After the Lights Go Out

A blistering and gritty sports drama about a biracial MMA fighter battling with dementia

John Vercher

• Publisher: Pushkin Vertigo
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN:
  9781782277545
• eBook ISBN:
  9781782277552
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Crime & Mystery Literature
• Index: Literature

New in paperback: the propulsive and gritty sports drama about a biracial MMA fighter that 'thrums with authenticity' (The Times) - for fans of Creed, Million Dollar Baby and SA Cosby

It's not a comeback. It's a fight for his life.

Xavier "Scarecrow" Wallace is a biracial Black MMA fighter on the wrong side of thirty, who's been given a last-ditch chance to break into the big leagues. He is also losing his battle with pugilistic dementia - a struggle he is desperate to hide.

In the nursing home of his father, a white man suffering from Alzheimer's, Xavier witnesses shocking episodes that expose ugly truths about his past and his family.

And as the big fight draws near, a sparring session with a younger competitor goes horribly wrong, leaving Xavier faced with a dangerous dilemma: throw his match or suffer the deadly consequences.

143

THINGS FALL APART

Buzzing sounded overhead. Light shone orange behind Xavier’s eyelids. The fluorescent lights over the cage flickered. Pain stabbed at the base of his neck as he lifted his head. His gear bag made for an ineffective pillow. He cupped the back of his head with his hand and sat up in the center of the cage. Legs splayed out in front of him, he stretched. Bubble wrap pops ran up his spine. He wriggled his fingers just short of his toes. His teeth were covered in a pasty, dehydrated film. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Clay approached the rear corner of the gym, switching on the lights as he opened up.

“Morning, Clay.”

Clay flinched. He peered through the chain link and saw it was Xavier. Xavier watched a mix of disappointment and trepidation come over his face. He couldn’t blame the kid. He’d smashed Lawrence right in front of him, then left him to clean up the aftermath. Then he’d snapped at him for no good reason. Things between them had changed.

“What time’s Shot getting in?”

Clay shrugged. “Whenever he gets here, I guess. Y’all training today?”

“You heard about the fight?”

“Uh huh.”

“Cool. You going to give me some rounds today or 144what? Don’t put it on me too bad if you do. I’m old and brittle.”

“Nah, I got some stuff I got to do today.”

“What you got to do you can’t help out your boy?”

“I don’t know. Stuff Shot wants me to do.”

Xavier grabbed the top of the cage and leaned his face toward the fence. “Clay, I’m sorry I snapped at you the other day. For real, I didn’t mean that. I was just all messed up after what happened, you know?” Clay put his hands in his pockets and traced patterns on the tile floor with his feet. “I know what I did to Lawrence probably scared you—”

Clay’s head jerked up. “What you mean, scared?”

“Maybe that was the wrong word—”

“Ain’t nobody scared. I’m not scared of you.”

“Okay, you’re right, I’m just saying—”

“Look, man, I got to go finish opening up before Shot gets here.”

Before Xavier could utter another word, Clay walked off. Xavier chewed at the inside of his cheek again.

Whatever. That’s another one you ain’t got to worry about. Fuck him, too. Boo hoo.

“Damn,” Xavier whispered. He turned to retrieve his gear bag when he heard Shot’s voice boom across the gym.

“Is that motherfucker here?”

Xavier saw Clay near the front of the gym gesture with his head toward the cage. Shot walked toward Xavier with intention, absent the usual swagger in his strut. “Wrap your hands and meet me in the ring. Time to go to work.”

Minutes later, Shot stood in the center of the boxing ring. Body pad slung over his shoulders. Hands sheathed in focus mitts. Xavier emerged from the locker room and Shot clapped the mitts, sending a crack echoing throughout the gym, turning heads. The sound sliced through Xavier to a part of him he’d 145almost forgotten existed in the past year. The skin on his arms turned to gooseflesh. Heat radiated up the front of his neck and into his cheeks. On his walk to the ring steps, he tapped his gloves together, a meditative tic he’d adopted in his earliest days of fighting. Ignoring the whistling, he imagined his walkout music in his ears and the way the white noise roar of the crowd nearly drowned it out. He’d never done drugs, but the first time he heard thousands of people shouting and stomping their feet, he knew he’d been hooked on a narcotic he’d never kick. He felt a fraction of that rush as he ascended the steps to meet Shot in the middle. Fire lit in his chest. He had but to breathe it out. Shot must have seen something of the old look in his cousin’s eye, for as Xavier bounced from foot to foot and shadowboxed, Shot smirked.

