LIVE TO BE HUNTED
By Sean & Craig Davis



Tony Mazone felt the impact of the left hook to the side of his face like a gloved hammer. Successive jabs kept him reeling backwards until his left eye was a watery red blur. He raised both arms to defend his face but just as many blows careened into his meaty torso.
The screaming press of the crowd was a living ring that kept the fight close and bloody. Pidgin yelled, “you gonna let this old timer knock you down? Close it up, Tony!” At the same time, bets were shouted back and forth, predicting who would drop to the pavement first.
Blocking the brunt of a right-left-right combo, he launched a right of his own, but Ole Man McCurley leaned out of reach.
Tony rallied by pulling inside with bare-fisted strikes to McCurley’s lean body, each answering grunt music to his ears. When McCurley retreated a step, Tony stomped down and pinned his opponent’s foot. Good thing there aren’t any rules here. McCurley swayed off balance with his guard raised, and Tony landed an upper cut that whipped McCurley’s head up with a snap of his bottom jaw. He followed it up with a haymaker to McCurley’s temple that hammered the boxer into the ground. The older man’s eyes dimmed and he tumbled to a floor painted in painful shades of red.
Tony panted and raised his arms in triumph to the crowd. He could barely hear there screaming over the excited pounding of his own heart. Pidgin entered the ring. “Guys settle your bets. We have a winner!” Lars the ‘mole-man’ settled bets in the mob, examined the wad of cash through kaleidoscopically thick glasses, then handed Pidgin a sheaf of bills.
Pidgin slapped a towel around Tony’s neck and pulled him toward the warehouse exit. “Wipe the blood off your face. Don’t want any cops getting curious.” In the parking lot, Pidgin opened the sliding door of his silver van.
“Don’t bleed on my seat,” said Pidgin counting out the night’s winnings, “or a big chunk of this will be mine.”
Tony climbed in the van and grinned, tonguing the empty gap where his right front tooth used to be. “I won’t”. He raised a thick eyebrow. “Whooped McCurley’s ass tonight, didn’t I?”
Pidgin nodded slowly, his stern face highlighting his one-eighth Cherokee heritage. “Didn’t look to go that way at first though. Shit, why do you do this to yourself every week, Tony? Four hundred fifty dollars is chump change.”
He probed his bulbous nose gently and decided it wasn’t broken. “Maybe you should get better paying fights then.”
Pidgin shook his head in disbelief, “You dumb mook. More money equals more pounding, and I wasn’t sure you were going to walk away from this last fight. There are a few deadly shitkickers in this circuit, Tony, and guess what. Your aren’t one of them. Yeah, you can take a beating but up the ladder that won’t keep you out of a hospital.”
“I hear ya, man. I’ll cut down, I promise.”
Tony reached into his gym bag and withdrew his cell phone. He’d better call his ex-wife if he wanted Tabatha ready tomorrow for Pendragon Park. Last week he’d come for his scheduled visitation only to find Tabatha was at Charlene’s grandmothers house.
Charlene’s nasal buzz filled the receiver. “Detrow residence, whom is this?”
“Hi Charlene—“
“Oh, it’s you. What do you want?”
“I just called to make sure Tabatha would be ready tomorrow.”
He could hear Charlene on the other side of the line gritting her teeth. “Yeah, just don’t bring her back any later than seven o’clock.”
He chewed on his tongue and asked himself why he’d ever married Charlene nine years ago. To be fair, he’d done his share of yelling back then. Thank god, his temper was more on an even keel now. In order to see his daughter though, he had to soak up Charlene’s venom every week, a holdover from their failed marriage.
“Alright. Let me speak to her.”
“Hold on.”
A few minutes later, the Tabatha’s dulcet voice crossed the phone line. “Daddy? I’m sorry I wasn’t there last Friday; grandma took me to her house.”
“Forget about it, sweetie. Your ready to slum it with your dad tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Can we go to eat at Foojeyumas afterward Daddy? I wanna watch ‘em juggle the knives. My friend Sarah went with her parents, and she said it was cool.”
Although he detested Japanese food, he couldn’t help but smile. “Sure, and we can get egg rolls and fortune cookies too.”
“That’s Chinese, not Japanese, daddy.”
“I was just testing ya, Tabbie. Fujiyamas it is. I’ll see you tomorrow, hon.”
