James Hunt - Broken Ties

Frankie and Jake had taken turns with him. Whenever one got tired, he would tag his partner in to take his place.

Mike landed a few blows in the beginning, but the arthritis in his hands was starting to get the better of him. He could barely form a fist, and each time he did, it felt like jagged glass digging into his joints.

Frankie danced around him, throwing a few jabs, causing Mike to back up. A sharp pain shot through his left side any time he took a deep breath. He figured one of his ribs punctured his lung.

Mike wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. This was a fight he was going to lose, but he needed to make it last. Every punch he took was one his daughter didn’t have to take.

“C’mon, daddio,” Frankie said. “You’re not getting tired on me, are you?”

Mike forced his hands up. He saw three of Frankie, so he aimed for the one in the middle. He moved in and threw a right cross. Frankie dodged and countered with his own right across Mike’s chin.

More blood and a tooth flew from Mike’s mouth. Mike shook it off. He hit Frankie with a three-punch combo, knocking him to the ground.

“Oh- ho ! Looks like the old man’s got some spunk left in him, Frankie,” Jake said.

Frankie wiped the blood from his nose and jumped back up. He slapped Jake’s hand and retreated from the ring.

Jake walked in with a swagger, taking his cut and shirt off and tossing it to one of his guys. He was a lot faster than Frankie was, and he worked Mike’s face like a punching bag.

Mike’s stance started to waiver. He was losing his balance. Everything was starting to fade in and out of darkness. The more he tried to fight it the harder it became.

“C’mon, Jake! Finish it already!” Frankie shouted.

Jake moved in, and with one massive haymaker, Mike hit the ground.

Mike’s whole body was numb. He couldn’t move. This was it. He couldn’t go on any longer.

“Pick him up,” Jake said.

When they moved Mike, he felt like he was floating. He looked down at this feet and saw himself standing, but he couldn’t feel the ground.

Jake walked up and patted Mike’s cheek.

“Hey, fun time’s over. Wake up,” Jake said.

Mike’s head swayed back and forth, looking left, then right, until his eyes finally focused on one thing; his daughter. When he saw her, a surge of strength ran through him.

Keep going. Keep going for her.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed beating the shit out of you, it’s time to take care of business. Since neither of the girls confessed to murdering our brother, and since the two of you have killed some of our club members tonight, you’ll be facing the death penalty,” Jake said.

The bikers grunted in agreement.

“Now, since there are ten of us and only four of you, we can’t all kill you, so I thought it would be better to watch you kill each other,” Jake said.

“What?” Mike asked.

“You’re going to duel.”

“No.”

“Then you watch me kill her.”

Jake pointed to Kalen tied up on the ground. Mike struggled against the bikers holding him, but couldn’t break free. Jake moved in close. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Or maybe I have some fun with her first. How does that sound, Dad?”

Mike’s mind wandered to when Kalen was a little girl. She was riding her bike for the first time. She kept screaming for him to let go, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep her safe, protect her. It was the same instinct guiding him now. After all these years he still hadn’t let go.

“Okay,” Mike said.

“Bring the old man and the girl,” Jake said.

Kalen was tossed over to Jake while Ulysses was shoved into the circle with Mike.

Two pistols were emptied with the exception of one bullet. They spaced Mike and Ulysses ten feet apart.

“The first person to shoot wins, then dies, so take your time,” Jake said.

The gang laughed.

“Oh, and if either of you get any ideas about who you’re going to shoot, let me present to you my insurance,” Jake said.

Jake took out his pistol, cocked it, and put the barrel to Kalen’s temple.

One of the bikers shoved the pistol into Mike’s hand. He gripped it loosely, keeping it at his side; Ulysses had one as well.

“You only get one shot, so make it count!” Frankie said.

All of the bikers placed bets on who would shoot first, laughing, egging both of them on to get it over with.

“Don’t be a pussy!”

“C’mon, pull the trigger!”

“Kill him!”

Mike couldn’t lift the pistol. It was dead weight in his hand. Across from him was the man who raised him. His father was the one who taught him wrong from right. He was the one who made him the man he was today—a good man.

There were times when Ulysses was harder than the steel that poured from Pittsburgh’s mills, but he could say one word to make everything all right.

If Mike didn’t shoot his father or his father shoot him, then his daughter would die. He struggled, trying to bring the pistol up from his waist. His entire arm was shaking.

“I’m getting bored, boys,” Jake said.

Mike finally forced the gun up. His index finger went to the trigger, barely touching the small sliver of steel. Ulysses’s head was lined up in the sights. Tears started to well up in Mike’s eyes. They streamed down his face. He couldn’t keep the gun steady.

“Dad,” Mike said.

“It’s okay, Son.”

Mike’s knuckles turned white against the black composite of the handle. He squeezed the grip so hard he thought it would crush in his hand. He knew what he had to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and as the gun dropped to his side, he stood there crying, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do it. Dad, I can’t do it,” Mike said.

His father’s figure was blurred through the tears pouring form his eyes. Mike looked to Kalen, who was sobbing. His family was falling apart. He couldn’t save them. Everything he’d done, all he had sacrificed was for naught.

“Michael,” Ulysses said.

His father looked calm. A faint smile grew on his face. It wasn’t a smile of happiness, but one of pain.

“I love you,” Ulysses said.

Mike couldn’t hear his own screams above the sound of the gun when Ulysses put the pistol to his temple and squeezed the trigger.

Ulysses lay collapsed on the ground. He was nothing more than a pile of flesh, lifeless and motionless. Everything was silent with the exception of the high-pitched hum of the ringing in his ears from the sound of the pistol.

Frankie ripped the pistol from Mike’s hand and put the barrel to the back of his head.

“Congratulations. You’ve moved on to the next round. Too bad it’s sudden death,” Frankie said.

Mike saw Kalen, who was crying hysterically, crumpling to a heaped mess on the floor. This was the world now. This was what happened to people when they had something of value; it was taken from them.

“Good-bye, asshole,” Frankie said.

Before Frankie could squeeze the trigger, the ringing in Mike’s ears was replaced by another sound. He turned his head to the east, and he could see lights in the distance, moving quickly toward the town.

Mike felt the barrel of the gun removed from his head.

“What the hell?” Frankie said.

“Move some of the cars, block the road!” Jake shouted.

Frankie started to run off, but Jake called him back.

“Secure them first,” Jake yelled.

A few of the bikers helped Frankie drag them back to the sheriff’s office, tossing them in separate cells.

Jake’s crew managed to move four cars, staggering them across Main Street.

“When it slows down, aim for the tires,” Jake ordered.