Part 1

 

"That boy's dun strick wit' hellfire," Rufus called out as Wendell's father leapt over the fence into the hog pen to grab his son who was convulsing defenseless in the slop. He went into a rage and began crying and coughing during the fight. The boys, laughing, picked him up and threw him over the fence into the pen before running off. He landed hard, splashing in the muddy feces ridden soup and knocked the wind out of him, causing him to begin convulsing. Hogs were ornery to begin with and Wendell’s little nine-year-old body would have been short work for the creatures.

Stewart came over the fence and landed in the sloppy floor of the pen solid. A hulking man, he scooped up his son with one hand and used the other to deliver a heavy attention getting blow down over the nose of the hog coming close. He stood and walked out of the pen kicking some of the bigger hogs that were getting nasty.

The fight had not been Wendell’s fault. The owner's son and his friends started picking on him again. When it started to get rough, and one of the boys hit him in the back of the head with a stick, Wendell saw red. On rare occasions a true savage fury came over him, and when it did…

Wendell was quiet and kept mostly to himself. Often he held himself back when he became angry or frustrated and could tolerate more than most boys his age. A trait he’d most likely gotten from his father. But when he was challenged, by strength or will, or worst when he was pushed, something came over him. If he lost control, he would usually blackout long before the fury left him. His father said he got that from his mother.

The fight had been five on one and Wendell gave what he got, but they overpowered him and after wearing him down, picked him up and threw him into the pen. The big hogs started snapping before his father could get him out. That was seven years ago and the 'hellfire' comment had stuck, along with a few scars on his legs. Stew, had been docked a day’s pay for that incident, which was something because he only made fourteen cents an hour and bread was half of that, a dollar and seventy cents was no small change.

Cotter's Farm was located in a small town in Virginia that no one had never heard of and was eventually swallowed up by another. Stew worked for Mr. Cotter who was a good man as men go, he treated his people as far as could be expected, given the times. Cotter was more interested in his business first and foremost and could care less if the people who worked for him were colored or not, just as long as they worked. Stew was his best worker, Mr. Cotter had said so on more than a dozen occasions in the last seven years.

"With them pigs rooting in they shit all muddy and slick, you gots to be quick enough to catch 'em, strong enough to hold 'em, and still be able to walk through they slop with 'em others rootin' around an bumpin' into you." Stew told Wendell that more times than he could remember. His father could pull a hundred fifty pound sow, sling him over his shoulder and walk out of the pin with it kicking and squealing to high heaven. Nothing ever got away from him.

When Wendell turned fifteen he started working at Cotter's Farm. At that same time, Cotter began teaching his son how to run it. Jeb Cotter, named after his grandfather, had Wendell in the pen slinging slop on his first day. Being new and unused to walking in the pen, he fell quite a few times to Jeb's amusement, but it wasn't so bad. You could fall in a pigpen, but you wouldn't want to, you needed a wash, a boost of pride and would have to sleep outdoors that evening, but it was hardly dangerous. Not like a hog pen. As a tender nine-year-old Wendell had been lucky. A hog is an eating machine and if you fall they will start on you before you even get a chance to kick. And if they are hungry, you are bound to lose a limb. Ideally, Jeb would have had Wendell in the hog pen that day, but Mr. Cotter wouldn't have it.

His first day was his toughest, but he was his father's son and even though he was only fifteen he was already six feet tall, a head taller than Jeb. By the end of the day he learned how to stand, keeping his legs, almost too wide. He was a tower with his feet planted firmly for balance in the slop. He learned to walk by shifting his weight and sweeping with his feet instead of picking them up. By the end of the week, he could catch and hold muddy fifty-pound squealer. By then, Jeb had Wendell working the hogs, but he never fell again.

"Now don’t you go eatin' none o'that for supper now." Jeb called out, laughing along with his friends, it was always worse when Mr. Cotter went to town and left Jeb in charge.

"Your pa done told ya 'bout that, Mr. Jeb." Rufus said. "You ain't to be makin' sport o' Wendell no mo."

Jeb turned to Rufus and stopped laughing. "Go and run the hogs Rufus, they look hungry."

Rufus made a face and stormed off, he never ran hogs anymore. Rufus was easily the oldest on the farm. Many believed Mr. Cotter kept him around because he was so old. He was slow, but he knew everything there was about sows. He even gave Mr. Cotter advice sometimes, but that was done behind closed doors and no one spoke about it.

"That's okay Rufus," Wendell called out. "He only makes sport o' me ‘cause, he too clumsy and slow to catch one for he self."

Rufus stopped walking away and turned back as a silence fell over the workers. Everyone looked up. Wendell had forgotten himself and even though he didn’t say anything directly to Jeb, he had called him out. Anything of that sort would get a man fired, but that was the real world, this was kid stuff. Jeb walked over to the pen with only the sound of grunting in the air of pig shit. He climbed into the pen not bothering about his nice shoes. He stood staring straight at Wendell with a fire blazing in his eyes, angry and just as scared as you please. Wendell had no expression, he stood with his legs wide and balanced with pigs grunting and squealing all around his feet.

"Pick one," Jeb said. All of the workers started yelling at once, pointing at pig after pig. "Shut up!!!" he stared at Wendell. "Pick one."

Wendell nodded and pointed to one, little more than a piglet.

Jeb smiled. "That the one you want? Hell that ain't near the effort." Jeb bent down and grabbed the piggy that suddenly began squealing like crazy. The look in Jeb's face showed the strain of holding onto the slippery little thing while trying to keep his balance in the pen. He held his hands together as tight as he could, but the little thing started to slip. Jeb lifted the pig off the ground, held it with his arms outstretched and stood straight up as the pig continued to squeal.

Jeb's friends started clapping and some of the workers joined in. The wild squeals from the pig started the others squealing and getting restless. Jeb was never taught to stand in a pigpen. The pigs began scrambling around. In the frenzy, one large sow bumped into the front of his legs, throwing him off balance. He righted himself still holding the wriggling piglet and another bumped him from behind. He tripped, stepped to catch himself and another running beneath him caused him to go ass over tip into the muddy slop. Everyone started laughing, as Jeb stood soiled.

“What the hell’s going on out here?” the laughter stopped as Wendell's father suddenly broke through the crowed. Seeing Jeb in the slop, he jumped into the pen to help him up. “Here you go Mr. Cotter sir. Gimme you hand.”

“Get your black hand off of me damn it. I don’t need no help from no nigger.” Jeb climbed out of the pen and threw Wendell an evil look.   

“That little thing sure was somethin',” someone said, and everyone started laughing again.

Stew stood tall and glared at the workers. Everyone fell silent. That evening he let Wendell have it, "Maybe you is too young to be workin' wit' me."

"Pa, he got up in that he self."

"Yeah, Rufus done told me how you helped."

Wendell said nothing. He knew there was no reasoning with his father when he was upset. Rufus shook his head sighed, "I don’ want you comin' back to Mr. Cotter's for a while."   

"Pa, I ain't holdin' to what Jeb done on he’s own."

"If somethin' happened there I could have lost my job 'cause you my son. Now how you feel 'bout that, if’in I can’t put out no food out for you Ma and you bothers, hum?"

"Pa."

"Uh uh," he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but you can't come back to Cotter's."

Wendell walked out if the house thinking his father never listened to him or took anytime to believe him. He thought about what he wanted to do to Jeb and slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. The sound was like a whip cracking.

Wendell never went back to Cotter’s, instead he began cleaning up for Mr. Burrows at the general store. Sweeping up in the back and tending to the few cows and pigs he had at his farm across the way. He and his father didn't speak much when he came home and since the summer was hot, Wendell began sleeping outside. The work at Mr. Burrows wasn't hard and Wendell began to enjoy the solitude.

 

"Hey Wendell."

Wendell turned to confirm the sound of Jeb's voice as he walked into the barn followed by four of his friends. It wasn't difficult to see what they had planned. One of the boys was notorious around town and carried a stick. Wendell put down the bucket he was holding and started cracking his knuckles, "What you want Jeb?"

“I just come to thank you for what you done. Just come to show there’s no hard feelings.” The other boys spread out around the barn to flank him.

Wendell kept his eyes on Jeb trying to imagine where everyone was. “Well you is surely welcome, ‘sa.” Wendell said, his sarcasm oozing with contempt. He began moving towards the back of the barn. The notorious boy moved quickly to block his way.

“Somethin' wrong?” Wendell asked.

“Nothin' wrong boy! Jeb was just tellin' me about a problem he had with some nigger who done went and got the best of him is all.”

Wendell's temper flared, he turned to Jeb, “That right?”

Jeb smiled and nodded his head.

Wendell nodded, spun quickly, and threw a fast punch hitting the notorious boy right in the face. Everyone moved in. Wendell spread his legs wide and bent his knees like he was standing in the pigpen. They came at him from all sides, a couple with sticks. Wendell handled himself as best he could. Given the odds he gave as well as he got this time, but in the end, they were once again too much for him. Something hit him hard in the back of his legs and he went down.

They began to kicking and beating him until a husky voice called out, "Here, break it up, break it up," large manacles began pulling the boys off one by one. After the last boy was removed, they all ran leaving Wendell to be helped up by a tall fat man in a suit.

“What's all that about son?” he asked.

Wendell stood. Blood smeared across his face from a bloody nose and busted lip, “Nothing.”

“You got some pretty good moves boy. Who taught you to fight like that?”

“No one sir. Just did what I could.”

"I never seen nobody stand like that neither, it looks uncomfortable."

"It seemed right since I was dealin' with them sows."

“What? Well look here you want to make some money doing that?”

