The Final Fight
- Up to 2,500 words
- Genre – Action/Adventure
- Subject – Shortcomings
- Character – A Sailor
Fighting is never the answer, until it is.
Joshua stood in the tower of the former Rockcliff Lighthouse watching the waves churn against the shore. A born sailor, he loved the sea, spending most of his life in the Navy or working on a trawler. But one unlucky night, his hand was caught in the warp wires and boom, no more fishing for a living.
Fortunately, between workers comp and his own personal insurance, he received enough money to buy this old defunct lighthouse and turn it into a peaceful little home.
It was almost midnight and he could see the reflection of the moon in the dark depths of the sea, rippling as the waves came in. Below, a door slammed, followed by Derek, his renter, cursing. Joshua sighed. Derek was a good kid but Friday…Friday was fight night.
Derek began renting from him a year ago; he’d shown up with faded bruises on his face and Joshua had been in enough fights in the Navy to tell Derek was getting whopped regularly.
Joshua had a soft spot for troubled kids. He’d been one, his dad dying when he was a boy and his mom trying to raise him and not lose everything they owned. He agreed to rent Derek the room for $300 a month. Come and go as you please, don’t bring trouble home. Derek was great, even helping around the lighthouse, fixing things up. But like clockwork, on Friday nights, he would come in angry and sullen. Saturday mornings would have him sneaking off to his day job, as if trying to hide the fresh bruises from the night before.
“I’ve paid my debt!” Derek exclaimed in a barely controlled voice. Joshua could smell the cigarette smoke wafting up from the open window.
“I shouldn’t have to fight anymore man, you said six months. It’s been over a year!” The light suddenly went out as the window snapped shut and the conversation ended.
The next morning, Joshua got up early, hoping to catch Derek before he left. Frying up some eggs, he turned at the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs. “Derek” he called and was met with a heavy sigh.
He slid a plate of toast and fried eggs across the table, surprising himself when they stopped before hitting the edge. “Have a seat, eat. You look like you could use a good meal” he commented as he sat his own plate down.
Derek dropped into the chair, his cheek slightly swollen, with a purple ring deepening around his right eye. “You’re supposed to block, parry at least. Anyone teach you to parry?” Joshua asked. Derek stared, taking a bite of his eggs. Here they were, an angry young man staring at what some had called “The Popeye of the North”. Joshua’s time in the Navy and as a fisherman helped to build thick, corded arm muscles and kept the rest of him trim and lean. His chest resembled the barrels full of fish he used to haul.
Joshua softened. He could see Derek was hurt, maybe even a little afraid. “Look kid, I know you’ve been fighting on Friday nights for money. Sounds like you’re in over your head. Let me help.” he said leaning back, sipping on his coffee.
“Why?” came the broken reply. Joshua sighed. People found Joshua intimidating because of his background and his size. Most people never saw the softer side, the side that couldn’t walk away from someone in need. Most people thought his soft spots were a shortcoming, but he didn’t. Here was a kid in need and he felt a duty to help him.
“I don’t know the full story and you ain’t gotta tell me. But I’m letting you stay here dirt cheap and feel a bit responsible for you now. Comin’ home Friday’s, looking like you mouthed off to the wrong person…don’t feel right sitting back and not steppin’ in.” Joshua stood, refilling both their cups.
“I’ve got some money; take it, pay off whoever you owe and be done. Start fresh, leave all this mess behind you, otherwise it’s not going to end well.”
“I still owe them two thousand dollars. Said I didn’t consider the interest rate” Derek spit the words angrily, fists clenching.
“Kid,” Joshua softly asked, “how did you get to owing so much money?” Derek’s face tightened. He was on the edge, Joshua could tell. The edge of spilling his problems or telling him to shove it. The edge of fighting or running away. The edge of rising above it all or being buried by the weight of it, unable to come up for air.
