Fighting Dirty
Page 58
“If anything’s out of place, or if anyone tried sneaking in, I should be able to spot it.”
Armie nodded, then looked away. “I don’t like it that my dad met her.”
“He could be a problem.” No reason to fudge the truth; Armie, better than anyone else, knew what his father was capable of. “But we’re tackling that shit head-on now, right?”
Armie glanced at him, his expression unreadable.
Cannon would have pressed him, but Rissy walked back in, refreshed, ready to go, and giving Armie heavy-duty looks of sympathy.
“Oh, hell no,” Armie said, coming to his feet and lifting a hand to keep her away. “You can knock off that shit right now.”
“What?” his sister asked, feigning innocence while ignoring his preferences as she stepped up against him. Then she stroked his chest and looked at him with big eyes.
Armie dropped his head in disgust. “Jesus.”
They were so damn funny together, Cannon had to laugh as he pushed back his chair. “I’m taking off. But, Rissy, no going to the house yet, okay?”
“But...” She gave Armie a sideways look. “What if I need to—”
Armie hauled her in to his side. “You’re staying here, right?” Then to Cannon: “She’s staying here. And if she needs to go to the house, I’ll go with her.” To Rissy, he emphasized, “I’ll go with you.”
Blinking in confusion, Rissy said, “Okay, sure. Honestly, that suits me just fine.”
And that, Cannon knew, was as much proof as he or Armie needed that she really had seen or heard someone. “I’m going to check it out and change the passcode,” Cannon told her. “Maybe add some wireless cameras. I don’t know yet, but I’ll share everything with you as soon as I’m done. In the meantime, I want to know you won’t be anywhere near there without Armie or me.”
“Got it.” She abandoned Armie to give Cannon a tight hug. “Thank you.”
After lifting her off her feet in a return hug, Cannon paused. “I almost forgot to tell you, Armie. There’s a camera crew coming to the rec center today.”
He froze. “For what?”
“They’re doing some interviews for the Sports Talk cable show.”
“Wow,” Rissy said. “That’s...huge.”
“Who,” Armie asked, “are they interviewing?”
Cannon shrugged. “They’ll talk to me, to Denver and Stack, maybe do some cameos with Leese and Justice, Brand and Miles—and then they want to film you working out for a bit. They’ll wrap it up with asking you some questions about your upcoming fight.”
Armie dropped back against the counter with a groan. “This freaking day just keeps getting better and better.” He popped his neck. “What’s next? An aneurysm?”
Rissy stroked him again, Cannon grinned, and neither of them misunderstood the facetiousness of his comment. Armie was still adjusting to this new facet of his career.
Cannon was confident he’d ace it all the way.
* * *
AN ANEURYSM WOULD have been easier, Armie decided, when the camera crew spent more than two hours watching him. And since they’d interviewed everyone else already, it was nearing the end of the day.
Havoc and Simon had been around, both smug, and they seemed to enjoy seeing him under the spotlight. In fact, from what he’d gathered, Simon had arranged the whole gig.
The dick.
This business of having a manager was going to take some getting used to.
On the upside, he liked Havoc as a coach. Never had Armie shied away from workouts. The more variety, the bigger the challenge, the better he liked it. Havoc saw things Armie might not have caught on his own, and he gave a different perspective than Cannon, who had known Armie forever.
Truthfully, he knew he was in better shape, sharper and faster, than he’d ever been. Not that he’d ever been a slacker, but Havoc had taken him to a new level. He liked it, and for the first time he was starting to anticipate the upcoming fight.
Not that he’d admit it to anyone.
With the fanfare of a camera crew, the rec center stayed extra crowded.
He could take it—by ignoring everyone, including the cameraman.
What he couldn’t ignore was Rissy. The second she walked in he spotted her and not once, even while going through drills, did he lose track of her. She hung with Leese at the desk, occasionally laughing, occasionally leaning into Leese—
“Get your head out of your ass, man. People are filming you.”
Armie turned back to Cannon, dodged a jab and delivered one of his own. While he sparred, he thought about Leese. From what he remembered, Leese was looking for a new place to stay. Rissy had the entire downstairs of her house that she used to rent out to Cherry.
