The vibrating intro of Rattler and I had the roof coming off the Mandalay Bay. I could tell in the blood thirsty way Rattler stared at me unblinkingly, he didn’t need much in the way of encouragement. Our referee waved us in for the usual bullshit rule recitation, and hand touching of good sportsmanship. Oh please. The only thing Rattler and I wanted was a clear path to death and destruction. As the two of us stood staring into each other’s eyes, we didn’t hear the crowd or the rules, or the cautions. We touched each other’s mitts when asked to and backed to our handlers. Tommy simply grasped my shoulder on his way out of the cage.
The referee did the usual ready, set, and go. Rattler rushed at me, only to pull back, smile, and launch a right leg round house. I’m sure he thought his fight starting ploy might land a devastating knockout, thanks to an anticipated hesitation on my part. Unfortunately for Rattler, an eternity in the ocean, harnessing rage into quickness, allowed me to give him a glimpse into hell. Only his incredible reactions saved him from the knife-hand strike I countered with. He couldn’t jerk downwards quick enough to negate all of it. My strike cracked into his shinbone hard enough with his avoidance movement to send him pitching face first into the cage.
He rebounded, spinning to the mat away from me. I grinned as the crowd went ape shit. I was here for the long haul. Rattler and I had a date, and I ain’t no tease. Gene leaped into a defensive mode, only slightly favoring his struck leg. He turned to his favorite left hand jab from hell. Nice, but Lynn’s horrific pole pokes had molded me into a mass of reactionary strikes. My right deflected the left jab I couldn’t even see before, smacking into his cheek each time. So stunned was he by not landing the left jab, my left hook counter flattened his nose in blood gushing finality.
I could have done a lot of things when my surprises worked incredibly well. Unfortunately, the monster chained up down deep inside the darkness of my soul ripped the bindings, tasting blood, and howling for more. Gene was a good guy, and a terrific fighter. He and I were about to prove that. Wary now, and snorting blood, Rattler shot jabs at me in lightning like pile driver fashion, his right hand hooking for head and midsection in combinations I had no defense for last fight. After beating aside his rapier like barrage, I struck with a right heel to his previously struck right shin. He went down with me following. I smashed right hands into his unprotected rib cage until Rattler threw himself over to protect. I hammer fisted his head until the referee dived in at the very audible round ending.
I backed away to my corner with my world inundated with audio white noise. The crowd owned the arena with sound. It was good. Tommy rushed out, grabbing my ears as he forced me onto my stool, his face inches from mine. “You had him, you stupid son-of-a-bitch! This ain’t some Oakland warehouse odds maker tussle, idiot! Have you gone mental on me? Speak, damn it! Say something, or I’m going to start pounding on you!”
“Foreplay, T… foreplay. I don’t just kiss and run.”
Dev, Jess, and Jafar cracked up, the kid giving me a few squirts of water, while Jess and Dev wiped me down with cool damp towels. Tommy wasn’t laughing. I had him scared. He knew how dangerous Rattler was, and saw me making the same blunder Rattler made in the first fight. I reached up with my gloved hand to the side of his face.
“It’s okay, T. You brought me here. I have some issues to work out.”
“If you get clocked fooling around in there, I’ll… oh fuck it… you’re killin’ me!”
I stood up, accepting the washed off mouthpiece from Jafar. Yep. All this time hearing about the great and all powerful Rattler, while wearing nicknames like Hamburger Face, and a promotion to Cheeseburger with tomato and relish, may have pushed me a little over the edge. Wearing a banana suit for nearly two months of being the butt-end of every joke imaginable had actually done wonders for my humility. I also hadn’t forgotten about the new St. Valentine’s Day massacre hype with me as the massacred. I wasn’t overconfident. I was a monster… with hurt feelings. Something must be done to soothe the monster’s sensibilities.
The referee motioned us to get it on. Gene decided caution would get him nowhere. My guess is he heard the train coming around the bend. I greeted him with my own formidable left jab, which I bounced off his poor old nose. He landed excellent shots himself, but the monster felt nothing. When Rattler covered up the nose a little too much, I leg whipped him to the mat. Going into full mount, I rained elbows across his head in both directions. When he covered, I threw hooks under his ribcage until the round ended. I stood up slowly away from him, the blood pounding in my head, and the crowd’s roar an alternate reality of sound. Rattler pounded a frustrated fist into the mat, and scrambled to his feet.
“Hell of a round, brother,” Dev said, as they went to work on me. “The Rattler can take it. That’s for sure.”
Jess looked me in the eyes. “Hey, you done workin’ out your issues yet?”
“Don’t bother,” Tommy said. “Nobody’s home. The parakeet’s dead and the cat ate it.”
