In the crisp air of the early morning, with the low hum of the city still warming up to a new day, sweat dripped from Benny's brow as his fist rhythmically struck Coach's training pads inside the sleek glass walls of the gym. Reflections flickered across the worn, futuristic equipment, casting sharp glints off scratched chrome surfaces as his movements punctuated the stillness. Blue lights glowed softly, reflecting off the streamlined equipment that filled the space.
The air was thick with the scent of sweat as Benny danced around the ring, his movements a symphony of aggression and precision. "Duck, weave, weave, right hook, dodge, weave, right hook, jab, weave, right hook, right hook, right hook, right hook," his coach called out in a rhythmic cadence, each command punctuated by the thud of Benny's glove against the training pads. His breathing was heavy, his body a network of strained muscles and steely resolve. Three and a half months into recovery, and yet, his body hadn't betrayed him. Not yet.
"Jab, jab, weave, duck, right hook," Benny executed another drill, pushing through the routine until a sharp pang of pain shot through his muscles, momentarily buckling his knees. Falling to the padded floor, he caught himself on his fist, grimacing as his coach rushed over.
"Easy, Benny," his coach, a grizzled veteran of the sport with eyes that had seen too many fighters fall, extended a hand. But Benny shook his head, stubborn pride etching lines across his face as he pushed himself up. "We're not stopping," he insisted, his voice a mix of pain and defiance, immediately resetting his stance. "Jab, jab, jab, weave, duck, right hook, right hook, right hook."
His coach frowned, "You need to rest, recharge a bit."
But Benny's mind was elsewhere, flashing back to the match from the previous night. The victory that felt hollow. Won on points, the match was too close, his performance too sloppy by his own harsh standards, no matter the applause or what his coach said. And then there was that chaos at Club CIRCUIT—the gunshots, the panic, that strange, clawed figure that had come out of nowhere...
"No!" Benny snapped, teeth gritted, breaths labored. "We're going AGAIN!"
Punching through the lingering pain, he drilled relentlessly until his energy waned and he slumped against the cool, sweat-slick wall. His coach handed him a towel and an electrolyte drink, concern written all over his face.
"You need to go easier on yourself, Benny."
Benny half-glanced at his coach, took the towel and drink, and wiped the sweat from his brow. Resting his head against the wall, he asked, "The schedule?"
"McDonough on Saturday. Beat him, and you've only got one more qualifying round," the coach outlined, then added with a stern tone, "But you've got to rest. Keep this up and you're going to collapse from exhaustion. Your body's still in recovery, whether you want to admit it or not."
A brief silence fell, the only sound being the coach tidying up the space. Benny stared at the floor, his mind on the bag of cash he'd almost lost last night—this month's payment to the Scorpioni. If he hadn't fought off that thug...
"Those guys at the club last night," his coach ventured carefully, "they sounded like trouble. Scorpioni trouble."
Benny's jaw tightened. "It's handled."
"Is it? Because from where I'm standing—"
"It's. Handled." Benny's tone left no room for debate. "As long as I keep winning, we're good."
The coach shook his head, about to respond when the ringing of a cell phone cut through the quiet. Benny's head snapped up, and he strode over to his locker, pulling out his flip phone.
"Hello? ...Yes, I am... He did what? When did this happen?... Okay, okay, calm down. I'll be there immediately!" His voice was a mixture of frustration and urgency. Hanging up abruptly, he slammed the locker door shut.
"Everything alright?" his coach asked, picking up on the tension.
"Cathie called. She's at the school. It's Logan, the fucking kid," Benny muttered, his face drawn tight with worry.
"What'd he do this time?" the coach queried, but Benny was already out the door, his mind racing.
Crossing the street, Benny slid into his '69 Dodge Charger, its white exterior and tiger print suede interior untouched by compromise—a testament to his taste and the rewards of his hard-fought career. As he drove off towards Metroplex West High School, his car sliced through the awakening city, a lone streak against the urban sprawl, racing against time to handle yet another crisis unfolding in the backdrop of his chaotic life.
Benny arrived at Metroplex West High School, the sleek lines of his vehicle cutting through the parking lot. The car's tiger print suede interior seemed out of place against the backdrop of teenage chaos, but Benny didn't care. He parked and strode purposefully towards the front entrance, ignoring the curious stares of students who recognized him.
