Unleashed Page 4

  “Car tippin’. Come on Austin, let’s get this,” I laughed as I pushed against the top of the car.

  Austin pressed against the top of the car, and together, we tipped it back to the same spot. The tires hovered above the parking lot at waist height. Although the car weighed a few thousand pounds, once it reached this point, it wasn’t difficult to hold it in this position. As we grunted and groaned, Dekk looked over his shoulders nervously.

  “You know,” A-Train said as he bit his cigarette in his teeth and stepped beside me.

  “Fucking men,” he shook his head and looked at Austin and me as we grunted and growled.

  “Even the best of us,” he grasped the rear fender of the car above the tire and looked over his right shoulder.

  “Need a reminder from time to time,” he grunted as he lifted up on the fender.

  “That there are some things we just can’t accomplish alone,” he pulled upward on the fender, lifting the car another six inches.

  As the three of us pushed against the car, and as soon as he finished saying what he had to say about things we just can’t accomplish alone, A-Train looked over his shoulder at Dekk. As he bit down on the butt of his cigarette with his teeth, he took a slow drag and exhaled the smoke, stared at Dekk, and waited.

  Although I wasn’t sure, I believed A-Train was strong enough to help Austin and I tip over the car without any additional assistance.

  But he waited.

  “Sometimes it takes a friend to get us through the tough times,” A-Train turned his head to the right, looked me in the eye, and winked.

  After hearing that statement, Shane Dekkar walked up and shoved against the top of the car with all his might, growling as he did. With his assistance, immediately, the car toppled over. As we all stood and stared at the car, now on its side, I turned to my left and faced A-Train. He took another drag from his cigarette, pulled it from his mouth, and bent down to step on it.

  “Real friends don’t let their friends get in trouble alone,” he said as he stood and nonchalantly dropped the cigarette butt in his pocket.

  “That enough exercise for you Ripp, or you want to try and tip over that truck?” Dekk laughed as he pointed to the pickup truck parked a few stalls from where we stood.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I chuckled as I quickly started walking to where we parked.

  Teamwork. Friends. Until now, my only close friend was Dekk. With this group, for some reason, I felt as if I could overcome anything. I stepped over the seat of my bike, and turned the key on. As I started the engine and revved it to a loud roar, I looked at the toppled car in the parking lot.

  Teamwork.

  Brotherhood.

  If I ended up in prison, I knew one thing for sure. These guys would take care of everything while I was gone. They’d have my back. And during this sure to be tough legal battle that I was beginning, they would certainly hold me up when and if I become incapable of standing on my own.

  The motor in Austin’s Mustang began to whine as he revved the engine. I looked to my left at Shane and A-Train, both sitting on their bikes, smiling and waiting.

  “Lead the way,” A-Train paused and nodded his head, “we got your back, brother.”

  And without hesitation or looking back, I released the clutch and grabbed a handful of throttle. My motorcycle sped through the parking lot and toward the street.

  And a former RECON Marine, a future Heavyweight Champion of the World, and a fucking dance instructor followed close behind.

  And I felt as if I could conquer the world.

  CHAPTER IV - AUSTIN FIGHTS

  RIPP. “That fucking kid doesn’t have any god damned business in the boxing ring, Ripper. He’s a hot headed street fighter, and not a boxer. This gym isn’t yours, it’s mine. It’s for training boxers, not dicking around,” Kelsey crossed his arms in front of his chest and spit into the bucket on the floor beside the ring.

  “We all weren’t born boxers, boss. We all had to learn. I’m training fighters, and he wants to learn. So I’m training him,” I crossed my arms and spit in the bucket as I finished speaking.

  “You making fun of me, Ripper?” Kelsey asked as he spit in the bucket again.

  “Nope,” I said as I spit in the bucket.

  “And what’s the deal with that war torn crazy assed Marine that’s been hanging around?” Kelsey whispered as he nodded toward the ring.