“Are you concentrating?” Cannon asked.
“Yeah.” He threw a combo that had Cannon backing up until he hit the cage. He caught Armie in a clench—and down they went.
“Concentrate harder,” Cannon said.
Laughing, Armie twisted fast and got Cannon’s back. Cannon exploded out of it, but Armie took him down again.
Back and forth they went, splitting the dominant positions until Simon called time.
It was with some surprise that Armie saw Harley Handleman step in. Harley “Hard to Handle” Handleman took life far too seriously. He was also known to be a kinky bastard—that is, before he married. But Armie knew that wasn’t the sort of thing a guy just shook off.
“You and Cannon are too evenly matched,” Simon said. “Harley agreed to lend a hand.”
Armie felt himself grinning ear to ear. He’d followed Harley’s career, knew he’d had a shit ton of bad luck when it came to getting the belt, but he’d finally done it. Armie admired him.
He held out a fist. “Nice to meet you, Handleman.”
“Same,” Harley said as he tapped his padded knuckles to Armie’s. “Simon dragged me down for the promo—and since I’ve fought Carter, he wanted us to go through some series.”
“I’m honored.” So that was another upside to hitting the big time with the SBC—meeting the veteran fighters that he’d admired for years.
“Carter switched weight classes when he couldn’t beat me,” Harley said in a matter-of-fact way as they walked to the center of the cage. “Since then, he’s had some success at middleweight.”
“He’s good.” Armie swigged some water, then replaced his mouthpiece. “But then, I wouldn’t want to compete with a clown.”
“Carter’s not a clown. I like him. And yeah, he’s good.”
With too many people watching, Harley took Armie through some different moves and gave him new instruction.
When Armie avoided being kicked, Harley said, “You know Carter’s a leftie.”
“Yup.” Carter being left-handed meant he had to adjust his automatic inclinations. Most fighters found it natural to circle to the left, but for Carter, he needed to go clockwise, not counterclockwise.
“Also,” Harley said, “he’ll kick to the body, kick to the body, go to the liver. He might do that for two rounds, then he’ll fake to the body but go upstairs to the head, so it’s doubly important you circle away from his dominant leg.”
Armie nodded, then looked away. “I don’t like it that my dad met her.”
“He could be a problem.” No reason to fudge the truth; Armie, better than anyone else, knew what his father was capable of. “But we’re tackling that shit head-on now, right?”
Armie glanced at him, his expression unreadable.
Cannon would have pressed him, but Rissy walked back in, refreshed, ready to go, and giving Armie heavy-duty looks of sympathy.
“Oh, hell no,” Armie said, coming to his feet and lifting a hand to keep her away. “You can knock off that shit right now.”
“What?” his sister asked, feigning innocence while ignoring his preferences as she stepped up against him. Then she stroked his chest and looked at him with big eyes.
Armie dropped his head in disgust. “Jesus.”
They were so damn funny together, Cannon had to laugh as he pushed back his chair. “I’m taking off. But, Rissy, no going to the house yet, okay?”
“But...” She gave Armie a sideways look. “What if I need to—”
Armie hauled her in to his side. “You’re staying here, right?” Then to Cannon: “She’s staying here. And if she needs to go to the house, I’ll go with her.” To Rissy, he emphasized, “I’ll go with you.”
Blinking in confusion, Rissy said, “Okay, sure. Honestly, that suits me just fine.”
And that, Cannon knew, was as much proof as he or Armie needed that she really had seen or heard someone. “I’m going to check it out and change the passcode,” Cannon told her. “Maybe add some wireless cameras. I don’t know yet, but I’ll share everything with you as soon as I’m done. In the meantime, I want to know you won’t be anywhere near there without Armie or me.”
“Got it.” She abandoned Armie to give Cannon a tight hug. “Thank you.”
After lifting her off her feet in a return hug, Cannon paused. “I almost forgot to tell you, Armie. There’s a camera crew coming to the rec center today.”
He froze. “For what?”
“They’re doing some interviews for the Sports Talk cable show.”
“Wow,” Rissy said. “That’s...huge.”
“Who,” Armie asked, “are they interviewing?”
