Bridgeport Brawler (Fight Card)

by Jack Tunney

  It was perfect for me. I did my business, ate my meals, drank my booze, and on a good night…bedded a woman. It wasn’t perfect, but if I never ran into Carmen again for as long as I breathe, it would be too soon.

  I whistled a little tune in my head, as I walked to the Dragon Q. When I entered the place, it was fairly crowded. The smell of smoke and stale booze assaulted my nostrils. I moved to the bar and ordered a bourbon straight up.

  June pored me a solid three fingers. I plopped a fifty on the bar and told her to keep it flowing. Her real name was Yuen Gi, but June was acceptable as long as I tipped well. Spotting Chan at the end of the bar, I grabbed the bourbon and motioned for June to get him another as well. I sat next to Chan and his gin fizzle and put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you ready to get rid of your virginity tonight, Chan?”

  He seemed sullen and didn’t even laugh at the joke. I didn’t know what was troubling him. Chan was almost always happy go lucky. If he didn’t laugh at my jokes, as bad as they were, then something was very wrong.

  Chan motioned over his shoulder toward the pool table. I looked over, and there sat Mister Suave in his five hundred dollar suit. He had two blondes attached to his arms, and some stoolie racking the pool balls for him. I noticed the big goon I’d beat sitting a short ways down. His face was black and blue, and he was drinking Vodka, Not a shock.

  I patted Chan on the back and moved toward the pool table. I pushed the Russian’s assistant aside and racked the balls. Mister Suave eyed me the whole time as I made sure they were tight.

  I slid the rack off and hung it on the side of the table. I waved Mister Suave over. He smiled and grabbed a cue. The Russian goon I’d punched out tried to step in front of him, but was waved away. Suave smiled and chalked the cue.

  “Mr. White, I presume? He said. “How nice to meet you up close and personal.” Suave’s Russian accent reminded me of Bela Lugosi in the Dracula movies. “I must admit I was very surprised to see you beat my boy, but nothing about you Americans should surprises me.”

  He grabbed the cue ball from the table pocket and set it on the felt. He spied the angles and then positioned the white ball in the exact position he was looking for.

  I watched as he pulled the stick back and forth, before finally unleashing it against the cue ball and sending it rocketing into the pile. There was a loud crack as it met the other balls and scattered them around the table – sinking three stripes and one solid. It was an impressive break.

  I sat back and sipped my bourbon as Suave systematically proceeded to run the table. I shook my head and laid down a twenty to cover drinks for the Ruskies. Suave eyed the money and tilted his head in question.

  I smiled. “It is customary to buy a round of drinks when one loses this badly in a pool game.”

  I motioned for June for another round then I stood and racked the balls again. Suave stepped over and decided to introduce himself officially.

  “I am Emir Putnsky.”

  I shook his extended hand. I wasn’t sure what the proper response was, but I figured the basics would do.

  “Nice to meet you. I think you already know my name.” I smiled and set the head of the rack on the dot and removed it for Emir to break again.

  He stepped back to the other side of the table and began chalking the stick again. He finished and set the chalk on the edge of the little ledge running parallel to the pool table. Then he stopped and seemed deep in thought. I had a feeling what was coming, but let it play out.

  “I think we should make a wager of sorts on this next game, don’t you, Pat?”

  I shook my head. “Do I look crazy? I just watched you run the table like a pro. I was born at night, but not last night.”

  He seemed puzzled for a second, then let out a deep chuckle.

  “Ah, I see. American humor.” He looked over to the men who were with him. As if on cue, they chuckled as well.

  Emir smiled. “No, really, Pat. Nothing too much. Just something to make it a bit more interesting. Say maybe…you fighting for me?”

  I was a bit shocked to hear those words come out of his mouth. I knew the answer wouldn’t please him. I didn’t fight for anyone but me.

  It was bad enough Jimmy Lee thought he owned me, let alone some Russian Capone hopeful.

