"Man, don't you ever think about the future? I mean, you don't wanna work here forever, right?" Pete asked, flopping backward in his chair with hands laced behind his head, staring dramatically at the cracked ceiling above.
It was lunch break, and the two of them were lounging in the back of Sunny Mart, surrounded by dusty boxes, old crates, and shelves stacked with random, unlabeled items that had probably been there since the store opened. The fluorescent lights flickered occasionally, buzzing like they had a personal vendetta against everyone present.
"I don't know," Sam said with a shrug, letting his gaze drift to a dented metal shelf. "I like working for Mr. Martins. He's… a good guy, I think." His voice wavered a little at the end, betraying the uncertainty he tried so hard to hide.
"You can never really trust people," he added quickly, tapping his finger against the edge of the table. "But he seems decent enough."
Pete rolled his eyes so hard Sam could almost hear them. "Yeah, well, sing his praises all you want—I've got bigger plans," he declared, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
The two had been close ever since Sam had first applied for the job. Pete was the first face he saw in the sterile, fluorescent-lit store, the first person to make him feel welcome. Their shared misfortune and Sam's otherwise lonely apartment life had bonded them quickly. Now, they spent their free time hanging out, trading complaints about customers, and mashing buttons in video games until one of them lost their voice—or their dignity.
"That's right," Pete said suddenly, snapping Sam out of a daydream about counting cash he didn't have. His eyes gleamed like a kid who had just discovered a secret candy stash. "I heard about this underground fight club. Supposed to be really good."
Sam gave him a skeptical side-eye.
Pete, oblivious to the skepticism, leaned forward, lowering his voice like a spy sharing state secrets. "We could even place bets! Make some extra cash!"
"Uh-huh," Sam replied flatly, crossing his arms. "The last time you said something like that, we ended up beaten half to death and tossed into the street." His glare could have frozen water on the spot.
He hadn't forgotten. Pete's "easy money" scheme had once led them to what he had been told was a gambling hall. It turned out to be a brothel. When a man flirted with Pete—because of course, he had to—Pete panicked and threw a punch. They didn't make it three seconds before being pummeled and kicked out, faces red, bruised, and egos shredded. Sam had vowed right then: never. again.
"C'mon, man, I'm serious this time," Pete said, voice unusually earnest for him, as if honesty itself had landed in his lap. "I overheard that big guy across the street talking about it."
"If that's true, how come I've never heard about it?" Sam asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow, one corner of his mouth twitching in disbelief.
"Because it's not here. It's in the next city—Hope New City," Pete whispered, as though someone had bugged the store's shelves and was listening in. "These things stay low-key. People don't exactly talk about it over breakfast cereal."
Sam rolled his eyes. Fight clubs existed, he knew, but most of them were run by gangs. And gangs, combined with Pete's "luck"? That was a recipe for disaster served with a side of broken ribs.
"Whatever you say, Pete. I'm still not going. Not getting dragged into your mess again."
"Why are you always so stubborn?" Pete groaned, slumping further into his chair. "And what do you mean my mess?"
"You know exactly what I mean," Sam said, giving him a pointed look that might have been deadly if his friend wasn't made of stubborn, overconfident nonsense.
"I don't," Pete said, feigning innocence so badly that Sam had to suppress a laugh.
"Fine. Do what you want. Just don't come crawling to me when you're broke and bloody," Sam said, shaking his head.
"Don't worry about me," Pete said, puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster. "I'll be rolling in cash while you're stuck here counting cans of beans."
"Sure you will. By the way, where are you even getting money to bet with? Last I checked, you were dirt poor," Sam smirked.
"Easy. I saved up from my paycheck. Boom. Problem solved." Pete's chin tilted like a king surveying his kingdom.
"And your mom? What happens when she realizes you've skipped town for half a day? You think she won't notice?" Sam asked, still smirking, hoping to puncture Pete's balloon of confidence.
"Relax. I've got it all figured out," Pete said, standing up dramatically as if declaring war on common sense itself. Break time was over, and he strode toward the front of the store like a hero returning to the battlefield.
Sam sighed, trailing behind him.
I'll just let him do whatever he wants and pray he doesn't get himself killed. More likely, though? He'll get beaten blue and black and tossed out on his rear. Again.
He knew Pete had a talent for trouble—a specialty, really. Sam had come to accept it as a law of nature: wherever Pete went, chaos would follow, usually in spectacular fashion.
The pair returned to their stations behind the counter. Sam rang up a customer while Pete chatted idly, still grinning like he had a secret no one else could touch. Sam kept one eye on him. If Pete was going to this fight club, Sam would need to stay alert, if only to make sure his friend didn't end up on the wrong side of a fist—or several.
"And you're sure this isn't going to be like last time?" Sam asked under his breath when the store quieted for a moment.
"Last time? Pfft. This is different. Totally different. Trust me," Pete said, tossing a pen onto the counter like it was a grenade and grinning.
Sam shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself. Different or not, chaos has a way of following Pete around like a shadow.
The rest of the lunch break passed in a mix of light banter, occasional customer interruptions, and the hum of fluorescent lights. When the bell rang signaling the end of the break, the two returned to work, side by side. Sam couldn't help thinking that, somehow, he'd end up going to that fight club whether he wanted to or not.
And knowing Pete, it would be anything but boring.
******