by Jack Tunney
Tommy chased after him. Douglas's guard was up and his elbows in tight to protect his middle. Tommy tried a few jabs, but couldn't get through. Douglas began ducking and weaving. Tommy tried to follow, but Douglas cut back sharply. Tommy's momentum kept him moving in the wrong direction, opening up his side to a shot from Douglas. Douglas let fly with a punishing blow to Tommy's left kidney. Just watching it hurt.
Tommy arched his back in pain, and lowered his glove. Douglas then followed up with a quick left jab to the face and then a wooly roundhouse that hammered Tommy on the jaw. Tommy was knocked back into the ropes, blood streaming from his nose.
“Defense!” I yelled. “Get those hands up!”
Tommy raised his gloves just in time. Douglas began to work away at him. The blows kept coming as the bell rang. Then they still kept coming. Douglas kept punching away. The ref finally cut in front and pushed him back. However there was no warning or nuthin’ for Douglas. That naggin’ feelin’ that I had begun to resurface.
Tommy came to the corner and sat.
“How you feelin’?” I asked as I cleared the blood from his face.
“Fine.”
“What's happening out there?” Wheeler added.
“He's testing me. He's trying different things to see my strengths and weaknesses.”
“What about you? Do you have him worked out?” Wheeler asked.
“Yeah. I do. This guy likes the pain. This is going to take a while.”
I poured a shot of water into Tommy's mouth, then prepared for round three, in what was shaping up to be a war of attrition.
ROUND ELEVEN
Rounds three and four continued in the same spirit with both fighters testing each other out. But I was kinda happy – as happy as I could be under the circumstances – with the fight so far. There was no doubt about it, Tommy looked like the better fighter. However, I also knew there was no one scoring either. He had to knock out Douglas – or knock him down to where he couldn’t get up – to be declared the winner. We were gonna be there until someone was knocked down and out.
This fight wasn't like a sanctioned Boxing Commission fight scheduled for twelve or fifteen rounds. This was a fight till the end. The winner was simply the last man standing. Two men enter, one man leaves, was the motto.
I shoulda known the ref was in Sanderson's pocket. There was too much at stake for him to have played it fair and square. When his boy, Jumpin' Jack Douglas, came out for the fifth round, his cornermen had pushed two carpet tacks into the knuckles of his left glove. Small enough not to be seen by anyone outside the ring, but sharp enough to do a considerable amount of damage.
The bell rang and both fighters rushed out to meet each other. Douglas started jabbing with his nailed glove. His first few jabs were deflected away easily enough. And then he threw a big right at Tommy's midsection, and Tommy closed up, bringing his elbows in tight. This gave Douglas the opportunity to throw a big roundhouse left. The nailed glove tore a nasty chunk out of Tommy's right cheek. The blood flowed freely from the wound. The ref had to have seen it, and knew what was going on, but he turned a blind eye.
From my position at the corner of the apron, I twigged to what I had just seen, and started yelling at the ref. Maybe he heard me, maybe he didn't. Either way, he didn't do anythin' about it.
“Mongrel!” I cursed. I was losing my temper, and ready to fly off the handle.
The crowd, of course, loved it. The sight of blood being drawn whipped them into a frenzy.
“Get away from there!” I yelled.
Douglas threw another big right, and then started jabbing with his left again. Tommy had his gloves up, but the nails tore into the leather. Then Douglas bustled forward. With both hands he pushed Tommy in the chest. Tommy flew back into the ropes, and in an eye blink Douglas was on him, flailing away with his gloves.
“Did you see that, Yack?” Wheeler bellowed over the crowd noise.
We both yelled abuse at the ref. It did no good.
Another shot to the midsection from Douglas, tore a gash under Tommy's ribs. Blood oozed from the wound. Pleased with his handiwork, Douglas threw a few more shots at Tommy’s belly.
By the third one, Tommy had steeled himself and was ready. He threw a big right roundhouse that caught the Golden Boy right on the jaw. It was a good solid blow and I could see that it had stunned Douglas. Tommy followed it up with two quick left jabs, and then another big right. Douglas's knees buckled and he dropped to the canvas.