“How?”

“Boy, you ever heard of bare knuckles fighting?”

“Yeah, they have it up thge road a piece on Saturdays.”

“Well tell you what I will pay you two dollars to do that tonight.”

 

Wendell found himself standing behind a crowd of sweaty men yelling and cheering in a hot warehouse that evening. He had to sneak out of the house and run two miles to get there, but he made it. The large fat man, who introduced himself as Dickson was waiting for him at the door.   

“Boy where you been? It’s late.”

“Sorry, I had to walk.” Wendell was breathing hard.

“Walk?" he looked Wendell up and down breathing heavy and looking tired. "You sure you can do this?”

“Yes sir.”

Dickson looked into his eyes, “Okay you fighting right after the next one."

“Who am I fighting?”

“That don’t matter, you just beat the tar out of him.”

The men never stopped yelling, placing bets and cheering fighter. The sweaty heat mixed with the ‘thwack’ of fists, blood spraying anyone in the front, made the atmosphere intoxicating and Wendell was sure he could lick any man in the building, after all he was almost eighteen. One of the two men fighting suddenly fell back against the crowd. The men held him up and pushed him back into the circle. The man stood staggering and dazed. The other fighter stepped in and delivered a blow right into the side of his head, and he fell in a heap. A roar of cheers and jeers erupted in the warehouse and Dickson suddenly broke through the crowed and grabbed Wendell, “C’mon.”

At the edge of the circle, Wendell took off his shirt like he’d seen the other fighters do. Dickson was arguing about something with two other men. Across from them, a large light-skinned older man stood with his shirt off, throwing shadow punches.

“What the hell is this shit?” Dickson was yelling. "This is not what we talked about! He’s sick? Horseshit he's sick, this isn’t fair, this is his first time," he yelled pointing to Wendell. "Double the odds? Okay” Wendell wasn’t sure what they were talking about. He was just thinking the man across from him was very big. He started awkwardly throwing shadow punches like the other man was doing. Dickson finished with the men and came over. “How you feel?”

Wendell actually wanted to throw up but he hadn’t eaten since that afternoon. He began taking deep breaths. “I’m ready,” he said. He was getting two dollars anyway.

“Okay just go in there and beat the tar out of him.”

A short balding man got in the middle, “Last fight," he yelled. "The Bomber against Kid Wendell.”

Wendell heard his name and got excited. Kid Wendell. He liked it.

Suddenly the man was out of the circle and the other man was coming towards him. Wendell doubled up and moved to the middle. The Bomber wasted no time and quickly gave Wendell two quick punches to the face. Wendell brought his hands up to block and the Bomber drove a heavy blow into his stomach. Wendell wasn’t expecting it and it took the wind right out of him. He dropped to his knees and the Bomber swung low catching Wendell on the side of the face. Wendell fell and hit the floor.

Boo’s and cheers roared in the warehouse. Wendell heard Dickson yelling behind him. He turned to look up at the big man who looked furious. “Get the fuck up boy!”

Wendell was scared. He might not get his money if he didn’t win. He slowly stood. The crowd cheered even louder.

The Bomber moved in, Wendell spread his legs wide and bent his knees. The Bomber swung. Wendell stepped to the side, but didn’t punch. The Bomber threw a second punch and Wendell dodged it easily. Wendell tightened his fists. Now that he was ready, it looked as if the Bomber was moving in slow motion.

The Bomber threw a right. Wendell stepped back and let the punch move past him. Stepping in, he threw a left, hard to the face, then twisted his waist, bringing his right in for an upper cut to the stomach lifting the Bomber off the ground, then he stepped back.

The Bomber was breathing hard staring at Wendell who was not moving in to finish him. He came in moving in a little slower than before. He threw a jab, missed, another, missed. Wendell stepped back waiting. The Bomber threw a fake left, Wendell moved in and the Bomber hit him with a heavy right that sent him staggering into the crowed.

Wendell fell into several arms that caught him and pushed him back into the circle where the Bomber was waiting to throw two uppercuts into Wendell's stomach, but this time Wendell was ready. The punches hurt, but he held his air and stood his ground.

Wendell stepped back, threw a quick jab to the Bombers face connecting hard, followed by an uppercut to the chin, then one to the body. The Bomber staggered. Wendell watched and waited. The Bomber righted himself and moved in, Wendell faked a left then threw a right cross that came so hard and fast it sounded as of a bone had shattered.       

The Bomber tipped to the side stumbling over and was out before he landed in the arms around the circle. They held him for a moment then let him fall to the floor and a roar exploded on the warehouse. Hands began slapping Wendell on the back and he slowly lowered his arms and opened his fists. He was covered with sweat and breathing the hot air of the warehouse, exilerated.

Dickson was suddenly next to him yelling, “Kid Wendell!” The crowed got even louder. “You did great kid. The Bomber is the number two guy around here.”

“That means I get the two dollars?”

“What?” Dickson said, thinking Wendell was making a joke. He let out a deep guffaw that was lost on the screaming frenzy around the room.

Dickson gave Wendell three dollars and a ride home. He stopped his carriage at the edge of the poor section of town, he made Wendell an offer. “You know boy, you come with me to Mississippi and I can set you up in some real good stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“How would you like to make five dollars instead of three?”

Wendell had never even seen five dollars.

Dickson explained about the fights in Mississippi, filling Wendell’s head with thoughts of fortune. By the time he reached the small ramshackle house he lived in with his mother, father and two brothers, his mind was swimming with thoughts of money and status. It was another hot night, so he went around to the makeshift mattress where he found one of the dogs asleep. He shooed her off and shook out the blanket before lying down on his back to stare at the stars. I could be the best fighter in the world he thought. In the back of his head he heard himself thinking, I am the best fighter in the world.

The bucket of water snapped Wendell awake instantly from the fight he was dreaming about. He jumped up from the mattress looking for an assailant, fists ready for another fight. “What the hell is you doing boy?” Wendell’s father stood towering over him.

“Pa?”

“Don’t give me no lip boy, I asked you something.” Wendell stood silent and unsure trying to get the sleep out of his eyes. His stomach hurt, his face was puffy and one eye was swollen. His father didn’t seem to notice. “I just saw Jeb Cotter. You want to tell me where he got beat up?”

Wendell looked at the ground. “I didn’t start it.”

“Boy you ain’t a child no more, it don’ matter who started it. Mr. Cotter sent me home today. Said he’d have to think 'bout letting me stay on. Boy don’ you understand that’s food?”

“Mr. Cotter ain’t gonna fire you. All him other workers just as assbackwards as Jeb.”

His fathers hand moved like lightning. Wendell didn’t even know he had been slapped until his head snapped to the side and the sound registered in his ears. “Don’ talk to me likethat boy.” Wendell looked with shock into his father's eyes, his cheek flamed red. His father had not hit him in years.

“What was I supposed to done? Sit and take it like you does? Get put down and beat up like some… some hog?” Wendell turned and ran around the house with the sound of his father calling him back, but he didn't stop or look back. He ran down the road right through town and to the boarding house Dickson said he was staying at. He’d show them all he thought. He’d go to Mississippi and come back rich. He’d be the best fighter in the whole damn world.

 

 

Part 2

 

Wendell had heard of Mississippi, but had no idea how far away it really was. Dickson made it seem like it was 'just up the road a piece'. He’d been traveling to cities with fights on his way down from New York. He was looking for good prospects. After two days on the road with a drunken Dickson telling story after story Wendell missed his parents, especially his mother who he hadn’t even said good-bye to. He figured he’d go to Mississippi, make some money and come right back. He realized he may have gotten into something a little bigger than he realized. Just when Wendell believed he wasn’t going to be able to take another drunken story about a whore Dixson had spent time with, he heard the man exclaim, “Hello lovely.” In the distance Wendell could make out what he thought was a small town, but as they advanced it got larger and larger, to the point Wendell suddenly found himself frightened and wanting to go right back home.

Dickson had a permanent room at a house that took in boarders. Wendell tried to get out of the carriage when they stopped, but Dickson held him back, “Um... no fighters, um... allowed.”

“What?”

“Mrs. Parks, um, she knows what I do and she don’t take to kindly to fighters. Just wait in the wagon.” Dickson disappeared inside with his bags, for a long while. He returned with a fresh suit, his hair neatly combed and carrying a small linen sack. Climbing back into the wagon he exclaimed, “Now let’s do some business.”

Dickson drove the carriage right through town as Wendell marveled at all the buildings and the people. He noticed some starring at him as they moved past. Crossing a street, the road they were traveling on began to get rough, the houses were more slap dash and simply put together. Dickson stopped the carriage at a two story brick building. It was run down from what looked to be flooding. “Wait here.” he said climbing out of the carriage. Wendell watched as Dickson walked into an unmarked door in the side of the building. After several minutes, he reappeared. He reached into the carriage and grabbed the linen sack. “This way boy.”

Wendell jumped down from the carriage and followed Dickson around to a small stairway. “Ain’t scared of anything are you?”

“No.” Wendell said. Dickson had him drop the ‘sir’ after the first day on the road telling him ‘Mr. Dickson will do fine.’

“Good.” They walked around the building to a short stairway. Dickson went down and unlocked the door at the bottom. “They use this cellar for storage,” he said ducking as he stepped inside.

Wendell followed him into a room filled with boxes. Everything looked to have been damaged by water and left to rot. The room itself wasn’t very big to begin with, but with all of the boxes it was almost non-existent. Dickson looked around at each wall for a moment trying to remember. Then he nodded and began shifting the boxes around to reveal a board leaning against the wall. “Here boy, help me with this.” The room had gotten even tighter with Wendell's size and Dickson's bulk shifting boxes. Carefully they both moved the board on the wall to reveal a large hole that, from the looks of it, had been made by a sledgehammer. “Last boy I had in here got tired of the cramped space.” Dickson stepped through the hole.

