Chapter 4 - THE UNLACING
Damon didn't reply with words.
He turned around walked back to the edge of the mat where his metal folding chair was positioned.
The entire gym went dead silent. The parents leaning against the bleachers strained forward, unsure if the local plumber was actually going to engage in a physical fight with a five-time state kickboxing champion.
Damon sat down heavily on the folding chair.
He reached down with calm, unhurried movements, grasping the thick leather laces of his right work boot. He unlaced the boot from the top eyelet all the way to the bottom, pulled his foot free, and set the boot down flat on the floor beside the chair leg—perfectly parallel to the blue mat line.
He repeated the process with his left boot.
Next, Damon stood up, unbuttoned his red-and-black flannel shirt, removed it, and folded it into a neat, precise rectangle. He placed the folded flannel directly on top of his boots, followed by his brass watch.
He stepped back onto the blue training mat wearing only his gray work shirt, jeans, and thick black cotton socks.
Blake stretched his arms, cracking his neck from side to side with an exaggerated display of athleticism.
"Ready, maintenance man?" Blake taunted, raising his hands into a high, tight Muay Thai guard, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. "Don't cry when I break your nose."
Damon stood five feet away. He didn't raise his hands. He didn't drop into a stance. He simply stood completely erect, his arms hanging totally limp at his sides, his breathing deep and unhurried.
"Whenever you are," Damon said softly.
High up in the top row of the wooden bleachers, sat an older man in his late sixties.
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He was a weathered Marine Corps veteran, wearing a faded olive-drab jacket and a dusty dark blue cap bearing the gold USMC eagle, globe, and anchor emblem. He had been quietly watching the class all afternoon while waiting for his grandson.
As Damon stepped onto the mat in his socks, the veteran’s eyes suddenly narrowed. He stopped chewing his gum, leaning forward over the wooden handrail, his eyes locked onto the way Damon’s weight was distributed over his feet.
