The forced one

Turn it off, he had begged, begged because the thick substance was reaching his shins, and he could hear and feel more pouring down into the hole the construction workers had dug up.

   They were taunting him and insulting him, and though he knew he had messed up the heist, he didn’t want to die. Especially of suffocation, and especially like this.

   Suddenly, he heard someone being hit in the head with something, with a force so great, a crunching noise emitted in the air. Gun shots rang out, and then a body flew into the hole with Eddie, no longer moving and then soon covered in cement.

   Eddie screamed, trying to clamor back up the walls but it was slick with wet cement, and he felt like he was going to have a panic attack when-

  The end stick of a sledgehammer was placed in the hole, and Eddie scrambled to grab it, yanking himself up out of there.

   Terry stood there, an angry look in his eyes, but there was something there that wasn’t before, a strange yellow hue in his usual black eyes. Eddie noticed the bullet holes in Terry’s chest, and lower stomach were slowly pushing out the bullet, the skin knitting itself back together.

   Before Eddie could question what was going on, Terry clasped his jaw with a bloodied hand. “Get out of here now! They’ll come for you and you family.” And with that, Terry shoved Eddie back, a growl vibrating in his throat, as he turned around, lifting the sledgehammer with ease. Eddie rubbed the cement from his eyes, as he couldn’t believe or remember if Terry had always had that much hair.

Today…

Eddie flew back on the chain link fence, his nose dripping with blood. He blocked a punch that was aimed for his side, wrapping his arm around the guy’s waist, and slamming him into the ground. The guy landed headfirst, and his body stilled, and Eddie knew he had won.

   The ref, a portly short man with a dingy striped black and white shirt that barely covered his belly walked over to Eddie and threw his arm up in the air in victory.

   Another win for him. He can hear insults in Spanish and in English, but the loudest is the money that he’s won for many fat pigs that betted for him. Although Eddie was scrawny compared to the people, they made him fight against, he had an advantage. The repressed rage that hit him in the chest and head that he only let out when it was the driving times of the fight.

    He could control it, snapping back to reality when the bell rang, or the whistle blew. But since seeing the news of what was going on in New York, it’d been harder and harder to come back here.

    Terry Case, truly known as David Reese, or as many know him as The Reaper. That night had made sense then, well, kind of. He still couldn’t tell if what had happened to Terry had been real or not.

    The media and the reports had called him a murderer, someone who had many methods of killing. But Eddie had kept up with his kill count, noting that most of them were truly bad people that didn’t deserve a second chance at life.

    But who am I to decide that? Eddie wondered, as he set his nose in place, and sat back in the benches. The fights were set underground of what was supposed to be a new subway track. The place had lost its funding so now it was free game.

    Illegally but still free.

    Someone tossed a towel in his face, and his hand snatched it down, as he turned to see a lanky girl with thick braids that went down to her waist, face clad in make-up. She wore a long purple t-shirt that was knotted at the waist, ripped jeans, and beat up flats.

    “What the hell are you doing here, Litzy?” Eddie asked, as he wiped the blood and sweat from his face. He glared at his cousin, who averted his gaze, staring through the crowd.

    “I got bored at home and followed you here.” She replied, tossing back her head. “Plus, Abuelita was starting to ask where you were at.” She finished, checking out her nails.

     Eddie rolled his eyes, knowing damn well that Litzy was lying out of her ass. How she managed to find him was mad impressive though; he took routes that were hidden from the main parts of the city.

    “Have you seen the news though? It’s a good thing you left New York when you did.” She said, pulling out a rolled-up newspaper from her back pocket. He took it from her, mouth gaping a bit.

     Terry’s face was plastered on his face, his real name David Reese and then in bold print the nickname that was endowed in him, The Reaper. Eddie scanned through the article chewing on his inner cheek. This made so much sense but also raised a lot of questions.

    “Wasn’t that your friend?” she asked, taking a seat next to him.

      Eddie shrugged, though he couldn’t downplay it like that; if not for Terry, or David, or whatever the hell his name really was, Eddie wouldn’t be here.

      There’s a sense of jealousy though, and it burns in his chest. He glares at the floor, and he feels a shove on his shoulder. Litzy has a teasing smile, but her eyes are soft.