Wendell heard the sound of a match striking as he stepped through the hole behind Dickson. The soft glow of the candle revealed a large makeshift room with a damp dirt floor, with several boards and boxes that made up the walls. “How’s this?” Dickson said setting the candle on the small crate that looked to be used as a table.

In the corner, a few pillows were piled on a board Wendell figured would serve as a bed. He nodded, “I guess this will be all right.”

“Look I know what I said, but you got to fight first. Get some money. Then you get set up.”

Wendell nodded again. In truth, the room was fine, better than the little dugout bed he had, but Wendell had never spent time on his own before. He didn’t want to tell Mr. Dickson that he was a little scared.

“Okay fine.” Dickson said quickly, wanting to get out of there before the kid changed his mind. Here take this. Get a good night's sleep and tomorrow night you fight.” He handed Wendell the key to the door along with the linen sack and left.

Wendell set the sack down and looked around the room. He began situating himself. A large rat ran out of one of the cushions and into a hole in the wood. Once he was comfortable with the room, he opened the linen sack and found a large hunk of fresh bread, several sausages, a piece of cake and small tin of milk. The large rat came nosing around and Wendell was happy to share his bounty with the old tenant of his room.   

 

That next night, Wendell did exactly what he did the last time, taking his shirt off and throwing shadow punches to warn up. The man he was fighting against was named Reed. Wendell stepped through the hollering crowd to slaps on his back and lots of encouragement. He still felt nervous. There was no an announcer this time, the other man just moved out towards Wendell, landed a punch to his face and moved back. The crowed went crazy with cheers. Wendell doubled up and moved towards the other fighter. The rest of the fight lasted thirty seconds. Wendell felt himself get upset because the other man had hit him without any warning. He moved in close his legs spread wide for balance. Reed never landed another punch. Wendell dodged the next one and threw a blow that had Reed stumbling backwards. He shook his head and moved towards Wendell. He throwing a right Wendell ducked under before coming up with a left into Reeds ribs. Wendell felt a something give with the punch. Reeds face contorted and he let out a squeal of pain. Then, as Wendell came up, he threw a left that smashed Reed's nose. Blood exploded over both fighters and Reed fell right to the ground as the crowd roared.

Wendell was still very alert and fuming from the first punch. He felt a hand grab his shoulder, and without thinking, spun around and knocked out a bystander who ran up to congratulate him. The cheering calmed for a moment. Then the crowd roared with laughter and cheers. Wendell dropped his hands after realizing what he had done.

Dickson burst through the crowed smoking a large cigar. “That’s my boy,” he said over the crowd. He grabbed Wendell's hand and raised it, “Kid Wendell!” The crowd went crazy.

Dickson gave him three dollars and told him he would fight again the next night. Wendell followed him out to the street. All the while the men were giving him pats on the back. “What now?” Wendell called out as Dickson began to walk away.

“What do you mean?” Dickson said, counting through a small bundle of money containing several dollars and small handful of coins.

“I mean it’s early and I ain’t for sure where to go. This a big city.” Truth was Wendell had been afraid to wander around the city and stayed in his little room all day.

Dickson's eyes widened. “Look here, don’t you ever cross that road into the city. They know me and they seen you with me, they, uh… they don’t like fighters over there okay. Stay around here.”

Wendell was visibly disappointed. He didn’t know anyone and had already been thinking about going home.

“Look here, I understand you all wound up. Here now, go down that street there.” Dickson pointed down a dark street. “When you get to the end you’ll find a big white house. Go to the door and ask for Miss. Roberta, she’ll fix you right up. Tell her Mr. Dickson sent you.” Dickson was off after that, counting his money.

Wendell did as Dickson had told him. He walked down the long street to the end. It went right along the edge of the other side of town. He could see the buildings of in the distance and was very curious about it. After a mile, the street turned to the right and went past a big white building standing off to the left almost by itself. It was two stories with a balcony that ran across the front of the second floor. It looked to be a large boarding house. In front, two girls sat in the porch swing wearing very indiscrete clothing. A man exited through the front door as another went in.

The two girls smiled as Wendell stepped up to the front door and knocked. Both of them began whispering and giggling to each other. “Just go on in. We ain't too formal 'round here.” One of the girls said, both giggling again.

Wendell opened the door and stepped inside to a large parlor with several girls wearing clothes so revealing Wendell blushed. He knew instantly what kind of place this was, he remembered when he was a boy standing in the bushes with one of his friends in the nearby city, trying to get a peek through the curtained windows. The reaction to Wendell coming through the door was instant. Several girls let out shocked gasps, some covered themselves up. One jumped up and ran out of the room. A large man playing the piano in the corner abruptly stopped playing and stood up. He began approaching Wendell, look of menace in his eyes. Wendell realized he'd done something wrong and stated stepping backwards when a large woman came from behind a curtain, “What’s going on?” Seeing Wendell she said, “What the hell are you doing in here boy?” more shocked than angry.  

Not knowing what to do, Wendell reached behind him for the door knob. The door swung open as the two girls from the porch stepped in, still giggling. Wendell tried to get past the girls, but they stood in the doorway blocking him still giggling.

“Stop that!” the big woman hollered and the two girls became silent and serious.

Wendell sheepishly turned back to the large woman. The big man came up, but the large woman put up her hand to stop him. “Hold on Luther. What are you doing here boy?” she asked Wendell, her voice kind.

“Uh, Mr. Dickson sent me to speak to Miss. Roberta.” Wendell said nervously.

“Dickson!” the woman exclaimed. “Shit!”

Wendell flinched. He had never heard a woman talk like that before.

The woman made an angry face at the two girls shooing them both out the door. A shake of her head and a wave of her hand had the man she called Luther relax. He loosed his fists and returned the piano. “Com'ere boy,” she said kindly, taking his arm and slipping hers through it as an escort. She walked quickly through the parlor waving her hand at the girls around the room to calm down. “What’s your name son?” she said escorting him through a set of thick embroidered yellow curtains at the end.

“Wendell.”       

“Well Wendell, I’m Miss Roberta. You certainly gave my girls a start. It’s okay though, mistakes do happen. You see you’re colored, so in the future you get to come in through the back way, understand?" Wendell nodded. "A simple fact Mr. Dickson neglected to tell you.”

They continued walking down the hall next to a stairway that went up. At the end of the hallway, they entered a large kitchen. A few girls sitting around a table gasped as they saw Wendell, then quieted as Miss Roberta waved her hand. Another big man stood at the stove stirring a large pot of something smelling good. He gave Wendell the eye as they passed.

“They aren’t used to seeing men back here,” Miss Roberta said.

The door at the other end of the kitchen opened to another parlor. There were a few girls around here as well. The only difference was these girls didn’t shy away as Wendell was escorted through.

Wendell was very nervous. The women eyed him and all said “Hiii…” in suggestive tones. They passed through and all the girls all waved saying, “Byyye…” causing Wendell to blush again. A roll top desk sat in one corner with a bed at the far end. A naked woman was leaning against the bedpost smoking a cigarette. Wendell tried to avoid looking at her.

“What the hell’s this?” Miss Roberta stopped short.

The woman by the bed took a short drag on the cigarette, “Breaking her in like you said.”

“Where the hell is she?”

The girl with the cigarette tilted her head towards a door on the side. “She’ll never last,” she said taking another drag.

“Not with you she won't,” she said let go of Wendell and moving fast towards the other girl, grabbing her arm and squeezing tightly. “Did you hurt her?” she growled. The woman was in pain and tried to release Miss Roberta’s grip, but she was obviously stronger than she looked. “Tell me what you did?” she growled grabbing the girl's hair. She pulled her head back and took the cigarette, “Don’t damage the merchandise!” Miss Roberta yelled into the girl’s ear then jammed the cigarette into the girl's belly button.

Wendell flinched as the girl began screaming, flailing her arms and convulsing, trying to get away from Miss Roberta holding her in an iron grip. When she let go, the girl fell to the floor crying and holding her stomach. “Get the fuck out of here,” the woman left quickly, squeaking like a mouse.

Miss Roberta went to the door and knocked lightly. “Baby?” she called, her sweet voice returning. “Baby,” she said again turning the knob and opening the door slowly. “Damnit!” she exclaimed.

Miss Roberta returned escorting a naked young girl with long dark hair that fell over her back. Her face was puffy from crying and she walked bent over holding her hands to her crotch. Wendell could see there was blood on her fingers.

Miss Roberta helped her sit on the bed and lay her down. She then turned towards the door, “Darrel!” she said loud enough to make Wendell jump.

Outside Wendell heard another woman's voice call out, “Darrel!”

A loud thumping sounded as the large man from the kitchen suddenly entered the room. He was holding a black mace. “Yes Miss. Roberta!” he said, instantly moving towards Wendell.

Wendell quickly sized him up and balled his fists.

“No!” the sharp voice stopped Darrel cold. “You were supposed to be watching her.”

“I had to check the gumbo.” Darrel said sounding dumb.

“Look at this crap.”

The girl was now in a fetal position, still crying softly. Wendell stood staring at her, looking so beautiful and innocent.       

Aware of the people in the room, Baby looked up from the bed and stared through cloudy swollen eyes. She could just make out a large older boy staring down at her with such kindness. She focused and saw his large arms and thick bull neck and did her best to smile through the pain.

