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The Champion

By Cris Fireheart / Ken Anderson

Chapter 3 - The Hustler

Author's note: This story contains scenes of extreme violence, profanity, drug and alcohol use, sale, and abuse, and some sexual situations. Reader discretion is DEFINITELY advised. That being said, if none of that bothers you, then enjoy!

And as usual, any and all comments and votes are appreciated; if you like my style, or spot any mistakes, let me know!

Now, it's time for things to get a little... illegal.

–C

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It was almost noon by the time everyone had finally arrived at the apartment. Connor and Ricky, having recently awoken, were seated groggily on a tattered couch, wearing nothing but boxers and tank tops, in front of an aging glass table, across from which sat the tiger twins, Mike and Ike, along with Teddy Edwards, who'd all dragged over the heavy wooden chairs from the kitchen to take their places around them.

In the center of the table, directly between them, lay the black duffel bag that Connor had received from Marco Binetti the night before. It sat still unopened; zipped closed, like a dark, looming shadow that none of them seemed willing to approach. After a moment of tense silence, Ricky shook his head to clear away his thoughts and reached for a pack of Marlboro Reds on the table, offering smokes to all of his friends before taking one himself and sticking it between his teeth, biting down on the filter lightly as he produced a lighter from a pair of denim shorts he'd left on the floor the night before. Lighting up his cigarette, he took a deep breath and held it in as he handed the lighter over to Connor.

Exhaling with a loud sigh, the young man watched as his companions also lit up their cigarettes, before taking in another breath himself, and exhaling softly through his nostrils. Groaning slightly, he rose to his feet and leaned over the duffel bag, reaching for the zipper at one end as he used his tongue to roll his cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Alright, then… Let's get to it." he muttered, before giving the zipper a hard tug.

The rest of the gang watched with curious interest as Ricky pulled the zipper back, before using his hands to spread the bag wide open. A collective gasp filled the small living room as what was contained within the bag suddenly became illuminated by the sunlight which streamed in through the apartment's stained windows. The bag was filled with bricks. And these weren't the kind of bricks that were used in constructing buildings.

Ricky bent over the table once more to examine the haul. By his count, there must've been at least fifteen to twenty packages contained in the bag; he could see five obvious green bricks of what looked to be pretty good pot on the surface, and ten or more other bricks of a solid white color beneath, covered in packing tape and stamped with the blood-red logo of a wolf's head. It was Binetti Family product. Marco Binetti actually had the very same logo tattooed on the back of his right paw, and knowing the wolf as he did, he knew that these bricks were most likely to be cocaine.

The wolf did prefer to have his customers return ALIVE, after all. He'd refused to touch any opioids or any of the new synthetic drugs since he'd become the head of the Binetti Family. Tried and true was his motto, and his product reflected that notion. The wolf was also known to have steady supplies of good weed, Meth, crystal MDMA, and pharmaceuticals on hand. Real ones; not the fake, pressed stuff that usually ended up killing people in the streets. But he charged a premium for that promise of authenticity. He'd banked on the fact that not EVERYONE would want to play 'Russian roulette' with their drugs. This method of operation had quickly earned the Binetti Family a reputation for purity and quality. And that meant plenty of high-paying customers.

“Holy shit, man!" Teddy exclaimed, nearly knocking over his chair as he quickly rose to his feet. “That's enough fuckin' weight to get us all fifteen to life!"

“Yeah, so what?" Ricky responded with a shrug. “You knew what you were getting into when you came and asked me for work, so don't start pissin' your pants now. Anyway, Marco said we could keep five for ourselves; we just have to make the drop and get him his cash."

“Well yeah, I remember that part, but five of WHAT?" Connor piped in, as the fox began to help his friend pull the packaged drugs out of the bag, setting the bricks into two neat rows on the table. Ricky paused in thought for a moment, before reaching a hand across the table to retrieve his cell phone. Three minutes after he'd sent a quick text to Marco, the response tone sounded, and he held the phone out so everybody could see it.

“2 GREEN AND 3 WHITE." The message read. “DROP IS AT BENNY'S IN THE HEIGHTS, 2HRS. SENDING YOU BACKUP. 10 MINS OUT."

“Well, there's our answer, I guess," Mike muttered from across the table.

“Yeah…" His twin brother nodded in agreement, “But he said something about sending backup? Who do you think it'll be?"

“Who knows?" Connor shrugged, as he moved two of the kilogram bricks of weed to the opposite end of the table. “But knowing Marco? It's gonna be somebody who knows how to take care of business."

A few moments later, as if to answer their questions, a series of quick knocks on the apartment's door immediately drew everyone's attention from the pile of drugs that sat before them. Connor, being the only one in the group who hadn't been apparently paralyzed by the interruption, rose from the couch and shook his head in annoyance as he walked over to answer the door. After turning two deadbolts and unhooking a short length of chain, he twisted the knob and pulled the front door open. His eyes widened in shock as he was greeted by a familiar face.

