The sun was coming up over there. He could see it through the plexiglass of the office windows. It broke through the horizon, stretched its arms over the earth, then descended down onto the skyline. He set an elbow down on his desk and rested his head against his fist. It wasn't often that he got to take a sunrise in, but when he did, he liked to enjoy them. Someone knocked on the polished oak door behind him, but he barely stirred.
"Mr. Chang?" the voice fluttered in.
He turned now, cocked an eyebrow at the man slinking into his office. It was only Daeng. An associate of his for longer than he cared to remember. Daeng was tall, and lean, the cords of the muscles in his neck shown through the v-neck t-shirt he wore over dark slacks.
"I found her," he said.
Chang sat up, the leather desk chair creaking against his weight. The sunrise would have to wait momentarily. The irony wasn't lost on him. He gestured to Daeng who stepped back into the hallway and returned with the American girl he had been looking for. She was young, brunette, hazel eyes, though he could barely tell as her left eye was swollen. Blood crusted her bottom lip. He looked up to Daeng who was standing near the now closed door.
"I thought I had made myself clear on not touching her."
Daeng looked embarrassed, then quickly composed himself. He wiped his hands down his shirt like that was going to conceal the evidence on what he had done to the girl.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Chang. She tried to run."
"Of course she probably did," he said. "She was probably scared of you. This poor, poor girl. A stranger in a strange land."
The girl trembled at that. Her eyes were already wet. He looked away, more reflex than anything. He never took well to crying. When he was a young boy his father, as a punishment, had left him locked down in the family's cellar. He sweated out during the day and at night froze. He spent two whole weeks down in that place and the only way he could tell the passage of time was through the way the sun seeped into the cracks in the wooden floor above him.
He stood, walked calmly around the side of his desk and took a seat on it. Stared into the girl's one good eye and gave a tight smile.
"Cassie, right?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away, like she had forgotten her name. He wondered how much damage Daeng had done to her. After a moment, she nodded, very subtle he almost missed it.
"Do you know who I am?"
Again, the quick, subtle nod arriving like the flick of a switch.
"And you know that I killed your friend? Morgan was it?"
A pause this time. A hesitation. She was wondering if she should nod again, but yet, there it was.
"Who have you told?"
No answer this time. She shifted her eyes to the floor. Her knees began to quiver like she needed to use the rest room. He went to her then, soft at first, touched her hair. Held her cheek in his hand.
"Who have you told?"
"No one -- I"
"Shhh," he whispered.
He slipped a hand into her shirt and grabbed her breast. Not much of a handful, but warm, and he gave it a squeeze and then let it fall. She was breathing heavy, he could feel it as he held a hand against her chest.
"Did you tell her brother?"
She started to cry, wet, whimpering sobs and he gave a quick strike to her face with the back of his hand. She cried out, but he put a hand over her mouth as he knelt down in front of her.
"No, no, no. None of that now. You told her brother, didn't you? That's ok. I understand. You were scared and you had no one else to turn to. I get it."
He took his hand away from her mouth.
"But what do you really know about Mr. Lake? Would it surprise you to know that that's not even his real name? Did you think he was going to protect you? If so, how'd you end up here?"
She didn't say anything, wouldn't even look at him.
"Where is Mr. Lake now?"
"I -- I don't know…"
"That's ok. It just means more work for Daeng."
"What do you want?" she blurted out, on the precipice of tears again.
"To tell you the truth, breakfast. Let's get you cleaned up and we'll have a conversation about our mutual friend Mr. Lake."
It looks like I'm stuck here for awhile.
Fuck.
I left the arena Wednesday night feeling like I got hit by a truck. That's an overused phrase, I know this, but I can't think of anything better at moment.
I live by a motto: If it doesn't kill you, use it and kill somebody else.
This coming week will be my second time stepping into the ring in over a year. Maybe longer. I don't know why I've gotten this sudden urge to get back in the game, but I do.
I feel it in my bones and it's very apropos that my second time back I'm getting a chance to put gold back around my waist. Yes, it's against Stevie Tyler (sadly not of Aerosmith fame, why am I saying sadly? I fucking hate Aerosmith).
Anyway, this idiot doesn't realize what he's getting into, but that's fine. I welcome the sense of the unknown when it comes with facing someone I've never met, seen, or heard of before.
Truthfully, that's always been the most exciting part about this sport to me. The idea of stepping into the ring cold, with knowing nothing of what you're going up against.
It just comes down to an idea. An idea that your opponent is going to try and figure you out beforehand.
I'm sure that's what Stevie is doing.
But what Stevie doesn't realize is that I'm like no one he has ever faced before.
I'm not going to go tuck my tail between my legs like Ricky Desmond and run outta here.
This guy Stevie doesn't know me and doesn't know what I'm capable of and to be fair, I don't know who he is and what he's done other than manage a mildly successful Burger King in South Carolina.
Or maybe it was a Red Lobster.
You can't believe everything you read on the internet.
To be honest I don't really care. I think you're a tool, Stevie. You're just another obstacle in my way as I climb to the top.
Last week I made sure I got everyone's attention.
No one should be sleeping on me now.
I hope for your sake, Stevie you come to the table with more than what I've seen. I really do.
It won't matter though.
You don't have what it takes to lay a mark on my face.
You're a nobody.
Your star has already burnt out.
I'll know how it ends, because I'll realize you didn't come to the table with everything. You came with a half-hearted notion that you can walk out of Warfare with the title.
And maybe that's true, Stevie, but there's a stronger possibility it's not.
TWO YEARS AGO
TOKYO, JAPAN
When Chang was nineteen, he came home one evening and found his father in bed with a girl that was not his mother. It was a former classmate of his. He could feel the way the anger hit his veins, caused his fingertips to tremble lightly.
That was the first time Chang had killed a man.
He didn't throw up after like in the movies. He swallowed it done and made peace that it would be the last time. Of course there never was a last time.
Across the table, which was a small conference table in his office that he had thrown a table cloth over, sat Cassie. He had requested that she get cleaned up and she sat sipping soup quietly as she was dressed in the pinstripe dress he had requested.
He didn't find her terribly attractive. Her breasts were too small, teeth too crooked and the dimples made her face pudgy. But he wanted her to feel like a lady one last time. He owed her that much he supposed.
"I'm going to kill you," he said quietly. "It's nothing personal, it's just what needs to be done."
She stopped sipping her soup. The arrival of tears fluttered in her eyes again.
"Please," she whispered. "If you let me go I promise I won't tell a soul about any of this. I'm on the first flight back to the states. I promise."
"If only it was that simple. Now, maybe if you hadn't told Mr. Lake about all this, I'd be more lenient to the situation. However, he's probably going to come to have his revenge."
"No," she said. "He's not like that."
"Oh, but he is, my dear Cassie. He is like that. He is a man of tremendous talent and trust me he will seek his revenge."
"Then why did you do it? Why kill Morgan if you knew this might happen?"
"I don't mean to insult you, young one, but it is not something your delicate mind could begin to understand. Now, eat your soup."
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