“Lynda did this!” Miss Roberta said angrily, peering at Darrel. Wendell saw an exchange between then two. Darrel loosed his grip on the mace then tightened it. Nodding his head he began removing the apron he wore and he left giving Wendell a short watchful glance.

“Sorry about this boy.” she said somewhat softer. “Theresa.” she called out.

“Yes Miss Roberta.” A thin older black woman opened the door. She made a face when she saw the girl.

“Yes I know,” she nodded towards Wendell. “This is Wendell, he’s a fighter. That’s right isn’t it, you fight for Mr. Dickson?”

Wendell nodded quickly. “Uh, yes ma'am.”

Theresa tried not to smile at his manners.

“Yes, show him around. I didn’t get the chance to explain things to him, take care of him today,” she said with nod. “He came in the front door.”

The girl smiled, “Bet that was some sort of stir.”

“Yes it was, and Theresa, nothing for today.” the girl made a face. “He didn’t need to see this. I’ll take care of you later. Wendell you go with Theresa she's gonna take care of you.”

Theresa slipped her arm through Wendell's, just as Miss Roberta had done, and led him out of the room. He looked back at the beautiful girl on the bed watching until the door closed.

Baby watched the boy leave. Miss Roberta said his name was Wendell. She smiled, the way he looked at her made her feel special.

The girls in the parlor smiled and cooed as Theresa walked Wendell through, arm in arm, to a curtain at the other end. A less decorated hallway led to another set of stairs. Theresa led him up to the second floor a long hallway lined with doors. Theresa stopped at the third door and opened it. Wendell had to duck to go inside.

“You can sit here,” she said motioning towards the bed. The small room was very personal. It was decorated with fabrics and trinkets, the likes of which Wendell had never seen. In one corner, a small table with a bowl that contained what looked like dried blood. Chickens feet and claws from other birds were hung with feathers ornamenting the door and the walls. “Don’t touch none of that. Come sit down here.”

There was an edge to her tone, and Wendell moved away from the table and sat down on the bed like he was told. He continued looking around at all the different fabrics covering so much of the walls and ceiling that there was scarcely any part visible.

Theresa smiled, squatting down in front of him. “You okay?”

“Yes ma'am.” Wendell said, his voice cracking as Theresa placed her hands on his thighs. He had never had a woman this close to him before and certainly never touch him. He felt himself swell on his pants.

“You know what kind of place this is?” Wendell couldn’t speak anymore. He nodded his head as Theresa rubbed his thighs then grazing him across his crotch and feeling himself get even harder. “You ever did this before?” Wendell moved his head slowly from side to side, as Theresa began to unbuckle his pants.

She guided him Wendell slowly, showing him, talking to him more than she normally would. He was just a big kid and for some reason she felt a sort of kinship towards him. In his head, Wendell felt powerful. He saw himself fighting every man in the world and winning. Then he was inside her warmth, moving with the rhythm of the tides. He saw Baby, innocent and beautiful and he held her close to him. He thought of the ocean, which he had never seen, but believed it must be as wonderful as this and when he finally reached the apex, he didn’t care about fighting anymore. He was no longer homesick and didn’t think about running away or living. Nothing mattered, but he thought of Baby and felt as if he could die in that moment as he felt what must have been electricity shot down his back to his groin. He groaned, releasing everything in a sigh of ecstasy like nothing he’d ever felt before.

When he passed out and dreamt of blood and chickens, and Theresa came into his head, chanting words in a language he did not understand, then she said a name. Lighting flashed, and he saw a wasteland with a large spindly tree, covered with bristles and barbs that hung over the horizon. The twilight showed its dark silhouette against an orange yellow horizon. It was full of what looked to be large ripe fruit. Wendell reached up and plucked one, knowing instantly something was wrong by the texture in his hands. He looked down and saw it wasn’t fruit at all, but a fetus. A large pink fetus that didn’t look like anything he had ever seen. It had a disfigured bone structure with a pig head. Two tiny protrusions reached out of its forehead, he was sure would grow to be horns. Its large eyes were closed along with its mouth, but something beneath his lips was causing them to protrude. Wendell pealed the lips back slowly to reveal two small black fangs and a mouth full of sharp little teeth. It suddenly snapped at his finger with a miniature growl and he awoke lying next to Theresa.

 

 

Part 3

 

 

Dickson had Wendell fighting every night for weeks, giving him three dollars after every fight. Wendell was happy to get the money and it was piling up, but he was becoming increasingly aware of the large bundle Dickson pulled the three dollars from. Having more money than he knew what to do with, he hid most of it behind a loose brick in his little storage room. He began making regular visits to Miss Roberta’s, always through the backdoor of course. Talking with Theresa, Wendell's education about the world quickly began to grow. He didn’t understand exactly why he couldn’t do certain things. Remembering where he grew up, he thought people treated everyone the same, but the more he thought about it, the more he began to remember little things his father had done, always going to the back door of certain places and keeping his head down when he went into the city. Wendell found himself angry with his father for acting lower than someone else. "You jus' as good as them boys, you 'member that," how many times had his father said that to him? Yet Wendell got into trouble for standing up to Jeb.   

Every night after fighting, Wendell would go to Miss Roberta’s in the hopes of seeing Baby. He made a request to have her for the night, but Miss Roberta told him she had other white girls better than that little thing. Twice Wendell gone with white girls not from his part of the house until Miss Roberta finally told him he could never have Baby.

“She is only for one client,” Theresa said. “Miss Roberta found her special and only one person gets to be with her.”

“Who?” Wendell asked.

Theresa did her best to explain. She told Wendell a lot about what goes on at the house including what had happened to Lynda. "Lynda likes to go with women, understand?" Wendell didn’t, but he nodded. "So, one of the things was he didn’t want Baby to be messy the first time." Wendell made a confused face and Theresa tried to explain about the first time a woman had sex, how it could be 'messy'. "Lynda was supposed to take care if that, but while she was fixing her she did some other things too. When Baby told her to stop, Lynda got upset and instead of gently helping her, she shoved something up inside Baby that hurt her bad. Miss Roberta had Darrel beat Lynda up and rape her.”

Wendell didn’t know if he was more upset at what happened to Baby or what he now learned happened to Lynda. Theresa could see he was upset and desperately wanted to see Baby, and though it wasn’t allowed, she snuck over to Baby's room one night with a message. Minutes later she returned to her room saying that Baby would see Wendell tomorrow night. The man who she was for always came early and left. He never stayed the night.

Wendell lay on his bed of pillows in the little cramped area all night long wide-awake. He thought of the beautiful girl he was going to see the next night. He would buy her something, tomorrow before the fight, something nice. What would a girl like? He thought. He couldn’t really go by what he saw in Theresa's room. Just thinking about the bowl and chickens feet, brought him back to the dream, and he shivered at the memory.          

The next night Wendell was in great form. His name was starting to get around and some were talking about him boxing professionally comparing him to Jack Dempsey. Wendell knew about the prizefighters, they were regulated, timed and some said they were fixed. Bare-knuckles was where the real men were, no rounds, two men stepped in the middle of the crowd, stood toe to toe until one of them dropped. Wendell had become the last fight of the evening. “Saving the best for last.” Dickson had said. Men were coming from miles around to both watch and challenge Wendell. Some said he was the best fighter in the state. It happened so often Wendell began contemplating boxing his self, but it did seem weak to stand with a man for three minutes then sit and rest, waiting to do it all over again; too easy.

A large man from a city Wendell had never heard of threw several punches, missing every one of them. Wendell found it was better for the crowd if he let the other fighters swing a little. His first three fights had ended so quickly the crowd seemed disappointed, so Wendell ducked and dodged for a while, letting the other fighters hit him a few times. If he really felt confident he might even fall on the crowed, when that happened many bets were called, and the odds changed. He let some of the lower shots connect with his stomach while he gave them a tap on the jaw. After a few minutes of dancing, he would let loose, only having to throw a few real punches, depending on the opponent. Most couldn’t handle more than four until they dropped. The crowd always went crazy.

Wendell delivered an uppercut to the man's chin and stepped back. The man swung a left for Wendell's head. Wendell ducked under it and stepped in throwing a right into the man's ribs. Pulling back quickly, he swung for the head. The man was already turning back from the punch he’d just thrown. Wendell connected. The other man turned, kept turning and crumbled to the floor. The crowd went crazy cheering the knockout. Wendell took a breath as the man on the floor tried to get back up. It wasn’t going to happen and the circle closed with hollering congratulations.

“That’s my boy.” Dickson said. He was wearing a new suit nicely tailored, counting through a large bundle of money. “How you feel kid?”

“I feel good Mr. Dickson.”

“Good, good, good.”

“Hey Kid you ever think about going pro?” A thin guy, also in a nice suit, stepped up to Wendell. He had black hair and a large nose.

“Well, I was sort of....”

“Hey!” Dickson stopped counting his money and stepped up to the thin guy. “Wendell don’t box you sonofabitch! Now get out of here!”

“I was just talking to the Kid.”

“Hey guys,” Dickson called out. “Check out this fucking wop. I don’t think he was invited.” Several men suddenly came from all around, grabbed hold of the thin guy, and moved him out the door. The grunting and pummeling began before the door closed. “Don’t listen to that shit, Kid. Bare-knuckles is where you should be. That’s where the money is.”

“Where?”

“Here.” Dickson held up his big wad of money.

“You said that I’d make five dollars for fighting if I come here wit' you. All I gets is three every night and you…” Wendell looked down at the large wad Dickson was holding.

Dickson's face flushed for a moment like he’d been caught. “I know Kid I was uh… waiting till you were ready. Remember what I told you, first you fight and then you get set up. Those other guys were just suckers. The fights are going to get harder now Kid. You think you ready?”

