“Your lawyer emptied our jail out. What’s that all about? You and Constantine going steady now?”
“I have some work for him and the kid, Earl. Don’t get jealous. How’s the undercards going in there.”
“Entertaining but the big money’s not coming out until you get in there with Rankin. Me and ‘Rique have a few bucks on you so don’t blow this for us.”
“What’s the line on my pug?”
“It’s running three to one against, Tommy,” ‘Rique informs us with some excitement. “If John drills him too quick there’ll be a riot. Earl called in a few more of the guys to reinforce us if things get out of hand. You are planning to dance a little first, right John?”
“Give me a second. I’m still outraged at being someone’s pug.” I wait for the laughter to die down. “In answer to the question, no, I’m not holding back. You guys seem to think this is the WWF. I’m not waltzing with Hulk Hogan. Besides, I don’t think you have to worry about any quick endings. If Rankin gets me on the floor, we’ll be there a while and I don’t think I can keep him from taking me there.”
“Rankin weighs around three hundred, John. I don’t think letting him take you down is a good idea,” Earl explains the obvious to me.
“Wow, am I glad you came out tonight, Earl. He’s a strategist, ain’t he, T? Write that down so I don’t forget it - bad idea for Rankin to get me down.”
“You know what I mean, smartass.” Earl looks around sheepishly as ‘Rique and Tommy get a laugh at his expense.
“I know. Look, you worry about winning those three to one odds. I’ll worry about how to keep from gettin’ killed while rolling around on the floor with Godzilla. I’m glad you guys are here tonight. We had a poor sport in front last night packing heat.”
“I heard. Last night is why we’re getting a nice wage tonight. I think a few of the suits watching last night didn’t want to be present at a gun battle.”
“I’m glad you’re making out on this, Earl. You do know Rankin’s connected, right?”
“Yeah, we heard. The Russian mob doesn’t get feisty at the sporting event. They come around a few weeks later to your house and cut your nuts off.”
I’d heard that too. I’ll play. “If they do, I hope you and ‘Rique won’t make me spend the night in jail when the Russians come visiting.”
“John.” ‘Rique pats my shoulder. “You can take out as many of those pricks you want to. Call us if it happens. Me and Earl will come over and help you set up the scene.”
“I’ll hold you to it. We better get inside, T. Rankin’s probably already claiming I’m a no-show.”
Tommy chuckled. “You’re right, John. Let’s go. See you officers later.”
“Good luck, guys,” Earl says and ‘Rique echoes the sentiment with a wave.
What do you know? My playmate from last night, Jesse Brown is the gatekeeper tonight. He’s smiling at me, his gold tooth gleaming in the dim outside overhead light.
“Damn, John… what the hell you hit me with?” Jesse stuck his hand out and I shook it.
“Attitude, Mr. Brown… attitude.”
Jesse laughs appreciatively. “Paper say you did for that psycho Ali last night. Wish I coulda’ seen it. My manager’s not happy with me. First I get clocked and then you rough up his business partner.”
“He was going to do something I know he would have regretted, Jess,” Tommy tells him. “John helped him see the light. Then he went and helped Ali into the light.”
Jesse chuckled. “You had a busy night, John. The partner dropped a couple large on me.”
“Want a rematch?”
“No thanks. I thought I had you pegged when you went down last night, brother. I been watchin’ you for months… thought I knew all your moves. Tell me you and T weren’t playin’ me.”
“I couldn’t take any chances with you, big man,” I lied.
“Good. That makes me feel a little better. Man, you got a hard road tonight.”
“That’s why girls don’t do it, Jess.”
“You right about that. I put a few bucks on you. Don’t let me down. I have to recoup my losses from last night.”
“T… mark that down. I have to try and win tonight.” I follow Tommy inside with Jesse laughing his ass off at the door.
Even with the cool outside air rattling through cracks in the sheet metal walls, a pungent mix of sweat, cologne, perfume, rage, anger and fear assaulted my nose. I inhaled deeply. Walking into a dirty cesspool of an arena like this made my blood pound. It reminded me of home, fightin’ off my old man and the bimbos he accumulated. My fingers curled into tight fists at my sides - nothin’ like memories of Pa to get me in the mood. Tommy took charge of my equipment bag. I stripped off my windbreaker as I walked. Tommy took it and handed me the light boxing gloves which weren’t much more than the kind you punch the heavy bag with. I slip in my mouth-guard and put on the gloves.
