Luther walked into the local boxing club. He looked at the people fighting and came to a stop by what he presumed was the manager.
"Do you know where Diego is?" he asked.
"No. But when you do see him, tell him I'm this close to firing his ass."
"He works here?"
"Mops the floors in exchange for the boiler room." Luther nodded his gratitude and walked to the boiler room. "You should take up boxing. You've got the build for it," he shouted after him.
*
Diego approached the boiler room, stopping before he reached the door. The tripwire he had set in front of it was broken. Carefully, he opened the door and threw a knife, bending and twisting in the air.
"Ow," Luther said, putting his hand to his ear. The knife had nicked the top of it.
"I could smell it was you," Diego said, walking into the cold room.
"You could have killed me!"
"If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead." Diego walked down the stone steps and walked over to the sink. He picked up a raw egg, tapped the shell against the sink and opened it into his mouth.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Luther asked, shifting the conversation.
"Tell you what?"
"You were fighting the night Dad died."
"Didn't think I'd need to prove my innocence to you." He walked over and held out his hand. Luther placed the knife into it.
"You're right. I'm sorry."
Diego ignored his apology. "Now, you have a nice day, brother." He sounded as if he didn't mean it but Luther didn't want to push his luck. The two had always been rivals and neither of them wanted to change that. So, without another word, Luther left.