Wendell stared into Dickson's eyes and nodded.

“Okay then, here.” Dickson pulled another dollar out of the bundle. “There you go for now. See you tomorrow kid.”

Wendell wasn’t exactly happy about it, but he had more important things in his mind now. He headed up the street to Miss Roberta’s.

All of the girls on the backside of the house liked Wendell and they always had one question when he walked in the door. “Did you win?” two asked at the same time.

Wendell nodded his head as several hoots sounded in the parlor. Theresa came right up to him. “How many is that now?”

Wendell shrugged his shoulders, “I ain’t for sure.”

“Well we should celebrate anyway.” she took his arm and led him up the stairs, once they were inside her room she got serious. “Now remember, if you get caught down there, you don’t tell no one how you found her. I don’t want Miss Roberta upset at me understand.”

Wendell noticed the bowl had been moved and instead of dried blood, fresh red stains were inside and a thin puddle in the middle. In the corner on the wall a new chicken foot hung, along with a strange scent in the air. Wendell thought of burning sweat if that were possible. He nodded and said he understood. Theresa checked the hallway then led him out.     

The corridor was empty, no one came or went. Theresa walked a little ahead of him. Giggles and sounds of heavy breathing came from almost every door they passed. Theresa finally stopped in front of one, knocked, opened it a little and put her finger up mouthing “one hour” before leaving. Wendell opened the door and slipped into the room.

The room was sparse just a dresser, a mirror, a chair and a bed. Baby sat on the bed looking down at her knees, her black hair hanging down covering her face. Wendell stood at the door looking down at her, not knowing what to say. He mustered a small, “Hullo.”

“Hello,” the figure on the bed said in a quivering voice sounding sweet.

Wendell suddenly became aware he’d never heard her speak. He moved towards the bed and the girl flinched. “Baby?” The girl seemed to relax a little. “Baby,” he said again. “I’m Wendell.”

“I don’t want you to look at me,” she said.

Wendell stopped moving forward, “Why?” He waited to hear her voice again, she sounded like an angel.

“I don’t look the same,” she said her shoulders starting to tremble as she softly cried. Wendell moved forward to the bed and Baby turned away. “I’m ugly,” she said.

Wendell was shocked. “No. You cain’t never be ugly to me,” he said reaching out to touch her shoulder. She seemed so fragile with his large hand on her.

He coaxed her to him as he sat down and slowly urged her to turn and look up at him. He winced when he saw the bruises on her jaw. Her right eye was almost swollen shut. Tears slowly seeped from the blue red slit that was her eye. His anger flared quickly, “Who done this?” he said through gritted teeth.

She shook her head and began to sob heavily. She leaned against him, feeling his large arms move around to engulf her. From his pocket, he pulled a white handkerchief he purchased for her earlier in the day. He gently moved it around her eye to dry the tears, trying not to touch the skin and cause it to hurt any worse. They lay back on the bed and stayed wrapped in each other's arms for some time, mouths almost touching, breathing each other’s breath. After almost an hour Wendell said, “If I had a way, would you go away wit' me?”

“They’d find us.”

“No, I’d see to it.”

Baby was quiet, “Miss. Roberta paid for me, I’m hers.”

“Nobody gonna treat you like that. If I gets me some money and I gets me an idea, you gonna come wit’ me?”

Baby tried to smile and succeeded a little doing her best to look into his eyes. “Yes. I will if you come for me.”

Baby checked the hallway and Wendell made his way back down to Theresa’s room. The room was hot. Theresa was seated in her bed with her legs crossed, a serious sullen look on her face. She was sweating profusely. “Now, what you gonna to do?” her voice had a deep penetrating rasp.

“I need to gets me some money.”

“Are you a good fighter Wendell?” she spoke deep and slow. Her eyes didn’t focus on him or even blink as she spoke.

Wendell told her many times the answer to that question, but tonight it seemed Theresa wanted more than the usual. “When I's growin' up, I thinked my father was the strongest man in the world. When I's got older, he looked to got smaller, weaker. When I saw some of the things he gone done to get by, I member thinkin', he was such a small man and I would make him proud and do better than he done. I would become the greatest and strongest to make him proud o' me, but he always telling me what I done wrong, always saying how weak I was, even when I’s fast enough and strong enough to catch two pigs at once and walk them out the pen. I always tried to be the best, to show’em what I got, show’em what I could do, but he always looking at somethin’ else.

“When be fightin’, everythin' feel right. Them other fighters move like molasses, I can tell what they are going to do before they do it. It feel right and natural, like I could be the greatest fighter in the whole world.”

“Wendell,” Theresa said looking at him for the first time. "There’s a place I heard of, where you could go, and you can be, whatever you want to be.”

“What’s that?”

“You got to take that road that leads to the sunset,” Theresa closed her eyes like she was taking the journey herself. “You walk that road for a whole night till you come to another road, then you go to your right and walk the whole day till you come to Azakkum. It be a big knurled old tree at a crossroads in the middle of no-place. That's where you wait.”

“Wait for what?”

Theresa's eyes opened wide and stared intensely at him. “Wait. Wait for Him to come.”

“Him?”

“Him. Nick. Old Nick. He from the other side. With Him you can shake the hands and you be the greatest fighter in the world after that.” Theresa’s eyes continued to burn through him. Wendell felt a cold chill in the room circling the two of them in the heat of the room. Theresa closed her eyes again and smiled. “You go now boy, Him waiting for you.”

Wendell trusted Theresa and he stood right then and left, closing the door just as Theresa's eyes reopened wide with terror. Tears spilled out, as she mouthed, “No,” forcing her mouth to move though no words were said. Theresa grabbed her throat and painfully inhaled, she coughed and choked, spilling a thick slimy fog from her mouth. The room got colder and darker. She began to hyperventilate. Her breath labored in thick frozen gasps joining with the thickening fog swirling wispy in the air before her. It hung twisting and contorting until an enormous smoky hand formed long and knurled wispy fingers. Theresa tried to scream. The foggy hand reared and struck fast grabbing her by the throat and chest lifting her off the bed and pinning her to the wall. She hung, trying to get hold of the misty hand clutching her while her hands passed right through it. She struggled, each breath adding more and more substance to the thing holding her to the wall.

A sudden epiphany flashed in Theresa's eyes. She stopped struggling, allowing her body to go limp as her breathing calmed. She closed her eyes and began to concentrate repeating words in her head over and over. On the little table in the corner, the blood stained bowl began to vibrate. Theresa slowly brought her arms up until it looked like as if the great ghostly hand had crucified her. Slowly she brought her hands together and this time she was able to get a hold of the foggy apparition. Her eyes shot open. Around the room, a low mumbling began to echo from Theresa's closed mouth. She opened her mouth and the volume increased sharply. Straining, she slowly began pulling the misty hand away from her throat allowing her voice to clear and the deep chanting grow louder and more direct. The hand began to twitch, the bowl on the table spun, jumped and rocked. In one motion, Theresa released the hand and fell to the bed as the mist that had arrive from her breath shot across the room into the bowl.

Theresa leapt from the bed. In the bowl, the now the very thick mist swirled, the size of a baseball. Theresa stood over the bowl and made hand gestures while continuing to chant out-loud. Her eyes closed and she grasped a knife, cut her arm, and held it over the bowl to let the blood run freely. The mist became thicker, shrinking down until it reached the size of a large marble and stopped. Theresa stopped, breathing heavily with sweat pouring down her face she clutched the table exhausted. She picked up the marble squeezing the mushy little balloon vibrating with an energy that said it was ready to burst. On a hook above her head, three chicken feet hung beside a small burlap sack. She pulled down the sack, opened it up and dropped the small marble in. It landed among a few others. Theresa pulled the drawstring closed and replaced it on the hook. The room was now hot rather than cold and exhausted Theresa collapsed onto her bed with tears in her eyes. What was to be done now? When Wendell returned he might need her help, she would have to prepare, but right now she was exhausted and first would have to sleep.

 

 

Part 4

 

Wendell did not go back to his little apartment. He walked right out of town and down the road leading to the sunset. He walked all night watching his shadow stretch far into the distance as the sun rose on his back. Several trees lined the road and at noon, he stopped for a nap.

In the warehouse men lined up one by one, Wendell began fighting each man, taking each of them down with a single punch. One blow at a time left, right, left, right, thousands it seemed coming repeatedly one after another. Then two at a time, no one touched him. They circled him. He ducked and swinging] as they went down one after another after another. A blow knocked him from behind. “C’mere boy.” Wendell turned to see Dickson behind him. Wendell walked up to the large man, no longer afraid or intimidated. Dickson grabbed Wendell by the shirt and lifted him straight off the ground. “Don’t no nigger fuck with me.” Dickson gave Wendell a monster blow and he awoke with a start. Wendell shook his head as if he had been hit. He stood, staring up at the sun, then turned towards the sunset and continued heading down the road.

The twilight dulled the landscape as he came to a road leading off to the right and left. There were no trees any longer, only dirt reaching the horizon in every direction. Wendell started down the road as the sun set on his left revealing millions of stars and a full moon that allowed him to see the road. The cool night air felt good, and Wendell imagined he was in the warehouse. He began to jog and shadowbox down the road. Late into the night, Wendell came to the intersection and at one of the corners sat a grotesque looking tree. It seemed out of place in the landscape, and reached up as a thick vine twisting right out of the ground. There were no leaves, in fact, the tree was just as dry as the ground, which cracked away from the tree into the night. The sensation of déjà vu over took him as he stared at the gnarled twisted branches looking as if the tree were visibly in pain. He sat at the base and watched the sunrise as he fell asleep.