A tall, ash-gray coyote with an athletic build, backpack slung over one shoulder, wearing a black tank top and cutoff shorts, which showed off his full sleeve and leg tattoos, a mixture of gang-style art and military insignia, flashed a toothy grin as he greeted Connor with a quick nod.

“What's up, champ? I heard you kicked Riley's ass a few nights ago; me and my dad were watchin' the highlights again this morning!"

To say that Jakob Clayton was well-known would've been an understatement. The only adopted son of the late rock star Charlie Clayton, and his mate James, the coyote had grown up living on the unforgiving streets of Harbor City, learning the hard way that survival meant taking the kind of risks that anyone else in their right mind would shy away from. He'd been adopted by the couple at the age of twelve, and by the time he'd become a junior in high school, he was already known for selling large quantities of pot, adderall, and ecstasy to the overachieving, unlucky-to-be-there crowd of students whose parents had money, but not enough to be considered 'elite.'

By the time he'd enrolled at Harbor City university, however, he was already working with Marco Binetti and was moving larger and larger quantities of drugs. His notoriety had gained him a small, but loyal following in the streets; runners who'd sell his product for him or collect on debts that were owed. In the end, even his fathers, Charlie and James, had given into the temptation, purely to keep the family afloat and to keep watch over their son. But then, the unthinkable had happened…

There was also a darker side to Jake, as he was known to his friends. It had come to the surface after his dad, Charlie, had been killed in what had originally been seen as a simple accident by a cop who was trying to stop his vehicle during a street race. The reality had been much more complicated; more convoluted. There had been repercussions. Lives had been lost. The end result was that his remaining father, James, had immediately arranged for him and his friend Marco Binetti to be enlisted in the Marine corps and sent overseas; far away from the hell that was guaranteed to follow…

“JAKE?! What're you doing here, man? I thought Marco said he was sending us some backup!"

“He did; I'm it. So, do you guys have everything situated yet?" the coyote asked, hefting the backpack over his shoulder with a slight grunt. Connor, shaking off his look of surprise, rapidly nodded his head.

“Y-yeah. We already took our cut. But damn, man! When Marco said he'd be sending someone over, I never figured that you'd be the one to show up!"

“Well, Marco, my dad, and I all have a stake in this drop," Jake explained, as he stepped inside and the fox quickly locked the door behind them. “Marco's busy with 'Family business' today, as he put it, so I'm out here to make sure MY family gets our piece of the pie."

Everyone in the apartment rose from their seats in respect as Jake Clayton approached the living room from the doorway. Ricky was the first to circle around the glass table, holding out his arms as he approached the coyote with a wide grin on his face.

“DUDE! If I'd known Marco would be sending YOU over, I'd have had a few joints rolled up and ready! What's up with the pack, though? We figured we'd use Marco's bag for the drop."

Jake gave a toothy smirk as he slid the backpack off of his shoulder. The bag made a heavy 'thud' as it hit the floor next to him, silencing the room once again.

“Hardware," he explained, bending over to unzip the main compartment. Reaching a paw into the bag, he came out with a hefty-looking pistol in his paw, from which he immediately ejected the magazine, checking its rounds before slamming it back into place.

“I brought two M9s, a 1911, and this baby right here…"

He racked the slide on the heavy pistol, before clicking on the safety.

“... is my personal. .50 caliber Desert Eagle; this shit'll blow a hole through a damn Rhino, and this one here actually DID. You've all heard the story, right?"

Ted, the young weasel, nodded his head rapidly as he slowly took a step back from his chair.

“Yeah, I heard about it," he mumbled, his voice tinged with fear. “That crooked cop, right? The one that Marco's dad paid to… you know…"

“--Chase down and kill my Dad, back when we were street racing seven years ago. Yeah; this is the one. This is the piece that put two into that rhino's thick-ass skull, and got me and Marco a pair of one-way tickets out to the middle east for four fuckin' years. "

"My boy Nick, who was driving the car with me in it, got ten years upstate at Sundown Unit for fleeing and vehicular manslaughter, for helping me get away that night. Nobody fucks with him in there, though; my dad and I always make sure he's taken care of. Even Marco's people have him under their protection in there."

After a short moment of silence after hearing Jake's story, the rest of the group silently moved back to take their seats. Ricky headed into the kitchen and hauled over another chair for Jake, which he placed next to the couch that he and Connor had been sitting on.

“So…" Ricky began, as he took his seat on the couch. “What's the lick?" The others watched as he pulled over one of the bags of pot, and produced a switchblade from between the couch cushions. “How's this gonna go down?"

