Rose still hadn’t moved.
Traveller was down on his haunches, burying his face in his palm. “I asked you to do one thing,” he spoke tiredly through his hands. “Watch the kid.” The photos of him and Violet flashed through his mind; stolen from him again.
“I can’t believe it…” she finally spoke.
“You can’t believe that a thief stole from us?” Traveller shook his head, like a tired parent. “I can’t do this.” Raising his hand, he turned his back to her and started walking away.
She instinctively followed.
He pushed his open-palmed hand more assertively towards her: stop.
The motion caused her to flinch and almost drop the bag of liquor.
“Don’t follow me.”
So, she stood there, forced to watch Traveller be swallowed up into the crowds until he was nowhere to be seen.
She wasn’t sure how long she had stayed like that; she had only been pulled out of her trance when the world became suddenly darker. Looking up, she was relieved to see that it wasn’t night: a dark cloud had just obscured the sunlight.
Left with few other alternatives, she let the bag of liquor fall to the sand and simply walked away.
She had been travelling without a destination before this, sure, but for the first time since her journey began, she felt truly without direction.
She thought back to the events leading up to this. Was she really a fool for having believed him? Convincing them to come to Wasaga, convincing Traveller to leave the bag, convincing her to leave him alone with the bag… had it all just been a part of his plan? Was he really capable of doing something like that to the people who just saved his life? Was he really willing to do that to her?
As it turned out, she might’ve just been given the chance to ask him herself.
Through the boardwalk crowds, she could see a slender guy, about a year younger than her, crouched down behind the cover of a garbage can, dressed only in checkered boxers. Even though she could only see the back of his head, she was certain: It was Ash.
Traveller returned to the car. At least there was something Ash hadn’t stolen from him this time…
He reached into his pocket to pull out the car keys, but had been surprised by the sound of crinkling paper.
It took him a moment, but he didn’t have to pull out the paper to realize that he still had the photos of Violet in his pocket. He must’ve forgotten to put them back in the bag.
He rubbed his thumb along the waxiness, feeling it pull back at his skin, as if begging not to be left without the touch of his skin.
One thought entered his mind.
I was too harsh on Rose.
He quickly made his way back to the spot he had split off from her, but all that was left was her bag of liquor in the sand, already looted empty.
Ash had moved from the trash can to the cover of a bench, then the cover of a wall. Rose followed, always hiding one step behind him.
Looking down at her feet, she realized that a painful splint of wood that had stuck into her sole.
Jaw clenched, she pulled it out, feeling her entire body shiver at the sight of it.
Looking back up now, Ash was nowhere to be seen.
In a panic, she advanced to the cover he had just been behind, but she couldn’t find him.
That’s when the hand reached from behind and gripped her mouth.
“Shh,” Ash whispered to her, releasing his grip a moment later.
“I can’t believe you,” she whisper-yelled at him. “After everything we did for you. We trusted you!”
Ash shushed her again. “What are you talking about?”
“The bag!” She almost spoke at normal volume now.
He had no idea what she was on about. He silently pointed in the direction they were heading. Her gaze followed the finger, towards an overweight teen, maybe a year or two older than them, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt; Traveller’s purple bag hung off his shoulder by a single strap.
“You mean… You didn’t take it?”
“What? No! He took it from me, the bastard.” The Hawaiian shirt was getting farther away from them. “Do you want to keep talking, or do you want to help me get it back?”
The Hawaiian shirt led Ash and Rose across the bridge that connected the Wasaga Beach boardwalk to the rest of Wasaga. The Hawaiian shirt continued walking past the collection of stores and restaurants for tourists on this side of the bridge.
“Looks like he’s going to lead us right to his home,” Rose commented.
“… No. I know where he’s headed.”
While Rose had been partially right in that they were led to a residential house, Ash already knew that it wasn’t a home. Even though this was a residential neighbourhood, outside the range of beach tourism, there seemed to be fairly heavy foot traffic on this road, and they all seemed to be either heading towards, or away from the house the thief just approached. The thief knocked on the front door of the home in rhythmic pattern, then spoke to the shut door. The door opened a moment later and let him in.
“What is this place?” Rose asked.
“Somewhere I never thought I’d return.” Ash shook his head, aware that he didn’t have much of a choice. “Let’s get this over with.”
Walking through the crowd of drunks on the lawn, Rose noticed many of them giving Ash friendly smiles. Ash repeated the pattern of the Hawaiian shirt’s knock without so much as a second thought; it was as if he always knocked on doors in that pattern.
Locks loudly unclicked behind the door, and was pulled open by the muscular man with a number one buzzcut. As soon as he got a view of the two of them, his eyes lit up. “You son of a bitch.” He pulled Ash into a single arm hug that he struggled to free himself from. “When the hell did you get back? This mean you’re coming out of retirement?”