Jafar popped in my mouthpiece, chuckling over Tommy’s disgusted ruling on my attitude. I stood up once again. I looked across the way into Gene’s eyes. He looked ready to get himself some. No need to keep him waiting. We met in the center after the ref waved us to get it on. That’s what we did. Two minutes into the round, my right uppercut blasted Gene up and onto his back. I followed him to the mat. He went into full guard, and for a couple minutes more I blasted hooks into his arms while he covered up. People don’t think those blows mean anything. They’re just blocked punches after all. When I throw full power shots into a man’s elbow joints and upper arms, he feels the burn, baby. Gene got fed up, and timed a good one on my chin. It was enough to escape off the mat.
Gene’s blows lost some power thanks to his arms being pummeled into jelly. I smashed his left leg with a real beauty behind his knee, and down he went. I followed, but the round ended before I could work out a couple more issues. My crew met me with professional but silent expertise. Before the break ended, Dev broke my concentrated stare across the way.
“You got his arms good that time, John. They’ll be lower this round. He can’t help it.”
I nodded, accepting the cleaned mouthpiece once again.
“Want to let us in on what it is you have planned this round, Mellow?”
“Just gettin’ some respect, T. Gene told me he was really going to hurt me bad the other night, but he wouldn’t like it. Well… I’m going to hurt him bad, but I’m going to like it.”
We collided again at the start, all systems go. Dev was right though. Gene’s arms were not covering as well. He hit me with a combination that would have probably knocked me on my ass at full power. I took the blows for a reason. It opened his right side up for longer than it should have after landing. I countered like I’d been poked with the pole playing the Great Banana. I shot in a knife-hand strike with an upper angle lift that cracked a Rattler rib accompanied by a sickening snap – sickening to him anyway. He dove onto his left side, clutching his arms in tight to his body as he rocked in silent agony. I did not follow. Game over.
The referee signaled the fight’s end, motioning excitedly for help from ringside. A shard of bone was sticking out of the skin. The crowd pandemonium turned quickly into a more subdued noise factor as the replays on the big screens showed what had happened. My guys and I didn’t celebrate. We waited. When they loaded The Rattler on a stretcher, so he was padded immobile to prevent movements causing further damage, I went over to Gene and gripped his arm as they finished strapping him in. Rattler nodded at me. They took him out very carefully with the applause of the crowd. I returned to my crew.
“What did you say to him, John,” Tommy asked.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.” I kept a straight face, but I had four men who went into spasms trying not to look like unfeeling ghouls on a worldwide TV broadcast. It was very entertaining. They turned to cursing me in order to cope with their condition.
It was only then I remembered my in-laws were
here. Lora waited in our suite for the end of the fight with Al in custody. I had let Lora and Al take the in-laws all over Las Vegas with an open expense account while I continued training. There had been no complaints, and we did have dinner together, but with me unable to imbibe my favorite liquid refreshment. I would be catching up with the famous Bud and Beam brothers.
The announcer recited the results of the fight, a TKO in the fourth round. Although The Rattler missed this ceremony, I doubted he minded much. This time as the last man standing, my arm was raised in victory. You’ve heard that old Shakespearean canard about ‘every dog has its day’, well… woof, woof. We had been the undercard, so the reporters there had to make it fast. I recognized the idiot Jess had run over on our way out of the cage last time. They moved on me the moment the ceremony ended.
“You were in control from beginning to end, Hard Case. What changed?” This from one of the regular UFC beat writers.
“Training in hell. Even after the outcome, I’m not sure it was worth it.”
I received some muffled laughs for that one, including from my crew.
“Care to explain what hell was exactly?”
“Sure. They dressed me in a yellow banana costume, dive suit, threw me in the Bay, and made me swim alongside a boat for an eternity, while poking me with poles.” Blank stares from the questioner. “Hey… you asked.”
“Were you bothered by the hype claiming a new St. Valentine’s Day massacre?”
“Frankly, I hate Valentine’s Day, so if anything it was a boost. I understand the need to build the fights up. The Rattler’s a great fighter. We don’t have much to do with the media hype.”
“That was a vicious ending to the fight, Harding,” my old buddy Jess stomped over last time chimed in. “I’ve heard the knife-hand strike is illegal.”
“It’s illegal at the head, neck, or groin. Maybe you need to switch to tennis since you obviously don’t know a damn thing about the UFC.”
The officials came over to hustle us out of the way for another bout. I put an arm around Jess as he maneuvered to run over big mouth while everyone was laughing at the guy anyway. “C’mon, Jess. We don’t need any complications. In-laws or not, we’re celebrating. I see our escort has arrived.”
