Fighting the Storm (Cageside Chronicles: Tommy Knuckles Trilogy 1)

Fighting the Storm

Tommy Knuckles Trilogy: Book One

Jarrah Loh

Copyright

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved below, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by Jarrah Loh

Fighting the Storm

Copyright 2012 Jarrah Loh

Smashwords Edition

The Cageside Chronicles name and logo are registered trademarks of Jarrah Loh

Cover art and logo design by Zenia Lakhani

Also by Jarrah Loh

CAGESIDE CHRONICLES

Tommy Knuckles Trilogy

Fighting the Storm

Fighting the Forgiven

Fighting the Shadows

Brothers Trilogy

Side by Side

Head to Head

Back to Back

Ultimate:

The Complete Guide to UFC and Mixed Martial Arts

Published by HarperCollins

All books available at www.jarrahloh.com

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

Book 2: Fighting the Forgiven

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ONE

Punches and kicks rained down on Tommy like lightning and thunder in a furious storm. He knew how to weather this storm though; he’d been in the midst of it many times. The blows came in slow motion waves but it only ever seemed to last for an instant. He simply had to hold on tight and wait for it to pass.

He lay there in the burned yellow grass, balled up with his arms tucked in tight around his face, knowing that if he protected his head, the rest of his body would take care of itself. As usual, the other boys became bored of beating on him after a couple of minutes. But as Tommy climbed back to his feet, tasting his own blood, Gristle still stood there looking him right in the eye. Then he drove a fist straight into it and knocked him back down. The rest of the boys broke into laughter as he hit the ground again. Gristle didn’t laugh though; he stood there grinning with those big, black and yellow teeth.

Although he wasn’t the eldest of the Diaz brothers, Gristle was the biggest and nastiest. He was sixteen, the same age as Tommy, but he looked years older. He already had a full layer of coarse, black stubble covering his face, and his head was three times the size of a normal boy’s – though it wasn’t obvious, as it looked at home beside his huge, broad shoulders. But it wasn’t his shoulders or that big head resting on them that served as Gristle’s most distinguishing feature. It was his left ear. Few knew for sure how his ear had become so twisted and grotesque, but legend had it that one of his own brothers had cracked him on the side of the head with a hot frying pan when they were younger and held it on for a while to let it sizzle. No one dared to ask him how it actually happened, but it obviously served to shape his life, as his general outlook went hand in hand with that gristly and twisted nub of an ear that he was named for.

Gristle had still been standing there when Tommy rose for a second time and limped away, leaving the boys to deal their drugs and yell at the girls who walked past, or whatever it was they did out there all night.

Hey, little mouse! Gristle yelled to Tommy as he walked away. If you want to live, you’ll stay the hell off our turf!

Tommy had managed to avoid the bullies for the last few weeks, and he certainly hadn’t missed them. He’d been running late from school this afternoon and as he rounded the corner into the vacant lot that served as the shortcut home, he’d seen the Diaz brothers and their little gang staring back at him. Usually they would wait until later in the day to gather together in the lot, but today they had been early – and Tommy had been late.

Tommy’s right foot dragged along the sidewalk as he hobbled home. He knew he’d hurt his ankle somehow, but it wasn’t too bad. He just felt sad. It wasn’t only the beating; it was that feeling deep down inside. That feeling that had taken him so long to figure out. It was the realization that nothing was ever going to change. Perhaps the last few bruise-less weeks had softened him and given a sense of hope. But when he honestly thought about it, he knew it would always be this way. He’d always be poor, he’d always be the smallest, and he’d always get beaten up.

As he approached home, his little brother sprang from the front step and bounded over to meet him. Uh oh, said Esteban as his bounding came to a dead stop in front of Tommy and that playful grin turned to a sympathetic lower lip. Not again.

Tommy ignored his brother and kept on walking. Esteban followed and reached his hand up onto his big brother’s shoulder. Gristle again, huh, Tommy? Tommy didn’t answer, but Esteban nodded to himself. Yep, Gristle.

They climbed the steps and opened the fly screen door, going into their two-bedroom home. Tommy headed straight for his room, but a voice bellowed from out of the kitchen. Tommy, is that you? his mother called.

Yeah, Tommy answered as he shut his bedroom door behind him and slumped face first onto the bed. He had a few seconds of silence lying there with his eyes closed, and for a moment it wasn’t so bad. Then he heard his mother calling him again. And again.

Esteban burst into the room. Hey, Tommy, he said. Mama wants you.

Get out of my room, I’m tired.