"Benjamin Wright... I'm here for Logan," he announced at the front desk, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside him.
Ushered to the back, Benny entered the principal's office, where a tableau of tension awaited him. The principal, a stern woman with a no-nonsense demeanor, looked unamused. Catherine, Benny's unofficial sister-in-law, sat beside a terrified-looking Logan. The school's correctional officer, an old buddy of Benny's, stood off to the side, arms crossed. Logan, with cuts and bruises on his face, was frowning and looking away from everyone. When Benny walked in, Logan straightened up, his posture changing in a subtle wave of acknowledgment to his uncle.
"Mr. Wright," the principal began, her tone a mixture of authority and frustration. "Logan was involved in a fight with three other students."
Benny's eyes narrowed as he looked at Logan. Despite the cuts and bruises, it was hard to believe he'd fought three other kids. A small spark of pride flared in Benny—Logan had held his own.
"The other three boys are in the nurse's office and had to be sent to the hospital for stitches," Cathy added, her disappointment palpable.
Logan glanced at his mother, then to Benny. He knew his uncle tried to look upset, but he also knew there was a flicker of pride there.
"That's not the worst part," the principal continued, glancing at the correctional officer. "The boys wouldn't say, but classmates reported that the dispute was over stolen drugs. Marijuana."
The spark of pride Benny felt vanished. He furrowed his brow, looking at Logan with added disappointment. Fighting over drugs was a different story entirely.
"Eyewitnesses, some students defended Logan, saying he didn't initiate the altercation," the principal said.
"Sure as hell finished it," chimed in the correctional officer, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Cathy began apologizing profusely, tears welling up in her eyes. She was clearly struggling to contain her embarrassment and stress.
Benny finally spoke, "Anything you have to say for yourself?" All eyes turned to Logan, whose face burned with shame. He avoided eye contact, trying to form a response but remaining silent.
"Normally, with drugs involved, we could be looking at not just suspension but expulsion," the principal said, her words hanging heavy in the air. Logan stiffened at the mention of expulsion. "However, the correctional officer and I have decided to go with a warning and a week of suspension."
The correctional officer made familiar eye contact with Benny, their shared history evident in the gesture. Logan, unaware of the mercy shown to him, stared at his feet.
Afterward, Benny approached the correctional officer. "Thank you... so much for talking to her."
"No problem, man. It wasn't much weed anyway, not enough for anything serious," the officer replied. "But regardless, thank you," Benny insisted.
"Thank me by winning that match against McDonough on Saturday. My wallet's banking on it," the officer chuckled and headed out. "See you around!"
Benny walked over to Cathy, who thanked him for showing up. "Don't mention it," he said, but Cathy was distressed.
"Fucking weed! He brought, no, fought over weed, at school!" she berated herself as a parent.
Benny stopped her, "Hey, hey, you're doing fine. You do so much already; don't beat yourself up over this."
"Benny, if you weren't homeboys with the correctional officer, Logan would be getting expelled or even sent to juvie. I just don't want him to end up like—"
"I know," Benny cut her off softly. "He's not," he said sternly.
In the parking lot, as Logan followed Cathy to her car, Benny pulled up beside her. "Go relax, decompress. I'll take Logan for the evening, talk to him and such."
Cathy looked at Logan, her eyes worn, then back at Benny. "What time will you drop him off?"
"8-9, earlier if you'd like..."
"9 is good," she replied.
Logan slowly walked over to Benny's Charger and got into the passenger seat. The two vehicles drove off in different directions, the ambient silence of the car running down the road hanging between them. Both stared off into the distance, unsure of what to say.
Finally, Benny broke the silence. "You want to tell me what really happened?"
Logan sighed, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't start the fight, Uncle Benny. They were bullying another kid, trying to take his weed. I tried to stop them, and it escalated."
Benny nodded, his mind racing with thoughts of how to help Logan navigate this turbulent time. "Alright," he said finally. "Let's figure this out together."
"So... it wasn't your weed?" Benny reaffirmed, keeping his eyes on the road.