      “You have that face on your look again.” She states, and the scowl on Eddie’s face deepens.

       “What?”

       “That look of ‘oh, I wish it was me.’ It’s a very weird thing to want.” She commented, looking at her nails.

        Eddie wanted to explode on her, mostly because she wasn’t wrong. Eddie had wished it was him. He wished he had the glory of being able to fight for what was right and protect those that couldn’t. He didn’t want to be extreme about it like Terry, but he wanted to do something.

        And that something was working at a small shop for over twelve hours and spending the last remaining hours of the day fighting for money. How heroic of Eddie indeed.

    He leaned back and closed his eyes, wondering. He wondered if he really wanted to do this, specifically fighting, for the rest of his life.

    No but it did make him good money.

   Speaking of which, Marty, the man with bloodshot eyes, and glasses that were always crooked on his face, came in, holding mounds of cash.  The bills were crinkled, and balled up, and Eddie gave him a look.

    Marty, upon seeing the look, flushed, and smoothed out the bills, revealing them to be a hundred-dollar bills, and fifties. Eddie held out his hand, waiting for the bonus that was promised to him since he did throw a match. Marty flushed but coughed up the other thick roll of cash that was rubber banded tightly.

    “Don’t be fucking with my money, Marty. I know where you hide.” Eddie threatened, and the color from Marty’s face disappeared, as he slapped another roll on the bench next to him and then ran off.

      Litzy tsked. “You’re money hungry for sure.”

      “You don’t know what I do to get the money that we need.” Eddie replied coldly.

       Litzy shrugged, getting up from the bench, a braid hitting Eddie in the face. “I gotta go home. Tonight is menudo night, so make sure to stop by the grocery store to get some cilantro.”

       “Wait, let me walk you back-“ Eddie tried to say, but she was out of earshot, moving briskly, and quickly, head down.

        This place wasn’t safe for anyone, but Eddie had a feeling that no one wanted to mess with Litzy. And if they did, well Eddie remember the big pocketknife he had gifted her.

        Eddie decide to call it a day, getting up from the bench, and throwing the bloodied, and sweat filled towel into a basket for dirty laundry, and went to the showers.

       Since fighting, his body was covered in scars and bruises. Not all of them. One on the left side of his ribs were from a brand, as he use to be part of a gang.  He had it removed after he got out for the sake of his Abuelita. That had been agony, and he had turned his life around after it was gone, and he no longer associated with them.

     Then the fights underground happened.

     Eddie snapped his mind out of it, scrubbing the water off his body, and then hair, dressing into his casual clothes.

     He walked back out of the restroom, feeling a gaze on the middle of his back, his unease kicking in. He heard the light whistle of wind as a punch was thrown to his kidney, and he moved to the side, grabbing the forearm, and twisting it behind his back.

     The newbie Lucas glared up at him, the eighteen year old fuming that he had managed to get caught so fast. Eddie rolled his eyes, shoving the kid forward.

     “The hell you want, Lucas?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

    “They said you would be an easy take.” Lucas grumbles, stretching and moving the arm that Eddie had grabbed. “But you’re the real deal.”

    “I could have told you that. Now get out.” Eddie ordered, brushing past him, annoyed.

     He could hear the kid clambering up behind him, trying to grab his shoulders. Eddie shrugged him off, annoyed.

     “Can you teach me how to fight?” the kid asked, his green eyes peering up at Eddie with something akin to hope.

      “No.” Eddie replied without another thought, walking past him again. He wondered if the store was still opened, he really needed to get that cilantro.

     The kid stood in front of Eddie then, blocking the way to get out. Eddie considered a head shot, wondering how long Lucas would be out. He shook his head to dispel those thoughts, waiting.

    “You ever going to get out of my way?” he asked, annoyance creeping into his tone.

    The kid nodded, messed up black hair bouncing around. “If you teach me how to fight.”

    Eddie seemed to mull it over, nodding, and then shoving Lucas to the wall.

   “Tomorrow, eight p.m. Be here, or don’t waste my time.” Eddie said, as he managed to walk out. He could hear the young boy thanking him profusely.