Everywhere That Tommy Goes
Read Everywhere That Tommy Goes Online
Authors: Howard K. Pollack
EVERYWHERE
THAT TOMMY
GOES
By Howard K. Pollack
This book is a work of fiction. Places, events, and situations in this story are purely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
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 of this book.
Copyright © 2014 Howard K. Pollack
All rights reserved.
Image by Marlene Piskin; cover design by Marlene Piskin and Natanya Wheeler.
Produced with the assistance of The Stonesong Press, LLC
Kindle ISBN: TK
“All human beings . . . are commingled out of good and evil.” —Robert Louis Stevenson
PROLOGUE
The blue glow emanating from the night-light plugged into the wall of Tommy Sullivan’s bedroom cast murky shadows across the floor. The bed creaked as Tommy turned and rolled uncomfortably under the covers, wetness dampening his pajamas in the most embarrassing of places for an eight year old. He jumped up midway through the recurring dream that had plagued him for three years. He still didn’t quite understand it, but he knew deep down that something very bad had happened when he was born. It had all blown up after his fifth birthday celebration, and the dream always jolted him awake just as his mother screamed, “I want him back.”
Tommy reached out for the baby blanket that lay securely by his side. When he couldn’t locate it, his heart began to pound against his chest. He sat up and switched on the lamp beside his bed. Light flooded the room. He still couldn’t find his security blanket. After a few seconds of panic, he remembered that his mom had said that he would have to go without it for the night because it was being washed.
Tears began to flow. He pulled the covers over his head and started to wail.
But no one came to comfort him.
PART ONE
CHAPTER 1
I don’t know how many punches I’ve taken, but the metallic taste of warm blood is overwhelming. Dazed, I can still hear them laughing. The bigger guy’s laugh is deeper. He’s got my arms pinned behind my back, and I feel his hot, stale breath against my ear. The smaller guy snorts a laugh, and every time he hits me, my brain rattles.
I tighten up, waiting for him to belt me again, when another dude comes out of nowhere. Moving like lightning, he blocks the next punch, spins the guy around, and unleashes a barrage of blows that drop the guy cold. The big guy is slow to react, but he soon lunges forward and squares off. The new guy takes a boxing stance, quickly pivots, and connects with a rear-leg round kick to the head. The big guy wobbles for a second, regains his composure, and charges, swinging wildly.
The dude steps aside and absorbs a glancing blow across the chin. He shrugs it off, follows the big guy, and shoves him from behind. Stumbling forward, the big guy regains his balance and turns, but the dude is already waiting for him. He nails him with a throat strike,
follows with a leg sweep, and the guy goes down. Then he positions himself on the big guy’s chest, all MMA, and starts pummeling his face.
After the first few punches, the big guy is out, but the dude keeps punching away like a madman. I pull him back by the shoulders. He looks up at me—all crazy eyes—almost slugs me, then he starts laughing. After a second, he looks down at the blood on his fists. Then, all casual, he stands up, licks his knuckles, and sticks out his hand.
“Troyer Savage, at your service,” he says, as calm as can be.
I look at him sideways, wipe my forearm across my mouth, and hesitantly push out my hand to shake his. “Thanks, dude, but where the hell did you come from?”
He grins, showing the straightest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen. “Back at the club, I happened to see you hitting on that punk’s girlfriend. Not too smooth, by the way. When he and his buddy followed you outside, I had a feeling you might need some assistance.”
“Thanks. Those guys would have killed me if you didn’t step in.”
“Probably, but lets book before the cops show up.” He pulls me by the elbow and starts to run.
I follow him at a quick pace for a few blocks, barely able to keep up. Then he slows to a jog and finally stops in front of a Japanese restaurant. A lighted sign says:
SHIKI
. He starts laughing again. “Now that was fun, wasn’t it?”
Breathing heavily, I bend over, hands on my thighs. Staring down at the sidewalk, I suck wind for a few more seconds. “You call that fun? I think my nose is busted, along with a few ribs. That’s not my idea of entertainment.”
“Oh, come on, you don’t look so bad. Besides, I gave them a lot worse than you took. That should make you feel better.”
“Not really,” I say, finally catching my breath. “Hey, where’d you learn to fight like that anyway?”
“Forget it. Let’s go inside. I feel like sushi.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he says, “I’m sorry. I don’t even know your name.”
“Name’s Tommy, Tommy Sullivan . . . and how can you think about eating at a time like this?”
“Because I’m hungry.”
“Well I’m sick to my stomach.”
Troyer chuckles, “You need to toughen up, Sullivan.” He pulls open the door, walks through the place like he owns it, and sits down at a table.
I follow behind and slide onto the seat across from him. “I gotta say, you’re blowing my mind here. How can you be so calm?”
