Chapter 56

Where is my God damn pillow? Xander felt around his bed and couldn’t find the pillow, or even a blanket to pull over himself.

And why is my bedroom so fucking cold? Did I leave the doors open or something? Xander went to roll over into fetal position, but instead felt his knees hit against a cold, concrete wall. Shocked, he jolted upright and rubbed the morning sleep from his eyes. Where in the hell? Is this a ... no ... this can’t be ... I’m dreaming ...

Xander pinched his upper arm where it hurt the most, hoping that if he was dreaming, the pain would suddenly wake him and he’d find himself back in his bachelor suite.

Much to his dismay, Xander saw that he was still in the same six by eight foot cell. There were no bars like all of the movies depicted, and instead there was a solid door with a window at the top. A small steel toilet and sink were right beside the small cot where had been sleeping.

I must have slept here last night. Why the hell did I sleep here last night? I bet it’s a prank the guys pulled on me. Real fuckin’ funny guys.

Xander tried to stand up, but almost passed out when a massive pain starting from his right big toe shot up through his body, ending with a headache that made his vision blur. He looked down at his foot and saw that it was bandaged, and both of his hands were wrapped as well. Blood was seeping through the gauze on the palm of his right hand and when Xander went to close it into a fist, he could only slightly bend two of his four fingers.

Xander started to panic. Fragmented memories of the night before were popping into his head, but he couldn’t string them together well enough to paint an accurate picture. An image of him looking down at a broken bottle—still holding pieces of the glass in his hand—flashed in his mind and Xander rushed to the toilet.

Oh God, I’m gonna be sick.

As Xander was flushing his puke down the toilet, he turned around to see that the jail cell door was being unlocked. A policeman wearing an LAPD badge looked through the window before opening the door and stepping inside.

“Good morning inmate. I’m gonna go ahead and assume you don’t recall why LAPD brought you in here last night. Am I correct?”

Xander limped over to the bed and sat down. As he went to speak, he felt that his lips were swollen to about twice their normal size, making it difficult to talk.

“I’m gonna go ahead and guess that the other guy must look a lot worse than I do.”

Accustomed to people laughing at his jokes and pandering to his needs whenever and where ever he went, Xander was taken aback by the staunch policeman. In his years as a fighter, Xander hadn’t had many run ins with the law, his only exposure being when he was much younger and had taken something small from a local corner store. His penalty was a slap on the wrist and a mandatory apology to the store owner.

“You are being released. If you can come with me, I will take you to processing where you will be given your citation and belongings.”

Citation?

“Sorry, sir, but citation?”

Now the police officer was smiling at him.

“Your court order forms. You’ll need to go before a judge. You’ll get the details as you leave.”

Xander did his best to keep up with the officer as they left the jail cell. The hallway to the main processing room was long and full of other cells, not unlike the one where Xander had spent the night. A larger cell was holding groups of folks who were waiting to be processed and released, or put into a solitary cell. One of the men standing in the front looking through the bars, winked his own swollen black and blue eye at Xander as he passed.

“Hey there, handsome, I’ll see you later.” he yelled out.

Creep.

“You made good friends with that one last night, I hear.”

Tommy?

Xander squinted his eyes and saw that Tommy was walking toward him.

“You gave him that pretty bruising you’re lookin’ at. Said you didn’t like the way he looked so you were gonna give him a makeover.”

Xander laughed at his own cleverness, his stomach hurting with every contraction.

A makeover huh— I gotta use that in the ring one of these times.

“You think this is funny? Your little stunt last night cost me, and you, a lot of money. The money isn’t all though, Xander. You’ve got it bad. Real bad this time, kid.”

Xander followed Tommy to where a female officer was sitting behind a desk, gathering papers and filing through labeled items.

“Is that my stuff?” Xander looked for a name written somewhere, but all he could make out was “Inmate 444” written in black, and taped to each individual item.

“Sure is. Steroids and all, Xander. You’ve got some explaining to do. Serious explaining.”

At least now there’s nothing to hide.

The woman handed Tommy all of Xander’s belongings in a clear plastic bag.

“I’ll need him to come over and sign these papers. Here you’ll find your citation on when to appear in court and the charges you’ll be facing. Your release has been paid by this man here,” said pointing to Tommy, “and your belongings have been returned, therefore you are now free to go, Mr. Delgado. I hope we don’t see you again.”

Xander went to take the papers detailing his offenses, but Tommy snatched them from the desk.

“I think it’s best if I tell you first, before you go reading the harsh language. Either way it’s gonna sting. Let’s go.”

Tommy’s driver was waiting in the parking lot.

“Get in the back and I’ll put the divider up so we can have a private run down on what happened.”

Tommy opened up his door and got in.

I wish I didn’t have to know a single thing about what happened. Didn’t Tommy just pay to make this go away? Why do we have to talk about it now?

Xander opened the door and turned around so he could grab the handle and gently lower himself onto the seat. He strained and struggled to pull his legs into the car, but eventually managed.