“Boy? Boy. BOY!”

Wendell woke with a start, staring at a black man in a dark brown suit. He jumped up while the man stayed at the same height. The small man barely stood over his knees.

“Calm down boy, didn’t mean to scare you none.”

Wendell looked down at the little man. “Who are you?”

“Now I’m sorry, boy but that’s my question to you.”

“W-W-Wendell,” he stumbled, squinting his eyes against the bright sunlight, still sleepy and a little afraid.

“Well W-W-Wendell?” the man laughed mocking him. “Ain’t no reason to be scared of me boy. I’m just the messenger. What you doing here?”

“I am waiting for someone.” Wendell said.

The little man laughed with a crazy giggle, “I knewd it, you's waiting for Him, ain’t you?”

Wendell looked hard at the little man, surprised he would know why he was there.

Laughing again the little man jumped around. “I knewd it. Well come on W-W-Wendell.”

The little man laughed again walking away from the tree to a car Wendell hadn’t noticed sitting on the road. Wendell slowly approached the car as the little man ran to the back door. It was big and black as pitch, covered with dust with black curtains on every window. The little man opened the back door and poked his head inside, then back out again as Wendell approached. “Get in,” he little man said with a mischievous smile holding the door.

Fear gripped Wendell now more than any other time he had remembered. He imagined this moment was the decision when he crossed the path between who he was, who he was going to be and who people were going to have him be. It was his decision. He thought of Theresa and a strong image came to him saying, “No,” then he thought of Baby and again thought came, “No.” Then he thought of his father saying, “He can’t do nothing right,” and obstinance took hold of him. I’ll show you, he thought and climbed into the car.

The backseat was huge and cushioned, and it looked even darker and bigger than it should have been. On the far side, a thin dark skinned man in a suit so black it looked to not even be there. He had a baldhead sat with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap. The darkness of the interior kept him in deep shadow. The silhouette nodded.

“Hello.” Wendell said nervously as he sat down. The door closed. The air in the car was acrid and humid, and he felt himself begin to sweat instantly. 

The thin man slowly, but smoothly raised his hand. “Nick,” he said in a deep hollow voice that resonated around the cab and died.

Wendell grasped the hand was very hot to the touch and shook it, “Wendell.”

The silhouette nodded again. “I here you’s waitin' for me.”

“Are you Him?”

The figure in the hat took a deep breath that also resonated around the car. “I am Him that is Nick as you is him that is Wendell. What you be wantin' boy? I can’t give everythin', but I could see my way to supplying certain things for certain peoples.” The car seemed to tense, “For a price, of course.”

Wendell felt his stomach tighten. “I don’t have much money,” he said reaching in his pocket for everything he had on him.

Nick's hand came up calm and firm, waving the air. “Not to worry, it’s better to deal in people, rather than in money.”

Wendell put his hand down.

“You an honest boy, right?”

Wendell nodded.

“Good, then I will get my payment from your honesty. You promise to pay what is owed when I come for it and we have a deal.” Nick's hand came up again waiting for Wendell to shake it.

Wendell heard the words resonate around the cab, filling his ears and clouding his mind. He took the hand and shook it, feeling electricity rush through him, something left his body and made him feel sad for a moment, as if he turned left instead of right and his spirit knew destiny was waiting around the next corner, now lost. His body slumped and he heard the voice echo again. 

“Now what is it you wanted boy?” Nick said releasing Wendell's hand.

Wendell's mind forgot what it had lost coming back to the reason he came here in the first place. “I want to be the greatest fighter in the world,” he said strongly.

“Oh do you. Haven’t people told you, you could be, haven’t people told you that you are?”

“Yes they have,” Wendell said confidently.

“Don’t you already think you are?”

Wendell thought for a moment and nodded.

“So you don’t believe you are and you want me to make that happen?”

Wendell nodded again as he thought about the people telling him he was the greatest fighter they’d ever seen.

“Now you understand, being the greatest is a hard thing to bear. People come at you all the time ready for a fight just wantin' to see if they is as good as the great Kid Wendell,” Nick uncrossed his legs and crossed them again.

Wendell wasn't paying attention, he remembered fighting, feeling like he was the greatest fighter in the world. His body warmed as adrenaline began to move through him. His thoughts came to a halt and Nick suddenly leaned out of the shadows to look into Wendell's eyes. Nick stared with large empty eyes dilated to show no color. The air in the car got even hotter throwing Wendell's mind into a haze with the words resonation and swirling through him.

“Responsibility like that can make a man go crazy,” Nick whispered the words he stared into Wendell's eyes. “You understand that boy? Being the greatest drives men mad.” The voice ran through Wendell's head. “Crazy Kid Wendell, that’s what they’ll say. You want to be the greatest boy?"

Wendell nodded his head one last time and Nick released his hand as the back door opened up again. Wendell squinted at the blinding sunlight, stepping out of the cab to the little man laughing his crazy maniacal giggle. Glancing back into the car Wendell saw that Nick had retreated to the shadows and sat as if they had never spoken. The door closed and the little man climbed in front. Wendell felt drunk, his head spun. The black car started with a growl sounding like a creature rather than a car. Then it slowly rolled on down the road away and into the darkness.

Wendell stumbled to the tree. A strange sadness and loss began to overtake him as he leaned his head against the trunk. The tears came heavily before the sobbing began. He began shaking his head and punching the trunk, repeatedly. The bark cracked and crumbled at the blows, softening like flesh, his knuckles bled leaving streaks and drops in the bark, screaming with each blow over and again as he wept and the tree buckled. Dropping to his knees, he cried looking at the cracked meaty area where he unloaded on the tree. It was soft, covered with blood that dripped and fell to the ground. Raising his index finger, he began to dig and scratch the tree through a cloud of tears, and didn’t stop until he finished putting the name into the tree. AZAKKUM. For others to beware.

 

 

Part 5

 

For the rest of the day and on through the night Wendell retraced his route in a haze, making his way back to his little apartment hole just after dawn. He collapsed onto the bed of pillows, falling instantly into a dreamless sleep. He was stirred by a heavy pounding which didn’t quite register until the two by four laying into him, struck him in the head. Wendell rolled quickly coming to his feet, fists ready for whatever was coming next.

The two by four didn’t stop and Wendell sleepily ducked and blocked as Dickson yelled, “Where the fuck have you been?” Dickson stopped swinging, but held the board cocked. “Two days. Two fucking days! You know how much money you cost me?”

“I had something I had to do Mr. Dickson.”

“Sonofabitch!" Dickson swung the board and Wendell blocked it. "I put you up and you do this to me?” Dickson was furious and Wendell believed he was thinking about killing him. Dickson stepped forward with the two by four, eyes blazing, he grunted and swung with all of his might.

Wendell stepped back and threw a right cross, which struck the two by four. It snapped and exploded with a loud crack. Dickson's eyes went wide in shock. He looked at the broken board in his hands then at Wendell who stood fists ready, waiting for whatever was coming next. His breathing was fierce and he had a wild look in his eyes.

“All right… all right." Dickson said dropping the rest of the board a little afraid at what might happen now. "Just calm down boy.”

Wendell’sd eyes looked very different, he was still tense and ready to strike. He stared right through Dickson, focused on something else, something, somewhere else.

“It’s all right, okay?” Dickson said. Wendell let his arms slowly drop, but kept his fists clenched. “You going to be ready tonight?”

Wendell nodded his head and swallowed. His eyes blinked and he unclenched his fists. “Yes," he said focusing again. "I’ll be ready.”

“Okay then,” Dickson was nervous. He put up a hand, “Five dollars tonight okay?” he started moving towards the door.

“I want to fight twice.” Wendell said.

Dickson stopped. “You want to what? Look boy, I know you're good, but most can just barely handle one.”

“Matter o'fact, I want to fight every man there tonight. Five dollar a piece.” The strange look came back in Wendell's eyes. He looked crazed and far away.

Dickson gulped. “Look here kid,” he moved towards Wendell who brought his fists up again and moved towards Dickson. “Okay, okay. Let me see what I can do.” Dickson backed towards the entrance. Wendell dropped his arms and nodded. Still exhausted he collapsed back on the makeshift bed and fell back to sleep. Dickson shook his head and left nervously. Every fight was crazy, but maybe he could find a way to make back what he lost.

 

Wendell entered the warehouse that night to a hail of cheers. "The return of Kid Wendell," someone yelled. The crowed continued to cheer and Wendell felt the adrenaline.

Dickson rushed up to him, “Okay,” he said. “I set you up with the first five fights. The others wouldn’t give up their spots so that’s two fights out of it. Okay?” Dickson looked nervous. “Are you sure about this kid?”

Wendell turned to Dickson, the wild look in his eyes said it all. He would fight them all. “I’ll fight them all together at the same time,” he said.

“Look kid, I can only do so much. You been doing so much damage a lot of guys came here tonight to watch the tar beat out of you. I’ve been covering bets against you because... well, I don’t know why, but you better come through or I’m done for.”

Wendell walked through the crowd in a daze with, cheers, laughter, and slaps on the back. Dickson followed behind, stopping every now and again to talk to someone, writing a name and number on a piece of paper. Wendell reached one side of the circle. Dickson came up beside him, looking scared to death. “Okay kid this is it, were in this together. If you go down, I go down,” Wendell ignored him.

Across the circle, five men stood shadowboxing, staring across at Wendell, a couple of them smiled. An announcer stepped out of the crowd. “All right, all right. Shut up you son's o' bitches, something a little different tonight. Tonight Kid Wendell verses Chuck Jones, Butch Wallace, Lefty Steel, Jimmy Smith, and Harold ‘the Bruiser’ Simpson. One after the other in that order.” The announcer stepped out of the circle.