Pidgin watched him put his cell phone back in his pocket. “How are you going to explain that red, evil eye.”
Tony pointed to the burst blood vessel in his right eye and shrugged. “Daddy tripped into a mean old troll’s fist?”
Pulling into Tony’s driveway, Pidgin spit out the open window. “Dumb mook!”
“See you tomorrow, Pidgin. You’re opening at nine, right? Don’t let Monte add any more to his tab. I’m not floating his liver anymore on credit.”
Pidgin saluted. “Got it, captain! Anything else?”
“Nah, just call my cell if there are any problems.”
He trudged up his walkway to the door of his two-bedroom hutch. The painting on the porch was flaking up and two broken slats on the dull-red window shutters really needed fixing. He spit a blood-flecked lugee onto the grass--maybe tomorrow.
Slipping his key card through the reader, he heard the phone ringing. Inside he reached over his couch, and picked up the receiver. He accepted the call and the cellular video screen on his phone displayed his brother’s strained face. Christ, what favor did Ralph want this time. Tony spoke first. “Ralph, what is it?”
“Tony, I’m in trouble! Yeah, I know that’s nothing new, but I got a shark fingering me as owing them some money.”
He rubbed his temple and looked down at a small bloodstain on his work boots. “Well then, pay them what you owe them. Ralph, did you snort up another loan?”
His sibling’s surprisingly clear blue eye met his. “No, I’m clean. I’ve been drug free for over a month.”
He squinted. “You have?--Like the thirteenth time is the charm? Bullshit, Ralph!”
“Don’t believe me. I understand. I probably would be getting wasted, if I wasn’t worried some knee-busters would be breaking down my door.”
He wearily considered his brother. “So what are you wantin’ from me?”
“Could you rig up an alarm in the house to wake me up if someone breaks in?”
His bruised ribs ached for the soft texture of his mattress. He glanced at his watch, eleven-thirty.
“Dammit, Ralph, I’m dead tired.” Ralph did look rattled though. “I’ll be there in fifteen or so. Don’t expect me to stay long though.”
Ralph gave him a grateful smile. Damn, that actually appeared genuine.
He went to his living room closet and pulled out his toolbox. He walked out to parked 2016’ Subaru and got in. He patted the dashboard fondly and ignored the small crack in the windshield. The nanite-tech cars were faster and had better gas mileage but he liked antique cars. They were real with moving parts you could see.
He drove at about ten miles under the speed limit since his Subaru tended to shimmy at ninety mph until he took the 210 off ramp. Ten minutes later he pulled into Ralph’s driveway, beside his brother’s blue 41’ Dupree. He scanned Ralph’s two bedroom flat; all the lights were out. A big clown-like figurine sat in the middle of Ralph’s front yard, a memento of a popular restaurant chain that was all the rage forty years ago, Mc Donnells. His brother had taste for crap.
He knocked on the door twice and Ralph pulled him inside. Ralph worried peered through the open door. “A black sedan drove by twice so I cut off all the lights.”
Tony snorted. “How much did these guys say you owed them, Ralph? You sure you aren’t getting paranoid?”
“They wouldn’t say. They just kept repeating I better pay Mongreeve what I owe him, whoever that is.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“Bro, I was being jacked up by a bald slab of muscle. I didn’t say squat.”
He remained skeptical, but he also wanted to get home to bed. He opened his toolbox. “Get me some empty tin cans. Pour out your canned goods; yeah, it’s cheesy but it works.”
He had done a stint in the security consulting biz for nine years prior to buying his bar. He’d picked up a few things about bolstering, and breaching security. He laid a few trip wires across the doorways and a few windows.
He noticed a treadmill and set of barbells in the adjacent room. “Ralph, you working out now? I thought that was against your religion.”
“I’ve been trying to get in shape in case I got to run for my life.”
“These boys really got you spooked.”
“Tony, you didn’t see these two goons. Both were creepy intense.”
He rose from kneeling and patted Ralph on the shoulder. “Now when they—“
A loud series of whup, whup, whup erupted with the sound of shattered glass. Shards peppered his short-cropped hair.