“Before you say a single thing out of that banged up mouth of yours, I want you to know that I’ve been aware of your steroid usage over the past year. I’m not a fuckin’ doorknob, Xander. But since I didn’t see any negative impacts to either your training or your fighting, I kept my mouth shut and didn’t say a word to anyone about it. Something like that can squash a career in an instant if the right people find out.”

Xander laid his head back on the headrest.

“So thankfully the ‘right people’ didn’t find out then, hey? Looks like I’m off the hook.”

Tommy shook his head and Xander could see that he was deeply sorry for what he was about to tell him.

“Thing is kiddo, the right people did find out. But they also found out about your shenanigans from last night. I won’t shroud this in mystery any longer for you, and honestly it’s killin’ me to have to do this at all, but it’s gotta be done. You broke down last night Xander, in a big way.”

Xander looked at his hands and could see that blood had soaked through the bandages on both hands by now.

“Tommy, get to the fuckin’ punchline already. Broke down in what way? Just telling me ‘big’ doesn’t help. What did I do? Both of my hands are bloody and weak, my foot is messed up, and my face is blown up like a fuckin’ birthday balloon! What the hell happened? Just tell me!”

Tommy balled his hand into a fist and put it to his forehead.

“Because it’s harder than you think to tell someone that you gotta drop him.”

Drop him? But I’m the guy makin’ you millions. Drop me? For what?

“I didn’t wanna do it, but Street G told me that it was in my best interest if I wanted to keep going the way I’m going, which I do, and in my position you would want to as well. When they brought you in last night, you tested positive for steroid use and your blood alcohol level was four times the legal limit.”

Xander cocked his head, confused by what Tommy was saying.

“So what? You’re letting me go because I fucked up and had too much to drink? You knew about the steroid use and you didn’t do jack shit, so why are you letting me go over a little too much liquor?”

“If it was just the liquor do you think I would’a just let you go? No Xander. You got a DUI that will cost you more money than I care to say. But that was the least of your escapades. Cops told me you showed up at a bar already wasted and looking for a fight. You hopped over the bar and grabbed a bottle and started chuggin’ it back, even while the bartender was trying to get you to stop. When some guy at the bar tried to get you to leave, you were yelling at everyone about how you were the best fuckin’ fighter in the world, and you tried repeatedly to make out with this guy’s girlfriend. You grabbed her tits and that was it, you got the fight you were askin’ for.”

Xander had to roll down the window in case he vomited again. Hearing Tommy tell him how he’d acted made him feel sick and ashamed.

It doesn’t even feel like it’s me that he’s talking about. It’s like a story that he’s telling about some other dude.

“He jumped over the bar and you two started goin’ at it. Fists flying and legs kicking—the whole deal. But somewhere in there, you decided that it wasn’t gonna be a clean fight. The bartender told the cops that you took a beer bottle from the table and smashed it on the counter. You threatened the other guy with it, Xander. I don’t know if you would have actually tried to stab him with it, but you swung it around enough times to frighten the shit out of him, and yourself apparently. When you realized how far you’d gone, people saw you run out of the bar and get into your vehicle. The cops pulled you over when they caught you swerving down the highway.”

Xander couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Tommy c’mon, someone must have drugged me or something. I would never do something like that, even if I was piss-wasted. I’ve been absolutely shit-faced before and I’ve never even come close to smashing a bottle and threatening to stab some random dude. The girl thing, I’ve probably done something like that, but not this Tommy. You gotta believe me, I’m not at fault here.”

The driver stopped outside of Xander’s condo, lowering the divider so he could tell them they had arrived.

“Thank you, Jared, we’ll need some more time.” Tommy turned to face Xander.

He looks so disconnected. Like it’s not even hurting him to say all of this. He doesn’t care.

“The boys at Street G don’t care if you were at fault or not, Xander. Your name is attached to these crimes and it’s gonna be all over the newspapers. They don’t want bad press, let alone to be sponsoring a loose cannon. How famous you are, how much money you have or how many fights you win doesn’t matter a lick when you’re getting DUI’s and cracking skulls at the local bars. We’re through, Xander. It’s over.”

Tommy leaned across Xander and opened his door.

“What, so you’re just gonna drop me off? After all the shit we’ve been through and all the money I’ve made you? You ungrateful son of a bitch. You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me, Tommy. Instead of having a driver, you’d be the one driving and eating scraps back in your muggy office in Texas. This ain’t over for me. But it is for you.”

Tommy pursed his lips and looked at Xander.

“I’m sorry, kid. I really am. I wish you hadn’t gone and screwed it all up, but you did. This was a ticking time bomb from the start. I should have known.”

The pain in Xander’s body no longer mattered. He stood up and got out of the vehicle, then slammed the door behind him. Tommy stuck his head out of the window and called to Xander as he was walking away.

“And Xander? When the press asks about me, don’t mention I knew about the steroid use. I’ll deny it and well, who do you think they’ll believe? Some drunk asshole fighter, or a millionaire without a scratch on his record? See ya around, kid.”