  “He stayed here when his friends went back from the ROT rally. He’s from Kansas. About ten hours north. It sounds like he might stay through the trial. And don’t talk shit, boss, he’s a good man,” I uncrossed my arms and turned toward the ring.

  A-Train and Austin were in the ring sparring lightly. Both wearing head gear, shorts and gloves, if it wasn’t for Austin’s visible hair and A-Train’s tattoos, they’d look like twins. Their body structure was almost identical. Long, lean muscle and a ripped torso, they both looked like fighters.

  “Well, if you’re actually going to train him, get your ass busy. Stop fucking around. If you’re just dicking around, go home and dick around. Don’t be dicking around here,” Kelsey bellowed.

  “Now when is the trial?” he asked softly as he leaned toward me.

  Kelsey could try as much as he wanted to be a hard ass, but deep down inside he truly cared for Dekk and I. We were like sons to him. His concern for my trial was genuine. Most states take forever to prosecute crimes. Some are quicker. Texas stands alone in that respect, with a lightning fast turnaround on the legal proceedings for felonies. They view it as a deterrent to commit crimes. Personally, I’d rather have it completed quickly.

  “She’s trying to get it moved up now. She said we have a right to a speedy trial, and most people postpone them a few times. She’s asking to be pushed to the front of the docket. We’ll know in a few days. She filed a motion or something. So, I’ll know here pretty soon,” I responded.

  “Well, if you need anything Ripper, anything at all,” he opened his arms and shrugged as he took a few steps back.

  “Thanks. And it ain’t your gym, old man. It’s Joe’s. Now beat feet,” I said in a stern tone as I pointed toward the offices.

  “Asshole,” Kelsey responded as he spit on the floor.

  “If you two women don’t want to fight, get out of my god damned ring,” he screamed over his shoulder as he turned and walked toward the locker room.

  “Don’t spit on Joe’s floor old man,” I laughed as he walked away.

  I shook my head and turned to face the ring.

  “Well, what do you think, A-Train?” I asked as I leaned against the ropes.

  A-Train extended his arms toward Austin and locked his elbows. Austin pounded his gloves against A-Train’s, signaling a momentary truce. A-Train stepped to the ropes and worked the mouthpiece loose from his teeth.

  “He’s got good form, and great feet, but he’s damned slow to react. He’s about a second short on everything. He’s a good offensive fighter, but he sure as fuck isn’t big enough, strong enough, or experienced enough to rely on offense. He’s got to learn to protect himself. Let me work with him for a week or two, I have a few ideas,” A-Train said as he caught his breath.

  “You think you’re better than me at teaching him?” I chuckled as I pushed against the ropes.

  “Not at all. I mean away from here. I want to teach him hand to hand combat. The basics. He’ll learn really quick how to react, and he’ll do it as second nature, not as a defense mechanism. It’ll all come natural to him after that. At least that’s what I’m thinking,” he raised his gloves to his sides with the palms turned up.

  “Shit, sounds fine to me,” I shrugged, “you guys ready to call it quits for now?”

  “Yeah, he’s worn out,” he responded.

  “Austin, let’s hit the showers,” I hollered.

  “Alright boss,” Austin said.

  As Austin and A-Train stepped out of the ring and began walking to the locker room, I looked around the gym. I’d been coming
here for fifteen years or so, and this place, more than any other place, was home. I knew every crack in the concrete, every nook, and every little secret about what has happened here over the years. Kelsey and Joe were not only friends, but like uncles to me. This gym would soon enough be a stepping stone for every want-to-be fighter in the central United States if Dekk won the championship.

  The thought of possibly sitting in prison for murder and not being here, not training fighters, and not being able to do what it is that I love doing began to fill my mind. Win or lose, I was ready for this to end. Mentally, it was becoming hard to accept. Not knowing your fate is a difficult thing. My future, by my own choice, would soon be on the shoulders of twelve of my peers. What they decided would be my fate, my future, and my life. I rubbed my hands on the thighs of my shorts and attempted to swallow the lump in my throat. As I looked around the gym, my phone rang. The ring tone was assigned to one person and one person only. My heart raced as I pulled my phone from my pocket and swiped the screen.

