BLOODLINES, BLOOD MONEY & BLOODSHED (Episode 1: A Family Apart)

Chapter 8

The sun was shining brightly through the windows of Drayton's office as he sat behind his desk looking into the Prada shades on Keenan's battered and bruised face. Since he'd first signed him to Kincaid Promotions ten years ago, a smaller company under the Kincaid Enterprises umbrella, he'd never seen his face look the way it looked now. Both his eyes were swollen. His nose was nearly crooked. His lips were swollen. And there were two large knots on his forehead.

Keenan had always been not only a great offensive fighter, but an even better defensive fighter. His speed and agility always made it difficult for his opponents hit him. That's why at the end of his fights he always seemed to remain handsome while his opponents looked like they'd been run through a grinder.

Keenan had his ass handed to him during the fight two nights ago. For three rounds, his opponent beat him like a slave while ducking and dodging nearly every single punch Keenan threw. He then knocked Keenan out in the third round to become the new Welterweight Champion.

Now staring at Keenan, Drayton knew something was wrong. He saw it during the fight. He could clearly see that Keenan wasn't his normal self. Some would say that his poor performance in the ring a few nights ago was merely age finally catching up to him. Drayton knew better though. He knew there was something more. "How you feeling?" he now asked.

"I'm a'ight," Keenan said dryly while dressed in a Sean Jean sweat suit and white Air Forces, attire that usually seemed too primitive for him. He'd always been flamboyant and loud preferring Gucci, Prada and other expensive names. Also, he stayed draped in gaudy jewelry. Today, though, the only jewelry he had on was his diamond earrings. In all honesty, he now looked deflated.

"You want the rematch, right?"

"Of course," Keenen answered with no enthusiasm.

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Keenan said with an attitude.

Drayton stared at his most successful fighter. He wasn't looking too convincing or interested to him at the moment. Amazing what a good ass whooping could break a usually proud, cocky, obnoxious and arrogant man like Keenan down to, he thought.

"What?" Keenan asked.

Opening a cigar box, Drayton pulled out a Cohiba. Before cutting its tip, he offered Keenan one.

"You know I don't smoke," Keenan told him.

"After last night, I'm not quite sure about what I think I know about you," Drayton said. He then placed the cigar in his mouth, leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs as he took a pull.

"What does that mean?"

Drayton said nothing.

"I had an off night last night," Keenan said. "It happens. I'm not perfect." As he spoke, he still saw the tears in his wife's eyes and child's eyes when he pulled up in the dark alley under the pouring rain, hopped out and found them sitting beside each other in that garbage dumpster. The sight was still eating away at him.

Exhaling, the smoky veil from the cigar slithered and began to slowly evaporate in front of Drayton. Staring through it at Keenan, he said, "Look around you."

Keenan didn't.

"Go ahead. Look around you."

Sighing, Keenan did. Around him in an office nearly the size of his own mansion's guest house he saw expensive furniture, paintings, towering bookshelves, marble floors, chandeliers, a wet bar, a large Persian rug, and more; all high priced. He returned his attention to Drayton.

Staring directly at Keenan, Drayton said, "What you see is success: walls lined with International Businessman Of The Year Awards, Forbe's List, and more. Never declared for bankruptcy. You know my pedigree and my background. That's why you chose to sign with Kincaid Promotions in the first place. Am I correct?"