We all cracked up. Denny, Clint, Casey, Lucas, and of course Lynn were dressed in all black with Ray-Ban sunglasses. Lynn mentioned it before, but I didn’t think they’d actually do it. Here they were, my MIB’s ready to take me to the locker room. My cage crew and I filtered in amongst them, where the dipshit media guy couldn’t just be happy with avoiding a Jesse attitude adjustment. He followed, shouting.
“Hey, what about a rematch, Harding?! Maybe you could kill him in the third fight!” He pushed right up against our MIB phalanx.
Lynn stomped his instep, and smart guy went down with a scream of pain. Our five months pregnant MIB had a substantial bump now, and she was a little short tempered. She tilted her Ray-Bans down for a moment. “Oh… sorry… didn’t see you there.”
I had a great time going through the crowd. We stopped for everyone. Autographs, fist bumps, the works, we enjoyed the hell out of it. Lynn grinned back at me when we reached the locker room.
“There’s a surprise for you inside, Hard Case,” Lynn said, using my cage name for the first time. “No more Cheeseburger for you. C’mon, and get ready to party tonight.”
“Doc Bostig’s here for the patch up work after,” Denny said.
The Doc came around my MIB escort with a big smile. “You look much better, John.”
We shook hands. “Thanks, Doc. It won’t take you as long to patch me up this time for sure. I’m hoping we don’t have any extracurricular activity with this visit from our favorite physician.”
“No, it’s strictly a medical visit this time, my friend.”
Lynn opened the door for me. Lora and Al were waiting inside. Al ran up into my arms, uncaring I probably smelled like a three day old rhino carcass. I didn’t care either. I hugged her tightly. “Not so bad this time, little one.”
“I was scared, Dad.”
“No need to be anymore. You and I are in for walking the twins to school every day until summer, and honing your softball skills for spring practice.”
She pushed away. “Do you really think you’ll be able to coach?”
“You bet he’s coaching,” Lynn jumped right in. “I’m going to be the assistant coach.”
Al pumped her arm in the air. “Yes! This is the best!”
She pointed at me as Samira came into view. “Don’t get too far blitzed, Dad. We’re watching movies later.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, kid.”
“Remember, you said you’d watch ‘The Croods’ with me.”
Oh boy. “I think you’re making that up, but I’m in. Just make sure there’s plenty of popcorn. You don’t mind if I borrow your Mom for the night until movie time, do you?”
Al took Samira’s hand. “Nope. Samira said her and Jafar would teach me how to play video poker.”
Samira gasped, her mouth falling open. She saw Jafar laughing his ass off, pointing at her. She pointed back at him. “That was his idea to get me, wasn’t it?”
Al smiled and shrugged. “Maybe.”
Samira tugged on Al’s hand. “Let’s go. I will have my revenge. There will be blood.”
We watched Jafar move in to guide his charges out, with Lynn enjoying Samira echoing her favorite line. I turned to Lora. She wore an off the shoulder black, mildly sparkly dress with a slit up the side to high thigh. When she had my attention, she turned. The damn thing opened nearly to her ass. Muffled laughter abounded as I gawked. For a second I forgot where the hell I was. She turned back to me, her hand sliding along my cheek.
“Want to go a few rounds with me later, Hard Case?”
Jesus… God in heaven… “Uh… uh…”
Tommy moved around to peer at me while I fumbled for speech. “Yep, if we’re ever going to get a celebration tonight, we need to separate these two.”
Lynn grabbed me by the ear, yanking me toward the showers. “Go get cleaned up. We’ll make sure your temptress stays right here with us until you get back.”
I grinned as she released me. “Amen to that.”
Denny and Maria surprised us by reserving the Mix Lounge for our after fight celebration at I’m sure a huge cost. My in-laws gawked at our lavish party venue. Even Tess couldn’t come up with anything to zing me about. She and Lynn compared pregnancy stories, before Tommy held me up to happy ridicule about my attitude during and after the fight. Marion laughed the loudest when Tommy repeated my made up comment to a stretcher bound Rattler.
“Thank you for bringing us with you to Las Vegas, Cheese,” Marion said. “You certainly lead an entertaining and violent life.”
I stroked Lora’s bare back with growing anticipation. “Sometimes, Mom… sometimes.”
The End
Thank you for purchasing and reading Hard Case Book IV: A Violent Life. If you enjoyed the novel, please take a moment and leave a review. Your consideration would be much appreciated. Please visit my Amazon Author’s Page if you would like to preview any of my other novels. Thanks again for your support.
Bernard Lee DeLeo
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Hard Case IV: A Violent Life (John Harding Series Book 4) Page 34