"...No," Logan replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "I don't even like weed. I prefer alc—" Logan stopped himself before he could incriminate further. He quickly continued, "This scrawny guy I know, someone I associate with... They were trying to punk him out of this jay he had. They took it from him, so I took it back... You know," Logan pointed to his bruised face as evidence.
Benny absorbed the information, nodding slowly. "So you didn't tell anyone to protect the guy?"
"Yeah, I'm not a narc," Logan said defiantly.
"Well, that changes some perspective at least," Benny said thoughtfully. "But your mom isn't going to let you off. You're still on punishment. Grounded."
"Bullshit," Logan muttered under his breath.
"Watch it!" Benny snapped, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
"She thinks I'm going to be like my dad," Logan said, the silence that followed filled with tension.
"You're not," Benny said firmly. "Why would that be a bad thing?"
"She still doesn't forgive him for what he did. It's bullshit. I mean, haven't you?" Logan's voice trembled with a mix of anger and confusion.
"What he did affected us all in different ways," Benny said, his tone softening. "Prison is hard on your loved ones. She just doesn't want you on that path. She was almost on it herself. Your father is in prison for the rest of his life, unable to see any of you again. She loved him so much; it was just hard on her, you know."
Logan glanced at Benny's missing arm, his eyes showing hidden grievances. "Did you forgive him?" he asked quietly.
Benny stared straight ahead, driving with steady eyes, his focus only occasionally broken by an erratic blink or slight twitch. "Of course I do," he said finally, his voice unwavering. "He's family… My brother."
The car passed through an intersection where police were still processing the scene outside Club CIRCUIT. Yellow tape cordoned off the entrance, and officers were taking statements from staff. Benny's fingers unconsciously tightened on the steering wheel.
"Were you there? Last night?" Logan asked, noticing his uncle's reaction. "At that club where the shooting was? It's all over social media."
Benny nodded curtly. "Yeah. It was nothing."
"They're saying some creature with claws took out a bunch of gangsters. They're calling it Nightclaw."
"Don't believe everything you see online," Benny said, though the image of those razor-sharp claws flashed vividly in his mind.
He changed the subject. "When we were young, your dad was always sticking up for people. This one time in high school, he saw this kid getting jacked up by some older guys, twice your dad's size. Your dad, the crazy fuck, told 'em to 'Fuck off.' When that didn't work, he used an empty coke bottle. Gave one of the poor fucks stitches… but they never bothered that kid, or any other kid, at least while your dad was around."
Logan's eyes widened. "What happened to the kid he defended?"
"Oh, that kid became one of our best friends, up until he moved. Hell, he texted me last week congratulating me on a match!" Benny chuckled. "And he always joked that your dad saved his life. Your father had this knack for stepping in when things were unfair. It's an admirable trait, Logan."
Logan's face softened, a mix of pride and sadness. "So, he always stood up for people?"
"Most definitely!" Benny said, his voice warm with memory. "Another time, we were at this diner, and he saw a waitress, kind of looked like your aunt, getting yelled at by some roided up asshat, making a fucking scene over, what was it? A well-done steak, he wanted it medium or some shit. Anyhow, your father, he stepped in, calmed the situation down, and made sure she was okay. Surprisingly without breaking his foot off in the guy's ass. At times he was a stand-up guy!"
Logan nodded, absorbing the stories. "But he ended up in prison..."
"Yeah," Benny said, his tone turning serious. "He did a lot of stupid shit in the past, we both did! It just got out of hand and…" He paused, unconsciously flexing the stump where his left arm had been. "It's important to keep a handle on how you react to things, Logan. Redirect your energy to more productive solutions. He would want that for you."
The car drove through the city with the windows down, the cool air filling the silence that settled between them. They shared a mutual understanding, a bridge forming over the gap left by the past. As they approached the gym, Benny caught sight of a man in a suit leaning against a black sedan across the street. The subtle scorpion tattoo on his neck was just visible, a reminder of obligations that couldn't be ignored.
Benny parked the car across the street from his gym, the lights casting a soft glow over the scene. "Alright," Benny said, breaking the quiet. "Let's grab some food. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
His eyes flickered briefly to the man by the sedan, who nodded almost imperceptibly. The payment would have to wait until Logan wasn't around. One problem at a time, Benny thought, leading his nephew inside and away from the shadows that threatened to engulf them both.