Courting The Champion

23 - Ashtrays And Heartbreaks

A feeling of deja vu run through me as I walk into the arena sized building of the We Rock Training Gym. I suppose they hadn't invested in a large building like my previous agency, and to me, shit is a good sign. That mean these boys working with real money and not running some mad schemes to make their business all better.

It's more of an abandoned warehouse in the outskirts of towns, however as soon as you walk in you're greeted by a sight that actually make a hell lot more sense than that bull crap I was seeing at Linear Impact Co.

There's nothing fancy or sophisticated. There's training equipment, rings, cages and all sorts of athletes. The room is dimly lit and the atmosphere is relaxed. There's a door that seems to lead to a small office, and two bigger doors further away from each other, leading to the changing rooms and showers. The other larger door has a sign that indicates that it's for the bros and the one is marked for the ladies.

For all the years that I done heard 'bout it, We Rock didn't specialize solely in boxing. They had mixed martial arts, wrestling, kickboxing and even taekwando. They also signed  athletes who take part in the Olympics.

I get a sense of belonging and I gat a feeling it has sum' to do with the humble appearance of the building. No one seem to notice me walk in simply cause they busy throwing punches and getting the self in shape. I walk straight to the office and knock.

A low raspy voice calls me in.

“Come in.”

Just from those two words, I can immediately tell that this guy probably smoked, or had too much barbecue in his lifetime to get his voice that damn  sketchy.

I twist the doorknob and walk into the small, unorganized office. There's files and loose papers scattered all over the place, and behind the desk is a balding old white man, with a big ol' cigar in his skinny and wrinkled hand. His blue eyes widen the moment they land on me.

“Mr. Johnson. Please,” He says, gesturing for me to take a seat. I give him a curt nod and a large knowing grin because I'm already gittin' the feeling that this ol' man gon' turn out to be one heck of a character.

“Thank you for inviting me here Mr...” I draw out and he puffs out a large cloud of smoke from his lungs.

“Jones. Call me Mr. Jones,” he informs me, shaking the loose ashes off his cigar into an ashtray just as he gets up from his seat. He walks to the corner of the room rather slowly and his legs seem to wobble a bit. His back is arched slightly. He seem to need a wheelchair. He grabs the glasses hanging 'round his neck, then places 'em on the bridge of his nose. He reads the cover of a file that he pulls out and walks back to his seat, file in hand. How he can he find anything in this haphazard office is a nothing but a big ol' mystery to me.

“I apologize for the mess in here, this office has definitely seen some better days,” he says raspily and I laugh lightly at his statement because the office definitely ain't the only thing  that has seen some better days.

“We would like to sign you. This place isn't much but it has definitely made some dreams come to life,” he informs me.

“It's very impressive sir, there's a humble atmosphere in here definitely,” I say and he smiles wide at my compliment. “Thank you son,” he says.

He hands me the file and when I open it, there's indeed a contract inside. I go through the typical legal bull crap that I'll have to deal with either way and move straight to the duration period.

12 months.

I'm satisfied with the duration period even though shorty preferred if I only did six months.