  “Sorry, Emir. I fight for me, that’s it. I like it that way. I always know where I stand. I got this right hand because someone wanted to control me. So, if you don’t mind, I will just keep things the way they are. Jimmy lines them up, and I fight. He pays me and that is the end of it till the next fight.”

  Emir smiled again, but I caught a slight glint in his eye, which told me he was anything but happy with my decision.

  “What if I told you Jimmy Lee and I had come to an arrangement. You see we are joining forces in this fight thing. Simply put, that means you now work for me.”

  He moved to drive the cue ball into the racked balls again, but I moved in and caught the ball before it hit the point. I walked up to him and set the cue ball back on the starting line. I got right in his face, looking him dead in the eye.

  “I work for no one but me. If that means that I don’t fight, then I don’t fight.”

  I bumped him a little and moved to head out the door. Instantly there was a wall of Russians blocking my way, including Bruno. I heard Emir laughing behind me. I turned, He was sitting on the edge of the pool table.

  “There is a lot of money involved in this game. You will fight for me, or you may not like the alternative.”

  That was it. The rage was building already and Emir’s just zinced it. I grabbed one of the cue sticks off the wall and cracked it across Bruno’s skull, dropping him like a bad habit.

  I stepped in and threw a straight left, which shattered the next closest guy’s nose, then whirled and drove an elbow into the next guy’s chin. The hit either broke or dislocated his jaw.

  I stood ready to take on the last guy in my path. It was a mistake, because while I was set to take him on, Emir had grabbed a cue ball and was in the process of bringing it down on my head.

  Chan’s warning sounded just a little late, but I still ducked enough to not collect the full blow. I shot an elbow behind me into Emir’s gut, but by then the others, even Bruno, had recovered enough to enter the pile up.

  I was getting kicked and punched from all ends. I saw Chan try to jump in, only to get a cue stick cracked across his head. I saw red and on pure adrenalin alone managed to grab a foot and twist, causing one of them to fall to the ground.

  I spun on my back like a flipped over turtle and drove my foot into a groin. I started to get up, but that was when the pool stick was cracked over my head, ending the struggle.

  ROUND 9

  I woke up in a bed in a lamp lit room. It was definitely not a familiar place. I tried to get up, but the jolt of pain dancing across my skull made me think better of that idea. My vision was blurred, but as it cleared I feared I might be in heaven – or hell, depending on what happened next.

  One of the most beautiful Chinese girls I had ever seen was standing in the room with a bowl of water and some fresh towels. Here dark hair was pinned up in a bun of sorts. Even though see didn’t stare directly at me, I could see she had the most amazing green eyes I have ever seen.

  They were bright, like the finest emeralds, and when she finally looked up, I got the full view. I was mesmerized. She must have realized this as a shy grin came across her lips.

  I gathered my wits and spoke. Perhaps I didn’t gather them well enough, because what fumbled out was not so much Romeo as Curly.

  “Where am I?” Yep, big opening line.

  “You are in our house, sir. My brother, Chan, brought you here. You in bad shape, very bad.”

  She came next to the bed and set the bowl of hot water on the small night stand next to the bed. She reached over and removed the towel I hadn’t realized was on my head.

  She soaked a new towel in the water and after wringing it out replaced the
one she had removed. She pulled the blanket up closer to my chin and then stepped out of the room before I could say anything. I was getting ready to call out to her when she reappeared with a steaming cup of what I hoped was coffee, but somehow knew wasn’t. I caught a whiff of it as soon as she entered, and as she held it in front of me the smell didn’t get any better.

  “You drink, yes?” She said as she held it up to my lips.

  I took some in and hard as it was to believe the stuff tasted worse than it smelled. I almost spit it out. She smiled.

  “Taste bad, good work.” She said. Her English wasn’t perfect, but I’d heard a lot worse over my stay in Chinatown.

  I held my breath and sucked down the rest of the stuff as fast as I could, hoping I didn’t hurl it over the sweet little girl. She took the empty glass and turned to leave the room.