“Hey, Sweeney,” Ash greeted, shyly, face still stuck in his armpits. “Just stopping by.”
“Well, then, don’t let me hold you.” Realizing he was quite literally holding him, he released Ash’s head.
Ash waved to Rose to follow him in.
Although the building appeared to be a home from the outside, the inside was nothing like it. The walls were likely soundproofed, because while it was silent outside, the electronica music was blaring on the inside. Rose couldn’t believe how packed it had been in here. The music and crowd—mixed with the low lighting—made the home almost seem like a professional club.
They passed many tables spread throughout the building, each fully occupied by gamblers. Many of them recognized Ash and threw out a quick, excited greeting to him, before returning intently to the game in front of them.
Ash’s gaze scanned the room, mentally filtering out the commotion, searching for any signs of the Hawaiian shirt. There were none.
“Damn it,” Ash cursed.
“What?”
Ash made his way to the other end of the house. There, where the kitchen likely would’ve been if this were still a normal home, he made his way to a shut, wooden door. He knocked a different pattern into this door than the front door.
After a moment, a voice called through the door. “Ash?” Rose noticed now that there had been a peephole. The door swung open. A giant of a man, much bigger than Sweeney, stood in front of the steps to the basement. “Is it really you? Are you really back?”
“Yeah, Jack, I’m back. Did you let a kid with a purple backpack in here just now?”
“Kid with a—Oh. Yes. Of course.” His voice became suddenly formal. “He just came through here.”
Ash led Rose down the steps.
The basement had been cemented from floor to ceiling and there was a strong smell of rusted metal. The sound of wet pounding and cheering echoed throughout.
They reached the main room just in time to witness the end of the fight. The two muscular men stood within the borders set by the square ring of rope; the fighter in the red trunks repeatedly pounded the blue trunk’s face.
It was only once Blue finally fell, limply to the ground, that a bell rung.
“Ash!” one of the audience members called out to him over the uproar of applause with a smile and a wave. “You fighting again tonight?”
Ash ignored him and scanned around the room. There were probably close to a hundred people crammed down here.
“Fight…?” Rose muttered.
He finally saw the Hawaiian shirt and purple backpack between the crowd for a brief moment. Ash charged directly towards him, like a police dog off a leash with the scent of a convict.
Ash grappled him by his collar hard enough to tear the sleeves of the Hawaiian shirt under the weight of his armpit. Ash raised his fist, but before the punch could gain any momentum, his entire hand became engulfed by a hand much larger than his own.
Jack’s face didn’t match his body at all. It was as if someone took the face of a child, reluctant to leave the car for the dentist, and placed it on the body of a towering athlete. “Sorry, Ash.” Jack’s other fist came right at Ash’s face, engulfing his world in darkness.
When the light finally returned to Ash’s eyes, he was in the basement’s back room. There were four other people there with him. Rose sat, knees up, against the wall in the adjacent corner of the room, Jack towered over Ash, arms tensely crossed, and the kid in the Hawaiian shirt stood behind the fourth person, peering around the suited man’s arms.
Ash knew exactly who this fourth person was.
“‘Sup, Mister Ramone? Been a while.”
Mr. Ramone spoke with the kind of calm, grizzled voice that demanded respect. “What business do you have coming in here and trying to rough up my son?”
Ash could hear enough commotion from the rest of the basement to be well assured that no one out there would hear any sounds from in here.
Ash tiredly pointed to the purple bag. “He’s got something of mine.”
Mr. Ramone turned back to his boy with a stern look, then turned back to Ash. “Well, I’m sorry Ash, but I can’t just give it back. You know how that’d look, right? You come in here, rough up my boy, and then get to leave with your money?”
It was looking more and more like Ash was going to have to fight his way out of this. Ash’s fist tightened.
“What if we make a deal for it?” Rose finally spoke up.
All heads turned to her. “And who are you?” Ramone asked.
It took her a moment to find the right words. “I’m Ash’s manager. You want him to fight in the ring again, right? I mean, you must. Hearing how excited everyone out there got when they saw him, he must’ve been a hit. If you give us back the bag, he’ll fight for you tonight.”
“This bag seems much fuller than what I’d make from a single fight, even if it’s a full house.”
“Well, then, how many fights will it take?”
Ramone’s son got onto his toes and whispered something into his father’s ear.
“Hm. That’s not a bad idea, actually…” He looked back up to Rose. “Alright. One fight, but two conditions. First, Ash won’t fight here in my ring. He’ll fight in Cappelli’s ring. Second, we bet the content of the bag against Ash. Ash does not win the fight. If you guarantee that Ash will follow these conditions, I can allow you both to leave with your bag.”
Ash watched, dumbfounded, as his life was negotiated between Rose and Mr. Ramone.
Allowed to leave...?
“I’ll do it,” Ash spoke up before the two of them could add any more terms.
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