Jake took a minute to think as he watched the smaller human slice open the package, before retrieving a metal rolling tray topped with king-size papers from under the couch. The coyote continued to run his tattooed paw over his chin as Ricky expertly broke down a few buds and rolled up a joint.

“Well…" Jake began, taking a breath and letting out a sigh as he continued, “The drop is gonna happen at Benny's Diner in the Heights; you guys already knew that. That's neutral territory, so if anything goes south, TRUST me, Marco, my dad's old crew, and my guys on the street will all end up seriously PISSED. Marco and his mob guys have got NOTHING on my dad and my Uncles; they'd make the scene look like a damn horror movie; point-blank. I mean; ever since Charlie got killed, James has become a bit… hard, you know? Fuck; he even scares me sometimes these days…"

Connor and Ricky nodded their assent as Ricky produced a lighter and sparked up the joint, taking a few hits before handing it over to Connor.

“Anyway…" Jake continued, his voice dropping a few octaves as he went on, “The main issue with this drop is that it's supposed to be going to the Northside. Cat Town. This one's meant to go to old Iggy Rhah."

At this sudden revelation, everybody in the room slowly leaned back into their seats, unseen beads of sweat beginning to form across their faces and muzzles.

“The fuckin' Rhahs?! Are you serious?!" Ike blurted out from across the table, sharing a look of concern with his brother, seated next to him.

“Yeah, yeah; I KNOW," Jake growled, shaking his head slowly. “But ever since Marco's Family took over the coke game in the city, it's not like the cats have anybody else around here who's willing to supply 'em. Now, I know those lions are fuckin' insane; there's no doubt about that. That's why I brought the guns. Better safe than sorry."

Jake's triangular ears suddenly perked up as he noticed the two white tigers sitting across from him.

“No offense to you guys, by the way. I remember you both from the unit, just so you know."

“None taken," Mike replied, waving it off with a flick of his wrist. “The Rhah family always used to give me and my brother shit; either on the streets or back when we were in school. Personally, I'd say those inbred bastards deserve whatever they got coming to em'."

His brother, Ike, nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Even though we were all felines, those pricks always used to lord their 'status' over us. Hell, they even tripled the vig on our gambling loans after we got out of the corps, back in the day. They were basically slaving us out until Ricky over there–" Ike pointed a claw to the man sitting across from him, “Paid it all off in full, with interest. Even HE could see through their bullshit; that's why we both work for him now."

Jake nodded his head appreciatively towards Ricky, regarding his friend with a look of respect.

“Yeah, that's Ricky, all right. He always knows how to tell when something feels off; plus he always gives back to his friends, or even to random people on the street. Not to mention, he keeps the peace around here on the Southside; it's why Marco, my Dad and I always trust him to handle these kinda jobs."

Ricky cracked a smirk, and reached over to meet Jake with a fist bump.

“And don't you forget it, man," he said with a smile, taking a hit from the joint before passing it over to Jake. “So, how are we doing this? Who's gonna be making the drop?"

Jake leaned back in his chair, inhaling deeply from the joint as he took a moment to consider his options. After a few more hits on the joint, he handed the cone over to Mike, before clearing his throat to speak.

“Well…" he began, “I'm thinkin' that you, me, and the twins over there –" he pointed towards Mike and Ike,

“Will be the ones to go in and handle business. As for Teddy and Connor…" The coyote turned to face the two, a look of seriousness crossing his face as he continued, “You guys are gonna stay RIGHT HERE. And before either of you complains, I KNOW you two can handle yourselves; you're basically legends in this city. But that's the problem; if things go south on this deal, the last thing we need is one of our city's top brawlers and the new Middleweight Champ gettin' hauled off on the evening news. Again; no offense, guys. This is nothing personal; just strictly business."

Ted said nothing as he gave a single nod, before lowering his gaze to the floor. Connor's ears splayed out slightly, as his eyes began to trace the carpet beneath his feet.

Of course, he'd wanted to go with them. Ricky was his best friend; they were pretty much mated by this point, after all! Still, Jake had been completely honest and correct in his assessment. Ted and Connor were both too well-known throughout the city. Becoming involved in a deal like this just too much of a risk; not only to both of their careers, but to their lives as well. Heaving a sigh, the fox shrugged his shoulders, before giving a slow, submissive nod of his head.

“Hey man, it'll be alright," Ricky was quick to reassure him, handing over the joint that Ike had passed him while the fox had been lost in thought. “Teddy will be staying here with you, so you won't be alone. And you know me, man; I'm way too stubborn to fuckin' die. You guys just chill here, smoke up, and watch over our cut of the stash, alright?"

Connor shrugged his shoulders in indifference as he took the joint and raised it to his muzzle, inhaling deeply. Almost instantly, he shot to his feet and bent over the table, erupting into a series of heavy, hacking coughs as the smoke overwhelmed him.