“My mom,” he started, fidgeting with the coffee cup, “she borrowed some money from the wrong people when my dad died. Paid them back really quick, but it wasn’t enough. They’d come by and take things; pictures, furniture, even the dishwasher.” Derek took a long swig of coffee. “They told her she owed them interest but since she couldn’t pay, they were gonna keep taking her stuff, selling it to cover what she owed, but now she owed them an ‘inconvenience fee’ for their trouble.” He spat the last sentence out like a mouth full of bad milk, the look on his face just as sour. “She’s got nothin left. Me fighting keeps them off her back. But they keep piling on my debt like they did hers. I gotta keep doing it or they’re gonna go back for more and she’s got nothin left to give them.” Derek slumped back; the weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders, but Joshua could see it had settled in his heart.
Joshua went to the cabinet over the stove, pulled out a metal box, unlocking it. He pulled out a wad of bills, counting to thirty. “Take it” Joshua’s voice thick with emotion as he handed the three thousand dollars over.
“I can’t take that man!”
“Take it. Pay off those sons of bitches and get them off your back. If you don’t owe them, you ain’t gotta fight. Go on.” he finished, shoving the money in front of Derek and turning back to the coffee pot.
“Thank you. I will pay you back I swear.”
Joshua waved his hand and nodded, keeping his back to Derek for fear his emotions would show. He heard the chair scrape back, followed by the screen door and the crunch of gravel as Derek drove off.
As the sun was setting, Joshua stood grilling a steak out back when he saw headlights turn into the drive. He smiled, wondering how good Derek felt, not having this debt hanging over his head. He walked inside from the back and saw two figures on his porch. His step faltered as he took in what could only be described as goons standing on his front steps.
“Evening” one of them called out, his voice immediately grating to Joshua’s ears.
“Sure is” Joshua replied as he stepped up to the screen, not moving to invite them in.
The taller of the two chuckled at his response, as though entertained by the situation. “I’m looking for Joshua Morgan, would you be him?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“I am Micah, this is my brother Mitch. We’re businessmen, looking for Joshua Morgan because it seems he’s decided to involve himself you could say, in our business. So, I’ll ask again, are you Joshua Morgan?”
Joshua was suddenly extremely worried about Derek. He hadn’t come home after work and he didn’t believe the kid would take off with his money. If these guys were here, it meant Derek went to pay them off and it didn’t go as planned.
“Where’s Derek?” he asked, rolling his shoulders back, shifting his foot slightly to widen his stance.
“He’s… shall we say, indisposed” Micah replied followed by a smirk and chuckle from Mitch.
“Tell me where the kid is, and you can walk away without any dirt on those fancy clothes.”
Mitch laughed, looking towards Micah as he did. Joshua pushed his left hand out and shoved the screen door with as much force as he could. His right hand might have been mangled by that old warp wire, but his left hand was stronger for it. The door connected with the side of Mitch’s face knocking him off balance, down the steps behind him.
“Oh,” Micah exhaled, “you shouldn’t have done that.” Micah bent over, grasping his brother’s arm, only to be shook off in anger. “We will be back sir, make no mistake, and you will pay.”
The brothers strode to their muscle car, spraying gravel towards the porch as they peeled away.
Joshua ran out back, quickly smothering the grill. Grabbing his keys, he raced to his old pickup. He sped down the road, trying to catch the black Dodge. His heart pounded as he cursed himself for thinking paying off the debt would settle things.
He saw the taillights in the distance braking, the trunk popping open as it swerved onto the shoulder. One of the goons darted to the trunk, pulling something heavy and dropping it to the ground. He jumped back in, tires squealing as they took off. As Joshua got closer to the lump, a sickening feeling pooled in his stomach. It was Derek.
Joshua slammed the truck into park, dropped down and rolled Derek onto his back. His left eye was swollen shut, his bottom lip split open, and a nasty gash, clearly from a knife, ran down the length of his cheek. Derek began to cough rolling to his side, spitting blood onto the ground.
“Sorry,” he rasped. “I couldn’t take it, told them who you were.” Derek rose into a sitting position, touching his fingers to his face, feeling the damage.
“I’m gonna drive you to the hospital and then pay those punks a visit.” Joshua said as he grasped him under one arm and across his back to lift him to a standing position.
