates throughout
school. She rarely talked to anyone about anything, but she definitely didn’t
talk about her mother. But here, with Jackson, she didn’t feel like she
needed
to talk. The way he looked at her, the tone to his
sorry
, the way he
didn’t press or prod her, or simper in his apology.

Things were going well. A week into her new life, and Lila
felt like things had always been this way. She’d settled in nicely at Club
Malevolence and worked there almost every night, some nights as a cocktail
waitress, and two nights as a bartender. She and Raechelle were on their way to
being the best of friends, and she’d met Lucy and Georgia, the two other girls
who worked there, and got along with them just fine. They were all young,
attractive women, and Lila was by far the least fun.

Lucy was tall and blonde and cold as ice, but knew how to
party after the work died down. Georgia was short and curvy and olive-skinned,
and had such a charm about her that she could bring the baddest man down into a
puddle around her. They could all do their jobs well, all had good senses of
humor, and all had the right stuff to make money like Lila’d never seen in her
life. She was walking out with hundreds in cash, had already made more in a
week at the Club than she’d made in months at the Dirty Pint, and she was
blowing way more money than she’d been used to.

One day, she and Raechelle went shopping. “You can’t wear
the one dress Cassandra gave you
every single night
, you slob,”
Raechelle had joked one evening. The next day, she picked Lila up and they
drove into New Orleans, and stepped inside shops Lila had only dreamt of.
Raechelle had a great fashion sense, and Lila hadn’t done any work—she’d mostly
just stood there and let Raechelle dress her, then front over the money when
they got to the register.

Lila made sure she set aside what she’d need for the
mortgage, and some money for her dad as well. Ever since he’d tried to talk to
her, Lila hadn’t seen him—mostly because she hadn’t been home. He’d texted her
a few times asking where she was, but she never responded. One evening, she’d
gotten home late from the Club and he was passed out on the floor, and for a
couple minutes, everything seemed normal. She cleaned him up and put him to
bed, and left the next morning before he’d gotten up.

If she wasn’t at work, she was probably at the Morans’. She
and Jackson had hung out almost every day, doing nothing, just sitting in the
living room or in the backyard and talking. They could riff for hours, start on
a topic and let it landslide as long as they could stand it, talking over each
other, building on arguments neither of them had quite expressed, responding to
comments the other one had only been thinking. They got along like they’d known
each other their whole lives, and anyone else present disappeared into the
background.

Sometimes, Cassandra and Lyle sat around with them, and they
all had fun together—until someone would bring up fighting, and Tiffany would
get huffy, and Jackson would get moody. But Cassandra and Lyle never seemed to
get miffed. Every once in awhile, Lila could see a cloud cross over their
bright faces—a certain look thrown at Tiffany, a glance exchanged as she
chastised something about the ring—and she wondered how long they’d let Jackson
continue to see her. Because they did seem like the type of parents who would
intervene if they needed to, and they definitely would need to. Lila wasn’t
sure how much money they made off Lyle’s business, but to her, Jackson seemed
to be their main source of income. He’d fought twice more since the first night
she saw him, and he’d won both fights, at great expense to his opponents and at
great payoff to his parents.

After the fights was definitely when Jackson’s mood was most
foul. Something about it got to him: his parents’ glee, their cool
congratulations, their seeming disregard for the danger of it all. Lila’d
already learned to handle him delicately after a match, give him shit at just the
right moment to break the storm clouds up. Since Tiffany was never there, the
burden fell on Lila to make sure Jackson was taken care of—Cassandra and Lyle
certainly weren’t going to do it. Jackson never hung around long, and neither
did they. They’d all chat after the fight and then head off in their separate
directions.

Who Lila hadn’t seen again, and who she thought about all
the time, was Barrett. She’d hoped he’d fight as often as Jackson, but since he
was really only the fighter everyone loved to hate, he got less ring time
apparently. He hadn’t fought or even been to the club since that first night.
Lila lived her life as though he might walk into the room at any moment, she
saw herself from a crane shot and judged her every pose, every move, considered
every angle. But he hadn’t shown up again since that first night. The girls at
the bar weren’t made privy to the fighter lineup, and Jackson was the only one
she’d know about beforehand. It was torture, to be so turned on by someone who
was more or less a ghost. Lila’d found herself having to satisfy her needs more
in the last week than she’d ever had to before. Anytime his face flitted across
her mind, she felt herself clench, grow wet, flush across her chest. She waited
on pins and needles every time she walked into Club Malevolence, until the
moment she walked out, and still, she hadn’t seen him for a whole week.