The vocal crowd undercurrent lapsed into a whispering hum at sight of me and Tommy. We walked into the marked off fighting center covered by a square dilapidated mat, stained with God knows what. It measured around thirty feet across. We didn’t have it last night but they drag it out for a ground and pounder like Rankin. I could smell the disinfectant they spray it with before wiping down the surface after each fight. Tommy checks it for slippage. Any movement and we don’t play. He nods at me indicating the mat’s secured properly. Our audience checks me out with excited speculation. Rankin’s not here yet but he will be soon. They like us to stand around for a few moments so the final betting and odds can peak.
I spot Tess opposite me. She’s standing next to Dennis Strobert. That sets off a few warning bells. Dennis is grinning. Tess gives me a nervous wave. I don’t respond. The crowd noise picked up noticeably. Rankin strides across the mat glaring at me. Easily three inches taller than I am, he carries over three hundred pounds like a ballerina. His tank top bulges around hard muscle. Rankin has his long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. He points a finger and then swipes it across his throat, his facial scars glowing as he grins threateningly at me. The crowd reacts favorably. Tommy snorts and indicates he’s going to work with our markers. Our marker’s good. We don’t carry cash. If we win though all but the big spenders pay off in cash. Tommy handles after fight collections both here and around town. Rankin and I glare at each other while our handlers take care of the bets. Rankin keeps mouthin’ ‘You’re dead’ silently as if that would help get it done.
The ref the promoters use for most of the big fights walks over to me smiling amiably as he grasps and examines each of my gloved hands. He’s nearly as big as me with a scarred, splotched white face, and crooked bulbous nose. Jack Korlos’s been around the block. He still has a brain despite over a hundred professional fights.
“Hey John, didn’t you just fight and then kill somebody last night?”
“Yeah, Jack, that prick Ali wanted to rodeo on the first date and you know me, I’m a strict Catholic.”
Jack busts up laughing as he finishes going over me for hidden weapons. He knows I don’t have any but it’s part of the ceremony.
“Hey grandpa! Quit cackling and get your fuckin’ job done!” Rankin orders loud enough for the neighborhood to hear two blocks down the road.
Jack smiles at me without turning. “I guess I don’t have to tell you but here it is anyway – no groin kicks, eye pokes, or head butts. Stop if I say to. You don’t stop I sap you. I won’t stop anything unless one of you goes limp. Clear?”
“As a bell, Jack.” Jack’s job is to make sure one of us doesn’t get killed. He hasn’t lost anyone yet but I know he’s sapped a few.
I watch him nod and walk over to a now nearly apoplectic Rankin. Rankin bridles at Jack’s frisk but endures it with only a few bumps trying to throw the old man off balance. He may as well have tried knocking a cement stanchion off balance. When Jack finishes the frisk he gives Rankin the rule warning. Although Rankin knows the rules he shoots his mouth off anyway.
“I’m killi
n’ that punk tonight, gramps. Stay out of it or I’ll do for you too.”
Jack chuckles audibly in the hushed silence following Rankin’s threat while stepping away and drawing out his sap in a split second. “Let me know how that works out for you, Bluto. You don’t stop when I tell you to I’ll crack your head open like a giant walnut.”
Rankin lunged towards Jack but his handler leaped between them, his hands up in pleading fashion. “Don’t do it, Van!”
“I settle with you another time, gramps.”
“Yeah, you do that sonny boy… you just do that.” Jack backed over to a spot near the edge, splitting the distance between the two of us. The crowd noise picked up, knowing the fight would be starting momentarily.
Jack looked over at me and held up his hand. “You ready?”
I nod and Jack repeats the gesture at Rankin. He growled and made as if he were going to bull rush me the moment Jack gave us the go. Tommy gave me a pat on the back and stepped away.
Chapter Six: Rankin Fight and Aftermath
Jack gestured downward with both hands clapping together. “Get it on!”
