FIST OF AFRICA (FIGHT CARD MMA)

by Jack Tunney

  “He’s also got a great takedown defense,” Nick said. “I’ll have to wear down those tree trunks he calls legs before I can take him down and put his lights out.”

  The phone rang.

  “Pause that,” Hector said, leaping from the couch. He sprinted into the kitchen and came back a few seconds later with the phone.

  “It’s for you, Hector said. “It’s a woman.”

  “Aw, snap!” Miles shouted.

  Nick snatched the phone out of Hector’s hand. “Hello?”

  A familiar voice responded. “Well, hello, New Breed. Guess who!”

  “Chizo?” Nick gasped. “Chizo Amarachi?”

  “Bingo,” she replied. “Surprised, huh?”

  “Very,” Nick said. “Pleasantly surprised, though.”

  “Here’s an even bigger surprise…I’m in Atlanta.”

  Nick pumped his fist. “Is that right?”

  “That’s right,” Chizo replied, with a giggle. “I’m here filming An American President’s Daughter, Part Three.”

  “I’d like to see you,” Nick said. “How about dinner?”

  “Sounds great! How about six o’clock?”

  “Six is perfect,” Nick replied. “Where should I pick you up?”

  “I’m at the W Hotel in Buckhead,” Chizo said. “The Extreme WOW Suite.”

  “Got it,” Nick said. “See you in a couple of hours.”

  “Bye,” Chizo said.

  Her voice was like honey to Nick’s ears.

  “Bye.” Nick pressed the End button on the phone.

  “Who was that?” Mark inquired.

  “Chizo Amarachi,” Nick answered. “She’s a famous Nollywood actress and model.”

  Miles raised an eyebrow. “And she called you? For a date?”

  “Apparently,” Nick replied.

  “How’d she get our number?” Hector asked.

  “Obviously, Baba Yemi gave it to her,” Nick answered. She flirted with me during one of my fights in Nigeria, but I didn’t think much of it.”

  “Is she fine?” Hector asked.

  “Yep,” Nick replied.

  “On a scale of one-to-ten?” Miles inquired.

  “Twelve,” Nick replied.

  “She got any sisters?” Miles asked.

  “Enough with the questions,” Nick said, dashing toward the stairway. “I have to get ready for my date!”

  ***

  “This is delicious,” Chizo said, pointing toward her plate of spicy Kerala coastal fish curry. “I adore Indian food.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” Nick said. “This is one of my favorite places to eat.”

  “I’m here for three weeks,” Chizo said. “So, we should have time to come back at least once before I go.”

  “Definitely,” Nick replied. “So, how long are you on set each day?”

  “From six in the morning until four or five in the evening,” Chizo answered. “After that, I’m all yours.”

  “All mine? Really?” Nick snickered.

  “All you can handle, that is,” Chizo replied. “I know you have to avoid certain…comforts when you’re in training for a fight.”

  “I don’t fight for another six weeks, so I’m allowed a few comforts,” Nick said. “Otherwise, this Chai – and definitely this mango bread pudding – would be off-limits.”

  “Well, since you have no restrictions, let’s hang out after dinner,” Chizo said.

  “Sure,” Nick replied. “Where do you want to go next?”

  “My place,” Chizo whispered.

  “Waiter,” Nick said, waving his hand high above his head. “Two doggy bags, please!”

  ***

  Nick and Chizo held hands as they walked through the Georgia Aquarium, admiring the beautiful and exotic fish. It was Nick’s third date with the actress, who was as down-to-earth as she was beautiful.

  “You were so scared of that cute little penguin,” Chizo giggled.

  “Hey, I don’t do birds that swim like fish,” Nick said. “I was cool with the dolphins and even the whale sharks…but penguins? Platypuses? Uh-uh!”

  “You eat duck, don’t you?” Chizo asked.

  “Key word, eat,” Nick replied. “I don’t play with them!”

  Chizo laughed.

  “I’m glad you find it funny,” Nick said, shaking his head.

  Chizo wrapped her arms around Nick’s neck and kissed him.

  Nick’s breathing grew shallow. He wrapped his arms around Chizo’s waist and pulled her closer. They both moved their heads forward to meet each other and then shared a long, soft kiss in front of a tank of manta rays, who floated gently by.

  ***

  Nick walked into the WERK corporate building. The lobby smelled pleasantly of cinnamon and new full-grain leather.

  The uniformed security officer at the front desk – a sinewy woman by the last name of Rice – stood as Nick approached her. “Good afternoon, Mr. Steed. Great fight against Arn Gunnarsson last month!”

  “Thanks,” Nick said.

  “You’re early,” Officer Rice said, perusing the monitor at her desk. “It says your meeting with Mr. Wallace is not until two.”

  “Yeah, I was having lunch in The Underground, which is just a couple of blocks away, so I figured I’d walk over,” Nick said.

  “Okay,” Officer Rice replied. “Let me see if he is available now.”

  Officer Rice picked up the receiver of the telephone on her desk and dialed 1-2-1.

  A moment later a woman’s voice squawked from the telephone’s speaker. “Yes?”

  “Nick Steed is here. He’s early for an appointment with Mr. Wallace, Ms. Nash,” Officer Rice replied. “Can he come up now?”

  “Sure, send him up,” Ms. Nash replied.

  “Thanks,” Officer Rice said, then hung up and looked at Nick. “Go right on up, Mr. Steed.”