“Hey, this is no big deal, just relax.”
Seconds later, the waiter appears with the menus. “Good evening, would you care for anything to drink before I take your order?”
Troyer answers quickly. “Bring out a double shot of Patron Silver and a large bottle of Sapporo beer.”
I shake my head.
“Very well,” he says, nodding as he walks away.
I lean in to Troyer. “No big deal! That was amazing! I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
He flashes a perfect smile. “Please, that was nothing. I’ve been training since I was seven years old.”
“Seven? Really? Tell me more.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Come on, I’ve never seen anyone kick ass like that. You have to clue me in.”
“Trust me, how I became who I am is not as glamorous as you suspect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you shouldn’t be so impressed. Necessity is the mother of invention. Sometimes we have no choice. Life directs us and we cannot control it. I am who I am and I do what I do because I wasn’t given a choice. While the end result may be different, I’m sure it’s the same with you. Go ahead tell me a little about your past and I’ll prove it.”
“Honestly, I’m probably the most boring, lame-ass loser who ever lived. Do you really think I want to explore that after watching you destroy two guys like they were nothing? Frankly, I’d rather hear about you.”
“Maybe later.” Troyer grabs my wrist. “Right now there’s something else on my mind.”
“Huh. Like what?”
“Like, I don’t believe in coincidences. From the moment I saw you fumbling at the bar I had this feeling about you. I think fate put us together so I could help to rescue you from being a so-called ‘lame-ass loser.’”
I pull my hand away and look at him crossways. “What the fuck are you talking about? All I know is that you just wiped the floor with two guys like it was nothing. That was sick! I still can’t believe it, even though I saw with my own eyes. I want to know how you can do that shit.”
The waiter interrupts, puts down the shot and pours the beer into a glass. “Are you ready to order?”
Troyer orders a sushi and sashimi combo.
I shake my head “no” again. The waiter nods, and walks away.
Troyer hoists the glass and takes a sip. “Ahh, now that’s good. I just love an ice-cold brew after a fight.” He puts down the beer and pushes the shot toward me. “Come on, shoot it. You’ll feel better.”
“I don’t know dude, that’s a double.”
“Don’t be such a pussy.”
“Hey, I’m no pussy. But I’d sure like to be able to do what you just did.”
“You, and every other tough guy wannabe that ever lived.”
“Yeah, so, then tell me, where’d you learn to do that shit?”
Troyer smiles, gestures to the shot, then to my mouth. “I’ll think about it. In the meantime, show me you’re a man and throw that back.”
I roll my eyes, hoist the shot, and down it.
Troyer slaps the table hard. “Excellent! You do have balls after all. Now tell me a little bit more about yourself.”
My throat burning from the tequila, I push out a breath and force an awkward grin. “I don’t get it. Why would you be interested in anything about me? I mean, this is probably the craziest night I ever had.”
“Forget that. I saved your life, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Okay, so don’t you think that entitles me to know a little bit more about you?”
“I suppose. But to be honest with you, my life has been pretty dull, until now.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Why not let me be the judge?” Troyer sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a second, and blows it out. “Okay, I can see you won’t give up, so I’ll go first. Just be prepared. This is no fairy tale.” He takes a big swig of beer, puts the glass down, and pushes it away. “It’s like this. I grew up in an orphanage. And the kids there were very tough. If you didn’t stand up for yourself, you got the shit kicked out of you every day. It was a Catholic place, and one of the priests saw that I was being bullied all the time, so he offered to teach me how to fight. He acted as if he really cared for me. In fact, I quickly discovered that he had an ulterior motive. Ultimately, I had to make a choice; learn to fight from Father Ryan, and allow him to . . . ,” Troyer hesitates, looking up at the ceiling. “Or get beaten up every day.”
“You mean he . . .”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God!”
“God had nothing to do with it.”
“So why couldn’t you just tell them what was going on?”
“Them!” Troyer shouts under his breath. “Who the fuck do you think I could have told? Do you really believe the Church would ever listen to a piece of crap like me? Anyway—and I can’t believe I’m actually telling you this—it’s not the point. Father Ryan taught me basic fighting skills. Then I ran away from the orphanage and took to the streets. I survived on my own for years, doing the dirtiest jobs a kid could ever do. I ran drugs, I fronted for pimps and their whores, I slept in alleys, I ate from garbage pails . . . then fate stepped in. I hooked up with the first guy in my life that ever did right by me. He gave me a job cleaning the locker room and the toilets at a kickboxing gym. In exchange, he gave me lessons, fed me, and let me crash in the storage room. Being in that place night and day, watching all these tough guys beat each other up, was mind-blowing. I decided right away that I had to become an expert, so I could return to the orphanage and kill Father Ryan.”