“Jeezus! I thought that was some Mexican brick weed, or something! What the fuck is that?!"

Jake burst out into howling laughter as he reached over to retrieve the joint from Connor's shaking paw, taking two very deep hits for himself before responding,

“This is my Uncles' stuff!" he choked out, attempting to retain his smoke for as long as possible. “Him and his mate Cory have four grow rooms operating at all times in our mansion! This right here is a Gelato and Deep Purple cross-breed! I helped them harvest it myself!"

With that, Jake exhaled what was left of the smoke, before handing the joint back over to Ricky.

“Now hurry up, and get nice and lit!" The coyote exclaimed with a laugh, “We've got enough time for maybe one more of those joints; then we gotta make our way over to Benny's. Those cat's ain't gonna wait around forever!

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One Hour Later…

The engine of Ricky's large pickup truck gave one last growl as he pulled up against the curb next to the alleyway that led towards Benny's Diner. The older Bison had been a fixture in Harbor Heights since the city's earliest days; Jake had met his parents, Charlie and James, while working there after having ran away from a foster family at the age of twelve, and his Uncles, Ozzy and Cory, had also met in the smoke-filled confines of the grungy, old diner; Cory, the cheetah who was Ozzy's mate, had once slept out on the street where the daily trash had been emptied each evening, until the day Old Benny had decided to take him in and taught him how to work on the grill.

Nowadays, Harbor Heights was in far better condition than it had once been during its heyday, almost a decade ago. 'Gentrification' was too strong a word to describe it; “Cleaned Up" might have been a far more apt description. When the newest mayor of Harbor City had finally been elected, two years ago, one of her first political projects had been an attempt to breathe new life into what had once been the city's most violent and crime-infested areas. Slowly, but surely, small businesses had begun to reopen in the Heights. Restaurants, secondhand stores, and even a small branch of the Harbor City Library had found welcoming spaces among what had once been boarded-up shops and needle-strewn streets.

However, not everyone had been open to the sudden influx of change. Case in point, Benny's Diner. While it currently sported a newer sign and a fresh coat of paint, the place still remained as one of the last bastions of what the local's would refer to as the 'Old' Harbor Heights. One of the main reasons for this allowance was that the hidden, out of the way location still, after many decades of operation, continued to serve as an agreed-upon neutral territory in the eyes of the city's many violent and unpredictable gangs.

Everybody who was 'anybody' knew the rules; cause any trouble in Benny's Diner, and you were more than likely to end up as a special on the next day's menu. Benny himself, of course, was also a force to be reckoned with. He and his son David, who went by his street moniker of “Caveman Dave," were well known for being serious brawlers. Even Connor and Ricky didn't think they had a chance in a fight against the pair; the two Bison were built as thick as oak trees, and were as strong as steel.

As he removed the key from the ignition of his truck, Ricky pulled out the M1911 pistol that he'd been given by Jake, and checked the rounds before replacing the magazine. Nodding his head towards his friends, the four of them began to exit the truck.

If anything was going to go wrong today, Ricky felt comforted in knowing that Connor and Ted were safe, back at the apartment, far away from any potential carnage. Even though he'd never admit it aloud, given the way he'd been raised, he loved Connor, and he knew he wouldn't be able to control himself if anything were to happen to the fox.

As the four of them stepped into the grimy alleyway which led to the Diner, Ricky turned and locked eyes with Jake, giving the coyote a questioning nod of his head.

“What do our odds look like?" he asked as they continued onwards.

“Honestly, man?" Jake quipped, as he removed his own gun and flipped the safety to 'off.' “Even I think that Me and Marco should've never set up this deal. I told him and my dad that it was a bad idea, but they basically outvoted me."

“So? Are we still doing this, or what?"

Chuckling, Jake shook his head and cracked the joints in his neck, before doing the same to his paws.

“Oh, we're gonna be doing SOMETHING, that's for damn sure. Just better hope these cats got the money… Marco warned me that the Rhahs might try to pull some shit…"

Ricky heaved a sigh as he turned back to face Mike and Ike, his two enforcers and closest friends. Both tigers had their pistols within reach at their waistbands, paws on the grips as they followed their two leaders deeper into the alleyway, Ike having the heavy duffle bag slung over one shoulder.

“Fuck it, then…" Ricky muttered, as he took in a deep breath and allowed his mind to go blank, just as he'd been trained to do.

“Either we come home with silver, or we're all gettin' a faceful of lead. Let's go to work, y'all."

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End Chapter 3

Well, there's the next installment! As you can see, things are about to get heated. As I've said before, this story is a bit on the darker side, but I hope that none of you mind that. I've always written noir and drama; there's just not enough of that out there! Anyway, I'm going to work on Chapter 4. Any faves, votes, and comments are greatly appreciated!

–C