  “You at the gym, babe?” Vee asked.

  “I sure am, what’s up?” I asked.

  “We got a response to the motion,” she stated calmly.

  “And?” I asked.

  “Sixth,” she stated.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “The sixth, Michael. The jury selection is the sixth, we need to get busy, babe,” she sighed.

  “The sixth, as in here in a few weeks?” I asked, feeling as if I was in shock.

  “Yes, Michael. The sixth. We talked about this,” she said softly.

  “Yeah. Just. I don’t know. My heart’s racing. It’s weird to think about it,” I admitted as I kicked a piece of trash across the floor.

  “Well, you’re experienced at fighting in the ring, Michael. I’m experienced at fighting in the courtroom. Take a deep breath and trust me,” she said.

  “I’ll do my best,” I said as I bent over to pick up the trash.

  I felt bile rising in my throat as I thought about the trial. To talk about it was one thing. Now it was reality. Mere weeks away. As much as I wanted it to be over, this was almost too much to comprehend. To be brutally honest, I never want this date to arrive.

  But.

  I got myself into this mess, and I needed to be a man and stand up.

  “Are you alright?” she asked.

  I walked to the spit bucket at the corner of the ring, and dropped the trash inside.

  I attempted to swallow what had risen in my throat and provide an answer to Vee’s question, Are you alright? I wanted to say, fuck no I’m not alright. I’m going to trial for murder. I stared into the trash can, full of emotion and incapable of speaking. My knees felt weak. I reached out with my left hand and grasped the rope to steady myself as I stood clenching my phone in my right hand.

  “Michael, are you alright?” she asked again.

  I stared into the trash can. I pulled the phone from my ear, looked at the screen, and pushed the mute button. She didn’t need to hear this. I centered my head over the spit bucket and vomited. As I knelt down on my knees and vomited until there was no more to vomit, I wondered if I made the right decision. Risking my freedom to stand up for something I truly believed in was not an easy thing. It was, without a doubt, right.

  But it wasn’t easy.

  I took a man’s life. Be it accidental or be it intentional, it happened. I needed to convince a jury that it was not my intention. According to Vee, I could not tell the jury the truth. I accidentally killed a man that raped my virgin sister. I hovered over the trash can and thought of Katie. Bug. My little sister. No matter the outcome, she’d live the rest of her life remembering what happened and how she lost her virginity. That piece of shit raped her. And he laughed about it.

  If I couldn’t stand up for myself, I needed to stand up for Bug. I grabbed a towel that hung from the ropes, wiped my mouth, and stood up. I turned my phone screen to face me and pressed the mute button, making the phone operational.

  “Babe?” I said as I wiped the side of my mouth with the towel.

  “Yes, Michael. Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Sorry, babe. Yeah, I’m fine. I was just trying to find something. I found it, I’m okay,” I said softly.

  “What was it?” she asked.

  I looked into the trash can but I didn’t immediately respond. I had found what I was looking for.

  Courage.

  And I found it.

  CHAPTER V - MENS REA

  VEE. “So, beyond reasonable doubt does not mean beyond all doubt. Understand that. If the jurors believe that it’s reasonable to believe your guilty, you are just that; guilty,” I said as I paced the floor in front of the conference room table.

  “Now, your case is somewhat unique. You’ll stand before the jurors, guilty. You killed him, Michael. There’s no denying that you did. You admit it. What it gets down to is why. Why did you kill him? What I, no, I guess what we need to convince the jurors is this – that you killed him for a reason that every one of them would have chosen as well. All we need is one juror to side with you and stick with his initial belief, and we’ll at minimum have a hung jury,” I stopped pacing and focused on Michael.

  “What’s that mean, really?” he shifted his focus from the table to my face.

  “It means they, the jurors, were incapable of reaching a decision in a reasonable amount of time. You can be retried, because you weren’t found guilty or innocent. A lot of times when the jury is hung, the state will refuse to retry it, for fear of losing or having another hung jury. It’s kind of like a tie, no one really wins,” I raised my right hand to my mouth and thought.

