EVEREST
The humid air is thick with the scent of rain from the night before while I ride through the city.
As I roll up to Creole Café, I ease off the throttle, the smell of coffee and fried dough cutting through the air.
Mrs. Maggie has been running this place longer than I’ve been alive, and she treats every one of us Kings like we’re her blood.
She’s got a heart bigger than this whole damn city.
Parking out front, I swing my leg over and stroll inside, the little bell above the door jingling. The café is already busy with locals getting their morning fix. Mrs. Maggie clocks me the second I step in.
“Hey, baby.” She smiles while pouring coffee for a customer.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Maggie.”
She reaches for a to-go box. “Want the usual?”
I smile, leaning against the counter. “Double order this time. Got work to do at the youth center, and Charlie ain’t a man who turns down a good meal.”
Mrs. Maggie laughs. “You’re right about that.” She starts putting together my order, moving with the practiced ease of someone feeding this city for decades. “Y'all are doin’ good over there, Everest. The kids need strong men to show them the right path.”
I nod and appreciate her praise, though that’s not why I do it. “Just tryin’ to give them somethin’ solid, somewhere they belong.”
She slides the two stuffed containers across the counter. “And that is why I’ll always feed you for free, baby. Y'all are changing lives.”
Like always, I press a few bills into the tip jar, earning a side-eye from her before grabbing the food boxes. “I appreciate you, Mrs. Maggie.”
“Stay safe and give Charlie my best.” She waves me off, already turning to greet another customer.
I head back outside, securing the food before firing up my bike again. The ride to the youth center is short. I roll up to the old building we’ve been working on. When we got our hands on it, it was falling apart.
I park near the side entrance, kill the engine, grab the food, and head inside. I glance around, taking in the new mats, heavy bags, the ring, and weights. The space still smells of fresh paint and sawdust.
The Kings threw in a good chunk of money for the gym. The rest of our funding came from private donors who still give a damn about the city’s future. And it isn’t just the money that matters. The time, effort, and hands-on work make a difference.
I don’t do this for recognition. I do it because I know firsthand what it’s like to need an outlet, a place to put your anger, energy, and pain.
Too many kids don’t have someone looking out for them.
Some of them come from broken homes or the streets.
Some need a safe place where they’re not being judged or written off.
“Everest,” a deep, weathered voice calls from the other side of the gym.
I see Charlie Ray Bradford approaching me, wiping his hands on a rag.
He’s in his late sixties but still built like a brick wall despite his age, and his skin is dark and lined from years spent working under the Louisiana sun.
Charlie has been a counselor in the community for decades.
He’s the kind of man who doesn’t waste time on bullshit, just straight talk and hard lessons.
He’s got the respect of every kid who’s ever walked through his doors, and he damn sure has mine.
“Brought breakfast,” I say.
Charlie grins. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He rubs his belly.
I follow him to a couple of folding chairs near the boxing ring and set the food on a stack of gym mats.
We pop open the containers, and steam rises from inside, carrying the aroma of butter, spice, and deep-fried perfection.
Mrs. Maggie didn’t skimp, not that she ever does.
There’s a generous portion of shrimp and grits.
Next to it is a flaky buttermilk biscuit the size of my damn fist slathered in cane syrup and butter.
And a breakfast from Maggie wouldn’t be complete without a couple of fried pork chops sitting on top of a heaping pile of smothered potatoes and onions.
Charlie whistles as he grabs his biscuit. “Maggie outdone herself.” He takes a bite.
I grin, tearing into the pork chops. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Charlie chews for a moment. “This is the kind of meal that’ll make a man rethink his life.”
I chuckle, digging into some shrimp and grits.
Charlie gestures around the room. “This is all coming together. We should be able to open it to the community by next week.”
I nod. “I can’t wait. Too many kids out there needing an outlet to burn off what’s eatin’ them up inside.”
“You’re not wrong. Boxing saved my ass when I was young and kept me out of trouble most of the time. It gave me something to work toward. And that’s what these kids need—discipline and structure. We can provide them with a fight they can win without ending up behind bars or dead,” Charlie states.