“Shoeshine,” Shot said. “Get them long arms warmed up. With your old ass.”

Xavier dipped his chin and threw loose ones and twos at the mitts. Shot fed them into his punches. After ninety seconds, Shot dropped the mitts. Xavier shook out his arms. They burned with lactic acid. He had missed the comfort of the discomfort. Shot stepped forward and called out a three-punch combo. Xavier’s arms snapped from hips to pads. On the last punch, Shot caught him in the ear hard with the flat of the focus mitt. The blow made Xavier take a step to his right.

“What, your punches so pretty, you going to watch them now, too? Move your head, nigga.”

Xavier tapped his forehead with his glove and put his hands back up. Lost in the moment, he’d forgotten the basics, despite coaching Clay and the other kids against those exact mistakes. He stepped back in the pocket and unleashed the same combination. Each punch cracked. He ducked and weaved under the swinging hooks Shot threw after the last hit landed. Shot missed them all. Xavier backed out and reset. Xavier saw Shot wiggle his fingers inside the focus mitts. Those punches 146had hurt. Xavier tightened his lips to keep from smiling. Shot raised the pads for another go. Xavier moved in.

Fifteen minutes later, Xavier’s arms glistened with sweat. His shoulder muscles adapted to the burn. He felt more energized with each round of strikes. Shot failed to find Xavier’s head with counters since that first lapse in focus. More than once, Xavier slipped, pivoted, and faked a follow-up punch fast and real enough to make Shot flinch.

“Keep grinning. I’m about to put my gloves on.”

“Come on with it, then. If you want to get pieced up, I got something for you.”

“Yeah, okay. Ain’t no takedowns in my game, son. You going to stand with me until you can’t.”

“Okay, you got that. You the man.”

“Fucking right.”

“Shot!” Clay called out from the door of his office.

“What?”

“Phone!”

“You don’t see I’m busy?”

Clay jogged across the gym and stood at the edge of the ring. “You said to get you if your mama called. That’s what it says on the caller ID. She been blowing your phone up the last couple of minutes.”

Xavier cocked his head. “Your mama?”

Shot ignored Xavier and leaned over the top rope to take his phone from Clay. He cursed under his breath and motioned for Clay to come into the ring.

“Hold pads for him. I’ll be back.”

Xavier saw Clay’s hesitation. Clay climbed the steps and held the ropes open for Shot, who walked off toward his office. Clay stepped in, but Xavier waved him off.

“It’s cool. Don’t worry about it. I’ll go hit the bag.”

“Shot’ll have my ass, I don’t do what he said.” 147

“I’ll tell him I didn’t want no chump holding pads for me.” Clay made a face. Xavier gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. Clay relaxed. Xavier sat on the ring ropes and Clay stepped back out through the gap. Xavier followed. Almost as soon as he’d disappeared behind it, Shot threw open his office door. It banged off the wall and rattled the blinds.

“That was fast,” Xavier said.

Shot looked at Clay and Xavier. “The fuck you two doing out here? Didn’t I say run drills?”

Clay blanched and opened his mouth. Xavier stepped up.

“Come on, now. You know he can’t hold pads for me. Shit, you can barely hold them for me.” Xavier winked but Shot’s mood had darkened. The sense of play was gone, replaced by something Xavier couldn’t discern. “You all right?”

“Back in the ring.”

“Okay, cool. Whatever you say.”

Xavier trailed behind Shot and looked back over his shoulder at Clay. Xavier shrugged, as did Clay. Back in the ring, Shot set the round timer and called out combinations again, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. He stayed rooted in one spot, calling the same two combinations over and over. He missed a pad feed on a cross and Xavier swore when his elbow hyperextended. Shot took no notice. He called out another combination. Xavier stopped.

“What’s going on, man?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re distracted all of a sudden. And we both know that wasn’t auntie calling you, unless she figured out a way to do it from the afterlife.”

“You always got jokes, huh? Something’s always funny to you. Shut up and hit the pads.”

“I would if you’d pay attention and feed them right. You going to have me dislocate something with that weak shit.” 148

“What’d you say?”

“Come on, Shot. What’s the deal? It’s all over your face. Something’s up. Who was on the phone?”

His hands still tucked inside the focus mitts, Shot put his wrists on his hips. He looked down at his feet, then back up. But not at Xavier.