He lunged to the floor flat on his belly. “Ralph get down!” Ralph cringed in the doorway to his kitchen, the sound of automatic gunfire sputtering.” He crawled toward Ralph when he noted the small points of light coming through the ceiling and high back wall. Bloody amazing his brother was still standing!
Finally, Ralph dropped to the flooring. “What do we do?”
“Got any weapons?”
Ralph blushed. “pepper spray.”
He blew up; he just couldn’t help it. “Fuckin’ kidding me, bro? They got full auto out there!”
Ralph’s voice lowered to normal levels as the gunfire died down. “I don’t know anyone that does in hardware.” Ralph shrugged. “I only dealt with recreational drugs.”
His broad features crinkled in distaste, but he accepted the pepper spray. “We need to get out of here, but they might be covering the back. Let’s see if we can sneak out a side window on the east side. Follow me.”
He crawled toward the back bedroom and peeked out the window. The coast was clear: no sedan or goons. He edged the window up and squeezed through the tight opening with his brother following.
He landed on a Holly bush with a grunt, then padded to the corner. In the front yard, Ralph’s ornamental lawn figure, Ronald McDonald, was riddled with holes and dings. Better Ronald than us, he thought.
Go for the car or sneak away in the brush? He went with his gut. “I’m going to sprint to the car. If I don’t make it, get away as quietly as you can. If I don’t get shot, I’ll drive across the yard and we burn rubber.”
“Ya know tires aren’t made of-“
He rapped his knuckles once between Ralph’s eyes. “Shutup! It’s better than ‘let’s burn BiSulfide Guantidine”.
He gulped a deep breath. It had been a long time since he’d felt so juiced and scared all at the same time. He launched himself over the yard to his Subaru. Gasping, he regretted every beer packed into his thick waist.
Finally, he reached his car and vaulted over the front end. He jumped inside and gunned the engine, fishtailing across the front yard. Ralph sprinted to the passenger door and hopped in. Still chasing gunfire as he took off onto the main road.
Nestled two houses down the street behind a row of mulberry bushes, a black sedan hid from view. “Chase them?” asked a man with a finely groomed moustache.
A bald man that probably had never laughed once in his entire life answered. “No. We’re done for tonight. We’ll hunt for him another night.”
---
The next morning Tony catalogued his aches and pains while the chemical stream of the shower soothed his protesting muscles. It was a freaking miracle his car didn’t have any bullet holes in it. He’d dropped his brother off at an apartment somewhere in downtown Shitsville owned by some chick named Susie Q. His brother said he’d be safe there. From the chick’s name she was probably a hooker, but who was he to judge? Better Ralph get a piece and not a fix. If Ralph was really trying to clean up his act this time, he hoped it would last.
---
He stepped into his bar and waved to Pidgin, stocking imported beer under the counter. “Everything kosher?” The joint was empty except for the two regulars Ted and Jambo.
“At this hour? Everything is fine. Hey, I got a lead on a mainline fight for next week with Carlos Benez. You up for it?”
Tony rubbed his brow over his still throbbing left eye. “I think I’m going to take a break for awhile like you said. Getting’ hammered again doesn’t sound real appealing right now.”
Pidgin did an exaggerated double take. “Woah, the schmuck is learning! Let me check the firmament to make sure it’s not falling!”
He laughed. “Screw you, Pidgin.”
“With a battered puss like yours, that ain’t happening. I hold out for lookers.”
He shook his head, amused. In the background the wall-mounted television droned out the news with another twelve prisons closed this year from the steady drop in crime. The two hundred prison personnel out of work would be absorbed into various federal ‘rehabilitation’ programs. He blotted out the rest, nothing new. The government had been kicking crime’s butt for the last ten years. Just dumb luck he hadn’t been caught doing illegal fights, he guessed.
He picked up a broom from the storage closet and began sweeping behind the bar. Jambo chattered as always to Ted, who never failed to agree with, “Yep, ain’t it the truth.”
The pudgy Jambo said, “When those pictures of me and Lisa doing the naked twister arrived in the mail—I shit a brick. Thank God my Margaret didn’t get to the mailbox first.” Jambo didn’t even pause to breath. “She would of stormed out the door and took me for every last penny I’m worth--right down to my gold fillings.”
Ted sipped his beer. “Yep, ain’t that the truth.”
