Prepared.
Wallace had heard professional fighters use that word before.
He had seen them on television.
Men who walked into arenas surrounded by thousands of screaming fans and somehow looked calmer than the audience.
He pointed his cigarette toward Alcides.
"Whatever you were before you came here, forget it."
"Why?"
"Because Blackridge doesn't care."
Alcides nodded.
"I know."
Wallace stood.
"Good."
He started walking away.
Then he stopped.
"One more thing."
Alcides looked at him.
"If Deacon asks you for money, don't give him any."
"Why?"
"Because he'll ask again."
Alcides smiled faintly.
"And if I don't?"
Wallace looked back.
"Then he'll test you."
Alcides closed his eyes again.
"Let him."
Wallace walked away.
He didn't know it yet.
But Blackridge State Penitentiary had just received a man who had once been one of the most dangerous defensive fighters in the world.
And Deacon Brooks had just chosen him as a target.
The First Punch
Deacon waited three days.
Wallace considered that a bad sign.
Usually Deacon attacked immediately.
Patience wasn't one of his strengths.
But this time he was embarrassed.
And embarrassed men could become unpredictable.
The confrontation happened in the cafeteria.
Alcides was carrying a plastic tray.
He had barely sat down when Deacon approached.
"That's my table."
Alcides looked around.
The table was empty.
"No one is sitting here."
Deacon smiled.
"I am."
Alcides picked up his tray.
He moved toward another table.
Deacon stepped into his path.
"You didn't ask permission."
"I didn't know I needed it."
Several inmates stopped eating.
Wallace looked up.
Deacon reached for the tray.
He knocked it out of Alcides's hands.
Food crashed onto the concrete.
"Pick it up."
Alcides looked down.
Then at Deacon.
"No."
The cafeteria became silent.
Deacon blinked.
"What did you say?"
"No."
Deacon punched him.
Wallace expected the hit to land.
It didn't.
Alcides moved his head slightly.
The fist passed beside his cheek.
Deacon swung again.
Alcides stepped backward.
Miss.
Again.
Miss.
Deacon's breathing became heavier.
"You think you're funny?"
Alcides said nothing.
Deacon charged.
This time Alcides stepped forward.
That was the mistake Deacon didn't understand.
When a bigger man attacks, most people move away.
Alcides moved toward him.
He caught Deacon's wrist.
Turned his shoulder.
Shifted his hips.
For a fraction of a second, Deacon's balance disappeared.
Then the giant crashed onto the cafeteria floor.
The sound echoed through the room.
Nobody moved.
Alcides released him immediately.
He didn't kick him.
Didn't punch him.
Didn't insult him.
He simply looked at the guards.
"Can I get another tray?"
A few inmates laughed.
Deacon's face became purple.
Two officers grabbed him.
"Back up!"
Alcides stepped away.
Deacon struggled against the guards.
"You got lucky!"
Alcides looked at him.
"No."
That single word was devastating.
The guards separated them.
By dinner, everyone in Blackridge knew.
By bedtime, the story had become a legend.
The new man had dropped Deacon Brooks.
Wallace found Alcides in the library the next day.
"You should have kept your head down."
Alcides was reading an old paperback.
"I tried."
Wallace laughed.
"That wasn't keeping your head down."
Alcides looked up.
"I didn't start it."
"No. But you finished it."
Alcides closed the book.
"That's different."
Wallace sat opposite him.
"Who taught you?"
Alcides didn't answer.
"Boxing?"
Silence.
"Military?"
Nothing.
"Street?"
Alcides finally looked at him.
"Some of all three."
Wallace leaned back.
"I knew it."
"Knew what?"
"You're not normal."
Alcides smiled.
"Neither are you."