Hit Men

HitM 1

A PARTICULARLY THICK LAYER OF SWEAT covered my body as I threw another jab at the punching bag. The chain from which it hung groaned at the impact, but I ignored it, continuing at a more than brutal pace. My brain was tired, my body was tired, and yet, sleep wouldn't come. It wouldn't crawl into my consciousness and take root there the way the vivid memories of that night did. Blood, gunshots, a piercing scream. I shook my head infinitesimally as if to brush away the pictures in my mind, but they were branded to me and I couldn't get rid of them.

    I watched Danny McAnn in my peripheral as he rounded the front desk and slid a thick manila folder off of it. Right jab, left jab, uppercut.

    "Yo, Southpaw," he called me by my stupid nickname, stopping about ten feet behind me. I sighed, panting, before turning to face him. I lifted an eyebrow in annoyance, great, now I was never going to get to sleep.

    "What's up, Danny?" I asked, flexing my fingers and flinching at the soreness.

    "You wanna know what really bugs me?" He asked. I answered with a shrug because I knew he was going to tell me anyway. "That you don't train with gloves on, you stay here 'till one in the morning Tuesday through to Friday, and you have the worst under eye bags I've ever seen. That's what bugs me."

    "Thanks for sharing," I mumbled, turning around and staring at the rips in the bag. Danny sighed and tried a less brusque approach.

    "Look, Ana, you need to take better care of yourself. Training obviously isn't helping to tire you out. Have you considered seeing a doctor?"

    I faced him again, "I've seen five. None of them have done jackshit for me but prescribe sleeping pills and that isn't a route I want to go down."

    "Why not?" Danny asked, his sparse eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. "If they could help--"

    "They won't," I snapped, my voice coming out much sharper than I intended. I took a deep breath, wiping the back of my wrapped hand across my sweaty forehead. Danny pursed his lips, unhappy with my tone, but didn't say anything. "Sorry," I muttered, wringing my hands together as I started to get increasingly uncomfortable.

    "Alright," he waved me off and grabbed his keys from the confines of his jean pocket. "I'm going. But listen, I don't want you staying here this late anymore. I'm serious, Ana, I will lock you out if I have to."

    "Mhm," I replied. He sighed, frustrated, before leaving and locking the entry door. Distant car alarms and sirens blared through the busier streets of Brooklyn, but Danny's Boxing Gym was located on a quieter side of the city; well, as quiet as New York could get. Danny was the sole proprietor of that little hole in the wall, not to mention the closest man to a father I had. It didn't make his almost nightly lectures any less annoying, though I appreciated them more than I let on.