“So every morning five-thirty I rush to the mailbox now. I don’t know how they took those photos, but I’m sure I’ll get a blackmail note soon. Damn voyeurs can’t leave an old man alone to enjoy a little tang on the side in peace. I even stopped skimming off the company accounts at work anymore. Too damn afraid I’m being watched.”
Ted laughed. “Their pulling you by the short and curlies?”
Jambo grunted and took a swig of his beer.
Serves the bastard right, Tony thought. He put up the broom and nodded at Pidgin. “I’ll be back this evening.” Pidgin just made little motions with his hands to brush him out the door when he left to pick up his daughter.
---
Tabatha sat on the front porch in a pink T-shirt and blue jean shorts held up with suspenders. How such an angelic face came from him he’d never understand, but he was grateful. She skipped into the car and buckled up her seatbelt. “All right, Tabbie, let’s hit it!”
Arriving at the Pendragon Park at eleven o’clock, he strolled with his daughter’s hand in his towards her favorite spot, the duck pond. He sat on the wood bench while Tabatha fed the ducks at the water’s edge.
A breeze riffled through his hair carrying the moist smell of the pond, and the filtered sunlight danced through the trees to warm his skin.
The bench creaked every time he removed some stale bread from a bag. The hungry, flap-footed ducks immediately jostled forward, and Tabatha chucked breadcrumbs happily this way and that. “Duckies! Come here little duckies!”
He took a deep breath full of fresh air. Life is funny. Sitting on this bench by myself I’d be a lonely guy feeding the ducks but with Tabbie here, it’s magic.
The cherry on top came when a slender woman in a blue-and-white jump suit came running down the walking trail. Except, her eyes kept flitting nervously over her shoulder. Tony saw a young man with coal black shades round the corner, jogging about a hundred yards behind.
He sat up rigid with the scent of danger tickling his senses. The blond woman’s panicked eyes found his, and she split off from the path toward him. He had to get Tabbie away. “Tabbie, stay here darling.” She nodded without turning from the pond, and Tony dashed towards the woman.
The woman begged, “Please help me!”
He felt his pulse accelerating, assessing the approaching threat. “Behind me.” The man put a hand to his ear and slowed. Tony’s could see the man was lean but well muscled.
The man started forward again with his lips set in a tight line. Tony went into a crouch with his hands by his side until his opponent got close. Two quick steps to close the distance followed by two rabbit punches to the face, and the fight was on. Neither jab landed, but he hadn’t intended them to.
He launched downwards and spearheaded the man’s knees, catching the back of the right calf. His attacker’s knees snapped back and the man’s head struck the blacktop path like unripe fruit.
He’d thought the fight was over, so he was surprised by two elbow strikes to his collarbones. The painful crunch sent small shooting pains down both arms. The man rained a host of short punches to his face and head, until he rolled to the side in defense. The speed of the man’s attacks was blindingly fast requiring him to roll on the ground to protect his groin and face.
He palmed Ralph’s pepper spray in his pocket and when man tried to plant a kick in his kidneys, Tony sprayed a mist of cayenne pepper directly up into his opponent’s face. The man dived backwards clenching his fists to his eyes. Tony prepared to finish off his enemy until a loud crack sounded at his feet.
Two hundred yards away, a glint of metal pointed at him from some bushes. Holy crap, a sniper!
He sprinted back to the pond and scooped up Tabatha running as fast as his thick legs would carry him. The woman kept pace astride him, but he didn’t much care at this point. Reaching the parking lot, he unlocked the door. He thrust Tabatha inside and took off on Portswaine Road headed south.
He checked the rearview mirror, but there was no pursuit yet. He turned his eyes to the women in his backseat. “We’re safe for the moment. Tabbie, you alright?”
“Yes, Daddy. Why’d that man hit you? Do you think he’ll hurt the ducks?”
He smiled. Thank God for the resilience of children. “He won’t touch the ducks, sweetie. Let’s not tell your mother about this, ok?” One mention of this incident to Charlene, and he would never see Tabatha again.
“Alright, Daddy.”
He turned his attention to his ‘damsel in distress’, who at this moment looked a good bit less attractive than before.
“What is your name, ma’am?”
“Melissa Kelton, but I go by Mel. That guy has popped up twice on me since he…”
He squinted. “Since he what?”