“You can’t do that man. They’ll kill you. I gotta get my mom and split.” Derek limped with Joshua toward the passenger side.
“You worry about seeing a doctor and let me worry about me kid. Where can I find them?”
“The old sardine factory. They’ve been running fights out of the warehouse since the Johnston’s moved their plant closer to the docks.”
Joshua helped him into the truck then headed for the ER. He wasn’t a fan of violence, but he believed in defending yourself and those you care about. He wasn’t about to let two slick wannabe gangsters run this kid and his mom out of town.
After a stop by his house, Joshua headed to the old sardine factory. He’d spent some time working there before he wound up on the trawler. There was a door at the bottom of the old ramp he could use to sneak his way in, surprise these punks and put an end to this nonsense.
He pulled up a block away, rolling his truck to a slow, silent stop. Exiting the cab, he tucked a tube sock full of nickels in his jacket pocket and slid a hunting knife into a sheath on his leg. He arched back, bones cracking and popping as he got his mind in the right place for this. He’d been in fights before, but he knew tonight was different. If he didn’t end this here and now, none of them would ever be safe.
He approached the warehouse slowly, stopping to listen. Faint voices came from the general direction of what used to be old man Johnston’s office. He slid around the back, down the ramp to the door leading to the sub-basement. He pushed lightly, and it swung open. Stepping in, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He walked forward until he made it to the stairs and climbed up. He turned the handle, slow enough to not make a sound. He saw the brother, Mitch, pacing up in down in the office, while Micah sat at a desk, his back turned.
Joshua moved forward like a ghost, staying to the shadows. A boxing ring, the canvas spotted with sickly brownish red stains, sat in the middle of the floor.
“I’m going to kill that old man” Mitch spat, as he paced.
“Mmhmm” came the response, as Micah sorted and stacked bills in neat piles, his head lowered in concentration.
“Seriously, I’m going to sneak in while he sleeps, slit his throat, then burn the damn lighthouse down. Cocky old bastard.” Mitch continued his fists clenching and unclenching.
“Me first.” Joshua’s voice came from nowhere as he rose and rammed the knife through Mitch’s back. A soft “oof” came from Mitch as Micah spun in his chair. Joshua struggled to pull the knife back out, the flesh sucking at the blade, not wanting to let go.
Micah roared, reaching for a gun. Joshua let go of the knife, pushing Mitch forward while reaching for the sock full of nickels. Mitch’s head hit the desk with a sharp crack as Micah fired. His shot went wide, startled by the sight of his brother’s dead body crumpling to the ground. Joshua took advantage, swinging the nickels at Micah’s arm. This was followed by the clatter of the weapon hitting the ground. Micah screamed, clutching his broken arm. Joshua picked up the gun and pulled the trigger. He stared, horrified at the sight of the now two dead bodies and what he’d done.
Heart pounding, he quickly looked for security cameras. He saw none but did see a bag open on the floor, partially filled with money. Micah had been in the middle of counting their profits when Joshua showed up. He swept the cash from the desk into the bag, dropped the gun in and zipped it shut. He walked over to Mitch; grasping the knife with both hands he was able to pull the blade free. He wiped the blood on the back of Mitch’s pants and put the knife back in the sheath.
Hitching the bag on his shoulder, he left the same way he came, wiping down anything he remembered touching on his way out. He strolled to his truck, not wanting to draw attention by running.
Once home, he lugged the money to the top of the lighthouse, cleaned up, and went to see Derek at the hospital.
Derek was released a few days later and Joshua drove him home, the drive back silent. No matter how much Derek asked, Joshua just replied Derek and his mom were safe now.
Stepping up to the porch, Derek knelt and grabbed the paper. Snapping it open, his jaw went slack reading the headline “Underground Fighting Duo Executed”. Scanning down, he saw the words “police have no leads”. He turned slowly and looked at Joshua. An entire conversation seemed to take place in a moment before Joshua gruffly cleared his throat, clapping his hand on Derek’s shoulder. “How about some fried eggs?”
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