Tommy stood back to let the ref in for the count. But the mongrel wasted a few seconds pushing Tommy back farther. Then he slowly made his way to where Douglas was lying. Then he started to count. And it was a slow as molasses like count. He wasn't in no hurry to count Douglas out, that was for sure.
Douglas got to his knees and then used the ropes to get to his feet. Most men would have already been counted out, but not with this ref. Douglas took a standing eight, held out his gloves, and declared himself ready to fight again.
The fighters collided in the middle of the ring once more, and both men threw a battery of punches. The wounds on Tommy's stomach were flowing freely now, and his abdomen and the top of his boxing trunks were covered in blood. I couldn't wait for the round to end, so I could patch him up.
Douglas tried a few more body shots, his glove almost sliding off Tommy's bloody belly. Then Tommy returned the favor with a sharp jab to the Golden Boy's mid-section. The shot hurt, and Douglas crouched some to protect himself. Tommy was about to move in for the kill when the bell rang. Tommy stopped and turned to return to his corner.
However Douglas stood upright, and took one step after him, throwing a punch with his nailed left into the back of Tommy's head. Tommy staggered forward and practically fell into my arms as I climbed into the ring.
Anger burned through me. I helped Tommy to the stool and then marched straight across the ring to Douglas's corner. He saw me comin' too, and stood up.
“What do you want, old man? You want some of this?” he roared, raising his fist.
I moved in and swung a wild left. It was clumsy, and was meant to look clumsy. He ducked under the punch and laughed. And that was when I pinged him. A hard straight right.
Bang.
His corner guys, leaped up and grabbed my arms and dragged him away, but not before Douglas could extract his pound of flesh. Quite literally. I knew it was comin’, but didn't see it. Douglas's left cut me from the corner of my mouth all the way to my right ear. His cornermen let me fall.
I landed at the feet of the referee.
“You're lucky I am not disqualifying your fighter for this,” he said, looking down at me.
And I knew why he didn’t disqualify me. Sanderson wanted to be able to claim his boy won the fight. A disqualification wouldn't do. But this ref was so far up Sanderson's bum, we were gonna need mining equipment to bring him back. With the mongrel ref in Sanderson's pocket, the fight was beginning to look like a foregone conclusion.
I stood and barged past the ref to the corner. Wheeler was attempting to clean Tommy up. The towels we were using to wipe him down, and the water in the spit bucket was bright red.
“Seconds out,” the ref called and then the bell rang. I didn't have a chance to impart any words of wisdom to Tommy. But then again, the way I was thinkin', my advice would have consisted of two words, “Kill him!”
Tommy got to his feet. As I passed by him, I could see his hair was clotted with blood.
“Good luck, kid!” I said as the bell rang.
As Tommy moved to the center of the ring, Wheeler prodded me on the shoulder.
“Let's take a look at that face of yours,” he said. “It's not going to do Tommy's confidence any good seeing you like that.”
* * * * *
From his position Sanderson had to be happy with the way the fight was going. His boy was using every dirty trick in the book, from swinging his elbows in and lacing, to his blood stained nailed glove. And the ref was in on the deal too. There was
no way Douglas could lose. Not now. Pleased with himself, Sanderson extracted two cigars from his jacket pocket, and offered one to Cumberland.
“Don't you think that's a bit premature?” Cumberland asked as he took the proffered cigar.
“I don't think so. King is already beat. He just don't know it yet,” Sanderson said as he raised his cigar to his lips.
Cumberland pocketed his cigar. He wasn't as confident. He'd smoke it, when the fight was over. Turning to his son, he asked, “Alan, who do you thinks is going to win this fight?”
“The black fella,” Alan said chirpily.
Sanderson nearly fell over.
“And why is that, Alan?” Sanderson asked.
“Well, look at him. Mr. Douglas keeps hitting him and hitting him, and he's all covered in blood, but he's not falling down.”
“Oh, don't worry about that, Alan. He'll fall. I can guarantee you,” Sanderson added.
