the cashier was a better choice.” Ari’s face burned and her neck grew hot. “I’m sorry to create such a stir, especially in front of the boys.”
“Why? Fear is a natural reaction.”
“Yeah, but not in front of a client,” she laughed humorlessly. “If they sense one inch of weakness, they’ll take a mile. I can’t afford that.”
“You really think that?”
“I know that.”
Davis gave a short nod but not necessarily out of agreement. “Why did you interfere with the fight? Jumping into the middle of a two kids pummeling each other isn’t the smartest thing to do.”
Ari’s initial anger returned, flaring hot in her chest. She’d momentarily forgotten the incident with The Hulk—Peter. “Curtis was getting the crap beat out of him! He’s my client and my responsibility. I’m not okay with the violence. These boys have seen enough in their lifetime. Abusing them and then training them to be even better fighters? I don’t get it.”
Davis allowed her to rant, as he calmly and quietly leaned back in his chair. God, he had an ease about him Ari found equally unnerving and aggravating. “Obviously, you disagree,” she said. “But I’m not sure if the state would approve of your methods if they knew about them.”
Her threat got his attention, if only slightly. “How successful do you find the other programs your clients are in? Percentage wise?”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it is,” he argued. “I know our methods seem…extreme. But they work and have worked for a long time. The kids we pick to be a part of our program are specifically chosen. They can handle it.”
“Curtis has a black eye! And bruises all over his body! I saw the bandage on Keith’s head. What are you doing? Building soldiers?”
Davis scoffed. “Of course not, Ms. Grant. But we teach them discipline. Control. Another way to let out the anger and the rage they have boiling inside. Better in that ring than on a cop or another kid on the outside with a gun.”
“So you teach them to fight and get out the testosterone. What then? How does that help them in the real world?”
“It’s like any other athletic program. Mental and physical. We train these kids hardcore, teach them how to eat healthy foods and give them the discipline and structure to turn that into productivity in society. We teach them to use their bodies in a positive way. Working with their natural abilities. If they can learn to trust themselves, defensively, then they feel more confident—less likely to lash out.” Davis stood and pulled a yellow sheet of paper off the table. He turned it around and handed to her. “It’s not just random fighting. We compete against other programs. That’s our next event.”
The words “Inter-Club Fight Semi-Finals” were listed across the top. The fight would be held at the GYC next week. “Curtis won’t be competing—yet,” he said. “Probably not ’til next season if he’s ready. But he’s fast, we think he may fit more into the ultimate fighting category anyway.”
“Ultimate fighting? I don’t know. All of this sounds really dangerous.”
Davis rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. “Give us a chance. Come see it yourself. See if you notice a change in Curtis’s behavior over the next couple of weeks.”
“You have a lot of faith in a petty thief thug-wannabe who can run fast.”
“I have a lot of faith in a lot of things,” he said with a wink. “You’ll come?”
“I’ll come,” Ari said, standing up. She walked to the door and touched the smooth leather gloves hanging there. “These yours?”
“My father’s.” He also stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He taught me everything I know.”
Ari tilted her head. “You must be pretty good, then.”
Davis looked her up and down. “I can hold my own.”
Right then Ari knew he remembered her. A current ran between them and she caught a hint of mischievousness in his eye, the same one
“Why? Fear is a natural reaction.”
“Yeah, but not in front of a client,” she laughed humorlessly. “If they sense one inch of weakness, they’ll take a mile. I can’t afford that.”
“You really think that?”
“I know that.”
Davis gave a short nod but not necessarily out of agreement. “Why did you interfere with the fight? Jumping into the middle of a two kids pummeling each other isn’t the smartest thing to do.”
Ari’s initial anger returned, flaring hot in her chest. She’d momentarily forgotten the incident with The Hulk—Peter. “Curtis was getting the crap beat out of him! He’s my client and my responsibility. I’m not okay with the violence. These boys have seen enough in their lifetime. Abusing them and then training them to be even better fighters? I don’t get it.”
Davis allowed her to rant, as he calmly and quietly leaned back in his chair. God, he had an ease about him Ari found equally unnerving and aggravating. “Obviously, you disagree,” she said. “But I’m not sure if the state would approve of your methods if they knew about them.”
Her threat got his attention, if only slightly. “How successful do you find the other programs your clients are in? Percentage wise?”
“That’s not the point.”
“I think it is,” he argued. “I know our methods seem…extreme. But they work and have worked for a long time. The kids we pick to be a part of our program are specifically chosen. They can handle it.”
“Curtis has a black eye! And bruises all over his body! I saw the bandage on Keith’s head. What are you doing? Building soldiers?”
Davis scoffed. “Of course not, Ms. Grant. But we teach them discipline. Control. Another way to let out the anger and the rage they have boiling inside. Better in that ring than on a cop or another kid on the outside with a gun.”
“So you teach them to fight and get out the testosterone. What then? How does that help them in the real world?”
“It’s like any other athletic program. Mental and physical. We train these kids hardcore, teach them how to eat healthy foods and give them the discipline and structure to turn that into productivity in society. We teach them to use their bodies in a positive way. Working with their natural abilities. If they can learn to trust themselves, defensively, then they feel more confident—less likely to lash out.” Davis stood and pulled a yellow sheet of paper off the table. He turned it around and handed to her. “It’s not just random fighting. We compete against other programs. That’s our next event.”
The words “Inter-Club Fight Semi-Finals” were listed across the top. The fight would be held at the GYC next week. “Curtis won’t be competing—yet,” he said. “Probably not ’til next season if he’s ready. But he’s fast, we think he may fit more into the ultimate fighting category anyway.”
“Ultimate fighting? I don’t know. All of this sounds really dangerous.”
Davis rested his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. “Give us a chance. Come see it yourself. See if you notice a change in Curtis’s behavior over the next couple of weeks.”
“You have a lot of faith in a petty thief thug-wannabe who can run fast.”
“I have a lot of faith in a lot of things,” he said with a wink. “You’ll come?”
“I’ll come,” Ari said, standing up. She walked to the door and touched the smooth leather gloves hanging there. “These yours?”
“My father’s.” He also stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He taught me everything I know.”
Ari tilted her head. “You must be pretty good, then.”
Davis looked her up and down. “I can hold my own.”
Right then Ari knew he remembered her. A current ran between them and she caught a hint of mischievousness in his eye, the same one
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