Rankin runs at me, waiting until the last instant to lower his head for the takedown. My knee smashes his nose to bloody pulp on the way down. Blood sprays everywhere when we hit with me twisting out from under after absorbing the painful landing. Rankin’s up bellowing and spitting blood instantly when he can’t keep me trapped under him. The crowd’s screaming but it’s a dull roar in my head.
Rankin launches a flurry of kicks and punches, buying time to recover from my knee. He shouldn’t have charged. He gambled I wouldn’t want to risk a knee shot while going down. His busted nose will screw up his wind. I barely block a roundhouse kick to my head when he catches me a glancing blow to the temple that feels like a jackhammer. I duck down and throw a left hook under his rib cage. Rankin grunts and breaks off the attack, backing away while keeping his hands up. I don’t follow, but oh yeah - I felt that one connect right down to my toes. If it had been anyone else that body shot would have ended the fight.
Spittin’ blood, he comes at me with a new sense of caution. I would have pressed the attack after I hurt him with the left but my head’s ringin’ like the bells at Notre Dame. God knows what that right he threw would have done if it hit flush. Rankin fakes another roundhouse kick with his right leg. I take the bait and he drops down for the grapple too fast for a counter. I go down under him without a chance to break my fall. Little stars twinkle behind my eyes as breath explodes out of me in a rush, compressed by his over three hundred pound bulk.
I whip over to my left, raking an elbow across his ruined nose. Rankin buries his head to the side avoiding more punishment. It gains me room to breathe. Rankin bucks left and right with real hurtful body shots. Arching backwards I blast the top of his head with elbows he can’t avoid. His body shots slow while he tries to duck away from my elbows. Rankin moves wrong and I smash a left elbow flush on his skull, opening a scalp wound. It stuns him long enough for me to slip out. He tries to hold me down but I’m slick with his blood. I spider over him, launching knees into his ribcage while gasping air back into my lungs. Rankin rolls away, scrambling to his feet. I don’t stop him because I’ve had enough ground and pound.
We’re both up circling while the crowd roars out its approval. He throws jabs and left hooks with blood seeping down over his face. I counter with a jab to his nose, causing a quick cover-up. Rankin drifts too close. My round house right leg kick smacks loudly into his side nearly pitching him to the mat. He stumbles to his right and my left round house kick hits flush on his temple. Rankin crumples. A groan even I hear rumbles through the crowd. Like I said – I’m not a favorite. Racing over, I do a football kick into Rankin’s left side and everyone in the place hears his ribs crack. I’m into it now. The crowds howling, Tommy’s cheering, and I move to the kill. Jack races in to stop me. I nearly react with a body toss but awareness floods through me in time. I let Jack bear-hug me away from Rankin. It’s okay I guess. He ain’t movin’.
“You sane, kid?”
“I’m back, Jack. Go ahead.” I drop my hands so he knows I’m done.
Jack hurries over to Rankin’s side, gesturing for the med techs they have on hand. Tommy hands me a wet towel. It feels like heaven. I smell the peroxide disinfectant on the towel. The med techs wheel a gurney over with them and begin to carefully clean Rankin off. After putting a corset brace over Rankin’s back, the techs ease Rankin over onto the corset face up. They make sure his ribs aren’t in danger of puncturing his lungs before cinching the corset into place. The oxygen they give Rankin next begins to revive him.
“Wipe off, John. You’re covered in blood. I’ll give you a fresh one when you get most of it sopped up.”
I follow his advice. After stripping off my gloves, bloody shirt, gym pants and mouth-guard I wiped down real good in only my boxer shorts and tennis shoes. I give Tommy the now red towel and he exchanges it with a fresh one. I repeat the cleaning, giving my face one last wipe before wrapping my stuff up in the towel. Tommy hands me a clean black t-shirt and loose jeans out of my bag. I’m dressed a few seconds later with all the bloody stuff shoved in a plastic bag before depositing the mess in my equipment bag. I feel much better.
“Lordy… Lordy, John, that was one righteous set to. Rankin screwed up rushin’ you.”