  I shook my head to keep the stuff down and called to her. “Wait. You didn’t tell me your name.”

  She turned and with a shy grin and her head lowered, responded. “Shi-wen, Shi-Wen Lang.” She turned and exited the room.

  I relaxed my head back a little more and, for a brief moment, smiled. I had a lot to consider. For the second time, I was faced with not being able to do what I enjoyed in my life. I was getting tired of the situation.

  I lived my life decent enough. I wasn’t an angel, but I tried to steer away from the kinds of things leading to bad ends, yet here I was.

  The first time I was left with pretty much a useless hand. Now, after building myself up in the underground fighting circuit, I was supposed to either walk away, or become some Russian’s lackey.

  “Hell, no!” I shouted out loud and slammed my hand into the bowl set next to me on the night stand. The bowl and its contents flew across the room.

  I took a deep breath and then noticed I was not alone. A small, older Chinese man stood in the room with his arms folded across his chest, his hands slid into the large cuffs of his silk gown.

  The gown was a bright yellow and he wore a hat to match. His hair was white and long, as was his beard and the Fu-Manchu mustache. He couldn’t have been much over five foot tall and weighed in at perhaps ninety pounds. He looked around the room at the mess I had just made and shook his head.

  “Americans.” He picked up the bowl and put it back on the table. “So, you better, yes? Happy?” He stared at me.

  I figured this guy was older than Moses, but the sparkle shining in his eyes was brilliant, full of wisdom and life. I took a deep breath and looked at him as I responded.

  “Better, yes. Happy? That’s a road I need to figure out how to travel.”

  He folded his hands behind his back and smiled.

  “Sometimes long road filled with much evil and darkness, while short road is smooth and well lit. Wiseman though, he choose long road.” He chuckled a bit. “Confucius’s words, not mine.”

  I took this all in. Even though he made amusement out of it, I think the words were chosen for me. I nodded.

  “I never was one to take the easy road.” I said with a grin.

  He stepped closer and padded me on the shoulder.

  “Yes. Chan speak most highly of you. I think he speak truth. He say you have big heart. I can help you down long road. Tough, but fulfilling…yes, much so.”

  He then lifted my right hand and looked at it. I didn’t feel the need to pull it away as I normally did. After spending a few seconds moving it and looking at both sides he set it back at my side.

  “The entrance to long road start here,” he said, pointing at my hand. Before I could respond he spoke again. “You rest now. Tomorrow journey begin, yes?” With that he exited the room.

  I relaxed for a few seconds, then realized I didn’t even know his name. I tried to process everything that had just transpired. I wasn’t sure if it was the tea or what, but I was out like a light within seconds.

  ***

  I awoke the next day feeling surprisingly well. I stood up and stretched, feeling all my joints pop. I was definitely stiff as a board. I don’t know if it was the sleep or what, but I felt the need to exercise.

  I did some sit ups, a few hundred jumping jacks, and then shadow boxed until I had soaked my shirt through with sweat. I removed it and used one of the towels left by Shi-wen.

  I smiled at the thought of her beauty. I never pictured myself being attracted to a Chinese girl, but something about her, those eyes, that innocent smile, it just stuck with me.

  I was so deep in thought I didn’t notice Chan leaning against the frame of the open door. He just smiled at the look on my face.

  “I see you feel better much, Pat. Very good, very good.”

  “Thanks. I feel better than I have in a while.

  “Must be grandfather’s tea, good stuff. Him say make you feel like bull… not sure exactly what he mean.” Chan scratched his head.

  I started laughing. Just a chuckle at first, but then I broke out in to hysterics. Chan tilted his head with a dumb look on his face. “What? I say something funny?

  “Let’s just say your grandfather is packed with wisdom. What is his name?”

  “Chan.”

  “No, your grandfather, knucklehead.”

  “Grandfather name is Chan, too…nickname anyway. My father loved him much, so give me same name. I like, grandfather…how you say…A-number-one.” Chan nodded his head up and down and smiled, obviously happy with himself.