And that’s what this is all about. Some of these kids, who will walk through these doors, are one bad choice away from being swallowed by the streets.
Gangs, drugs, violence, it’s all out there waiting for the next victim.
This gym and the boxing program are a chance to show them they don’t have to end up another damn statistic.
“Have you ever stepped inside a ring?” Charlie asks.
I chuckle, wiping my mouth with a napkin. “Not like you did. My fights weren’t exactly sanctioned.”
Charlie grins. “Humor an old man. Let’s see what you got.”
I shake my head, but I’m already moving, following him to the ring. “You sure about this, old man?” I tease.
“I ain’t dead yet.”
Donning gloves, we step into the ring, tap fists, and move.
We spar lightly, testing each other. Charlie throws a jab, and I block it, moving in close with a controlled hook that stops short of impact.
His grin widens. “You got control. That’s good.
” He steps back and rolls his shoulders.
“You ever thought about training these kids yourself? I could use the help.”
I exhale. “Not sure I’m right for the job.”
Charlie stops moving and gives me a serious look.
“You show up, put in the time, and set an example already. The kids respect you. Most of all, they believe in you because they can count on you. That’s half the job done right there.
” Charlie claps me on the back, his voice laced with conviction.
“You’re already changing lives, Everest.”
I reflect on the kids I’ve worked with over the years. Opening this gym is about breaking down barriers. We may not change everyone who walks through our doors, but if we can improve even one person’s life, every effort and time is worthwhile.
I look at Charlie. “Count me in.”
We let that end our impromptu sparring, roll up our sleeves, and finish the last bit of work in the gym.
Night settles on the city by the time we complete today’s tasks, and finally, we can officially open the doors in a few days.
And now, all I want to do is go home, sit on the couch with a beer and a cold slice of pizza from the refrigerator, and watch television.
“I’m headin’ out,” I tell Charlie, who has his keys in hand.
“I appreciate the help today.” He flicks the switch on the wall, and the overhead lights turn off.
I nod. “Anytime.”
“The club coming to the grand opening?” Charlie asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I walk toward the door, with Charlie following behind me. We step outside, and I wait while he locks the door.
“Stay safe,” he says, then heads to his old beat-up truck.
“You too, old man.” Then I wait for him to climb inside and drive away before heading to my bike.
I glance around the mostly quiet parking lot and notice Jace, a kid from the youth center who is barely eighteen, caught up in conversation with a couple of men between the building and a dumpster.
The bastard on the left looks familiar. Beneath the dim glow of the streetlights, I see the bruises his face is sporting from the beating I gave him a few nights ago.
But it’s the cast on his arm that solidifies his identity.
This motherfucker has a death wish.
My blood turns hot, and my boots hit the pavement hard as I close the distance. “Yo, Jace.”
The kid startles, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “Everest, I was just?—”
“Go home,” I cut him off, my tone sharp, but I keep my eyes on the drug pushers. “ Now .” I bark at the kid. Jace doesn’t argue. He mutters something under his breath, then takes off.
The second pusher, an ugly son of a bitch with a rat face, watches Jace jog away and clicks his tongue. “That’s a shame. The kid had potential.” He then glares at me.
I stare the motherfucker down, knowing he’s out here on the streets recruiting. “Yeah? So do graveyards.” My attention shifts to the wiry prick I dealt with earlier in the week.
He steps forward, his busted lip sneering at me. “You should have minded your business.”
I already see it coming, the shift in his buddy’s stance and the slight hitch in his breath before the motherfucker reaches for his waistband. When his fingers brush the handle of his piece, mine is already aimed between his eyes.
He freezes, and his greasy friend stiffens beside him. I disarm the bastard, sliding his gun behind the waistband of my jeans for safekeeping.
“My boss knows about you.” The prick from the other night at the bar smirks.
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “That right?”
He swallows hard but keeps his mouth running while I keep my gun trained on his rat-faced friend. “He doesn’t like you or your biker friends fucking with his operation.” He looks me up and down. “So back the fuck off before something bad happens.”