“Yeah, he did. He should have stayed up. He hits like a cement truck. I guess we don’t have to worry about the money tonight.” I see Earl and ‘Rique, along with a few other OPD roving around the perimeter of the crowd. They’re watching for sore losers like Jesse’s money backer from last night. The sight of Rankin lying face down on the mat like he’s dead quieted the crowd considerably. This is an ending hard to dispute. Tommy makes his money rounds, trading good natured talk with the losers. We don’t gloat. Tommy pumps the fight when it means something but never when it’s over.
“You’re not going over to check if he’s dead?”
I don’t turn around. Fragrance of Tess washes over me. I savor it, watching Tommy’s back while he collects. “What for?”
Dennis laughs but I hear Tess clucking her disapproval. “I should have known compassion wouldn’t enter into your thinking. Aren’t you going to turn around and say hi?”
“I got Tommy’s back until he comes over with the collection plate. You know that.”
“That was horrible, John.”
I flex my arms and bounce around a little, trying to stay loose. My sides are achin’ from Rankin’s body shots on the mat. “Not for me it wasn’t. What the hell you doin’ here, Denny?”
“Can’t I come see an old friend fight?”
“Ahhhh… that’s so sweet. What the hell you doin’ here, Denny?”
“Making a delivery and an update, John – nothing to get all paranoid over. The gig’s been moved up a little with a slight addition I need to talk with you about. Besides, I figured you’d be happy I kept Tess company in a rough crowd like this.”
“I’ve left word. Anyone bothers her when she watches me fight or screws up her car I’ll slice and dice them like a Thanksgiving Turkey.”
Tommy finishes his rounds. He’s smilin’ ear to ear, holding his money bag. Jesse Brown’s with him. His smile’s just as big, gold tooth gleaming.
“Thanks, John. I’m flush.” Jesse pats my shoulder and keeps going.
“Hey, Jess… where’s my cut?” He continues on, his shoulders shaking and laughter booming.
“Hello, Slinky,” Tommy greets Tess. “Who’s your boyfriend? You cheatin’ on John?”
“This is Dennis Strobert, Tommy. He’s a business acquaintance. Dennis… this is John’s manager, Tommy Sands.”
“We’ve talked on the phone a few times, Tommy.” Dennis shakes Tommy’s hand.
“I recognize your voice. John, Rankin’s coming around.”
The med techs had Rankin sitting up. One of the promoters with a worried look brought over a folding chair. Three of them helped Rankin o
nto the chair. They had already cleaned away the blood. One of the techs removed the oxygen mask and felt Rankin’s nose gingerly, eliciting a moan from my former opponent. The tech shook his head. That meant Rankin needed more than a straightening. With ice packs held at the back of Rankin’s neck, the techs braced him to his feet before helping him onto the wheeled gurney and strapping him in.
The crowd began to wander out in small groups. Except for some grinning gestures and waves from Earl and ‘Rique, I was the target of some very malicious stares. Tommy nodded and waved at all of them, gracious as ever. I keep my eyes on their hands. The promoters never sprung for metal detectors so we’re on our own. Tommy’s packing under his shirt. He knows I’ll see a threat before he does. Most times I can prevent a bad situation like last night without Tommy having to intervene.
The med techs wheel Rankin out in front of where we’re waiting for the crowd to thin. Rankin gives me a potent death stare for someone that just got his ass kicked. If not for the crowd I’d finish the prick off right here. Then he flips me off. The pain slides away from me in a rush. I’m making calculations about how to do him without seriously injuring the techs when I notice Tess has moved to get a better look at my face. She turns away. The moment passes.
“You tensed, John,” Dennis states the obvious and then chuckles. “What were you planning, an execution of a belted down invalid?”
I ignore Dennis. Jack’s walking toward me with our two fight promoters. One’s a short, fat white guy named James Bonasera. He’s sweatin’ even in the cool early morning chill, his bald head glistening. His partner, Ray Alexander, looks like Don King with slightly better hair. Alexander and Tommy don’t get along so he usually lets Bonasera handle negotiations with us. Since I don’t do much of the negotiating, my only concern is whether Alexander’s got some beef with us. I see Tommy’s wondering the same thing.
“Take Dennis outside, Tess. We’ll find your car.”
Tess tugs on Dennis’s jacket, leading him out.
“That was a great fight, John,” Jack pats my shoulder. “It took willpower not to let you finish him off.”
Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books) Page 7
