Heartbreak Girl

Chapter Six: Last Chance

 Jeriah stood against the wall of the boxing gym. Waiting in the shadows for Coach to come and get him, as he was instructed. A beat-up Camaro entered the lot and pulled up alongside the darkened building. "Kid," Coach said in a hushed tone.

Jeriah pulled himself out of the shadows and toward the car. Ducking his head toward the open window, Coach opened the passenger door. "Get in. We gotta go or we're gonna be late."

Getting in the passenger seat, the seat with grease stains and crumbs. Ignoring the trach and take out containers littering the floor, he looked to see Coach sweating bullets. "What's up, Coach?"

Coach pulled out of the parking lot and onto the backroads and sidestreets. "This doesn't feel right."

"Why are you so nervous?" Jeriah asked amusedly. "I'm the one fighting."

"Yeah," Coach trailed on, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

"What?"

Coach flickered his attention toward Jeriah before turning back to the road. "What, what?"

"Why are you so nervous?" Jeriah asked.

Coach sighed. "It's your opponent. He's beginner level but has still sent a few people to the hospital for bone-breaking. I just don't want to be the one to tell your parents why you're in the emergency room."

Running a hand over his face, Jeriah collected himself. "Don't worry, Coach. I'll be fine. I won't even bring you up when they're killing me for underground fighting."

Coach gave him a droll stare, glancing at the road for a few seconds at a time. Jeriah laughed.

They pulled into an abandoned parking lot outside a rundown warehouse. They stared at the crowded entrance for the building as they drove around to the back. Coach parked the car in the shadows of the parking lot and pulled the keys. "You ready for this, kid?" Jeriah looked at the rusted back door with the ouncer standing in front of it. "Last chance to back out. Once you walk through that door, you've committed a crime. No going back."

Breathing in a deep and calming breath, he clenched and unclenched his fists a few times. "I'm ready."

Opening the car door, he gently closed the door and walked toward the rusty door. The bouncer held up a silent hand.

Coach walked up behind Jeriah. "He's with me."

After a second the bouncer nodded and opened the door for them, his fingerless gloves having trace amounts of reddish-brown on them. Jeriah walked through the door but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw the concerned and defeated expression on Coach's face. "This is where I leave you." Jeriah faced the coach and held out a clenched fist. Coach bumped it with his own. "Good luck, kid."

Pursing his lips into a thin, colorless line, he forced a corner to upturn. "Thanks. For everything."

Coach slapped Jeriah's shoulder before walking into the crowd.

"Are you the newbie?"

Turning around, he saw what could only be called a greasy person. Slicked back hair and a short, mob-boss style suit for his stout body. With a lit cigar between his teeth, the man looked at him with minimal interest.

Jeriah gave a curt nod and offered a polite hand. "Matthew."

The man's bodyguard flexed his bicep. Jeriah retracted his hand before the bodyguard bit it off or tore it from his body. The ER seemed inevitable at that moment. Or a body bag. What made him think that underground fighting would be a good idea? He was in way over his head.