  “The facts of this case are simple. If we get a hung jury, they probably won’t retry it. They’re not going to go dig up any additional facts about you or the alleged crime. They’re not going to make a better case, a more solid case. Like I said, you did it. But why you did it is our ticket out. You were in fear for your life. Do you understand that?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he responded as he ran his hands along the edge of the table.

  I slapped my hands against the conference room table. Immediately, Michael sat up in his chair and stared at me.

  “What the fuck,” he whined as he looked up.

  “Talk like that again, Michael. Talk like a fucking southern Texas boy, and that jury will hang your dumb acting ass. Say yeah in court. I fucking swear, you can either get on board, or find another god damned attorney. Do you understand me?” I growled.

  “Yes,” he responded.

  “One better,” I paused.

  “Yes ma’am,” I said in a stern tone.

  “You were in fear for your life. Do you understand me?” I asked harshly.

  “Yes ma’am,” he responded.

  “You went there to talk to him about your sister. We’ll make something up. Who gives a fuck? He’s dead and no one can say why they think you went here. There is no place for thoughts or opinions in the courtroom. This is a room full of only facts. So, you went there to talk about your sister. He was dating her. It was to be a friendly talk. Tests have shown that although he wasn’t completely drunk, he had been drinking alcohol, and was on the cusp of being legally drunk. He made a judgment call, and he didn’t recognize you. He pulled a gun, and you reacted. You were in fear for your life. That’s all you know. Remember that, scared to death. You saw a gun and you freaked out,” I hesitated and looked down at where he was seated.

  “Good answer. Okay we’re going to play as if I am the prosecutor, like we did earlier. Remember, they can’t just ask random blanket questions, and if he tries, I’ll attack his ass like a fucking shark. Now, anything he asks; anything at all. Don’t fucking answer. He asks what color your fucking watch is, you don’t respond. You count to three. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand. White, sir. It gives you time to think, and me time to object. So, no matter what, you count to three. Everything he asks. Okay, you ready?” I asked.

  “Yes ma�
�am,” he responded as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “Uncross your arms. It makes it appear as if you’re defensive or uncomfortable. Learn that. You’ll need to sit with your hands on your thighs. No matter what, keep your hands in your lap, one on each thigh. If you get nervous, stop and take a drink of water, regroup mentally, and start over. But always keep your hands in your lap. It’ll drive the prosecution crazy because he won’t be able to figure out what you’re thinking,” I said as I patted my thighs with my palms.

  “So, Mr. Ripton, on the night in question, you drove to the home of the deceased, is that correct?” I asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” he waited a few seconds and responded.

  “Where were you prior to arriving at the decease home?” I asked.

  “And I will object. Because it isn’t any of his fucking business,” I added before he could answer.

  “If questioning like that is introduced, and I don’t catch it, it opens a line of questions that will allow him to make mincemeat of our case. Let me explain how this works. Stick with me. Are you paying attention, Michael?” I looked across the table, making note of his hands being placed firmly in his lap.

  “Yes ma’am,” he responded after a few second delay.

  That’s my Michael, you’re doing well.

  “Okay, if I let him come at you with a question like that, to some attorneys, it may seem like no big deal. To me, it’s suicide. He asks if you drove. You say yes. He asks some other question or questions to make you comfortable. Your age. Where you went to school. Then, he asks where you came from. You say your parent’s home. He asks if you’re nervous. You say yes. He’ll ask if you’ve ever been in a court room, and I’d object. Then he asks what you were doing at your parents. You say eating. He acts surprised for a moment, and walks to his desk in the courtroom, opens a file, and walks back to in front of where you’re seated. He then states, well, Mr. Ripton, the day in question is a Sunday. The Sabbath. You left Sunday dinner with your family to drive to your sister’s former boyfriend’s home, and you want us to believe you did so just to talk? And I’d be standing there with my dick in my hand. That is if I had a dick,” I turned to face Michael.