Cannon shrugged. “They’ll talk to me, to Denver and Stack, maybe do some cameos with Leese and Justice, Brand and Miles—and then they want to film you working out for a bit. They’ll wrap it up with asking you some questions about your upcoming fight.”
Armie dropped back against the counter with a groan. “This freaking day just keeps getting better and better.” He popped his neck. “What’s next? An aneurysm?”
Rissy stroked him again, Cannon grinned, and neither of them misunderstood the facetiousness of his comment. Armie was still adjusting to this new facet of his career.
Cannon was confident he’d ace it all the way.
* * *
AN ANEURYSM WOULD have been easier, Armie decided, when the camera crew spent more than two hours watching him. And since they’d interviewed everyone else already, it was nearing the end of the day.
Havoc and Simon had been around, both smug, and they seemed to enjoy seeing him under the spotlight. In fact, from what he’d gathered, Simon had arranged the whole gig.
The dick.
This business of having a manager was going to take some getting used to.
On the upside, he liked Havoc as a coach. Never had Armie shied away from workouts. The more variety, the bigger the challenge, the better he liked it. Havoc saw things Armie might not have caught on his own, and he gave a different perspective than Cannon, who had known Armie forever.
Truthfully, he knew he was in better shape, sharper and faster, than he’d ever been. Not that he’d ever been a slacker, but Havoc had taken him to a new level. He liked it, and for the first time he was starting to anticipate the upcoming fight.
Not that he’d admit it to anyone.
With the fanfare of a camera crew, the rec center stayed extra crowded.
He could take it—by ignoring everyone, including the cameraman.
What he couldn’t ignore was Rissy. The second she walked in he spotted her and not once, even while going through drills, did he lose track of her. She hung with Leese at the desk, occasionally laughing, occasionally leaning into Leese—
“Get your head out of your ass, man. People are filming you.”
Armie turned back to Cannon, dodged a jab and delivered one of his own. While he sparred, he thought about Leese. From what he remembered, Leese was looking for a new place to stay. Rissy had the entire downstairs of her house that she used to rent out to Cherry.
“Are you concentrating?” Cannon asked.
“Yeah.” He threw a combo that had Cannon backing up until he hit the cage. He caught Armie in a clench—and down they went.
“Concentrate harder,” Cannon said.
Laughing, Armie twisted fast and got Cannon’s back. Cannon exploded out of it, but Armie took him down again.
Back and forth they went, splitting the dominant positions until Simon called time.
It was with some surprise that Armie saw Harley Handleman step in. Harley “Hard to Handle” Handleman took life far too seriously. He was also known to be a kinky bastard—that is, before he married. But Armie knew that wasn’t the sort of thing a guy just shook off.
“You and Cannon are too evenly matched,” Simon said. “Harley agreed to lend a hand.”
Armie felt himself grinning ear to ear. He’d followed Harley’s career, knew he’d had a shit ton of bad luck when it came to getting the belt, but he’d finally done it. Armie admired him.
He held out a fist. “Nice to meet you, Handleman.”
“Same,” Harley said as he tapped his padded knuckles to Armie’s. “Simon dragged me down for the promo—and since I’ve fought Carter, he wanted us to go through some series.”
“I’m honored.” So that was another upside to hitting the big time with the SBC—meeting the veteran fighters that he’d admired for years.
“Carter switched weight classes when he couldn’t beat me,” Harley said in a matter-of-fact way as they walked to the center of the cage. “Since then, he’s had some success at middleweight.”
“He’s good.” Armie swigged some water, then replaced his mouthpiece. “But then, I wouldn’t want to compete with a clown.”
“Carter’s not a clown. I like him. And yeah, he’s good.”
With too many people watching, Harley took Armie through some different moves and gave him new instruction.
When Armie avoided being kicked, Harley said, “You know Carter’s a leftie.”
“Yup.” Carter being left-handed meant he had to adjust his automatic inclinations. Most fighters found it natural to circle to the left, but for Carter, he needed to go clockwise, not counterclockwise.
“Also,” Harley said, “he’ll kick to the body, kick to the body, go to the liver. He might do that for two rounds, then he’ll fake to the body but go upstairs to the head, so it’s doubly important you circle away from his dominant leg.”