Tonight, she was running drinks for Lucy behind the bar. She
said hello to the bouncers, who loved her now, and slinked over to the bar.
Lucy was already setting it up the way she wanted it—she was very particular.

“Hey girl,” she said, slapping down a drying mat.

“Hey Luce, how’s everything?” Lila set her clutch down in
the usual spot underneath the bar and straightened up.

“Good, good. How’s everything with you? Love that shade of
purple.”

Lila smoothed out her dress, a new one, a tight,
off-the-shoulder mini dress in a deep, dark purple. “Yeah? I worried it was
maybe too girly.”

“Too girly, seriously? You’re too much. I can only tell it’s
a color because I’m staring at it, and you’re worried it’s too girly.” Lucy
swatted her with a towel.  “New heels too?” Lila spun around for her.

“Raechelle took me shopping. You like ‘em?” Lila showed them
off, a pair of black suede peep-toes.

“Raechelle’s turning you into a new woman.” Lucy said it
without a smile, but Lila could tell she approved.

“Someone’s got to,” Lila leaned against the bar and looked
around. A couple early patrons were taking their seats. “They all order from
you already?” Lucy nodded, setting up the rest of her glasses.

“Yep, early crowd tonight, and they’re only going to keep
coming.”

By now, a week in, Lila saw the same faces every night, knew
everyone’s name, knew most of their drink orders. She had a knack for names and
faces, and the people at Club Malevolence really loved her. She had a great rapport
with everyone, already had some inside jokes with a couple select regulars, and
generally knew how to handle the crowd at the Club. It was a pretty amazing
job, relatively low work for maximum pay-off.

A couple hours later and two fights in, the club was getting
busy. Lila was running her ass off, glistening lightly with sweat, but goddamn,
she was making bank. People tonight—maybe there was a full moon or something—were
handing her enormous bills as tips and drinking more than they normally did
anyway. Her clutch was full of crumpled money already. 

“Oh my god,” Lucy wheezed behind the bar. “When the next
fight starts, can you do me a solid and hop behind the bar? I need a fucking
tampon.” Lila nodded at her as she cracked open the shaker she had in her hands
and poured a ruby red drink into a martini glass. “This goes to the Edwards
over there, this and that vodka rocks,” she nodded at the glass.

Lila swept the drinks up, laid them on her tray, and strutted
off in the direction of the patrons. They were on a fight break right now,
which was when most people rolled up to the bar and ordered directly from the
bartender, but the Edwards were the kind of people who didn’t leave their seats
the whole evening. They settled in when they got there, they only got up when
they were ready to leave, and they tipped the shit out of the cocktail
waitress.

Lila made her way back up to the bar as most of the patrons
started back for their seats. The last fight was about to start, and the
fighters had just come out of the locker rooms. Lila heard the crowd
reaction—an intense, guttural
boo
—and her insides froze. She turned
around slowly, only to see him there, sliding under the ropes, shirtless and
sweaty and exactly as she’d remembered—Barrett. He had a cocky smile on his
face, and was giving the crowd the finger. He slid his mouth guard in and
looked around the club. His eyes caught hers. She was trying so hard to keep
her face neutral, despite the feeling that every pore of her body was opening
up for him. He held her gaze for a moment, then winked and blew a kiss at her.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath. Warmth spread
between her legs regardless.

Barrett’s opponent tonight was an enormous black man, dark
and intense. He had a look on his face that promised Barrett a long, slow,
painful loss, and this seemed to egg Barrett on further. He taunted the crowd,
wagged his eyebrows at the other fighter. Lila could feel herself staring at
him, trying to take in every inch of his body with her eyes, and she so desperately
wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. The men sat with their trainers in the
corners one last time, and the bell rang.