Cumberland wasn't so sure. Maybe his son was right. He couldn't hear the fat lady singin’ yet!
ROUND TWELVE
Tommy came out fast like before, and met Douglas in the center of the ring. Tommy threw two quick jabs, and Douglas retaliated with a couple of shots of his own. Only, on the second punch as he moved by, he swung out his elbow. The point caught Tommy on the top of his left eye, cutting his brow. Blood and sweat ran down into his eye, stinging and momentarily blinding him.
Douglas threw a quick combination, his hard right, catching Tommy on the cheek under that blind left eye. Tommy didn't see the punch coming at all. The force of the blow snapped his head back and he lost his balance. Douglas came in hard, swinging like a lumberjack. Tommy found himself up against the ropes as his opponent bashed away at his head and arms. With each blow, a spray of sweat and blood misted the air. A series of body shots, with his nailed left glove, tore away at Tommy's chest.
He looked in trouble. I shook my head and looked at Wheeler. He was thinking the same thing. Should we throw in the towel? After all it was just a tent. It wasn't worth Tommy's life. I picked up the bloodied towel, turned back to the ring, and looked at Tommy. He was still on the ropes and copping a hiding. I looked in his eyes, holding up the towel. He shook his head angrily.
“No!” Tommy yelled, bloody spittle flying from his swollen lips.
He didn't want me to call it, but how could I just let him be pounded and torn to pieces be a cheating scumbag? I tell ya, I was about to throw it, but Tommy slipped under a lusty haymaker, and then threw two hard shots up and under and into Douglas’s ribcage. I think, at that moment, Douglas learned you need your lungs to breathe.
Tommy followed it up with a third shot to the midriff that I swear lifted Douglas clean off the canvas. Douglas spun in the air and landed awkwardly on his ankle. He toppled over, falling to his knees.
There was a wild roar from the crowd, half urging Douglas to get back to his feet, the other half eager to see more blood spilled, not minding who was on the receiving end.
“Finish him,” I yelled, pumping my fist into the air, but I doubt my words could be heard.
The ref pushed Tommy back, giving Douglas time to get to his feet. He looked shaky. If Tommy could land another couple of solid blows before Douglas had a chance to recover, then I reckoned we had him beat.
Tommy was about to chase him when the bell rang.
* * * * *
Ginny paced back and forth along the short caravan floor. This was the first fight Tommy had been in where she hadn't been ringside to watch. It made her uneasy. It had already been forty-five minutes and she desperately wanted to know what was going on.
“Don't worry,” Jaffa said. “I am sure he'll be alright. He's fought plenty of guys.”
“I know, but I just don't trust Sanderson,” she said.
“I don't blame you. I wouldn’t trust that snake as far as I could throw a stick.”
“I am going in there.”
“You can't! What about the kangaroo?” Jaffa stammered. “She won't stay here with me on me own!”
“Her name is Jemima,” Ginny countered testily.
Jemima was on edge too. The kangaroo had hopped down from the bed and was now waiting at the caravan door, hoping to be let outside.
“She can come with me.”
“No way. You know what Yack said -- If Sanderson gets his hands on this kangaroo... Jemima, I mean... then it's all over. Sanderson won't keep his word.”
“But I can't stay here. I have to go to Tommy. I've been with him for every fight.”
“I know, but you can't go out there.”
“With you I can.”
“Now, hang on...”
“You can fight can't you?”
“Well yeah...”
“If anyone tries to take Jemima, you whack them one.”
“But Sanderson has a lot of men!”
“And they'll all be watching the fight. Anyway, I am going, no matter what you say. If you want to help, then you have to come along.”
“I don't know, Ginny. I mean, we got a job to do. If they take the kangaroo then it's all for nothing.”
“And if Tommy loses, then it's all for nothing.”
“Ah... I guess you've got a point,” Jaffa reluctantly conceded. “I'll get ready.”
Ginny put Jemima on a lead, and then they left the caravan, keeping to the shadows. As they approached the tent, one of Sanderson's goons recognized the kangaroo and rushed over.
“Where did you get th...”
