When I Was 18 I Almost Beat A Boy To Death, And I Think I’m About To Pay For What I Did

The service I offered was simple. You wanted a guy beaten up, I was your guy. I caught the guy at just the right time, picked a fight with him, and won. Always won.

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Anthony Verano was a typical case. He got drunk and picked a fight with a 140 pound Best Buy cashier at a bar and wrestled him to the ground in front of his online date over a spilled Red Bull-vodka.

Now Anthony had it coming.

I was concerned by Anthony’s guido hero name before I even saw him. The fact that I was told I could find him at a bodybuilding event made things even worse. I wasn’t entirely scared off though. Most of time these bodybuilders were show ponies. Impressive in the stable, but slow and soft on the track.

I followed Anthony to a 90’s Accord (that he was probably borrowing from his mom based on the amount of stuffed animals suck to the dashboard) and stalked his car until it pulled into a watering hole called The Vapor Lounge. Oh God. I was going to have to go into some kind of vaping circle jerk or hookah lounge. Kill me.

I painfully paid the $10 cover and tried to avoid eye contact with the bouncer in case we knew each other. The good news was I could tell by the almost complete lack of sound I heard coming from inside the place that it was likely dead. Which was good. It would be much easier to start a fight with Anthony if he was by himself.

The spark started easily. I stared down Anthony from across the room while he vaped something that I imagined smelled like cotton candy. The pink kind. The blue was too hardcore for this puss.

It only took 45 seconds of gazing for Anthony to respond with a defiant “sup.” Too easy. Foolish Anthony.

“Wanna step outside?” I set it all up with just those three little magical words.

Within just a few minutes, Anthony and I were face-to-face in the parking lot trading mean mugs.

“I know you from somewhere?” Anthony got things started when we were still a couple yards away from each other.