Lucy ducked out from behind the bar. “Thanks for the favor,
girl, I owe you one.” She kissed Lila on the cheek, grabbed her purse, and
rushed towards the bathrooms. Lila slipped under the bar and leaned back
against the shelves of alcohol. The beginning of a fight was always the calmest
time, when most everyone had a drink and was too wrapped up in the early moves
to bother with a cocktail waitress. She had a moment or two, at the very least,
to just
watch
. And thank god she did. Barrett was on fire tonight.

He danced around a bit, letting his strong, silent opponent
hold his ground for a moment or two. Then, Barrett began feinting, leaning in
quick for a punch only to pull back out and laugh at him. The crowd hissed and
jeered. The black man seemed to be made of concrete, that’s how unmoved he was
by Barrett’s performance. He kept his hands up and his eyes trained on Barrett,
who got more and more ridiculous the more his opponent held out. He was
shuffling his feet like crazy and dodging all over the place, when finally, his
adversary struck: a hard, clean attempt at Barrett’s face.

As if he knew the move was coming, Barrett ducked under it
and hit the man square in the ribs, and hard. Lila had seen him joke around,
but tonight, he was not doing that. Once the man went down just a little from
Barrett’s first punch, his fists became pistons, rapidly attacking the man’s gut,
ribs, and face. He wasn’t ready for it at all, no one was. The crowd leapt to
its feet, screaming and groaning. The man faltered again, pulled his arms up
too high trying to defend his face, and Barrett brought a knee swiftly into his
stomach. A loud
oomph
, and boom, he was down on one knee.

For all his feather-puffing beforehand, Lila could tell that
when Barrett saw an opening to win, he took it, and he wanted his man to go
down as fast as he could possibly get him down. With his opponent down on one
knee, without so much as a grin or a jest, Barrett swept him up into the same
effortless chokehold she’d seen him get the last Zen Master into. The move
seemed unbeatable. First that sprightly martial arts fighter, and now this
burly, built black man, had both gone down near instantaneously against
Barrett’s signature move. Tonight, Barrett wasn’t fooling around though. He
wanted this fight over. Lila could tell, because at this moment, with the man’s
head wedged tightly in the crick of his arm, Barrett looked at her directly.
Lila felt herself go hot and cold all at once, felt the wind simultaneously
leak out of her and rush into her at the same time. She felt Lucy’s hand on her
shoulder.

“Hey girl, thanks.” Lila nearly jumped out of her shoes.

Lucy jumped back and clutched her chest, laughing. “Whoa,
girl! Christ. What, did you black out there for a moment?” Lila laughed, more
out of nervousness than anything else, as she inched past Lucy and slid back
out from under the bar.

“Just got wrapped up in the fight, I guess,” she muttered,
trying not to look at the ring despite the screeching of the crowd.

“Easy to do when Barrett’s in the ring, they only last about
two seconds anyway.” Lucy rolled her eyes and looked towards the ring. Lila
followed her gaze as the crowd erupted—the black man pounded the mat furiously
with his hand, and Barrett had won. “Aw, what a shame,” Lucy deadpanned. “We
missed the part where he tried to rip his arm off.”

Lila laughed again, nervously. The fight was over and the
crowd was already throwing their trash at the ring, trying to hit Barrett as he
dried off in his corner.

“Wait, have you seen him since you smacked him?” Lucy asked.
The Smack Heard Round the World—by now, all the girls working at the Club knew
about it. Lila shook her head. She could feel Barrett getting closer, inch by
inch, even though he was still all the way across the room. “Oh my god!” Lucy
squealed. “I can’t wait to see this.”

Lila couldn’t either.

And, as if on cue, there he was, two stools away, emanating
a heat that Lila could feel all over her body. She averted her eyes to the bar.
Now that he was actually here, she felt shy and withdrawn, like she never
wanted to look at him again. But she could feel his eyes on her, poring into
her.

“Well, well, well,” his voice broke the silence. Lila knew
he was talking to her but she couldn’t bring herself to respond.

“Nice fight, Barrett,” Lucy’s cold drawl responded. “I love
it when you nearly wrench some guy’s arm out of his socket, it’s my favorite
thing.”

“Aw, Luce,” Barrett cooed. Lila finally looked up to see the
two of them talk. “Listen, I know you’re still mad about that one time you
tried to sleep with me and I didn’t want it but—“