The goon never finished. Jaffa clobbered him with a right, forcing him to the ground. The goon was about to cry out when Jaffa put his lights out with an uppercut.
“C'mon,” Jaffa said, leading the way to the entrance flap.
* * * * *
The seventh round was brutal. There was no other word for it. Brutal. At the end of the round, Tommy shuffled over and slumped down on the stool in the corner. He was breathing heavily. He looked up at me and could tell what I was thinking.
“Don't you throw in the towel, Yack,” Tommy pleaded.
“I can't promise,” I said as I wiped him down. “These guys aren't fighting fair and I am not going to let you get killed.”
“That's right, Tommy,” Wheeler added. “We all want you to win, but at the end of the day, it's just a boxing tent.”
“No, that's where you are wrong, Mr. Wheeler. It's more than just a tent. It's our home, for all of us,” Tommy said defiantly.
Before the point could be argued further, the ref called seconds out. I placed Tommy's mouth-guard back as the bell rang for round seven.
Douglas came out hard. But instead of punching straight, at the last minute Douglas curled his wrist and swiped the side of Tommy's head. It looked like a simple glancing blow, but it was another in Douglas's repertoire of cheap shots. What he had done was drag the laces of his boxing glove across the side of Tommy's face. The laces cut into the flesh near Tommy's temple. Blood started to trickle down.
From the corner, I cursed and called to the ref. ’Course, he took no notice. Boxing was sometimes called ‘a noble art.’ Well, there wasn't anything noble going on here. This was sickening.
In retaliation, Tommy went on the attack, throwing a wild string of punches -- jabs, uppercuts, and a really nice right cross. Douglas went back on the ropes and Tommy chased him. He started pounding away at Douglas's midsection again.
As Tommy crouched and pounded away, Douglas threw a wild haymaker which should have simply whistled over Tommy's head. But it didn't. Douglas dropped his elbow and twisted. His elbow swung in and caught Tommy right behind the ear. Stunned, Tommy dropped to his knees.
I expected the ref, to send Douglas away so he could start his count, but Douglas stayed, and, still against the ropes, unloaded a series of punches, trying to put Tommy down for good. But even still on his knees, Tommy had fight in him. He threw two roundhouse rights into Douglas's belly. The big man wasn't expecting it and was winded. He rolled back against the rope, eyes watering from the blows.
This gave Tommy a chance to get up. But now the ref rushed in and started to count. And count fast. He was up to seven when Tommy got back to his feet. Tommy held out his gloves and the fight continued.
* * * * *
Alan was getting bored watching the event in the ring. The fight was just going on and on. And while the two men were fighting, he couldn't fight the kangaroo, and that was the only reason he’d come. Why couldn't one of them just fall down?
As his mind wandered, he started scanning the crowd. Then he saw the kangaroo, his kangaroo, hopping through the crowd on a leash held by a girl.
“Look, Mr. Sanderson. That girl has got your kangaroo,” Alan said.
“Where?” Sanderson demanded.
Alan pointed Ginny and Jemima out as they weaved through the crowd.
To the confusion and astonishment of Cumberland, Sanderson jumped from his seat, and scuttled down the tiered steps to the ground.
“Sanderson,” Cumberland bellowed, as his host disappeared.
The standing-room-only crowd was packed densely around the ring as the fight continued. Sanderson couldn't see Ginny now, but he cut through the crowd in her general direction. He knew she would be heading to Tommy’s corner. If he could get the kangaroo back before Cumberland realized what was going on, then the result of the fight could be null and void. After all, all he really wanted was the kangaroo back and Wheeler run out of town and out of the business. He forced his way past two burly punters, and then he saw Ginny leading Jemima to the ring and to Tommy.
“Stop there!” Sanderson demanded. Of course, with the crowd noise, she couldn't hear him. And even if she did, she wouldn't stop for him. So, she continued on her way.
Sanderson pushed ahead and bumped into Straw, who was transfixed on the fight, staring at the two men slugging it out in the ring.
“C'mon,” Sanderson bellowed.
Straw was confused. Sanderson pointed at Ginny and Jemima.
“Get them,” Sanderson ordered.