  “Who are your parents, Chan?” I asked, and watched the smile on his face drop. I was immediately sorry I’d asked.

  “Parents dead. Die in accident while me and sister both young. Grandfather take care of us, bring us to America. He very wise. He help you plenty I think, yes.”

  It was funny. Other than being my cornerman for all the underground brawls, I had pretty much never considered Chan as anything else. Yet, for some reason, he consider me a friend. I was pleased and a little touched. Chan was proving to be one of the best friends I had ever known.

  “I’m truly sorry about your parents, Chan,” I told him. We were silent for a few moments. Then, I tried to lighten the mood. “How about we get out of here and go shoot some pool.”

  Chan smiled. “Sorry, Pat. Grandfather have other plans for you.”

  He stepped out from the room and, before I could respond, his Grandfather entered.

  I wasn’t sure what the day or the rest of my life would hold, but somehow, I knew it might be unpleasant for a bit.

  Chan’s grandfather robe was now of scarlet red silk with a matching hat. He looked at me a bit differently. The spark was still in his eyes, but seemed less friendly.

  It might be silly, but despite my huge height and weight advantage, I felt very apprehensive under the stare of the small and elderly Chinese man. He stood like a marine sergeant with his hands folded behind his back and not the least bit of happiness showing. I knew the long road he had discussed with me was about to get rocky.

  ROUND 10

  The days started out slower than I expected. The Wise One, as I had begun to call him, kept things simple in the first few weeks. Meditation, which I hated, and katas, which were not much better.

  I learned about focus. I also learned ways to stretch not only my body, but my mind – even my very soul if I was to believe all he told me.

  While I didn’t fully understand in the beginning, I did begin to feel freer than I could ever remember. It was a hard to grasp, harder to explain.

  I had chosen the long road as the Wise One called it. The mottled and haggard road, which most would shy away. The Wise One told me I had chosen the long road in order to purge my soul – to unwrite some of the wrongs I had done as well as those done against me.

  I was becoming an unwritten script, an uncast mold. I had choices, but now I had somebody to guide me in those choices – to help me understand what the implications and repercussions were…and what was honorable.

  Chan’s grandfather appeared to have taken me on as a project. He saw something in me I couldn’t see myself.
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br />   He was the last elder of a group of Chinese nobleman who no longer existed. Yet he held the respect of one of the most brutal and feared entities in the world, the Tong – China’s much older counterpart to what modern day America knew as the mob.

  Chan’s grandfather had major respect in the community and within the Tong. While Jimmy Lee was getting in bed with the Russians, it didn’t mean the Tong was happy with the situation.

  After a few weeks of the same rituals, with me constantly complaining, the Wise One brought me to a small courtyard in the middle of Chinatown known only to a select few.

  We were in the metropolis of Chicago, but in this courtyard, we were completely in China. The writing, the plants, and the sculptures, everything, was Chinese. I was told it was a holy place to those who knew of its existence. For some it was a place of worship, to others a place of training.

  To me, it was both. I was being taught what no white man had ever been taught before. It was not only the fighting techniques, but it was the control over mind and spirit, the focus to expand beyond the limits of what science set for us – beyond barriers. Barriers were only stopping points in the many layers of training a monk of the Shaolin temple held most sacred in his life.

  It was taught the mind could conquer all. Physical presence wasn’t enough. A strong mind and a grasp of nature were the stepping stones to conquering all.

  As I waited in the courtyard, I thought about all this, yet somehow I couldn’t help feeling it was somehow bogus. I needed to get back in the fight game, it was why I had started the journey – the long road of pain and suffering.

  I was brought out of my thoughts as a wooden staff was slapped across the back of my legs dropping me down. There in front of me was placed an iron cauldron of steaming water.

  In that instant, I knew I could neither turn away, nor abandon the path laid out before me.

  Without being told, I realized the purpose of this steaming cauldron of water. I took a breath and plunged my damaged right hand into the wet, burning, abyss.