Hey, this is my room, too! said Esteban. Come on, Mama wants you.

Tommy turned his head to face the wall.

With that, Esteban walked out of the room, leaving the door open. Mama, he won’t come, Tommy heard him say. He got beat up by The Gristle.

Tommy sighed as he heard his mother put down whatever she was cooking with. She didn’t say anything for a while but he could feel her standing in the doorway looking at him. Tommy, she finally said in her quiet and calm voice. Are you okay, my boy?

I’m fine, Mama. I’m just tired, okay? The mattress sunk down as she sat next to him and placed a warm, soft hand on his head.

Give me a look at you, she said, turning him over by the shoulder. He already had a big, purple smudge where Gristle had punched him that last time. Oh, Tommy, she whimpered as she pulled his head into her chest. I’m so sorry, Tommy, I’m so sorry. It won’t always be this way for you. You’ll see; one day you won’t even remember this.

Tears trailed down her face as she stroked the back of his hair, but he wouldn’t cry. He had learned that a long time ago. If he cried, it only encouraged more pain, so he promised himself he’d never let anyone see him cry again. Besides, he knew what she’d said was a lie. He’d heard it before and even believed it once, but now he knew better.

It’ll be okay, Tommy, she said, wiping her tears. C’mon, dust yourself off, dinner is nearly ready.

A loud cry erupted from the other room and his mother stood, patted him on the head and left to attend to his younger sister. He lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, but Esteban came wandering back in again. He stood next to the bed staring at his big brother with a smile on his face. What do you want? Tommy said, gruffly.

I’ll fix it all up. Won’t be too long now, said Esteban.

Tommy turned to look at him. What are you talking about?

I’ll be big pretty soon. Then I’m gonna be strong and tough like Dad was. I’ll show The Gristle.

Tommy stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter.

It’s true, Tommy! said Esteban, shaping his fists up in front of his face. They’ll be sorry.

Tommy sat up and shook his head; he wished Esteban was his older brother. He wished he was the little one and had someone to protect him and look up to.

C’mon, hold your hands up! said Esteban. Tommy held his palms up flat, facing his brother, and Esteban started punching them. Left, then right, then left again. He danced back a bit then stepped up and fired his left-right-left combo again. Tommy started laughing at the tiny fists smacking into his palms.

Their mother appeared at the door again holding their sister in her arms. Cut it out you two, dinner is ready.

Esteban stopped his boxing and followed his mother. Hey Ma, can I go see Cesar Condor?

Their mother held Grace on her hip and carried the big pot from the kitchen to the table. The Condor? What are you talking about Esteban?

Yeah, he said, sitting down on the red chair that was once his father’s but had now been claimed by Esteban. He’s coming back home. He’s going to be at Uncle’s gym, I heard them talking next door.

Tommy took his own seat at the table. What are you talking about? The Condor wouldn’t come back here.

He would too, said Esteban. This is where he comes from! He and Uncle Hector trained together!

Their mother dished out their dinner with her giant ladle. You know, he’s right. He and your Uncle Hector were best friends. They all were – your father and my brothers. The Condor was just one of the boys back then.

Yeah, I told ya, said Esteban, looking over at Tommy. He’s coming back to visit. I heard them say he needs new boxers. The Condor is going to take someone back to California so they can be a big champion, just like him.

Their mother picked up Esteban’s plate and started to dish his up next. There’s only one Condor, she said. Even back then he was something special. I remember they used to have big fights at the old gym. People used to come from miles around to see him fight.

Esteban grabbed the plate as his mother passed it back. Did you see him fight, Mama?

Sure, many times, she said, taking her own seat at the table with their sister still on her hip. You know I don’t like all that fighting, but everyone used to watch The Condor. We all knew he was going to be famous. No one ever came close to beating him.

Can I go see him, Ma? asked Esteban, as he put his spoon down and started punching the air. Maybe he’ll take me back to California!

His mother smiled. Well, what about us, then? Who’s going to look after me and your sister?

Oh, don’t worry, Ma. You’ll be okay. When I get rich in California you can come and live with me.

Tommy and his mother both laughed.

Okay, she said, suddenly changing her tone. No more talk of fighting.

But Ma, can I go see The Condor?

She looked at Tommy’s bruised eye. I said that’s enough. No more talk of fighting. Or Cesar Condor.

But, Ma…

Her eyes darted across the table at him and they spent the rest of the meal in silence.

Tommy skipped school the next day. It took most of the morning to make his way into the city and no one took notice of him as he walked down the wide boulevards of the Avenida Revolucion. It reminded him of when