Free Cage by Sarah Sparrows Page B

wrestled to the ground. Optimized for
efficiency and speed, the improvised curriculum was equally brutal on my flesh
and taxing on my exhaustion levels.

 
    However, results began to slowly appear.

 
    With my large, powerful build, Muy Thai was a natural fit for me. As a
full-contact style, it required that I utilize hard striking surface that my
body supplied – forcing me to consider my shins and elbows equally viable
weapons in the ring. This meant that I had to harden these surfaces through
rigorous body conditioning, alongside my fists and feet.

 
    The full curriculum of training involved everything from shadowboxing to
weight training. I began to take less work during the week, allowing my body to
rest from the intensity I faced practically every night in the dojo. I moved
from four nights a week to six, resting the entire day leading up to the weekly
fight.

 
    I could have stopped at eight months, but I pushed through for two more.
Once this was done, I took my hard, refined body and forced it through two more
months of specialized wrestling techniques, eager to either keep myself on my
feet or to crush whomever dared to get me onto the floor. Thanks to my
specialty, I could be easily devastating in either environment, and my natural
affinity for fighting made me an intimidating contender. On top of this, my
body was hardwired for increased endurance, and I always found a little more
stamina in my veins to pull from when things turned desperate in the ring.

 
    However, I did lose a few times. Each night that I tapped out or blacked
out, Gary threatened to throw me to the streets again – but I had already
proven my worth, allowing him to charge higher ticket sales. I was
indispensible to him now.

 
    Gary settled on making me work for his friends for half a week – usually
in something a little more nefarious that my typical work. More often than not,
I was acting as a bodyguard for some criminal element in the city. It was work
that made my skin crawl, but I took it all in stride.

 
    I did what I had to do.

 
    Slippery Pete was the closest thing that I had to a friend. His strange
blend of condescending camaraderie even started to grow on me a little. He
considered me his partner in crime, always making sure we wound up on the same
team in the ring. If he held any bitter resentment towards his father obviously
favoring me, he never showed it.

 
    It looked like he was just happy to have someone.

 
    I couldn’t begrudge him; I felt the same way.

 
    He filled me in about Hurricane Katrina, and the devastating toll it
took on the city. I’d seen the images and read the news reports, but he had
lived through it, and offered a
harrowing insider’s view into the disaster.

 
    “Thought the world was gonna fuckin’ end, man,” he confessed one night,
over takeout Chinese. “We couldn’t get out of here, Gary and me. Locked
ourselves up with every ounce of food and water we could find. Stupid fucker
gets these ideas in his head, y’know? Stubborn bastard. He stays the course,
man. A’int no matter where those tracks gonna go.”

 
    “That’s not always the best approach,” I observed, chewing on a forkful
of lo mein . “Gotta know when to fold
‘em.”

 
    “Damn right,” Slippery Pete agreed. “But it’s all okay, see? You and me,
we’re a team. We’re gonna get outta this dump, maybe head out west. Plenty of
action out there.”

 
    “Out west? Out west is expensive,” I chewed.

 
    “Not when you’re all resourceful, see?” He took a bite of an egg roll,
quickly swallowing. “It’s all in the, uh, approach. You just gotta believe,
pal. And you believe me …it’ll happen. With my speed and your
strength, we’ll be a duo. Fuckin’
unstoppable , that’s what they’ll say about us. You’ll see.”

 
    “I wish I shared your enthusiasm,” I remarked. “New Orleans is decent,
but I could use some different scenery. Sure. Maybe we’ll head out