Melissa shrugged. “Last month a security guard caught me lifting a dress. He gave me a break, but the creep keeps showing up everywhere.”
He chewed the side of his lip. Hard to believe he had been involved with two attacks in two days. “What do you do, Melissa?”
“I’m a Nanite Engineer. I design and program nanites.”
He knew what nanites were: tiny computer bugs used in “intelligent” gadgets and gizmos for the last decade. They first appeared in automobiles around 2030. He had even heard they were being used in bleeding edge technology in medicine, household appliances, and even clothing design. He’d seen a Victoria Secret commercial just last week showing how nanites could make clothing change color, shorten in the neckline, and even changed shape.
“Why the hell were you stealing a dress you could of paid for?”
Melissa’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I do not know, I…I just do it. I feel bad about the theft afterwards.”
“Ok, so you lifted a dress. That doesn’t explain why this guy had a sniper for backup.”
Melissa’s voice cracked. “I don’t know what is going on. I’m telling you the truth. I’m sorry I put you in danger.”
Patting his pocket, he discovered his cell phone was missing. “Melissa, do you have a phone? I lost mine in the fight.” She extended her cellular.
“If you had a phone why didn’t you call the police? Hell, why didn’t you call the police the first time he threatened you?”
Melissa leaned back in her seat and sighed. “He didn’t do anything much at first. He told me he had video footage from the store security cameras. I didn’t want my friends and family to hear about it.”
He put the phone to his ear. “He and his buddy were ready for action today, not to watch. I need to drop off my daughter at her mother’s house, then you and I are going to the police.”
“Isn’t there any way we can get around that? I really do appreciate you rescuing me…”
The uplifted tones on the end of her sentence suggested a pleasing compensation for keeping his mouth shut. He wasn’t feeling very frisky right now; the safety of his daughter had been threatened today.
“Melissa, I like excitement as much as the next man, but this is serious. We’re going to the cops.”
Driving in silence, he arrived at Charlene’s home. He walked his upset daughter to the door. “But whatta bout Foojiyamas? You said we could go.”
He cajoled his daughter. “I know, Tabbie, but that woman in the car is in trouble. I need to make sure she’s going to be OK. We’ll go next time, scout’s honor.”
Tabatha scuffed her little white shoe into the pavement. “I guess that’s ok, Daddy, but remember you promised.”
He wrapped his burly arms around Tabatha, smelling the strawberry scent from her golden curls. He kissed her on the brow then nudged her into the house.
At the car, he motioned for Melissa to slide into the front passenger seat. He drove toward the nearest police station on DeSoto Street roughly fifteen minutes away. Turning the corner onto Rose Boulevard, a black sedan blocked the road. The Subaru suddenly sputtered twice then died.
Three men in dress shirts and slacks left the vehicle. “Crap! Those are the same fellas from last night. What a bad time for the car to die!”
Melissa said, “It didn’t just happen. That was an EMP pulse meant to disable the car.”
Tony nodded. “I’ll trying talking first. If that fails, I go in swinging and you take off.”
The three men strode closer until he stepped out of the car. “Hey, whatever you’re looking for, I’m I’ll--“
One of the men extended a rod, and a projectile struck his chest. His entire body seized, muscles contracting spasmodically. His vision grayed out. Fuck me!
---
He woke up groggy like he’d been on the receiving end of a knockout punch. Fuzzy outlines came together until he to a rugged face sitting nose-to-nose with him.
“Mr. Mazone, sorry for the rough handling. Stun guns are never pleasant. However, you are skilled with your fists so we found it expedient.”
Tony was in a car, probably the black sedan. A gentleman with graying hair sat beside him, an enigmatic smile on his lips. Tony could tell the man was a seasoned fight, but not old.
“What do you want? Where is Melissa? If my brother Ralph owes—“
“The only thing your brother owes me is his redemption, Mr. Mazone. The young woman awoke to find you gone; she is unharmed. Your confused, as you should be. My name is Agent Wendall. For my own reasons, and I admit my own entertainment is one of them, I’ll explain. Your brother and Melissa Kelton are both cases of mine.”
He silently wondered if this outflow of information was going to end with him in cement galoshes. Always did on old time TV shows anyway.
Reading his mind, the man’s Maako white teeth opened up into a grin. “I’m a government beauracrat but one that goes out on ‘field trips’. I work within the Department of Redemption. Pithy, don’t you think?” Tony frowned.