The crowd went crazy as Wendell stepped away from the edge of the circle. One of the five stepped up, Wendell tried to remember what the announcer had said the name of the first guy was. It didn’t matter. The man came straight at Wendell, who watched the man threw a slow motion right hand, he ducked under, followed by a slow motion left he stepped around.

The crowd started yelling as Wendell dodged and moved around every blow. “He’s scared!” someone shouted. “Fight already!” another voice yelled. For a full minute, the other fighter threw punch after punch. Wendell waited until he felt bored then stepped in low to deliver a right uppercut to the man’s chin. His head snapped back and his body followed it to the ground. The crowd stopped cheering for a moment. "One punch?" someone yelled, then an explosion of cheers. Wendell stepped back a little and waited.

The next fighter stepped out as men dragged the first one out of the circle. This fighter decided to be a little more careful. He didn’t start throwing punches right off. He and Wendell stood in front of each other circling for a moment. A little jab and cover, jab and cover. Wendell matched him blow for blow. Out of fear or frustration, the fight suddenly turned serious. The other fighter threw a quick jab, then a cross that connected with Wendell and snapped his head around. The crowd cheered. Wendell turned back and shook his head. He moved towards the fighter who looked in Wendell's eyes and seemed to know what was coming. He was in trouble. Wendell threw a low jab then a high punch, connecting with the man's stomach, then his face causing him to stumble back. Wendell didn’t let up. He stepped forward throwing punch after punch, while the other fighter tried unsuccessfully to block the barrage.

Wendell delivered a heavy right to the stomach, stood and threw a jab with the left to set up the right then hit the other fighter in the center of his face. The explosion of blood was shocking even to some of the bystanders who got splattered. The other fighter fell, out before he hit the floor, his face unrecognizable from all the blood.

Dixson watched from the crowed. The next two fights went about the same, but Dickson assumed they would be. What he was afraid of was the last fight. The fight that Wendell was supposed to have tonight was with ‘the Bruiser’ from Kentucky, Bruiser had been traveling from city to city looking for fights with the best they had to offer and so far had whipped everyone who had crossed his path. The story was he was training to go professional, but the worst of it was he was known by some other name in the New York gangs and that name had killed men with his bare hands, not just one, but a few both inside and out of the ring. Being hit by 'the Bruiser' was like being struck by a sledgehammer one reporter had said. Bruiser preferred to train with bare-knuckles because it softened the blows you received with gloves on. The guy was big and they had deliberately set him last as a ringer. Dickson was excited Wendell had gotten this far, but as the last fight started he not only made certain he could see, but that he was near one of the doors to exit the warehouse if necessary. He had bet Wendell could win them all or he lost everything.

'The Bruiser' came out cool and smooth, he hit Wendell in the face with a fast left right jab and moved out to the side. He moved in and out connecting and moving back to dance around the edge. After four fights Wendell was a little tired, his face was swollen under his left eye with a cut above it. To Wendell, Bruiser wasn’t faster, he still moved in slow motion, but Wendell was too tired to follow. He covered up and began catching his breath, while ‘the Bruiser’ continued landing blows from all directions. Wendell threw a punch. ‘The Bruiser’ blocked the punch and stepped in with a left jab then a heavy right to the head. Wendell stumbled. The crowd roared with both cheers and jeers. His head was fine, but he was tired. Stumbling more than necessary, he allowed Bruiser to move in. Wendell spread his legs very wide for balance and dropped low and as the Bruiser came in, Wendell came up, almost from the floor with a right uppercut to the stomach lifting Bruiser off the ground. Wendell stood and stepped back to finish catching his breath. Bruiser did the same.

Wendell's tired crazy eyes focused on 'the Bruiser' before stepping in, now he was ready. Bruiser was angry, no one had ever hurt him before, he felt he’d made a mistake, but it wouldn’t happen again. The fighters stood toe-to-toe trading blows back and forth moving around the circle. Wendell listened to the intoxicating cheers and felt something coming from inside of him wanting to scream wild with the cheers. He grunted as he threw another left, right, left combination to Bruiser. Each of them missed.

Bruiser was hurt and getting tired. He was not about to let some kid beat him for the first time. He ducked the next punch to the head and stepped in with heavy right to the gut, pulled back and drove an uppercut to the chin that snapped Wendell's head back.

Dickson watched terrified, glancing over his shoulder to judge the distance to the exit, making sure it was clear as the crowd hollered even louder.

Wendell stumbled backwards turning to the right, as ‘the Bruiser’ moved in for what he thought was going to be the knockout. Wendell took a step back, stumbling, then another, his stance wide. He turned and hunched over giving his back to ‘the Bruiser.’ Bruiser threw a rabbit punch to the back of Wendell's head, thinking Wendell was about to fall, not noticing that Wendell's legs weren’t stumbling, but standing firm and solid. The first punch connected and Wendell turned suddenly, as ‘the Bruiser’ readying for a second punch not expecting any reaction.

'The Bruiser' and Wendell locked eyes for a less than a second which was far too long, because Wendell's heavy right was already on its way. It connected with the bridge of the nose, breaking it with another bloody explosion. Wendell didn’t stop. He moved in with a heavy right to the gut followed by a heavy right uppercut hitting ‘the Bruiser’ in his broken nose just as his head was coming down. His bloody head snapped back and his eyes rolled white before the pupils came back to a dead stare. His tumbled backwards, his body falling like a rag doll as he hit the ground with white blood shot eyes that stared out at nothing.

The crowd erupted as Wendell held his hands ready for ‘the Bruiser’ to get back up. Two men from the side came out to check 'the Bruiser' and whispered for a moment before one of them shouted, “He’s dead!” The cheering died down with all eyes on Wendell standing in the center of the crowd.

Dickson snapped out of his shocked flight response, realizing he had just made a fortune. He pushed his way through the awed crowed to join Wendell who still had his hands ready, breathing hard in exhaustion. “What’s wrong with you all!? That’s right, because he’s the greatest fighter in the world! Crazy Kid Wendell!” Dickson grabbed Wendell's arm and raised it in triumph. The crowd exploded in cheers as two men dragged ‘the Bruiser’ out of the circle.

Dickson went around collecting the bets as the next two fighters started trading punches. Outside he giggled stupidly, “Boy you had me scared to death. How you feel?”

Wendell stood in a daze, eyes were still wild. “You have the money?” he said. Dickson had a handful of money and coins in every pocket. He started counting out money into Wendell. “Twenty-five dollars.” Wendell said.

Dickson lit a cigar and smiled, “My boy I’ve got a fortune here and I think you done real good. Real good! So I tell you what I’m going to do,” He finished counting and the rest of the money disappeared in his jacket. “Here’s thirty-five dollars because I think you deserve it and I think we’re going to make a lot of money later on.” Dickson looked at Wendell in his crazy eyes. "You hearin' me boy?"

Wendell didn’t even seem to register Dickson standing in front of him. He reached out took the money and walked away. Dickson laughed, “See you tomorrow night kid,” he called out. He patted his coat pocket then reached down and adjusted himself. “Think I’ll make a late night trip to Miss Roberta's myself.”

 

 

Part 6

 

Wendell entered the back door to Miss Roberta's after going home and collecting the rest of the money he had there, along with his clothes. He put everything in a roll and tied it with a belt. All the girls jumped up falling over him, asking where he had been, did he fight tonight, and did he win. “Theresa?” he asked.

“In her room, she's sick today.” one of the girls said.

Wendell went up the back stairs, down the hall to the third door and knocked. “Go away.” the voice of Theresa came from the other side. “I’m off tonight.”

Wendell opened the door and stepped inside.

Theresa looked up from her little table where she sat, annoyed at the intrusion, “I said I’m...” she stopped when she saw Wendell. She jumped up, grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him inside. “Are you all right? You didn’t go did you?” she hugged him for a moment before she realized something was different. She stepped back and looked into his eyes, “Wendell?”

“I’m goin take Baby away tonight,” he said. His eyes were wild.

“Wendell, did you go to the crossroads?”

Wendell nodded his head, “Um, jus' like you tell me to did? I the greatest fighter in the whole world now. Made me a deal with Nick.” He sounded slow and lost, his eyes were unfocused and far away.

Theresa started to shake her head, her eyes welling up with tears, “No, Wendell you shouldn’t have gone. That wasn’t me, that was...” she trailed off. “I saw you, you didn’t have to go,” she started to cry.

“I’m goin take Baby away with me tonight,” he said again.

“What? Wendell, Miss Roberta ain’t never gonna let that happen.”

“I’m goin’ take her with me,” Wendell started to sound angry.

Knowing she was not going to stop him Theresa decided to do what she could. “Okay, let me go talk to her,” Wendell nodded.

Theresa slipped out of her room and made her way quickly down the hallway to Baby’s room. From the commotion on the other side of the door, it was obvious she was busy, and it did not sound like she was being treated very well. As she re-entered her room Wendell looked up excited. “Wendell, she busy right now.” Wendell looked confused. “She with someone right now.” Theresa said nervously.

“But Miss Roberta say she only for one person.”

“Yes, and he wit’ her right now.”

Remembering Baby's face, Wendell became the angry and determined. He stood, set his roll on Theresa's bed and went out to the hallway. Theresa called after him, but he was on his way to Baby’s room. One of the white girls from the front saw him as she was coming up the stairs, and with a gasp covered herself, turned and ran back down the stairs. From the other side of the door Wendell heard the sound of a slap and a scream. Trying the knob and finding it locked, he put his weight against the door and shoved. It gave easily and he burst in.