“They announced the fight. The odds are already out. You’re a heavy favorite over this kid.”

“Yeah? That’s what’s up. Finally getting some respect. Is that why you’re all in your feelings? What, you don’t think they got it right? Where’s the love? I’m feeling like my old self in here.” Xavier shadowboxed for effect, moving his feet back and forth in an Ali-like shuffle. Shot was not entertained. The muted anger he had leaving his office gave way to a look of regret. Xavier saw the change and stopped dancing. His punches slowed until his arms dropped to his sides.

“No.”

“A two to one favorite.”

“Hell no, Shot. Are you kidding me right now? No. After everything I’ve been through? You know what this fight means to me. I can’t believe you would ask me to do that.”

Shot pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek. “I’m not asking, cuz.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me? I got no say in whether or not I throw a fight for you?”

Shot closed the distance between them and spoke with quiet menace. “Keep your fucking voice down.”

Xavier stepped to Shot. Inches separated their faces. “I don’t care who you are or who you know. Don’t get up in my face telling me to keep my voice down when you the one out here doing dirt. Who the fuck do you think—”

Shot popped his shoulders and Xavier’s hands went up to protect his face from the feint. Shot leaned to the side and 149threw a sharp shot to Xavier’s liver with the hard edge of the focus mitt. Air left Xavier’s lungs in a rush. The pain in his flank removed the bones in his legs and he dropped to all fours on the canvas, begging for air like food. Shot crouched down in front of him. He looked over Xavier at the onlookers and whispered.

“If you even thinking about getting up and swinging, tell me now and I’ll get my gloves so we can handle our business. Or, you can get your shit together, stand up, and you can talk to me about this in my office like a man. What do you say?” Xavier gasped and clutched his side. “Oh, you can’t talk? Well then just nod or shake your biscuit head before you cause a bigger scene than you already did.” Xavier nodded. “All right then.” Shot tossed the focus mitts off his hands and lifted Xavier from the mat by one of his arms. “That’s why you can’t bring them hands up too high to protect your head,” he said loud enough for others to hear. “One of these days he’s going to learn. Not today, I guess.”

Some of the spectators laughed nervously and went back to minding their business. Shot took off the body pad and flung it to the side, then stepped through the ropes, not bothering to hold them for his cousin. Xavier followed behind. He kept his arm splinted against his ribs as if to keep his insides inside. Shot held the door to the office open for him, then slammed it shut behind him. Xavier flinched at the crack and sat down.

“Why?”

“You were being a bitch.”

“No, why are you doing this to me? You’re supposed to be family. How could you put me in this situation?”

Shot sat. He leaned forward, arms on the desk, hands folded. “You got your nerve asking me how I can do this to you. For the last year and change I been clawing my way up out the pile of shit you dropped on me, and just when 150I made it to the surface, when I could stop breathing and eating it, you go ahead and take another dump on me. Well, no more.”

“Unbelievable, man. Everything Mom and Pops used to warn me about when it came to you. Here it is. I just couldn’t see it.”

Shot leaned back. “Oh, please, do tell me what it is they used to say about me that you now see so clearly.”

Xavier waved him off. “Whatever, man. Forget it.”

“Oh, no, you put them cards on the table. You best ante up.”

High-pitched pings rang in Xavier’s ears. While one voice told him to shut his mouth, a louder one abandoned reason.

“They said you were nothing but a leech. That because you and your mama didn’t have any money, she would drop ...

Table of contents

• TITLE PAGE
• DEDICATION
• EPIGRAPH
• CONTENTS
• MY MIND PLAYING TRICKS ON ME
• GRAND CHAMP
• ME, MYSELF, AND I
• PUNKS JUMP UP TO GET BEAT DOWN
• SO WAT CHA SAYIN’
• DAMIEN
• PAPA’Z SONG
• IT’S A FIGHT
• SOUND OF DA POLICE
• BREATHE EASY
• HERE WE GO AGAIN
• THINGS FALL APART
• DEAR MAMA
• I AIN’T MAD AT CHA
• SLIPPIN’
• DON’T SWEAT THE TECHNIQUE
• I AGAINST I
• ONE MORE ROAD TO CROSS
• KICK IN THE DOOR
• ANTE UP
• EVERYDAY STRUGGLE
• ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
• AVAILABLE AND COMING SOON FROM PUSHKIN VERTIGO
• ABOUT THE AUTHOR
• COPYRIGHT