“Thirty years ago society was on the brink of dissolution with crime totally out of control. My department was given carte blanche to solve the crisis.”
“So what’s that got to do with me?”
Agent Wendall held a finger to his lips. “Through research we exposed a major flaw within each human being. Like sharks on a vegetarian diet, most people can’t flourish without struggle. If we aren’t forced to fight for our lives, it often starts a cycle of self destructive behaviors.” Agent Wendall waved his hand at the car’s plush interior.
“Modern society wraps us in a suffocating blanket of security, so basic instincts make us create our own threats.”
“My department artificially inserts that threat or as one of my agents is fond of saying: we put the fear of God into them.”
Groggily he asked, “Where do you get the manpower?”
“The cost is less than one tenth of the judicial costs required to imprison the citizen’s as inmates. We make a difference Tony, by preventing the destruction of lives--of families.” Agent Wendall smirked. “Case in point. Your brother is shaping up isn’t he?”
He responded, “Your terrorists! In these guerilla scenarios don’t people get hurt?”
“Yes, it happens, but we work under an acceptable margin of error.” Agent Wendall nodded his head philosophically. “Errant children need a spanking sometimes. If the child is truly rotten, they don’t grow up…”
On the edge of the forest, Tony noticed the black sedan had slowed to a stop. “So what is to become of me?”
Agent Wendall gripped his shoulder and laughed. “Why I want to redeem you, Tony. Haven’t you guessed?”
He stammered, “What do you mean? I’m not a criminal.”
“Technically you are. Those unsanctioned fights are illegal and self-destructive. Where do you think your temper comes from, Tony”? The man chuckled. “Personally, I can’t blame you—your wife is a grade A bitch. But we have the police record six years ago when Charlene called the police with bruises all over the left side of her face. You are a southpaw aren’t you, Tony?”
He stuttered, “I--I did hit her that once but I never did it again.”
The bald agent pulled him out of the car and unlocked the handcuffs. Agent Wendall strolled to the back of the sedan and unlocked the trunk.
“Tony, put on your running shoes because soon you are going to be hunted. Hold no hopes I won’t shoot you; we are well within our budget of acceptable fatalities this year.” Agent Wendall drew forth a scoped rifle from the trunk and loving wiped it with a handkerchief.
He felt his adrenaline surging. “Let’s be fair. Don’t I get a knife or something?”
Agent Wendall began doing some knee bends. “I’m sorry. I like my florid speeches on these little jaunts. I’m only allowed a hunt every three months or so as part of my rehabilitation.” Agent Wendall brushed some lint of his shirt. “What to do with the unsalvageable killers—those we can’t redeem? We put them to work doing what they do best…”
Agent Wendall began counting 100…99… and Tony sprinted to the nearest copse of trees. After running full out for the next three minutes, he heard an excited shout. “Here I come!” Tony wound his way around trees, pushed through tearing bushes, and traced a stream for a quarter mile. Gasping in burning lungfuls of air, he rested behind a fallen tree trunk.
He felt every scratch, and bruise from his frantic trek through the forest and his heart was doing a double foxtrot right now. Every pore in his skin stank of sweaty fear--Yet he felt so damn alive!
A gunshot rang out and wood splinters gouged furrows across his cheek. “Shit! He found me.” He took off again, finding cover where he could deep in the forest.
---
He wiped down the bar with circular strokes. A bottle of brandy in hand, Pidgin grinned. “So how is the new woman in your life, Tony?”
“Melissa is fine. Tabatha seems cool with her too. “
Pidgin crossed his arms. “You lucky dog, Melissa is hot. I’m just glad she convinced you to stop doing those weekly fights. I was afraid I was going to be bringing you home in a casket one night.”
The lines around his eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Actually, it was an acquaintance that convinced me to change my ways.”
Pidgin filled a shot glasses for a customer. “Oh really, I want to meet him. What’s his name?”
He put down the wet rag. “Wendall. He doesn’t come by very often only once every three months.”
“When’s his next visit?”
He stopped wiping the bar and looked down near his feet. “I’m never sure exactly when.” Longingly, he gazed at the antique Winchester rifle nestled under the bar.
“But when he does, I give him a hunter’s welcome.”

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