Baby screamed. A large, fat naked man stood with his back to him, blocking his view of the bed. "What the hell," Dickson said as he turned. "What are you doing here?"   

Wendell stood in shock, starring into the shocked, annoyed eyes of the man who had been his benefactor.

“What the hell do you want boy?" Dickson said.

“I...” Wendell didn't know what to say. Dickson stood before him holding a leather strap in his right hand. A tiny sob came from the bed and a fury washed over Wendell.

Dickson didn’t have time to raise his arms before he realized the punch was coming. The hit sent him sprawling into the corner, landing with a crash against the nightstand. Now with a clear view of the bed Wendell saw Baby, laying on her side, naked with her knees pulled up to her chest. He quickly moved to her, and gently touched her shoulder, she flinched in terror. “It’s me,” he said softly.

Baby slowly looked up, her eye was even worse. In fact, her whole face was badly bruised. The area under the eye had a large gash in it and there was a cut on her forehead. Blood ran from both openings and dripped onto the bed. Now that he was near, he noticed the welts and bruises on her arms and legs. The shoulder he touched was blue, and it looked like her arm had been broken.

Wendell felt a rage explode in him beyond anything he had ever known. He clenched his fists so tight his knuckles cracked. He turned back towards Dickson, eyes wild with furry, oblivious to the heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

The large man Wendell had seen sitting at the piano the first day suddenly filled the doorway and a second later moved into the room towards Wendell. Two girls poked their heads in while the sound in the hallway said others were coming.

“Come on boy,” Luther said. “Time to leave.” This is what he always said, giving the person one chance to come peacefully. They never took that option.

Wendell stepped away from the bed as Luther approached and brought his fists up. Luther smiled, he liked it when they fought. He rushed Wendell, throwing his body against him. The two moved across the room stopping when Wendell crashed into the dresser. Luther stepped back and gave Wendell two slugs in the stomach then one in the face.

Wendell, already hurt from the events earlier in the evening and felt the hits, but his anger was a fever now and fueled his adrenaline. Nothing was going to stop him taking baby away from here.

He caught the next punch Luther was throwing to his face and stared at the man for just long enough to exchange his crazed determination. And for the first time in his life, Luther felt afraid. Wendell grabbed him by the throat with his other hand and released Luther’s fist and punched him in the stomach with so much force it raised him up and he began choking. He stumbled back from Wendell falling to his knees heaving on the floor before suddenly vomiting. Wendell stepped to the side of the big man and moved back to the bed.

"Baby can you move?" the bedraggled and beaten girl began to slowly unfold herself in a great deal of trembling pain. Wendell gently ran a large hand over her head and baby looked up with a little smile and nodded.

Wendell heard the heavy footfalls again and noticed all the girls in the doorway looking in one direction down the hall. "Baby, get up if you can," Wendell stood and ran towards the door.      

Darrel was moving as fast as he could down the hallway, his black mace out and ready. The girls all stepped out of his way, but as he came to the open door. Several jumped back from the opening with a scream as a large dark figure came barreling out of the doorway headed right for him. He had no time to stop, but he ducked the fist headed for his face. He opened his arms wide and threw his shoulder into the man's midsection.

Wendell let out an enormous great grunt as the wind came out of him. Anticipating the blows that would follow, Darrel blocked up with his left arm and quickly brought the mace around to jab into Wendell's groin. Wendell winced at the impact, as the pain shot down to his knees. His legs buckled and he dropped to the floor with pain filling his stomach from his groin. He gagged.

Darrel stepped back to stare at Wendell on the ground incapacitated. He moved quickly into the room as Miss Roberta came pushing through the girls, "What the hell is this, get back to your rooms." Some of the girls retreated a few feet and stopped, waiting to see how everything was going to play out.

Miss Roberta entered the room looking as if a tornado had hit it. Mr. Dickson was in the process of standing, using the bed and the nightstand for balance. He was still naked. Miss Roberta not wanting to embarrass a good client any further than he obviously was, made a fierce gesture to the girls in the doorway. All of them stepped back.

On the far side of the room, Baby was crying and trying to slip a dress over her shoulders. Her arm hung limp and blood still ran from the two wounds staining the dress. Luther lay at her feet, in a puddle of his own vomit. 

“Get the hell out of my way!” Miss Roberta yelled stepping back into the hallway. “What the hell happened?"

Darrel came up leaving Wendell on the ground with his hands between his legs. “Miss, I ain’t for sure, but…” Darrel looked into the room and saw Baby struggling in the corner, obviously in severe pain. He stepped inside “Who done that to you?” Baby choked through her tears and looked over to a weary Dickson who had just made it to his feet. Darrel face turned angry. He raised the mace and began moving towards Dickson.

]“No!” Miss Roberta said, once again stopping him like a dog. “He pays for that,” she mumbled through gritted teeth. “What’s he doing out there?" she motioned towards Wendell.

The tornado in question was getting to his feet, hunched over trying to catch his breath. One of the girls, who had watched Wendell speak to Baby, whispered something into Miss Roberta's ear. She glared at Baby. “So you was planning on leaving me was you?” The large woman moved past Darrel into the room. Baby began cowering as Miss Roberta came with a severe look in her eyes. “I paid good money for you!" she yelled. "Your poppa didn’t want you. He sold you to me for twenty dollars. You're mine, I own you.” Baby backed up to the wall. “You're not going anywhere!” Miss Roberta slapped Baby hard in the face then reached down and took a severe hold of the girl’s broken arm with one hand and her crotch with the other. “This is mine!” baby screamed.

The girls by the door winced one put her hand between her legs remembering the big woman’s anger and vengeance.

In the hallway, Wendell was standing now and turning back towards the door. All the girls stood back. Theresa came running up to Wendell. “Stop!” Theresa said clutching his arm. Wendell turned to look at Theresa. His eyes were wild and void of  with wild eyes the boy she knew just a short time ago. The sound of Baby crying out alerted him. They both turned and she let him pass. All the girls stepped back.

In the room, Darrel was trying to help Luther who had completely passed out. Dickson stood in the corner fumbling through his jacket mumbling "Ungrateful sonofabitch."

Miss Roberta was still yelling incoherently in the corner slapping Baby, “Darrel!" She called, "Bring that black boy in here.”

Darrel left Luther and started for the door. “Mr. Dickson?” he said looking at the fat man with contempt. His eyes telling him he wanted to tear him apart.

Dickson didn’t even acknowledge him. H was concentrating on his search inside of coat and finally found what he was looking for.

Darrel turned to the girls, “All of you need to go back to your rooms now,” he said stepping to the doorway.

The fist that came around the corner was the answer he received, sending him stumbling back into the room. His hand went instantly to his mace, but Wendell wasted no time. He grabbed Darrel’s shirt with his left hand and delivered two heavy punches to his stomach with his right. Wendell released him and spread his legs wide, stepping in and with a barrage of blows that laid Darrel out on the bed.

“Son of a bitch!” Dickson screamed. He was aiming a small gun he pulled from his coat. He stood shakily aiming at Wendell and fired the first shot hitting the wall a few feet from Wendell's head.

All the girls by the door screamed and ran. Wendell moved forward as a terrified angry Dickson fired another shaky shot. Only a few feet away, the bullet grazed Wendell's left shoulder, but had no effect on the crazy bull-necked boxer.

Wendell grabbed the hand holding the gun and squeezed until the hand snapped. Dickson screamed in pain and the gun dropped to the floor. Wendell released Dickson's hand, took hold of his shoulder and began to punch Dickson repeatedly in the face until the big man was just as dazed and bloody as Baby. Then taking hold of the large man, he moved him across the room towards Baby and Miss Roberta. He stopped at the window, took a firm hold of the bloody fat man the way his father taught him to hold the big hogs. He spun once and slung the big man towards the window.

Dickson couldn’t stop his upper body from smashing through the glass, and went, ass over tip out the window. He fell the two stories head first and hit the ground below with a sickening pop of his neck.

Wendell didn’t even stop to look. His mind had only one thought and he turned towards Miss Roberta who was shocked and frightened holding a limp Baby by her broken arm. “Look here boy!” she began. Wendell punched the big woman once in the face with everything he had, sending her right to the ground with a squeak.

He looked down at Baby, half dressed and worse after the continuous slaps from Miss Roberta. He gently wiped off some of the blood, while moving her hair away from her face. “Can you move?” he said softly.

She weakly opened her eyes to him. With a pained exhausted look on her face, she tried to support herself, stumbled and passed out. Wendell caught her. In one swift motion, scooped her up in his arms and gently set her down on the bed after shoving Darrel to the floor. Then he stepped around to the dresser and grabbed Dickson's coat. He pulled out the large wad of money, stuffed it into his pocket, and returned to the bed. He wrapped baby in the bedspread, picked her up and began walking towards the door.

All of the girls, including Theresa, stepped back. Wendell stopped and looked down at Theresa with sad, unfocused eyes filled with pain and anger. Silent tears trailed down Theresa's face as she looked up at the big man who gave her a nod of thanks before continuing down the hall.

Wendell walked down the front stairs to the lounge and out the front door without looking back. He walked right out of town and all through the night. In his arms Baby stirred twice and then no more. Wendell did not know for sure when it happened, but his tears began to flow thick continuous and when the sun came up he moved far away from the road, dug a deep hole with his hands and buried her there. He cried until he no longer had any tears left, and in the hot dusty air, Crazy Kid Wendell, the greatest fighter in the world, chased the sun into the west.