Page 6 of Stone’s Cage

I'm standing outside the gym, looking in. I can see Stone inside, working out. He's got a rhythm going on the little bag. It's beating in a blur, like a smudge, and the only thing that moves are his massive arms, bent at the elbow, creating a rhythm of strikes, back and forth from one arm to the next.

It's hypnotizing, and I find myself in a daze. His shirt is off and his abs undulate when he moves. His back is ripped. Not only is he throwing away at the bag, but every now and then he does a kick or a squat, mixing it up. He goes on for ten minutes non-stop. Just this back and forth, back and forth the blur of his arms, the blur his hands, the blur of the small leather bag. I'm amazed it doesn't just go flying from its hinge. How do people do this? I can barely tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel of my Toyota Corolla.

He steps back, sweat pouring off his chest and he's panting hard, takes a swipe at the water bottle, shakes his shoulders and arms, cracks his neck, and hitches himself into position and goes right back at it.

It’s the focus and intensity that's so damn sexy. And him. All of him.

But I have to remember he's the enemy. I have to remember who he is. I keep watching for other guys coming out of the gym, watching for more tattoos. Thank God the back light out here isn’t burned out or broken. A noise behind me makes me turn and there's a thin, tall kid, cigarette in hand, with straight black hair and a big droopy mouth with five little rings pierced on one side of his bottom lip. It's those rings nested in a crusty row that jog my memory of what the detective told me: this was Juice.

"What do you want bitch? I seen you hangin' around gym clubs all week."

"I don’t have to talk to you," I say, trying to look tough. The guy just raises his upper lip in a snarl, then looks me up and down. Asshole. My eyes shift and focus on that little blue Hook on his arm. There's no worm. He's not that high up. Definitely Juice.

"This is a guy's-only muscle farm."

I have to remember who I'm dealing with. I have to think the way they do. So I smile like I know something he doesn't. "I don't want this shit. I want a membership in something else."

This makes his eyes narrow and he throws down the cigarette.

"Who do I talk to?"

He doesn't return the smile. Instead, he leans over and jabs a thumb at his own chest. "How old are you?"

Gangs want girls. Real little girls to control. "Fourteen," I say, knowing I look it. My mother still gets carded.

"You can talk to me bitch," and he licks that lip.

I punctuate my words with and an eyeroll. "No, no no," I wave dismissively. "I'm supposed to talk to a guy named Shreves."

At this, the guy's eyes flick back to my feet and then up my body and he stretches an arm above my head, leaning on the awning a little. I don’t like that he is so close, but I'm not about to take a step back.

"How does a little bitch like you know Shreves?"

The move here is not to give it all away, so instead of answering him I just smile. "I just need him to get ahold of me. I want in and I'm gonna get in. You'll see."

The guy looks at me funny and then says, "Beggars can't be choosers," which was the weirdest thing ever. My parents say this and it's so old-fashioned.

"You need to walk away bitch and don’t go advertising no Hooks here."

I guess he's telling me to keep my mouth shut. In case I didn’t get the message, he adds, "So shut the fuck up. You don’t tell Shreves shit. He tells you. You meet with me first." He points to himself again. "Juice takes care of things. Then you can talk up Shreves."

His arms drops.

"When?"

He grabs his crotch and glances behind him. "Just wait."

I think my heart hasn’t stopped pounding the entire time. I hear grit in the alley and see Juice nod to this monster of a man walking up behind him. A huge dude. Thick, big, broad chested and heavy with chains around his neck, and I know instantly he's Shreves. He has a split lower lip I can see from here that healed wrong a long time ago. He's older too, maybe in his early forties. Juice hops up and down like an excited little kid getting ready for cotton candy and the big dude moves confidently, just stride after stride. Thinking the two are coming for me, I stand there, hold my breath, and try to get my heart to stop pounding, but they turn and step into the gym.

Is this an invitation? Do I go in? What do I do? I bend down and peer into the basement gym though the glass window.

Stone is in a boxing ring with a much shorter, older black guy, bald as an egg and wearing heavy sweat pants and a tank top. He's old but ripped, tattoos covering his arms and something tatted on the back of his skull as well. He has to be Stone's coach. Both this guy and Stone just stare at Shreves.

It's when Shreves waves a hand for Stone to come over that things begin to happen. Within seconds the coach steps out of the ring and talks quietly, glancing to the door, making movements with his arm like they should go, ending with a jerk of his head that says, "get outta here."

Shreves wipes his face with his hands and looks like he's going to kill the old guy. Stone just stands there and then, all of a sudden, he grabs the ropes, swings down and moves to Shreves and Juice like he's going to mow them down. And then, for some reason, Shreves senses something, turns around, and sees me peering in. Our stares lock.

He grins, as I pull back from the window.