  “Thank you,” Nick said, walking toward the elevators.

  An elevator door opened and Nick entered it. He pressed the button for the twelfth floor and rode the lift to the top. Nick stepped off the elevator into a long hallway. Lining both walls were posters of each WERK event, of past and current champions, and of highlights from fights. Halfway down the hall was a photo of Nick slamming his elbow into the face of a downed Angel Camacho.

  At the end of the hall was a pair of mahogany double doors with gold handles. Nick opened the right door and stepped into Dan Wallace’s office suite.

  “Hi Nick,” Nancy Nash, Wallace’s receptionist, said.

  “Hi Nancy,” Nick replied. “I have a two o’clock with Dan.”

  “Yeah, it’s right here,” Nancy said, pointing at her computer screen. “He said he’ll see you now, though. So you can go right in.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said, walking past her desk.

  He rapped on Dan Wallace’s door with his knuckles.

  “Come in,” A voice replied from inside Wallace’s office.

  Nick opened the door. Dan Wallace stood at his desk, which was covered with forms, newspapers and magazines. He was dressed in a WERK shirt and jeans.

  Hey, Dan,” Nick said.

  “Hey, Nick,” Dan replied.

  Nick closed the door and approached the desk.

  Dan extended his hand. Nick shook it. Dan smacked Nick’s shoulder with a folded newspaper.

  “Check out the sports headline,” Dan said.

  Nick unfolded the newspaper, which was already turned to the sports section. A photo of Nick kissing Chizo was under a headline that read Famous Nollywood actress K.O.s pro fighter.

  “Don’t let this affair skew your perspective, lover-boy,” Dan said.

  “I won’t,” Nick replied.

  “I’ve got an idea for a new commercial,” Dan said. “Something to pull an international crowd. I want a famous Asian actress – maybe Zhang Ziyi, or Aya Ueto – and a Nollywood actress to star in it. It’s going to be a mockumentary. They portray MMA fighters. We follow their training, their road to the WERK cage. Finally, they
clinch up in the ring, about to do battle.”

  “Sounds great,” Nick said.

  “I want Chizo Amarachi to play the African fighter,” Dan said. “Do you think you can convince her to do it?”

  “Convince her?” Nick chuckled. “She’d kill me if I didn’t bring this to her! She’s having a ball shooting this action film she’s in right now.”

  “Good! Have her call me soon,” Dan said. I want to jump on this in the next couple of weeks.”

  “Cool,” Nick replied. “Expect her call in a day or so.”

  ***

  A sliver of sunlight kissed Nick’s eyelids. He opened his eyes slowly and stretched. The smell of bacon and toast roused him out of bed. He slid from under the silk covers and slipped on his robe. “Chizo?”

  “In here,” a voice called from the hotel suite’s breakfast nook.

  Nick stepped into the breakfast nook. Chizo was busy preparing two plates of turkey bacon, wheat toast and honey dew melon.

  Chizo kissed Nick softly on the lips. “Morning, sleepy head.”

  “Good morning,” Nick replied. “It smells good in here.”

  “I baked the turkey bacon,” Chizo said. “No grease for my baby.”

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Nick sighed.

  “Sit down,” Chizo said softly.

  Nick sat in a chair at the breakfast table. Chizo sat beside him and took his hand in hers.

  “I spoke with Dan Wallace while you were asleep,” Chizo said. “About that commercial you hooked me up with.”

  “Okay,” Nick said. “Are you going to do it?”

  “Yes, it sounds like a winner,” Chizo replied. “But he also offered me a position as a color commentator. I’ll be joining the team of Adam Arlington and Moses Jackson.”

  “What?” Nick said, wrapping his arms around Chizo. “Baby, that’s great! Congratulations!”

  “It looks like you are going to be bothered with me for a while longer,” Chizo chuckled.

  Nick leaned close to Chizo and nibbled lightly on her lip. “Baby, you’re about the best thing to ever happen to me and I’ve had a lot of good in my life, so that’s saying something.”

  Chizo pressed her full lips to Nick’s and kissed him softly. “I love you, Nick.”

  “I know,” Nick said.

  Chizo laughed and pushed Nick’s shoulder. “Silly.”

  “I love you, too,” Nick said, caressing the back of Chizo’s neck.

  He pulled her close and they kissed passionately.

  ROUND 15

  Nick collapsed onto the stool in his corner. Blood dripped from his nose and fell upon his lap.

  Miles coated six cotton swabs with his petroleum jelly and adrenaline hydrochloride mixture, and slid three swabs into each nostril. He then pressed Nick’s nostrils down onto the swabs with his thumbs. The bleeding stopped.

  “You’re up on points,” Hector said. That round was all you. Keep chopping away at his legs with those shin kicks. One good throw in this round and you’ll win this!”

  “What a fight,” Adam Arlington shouted. “These two gladiators are really putting in WERK, Moe!”

  “Adam, Nick Steed is putting on a grappling clinic in there and Denroy Levy looks like Ali in his prime,” Moe Jackson said. “This fight has been pretty much evenly matched.”

  “I have Denroy Levy winning the first round, though, Moe,” Adam said. “He nearly knocked Nick unconscious with that volley of hooks, jabs and crosses, which all caught New Bred right on the button. If it wasn’t for the bell saving him, this fight would have been over!”

  “But he recovered and took the second round in style, Adam,” Moe said. “He absolutely mutilated Levy’s legs with those shin kicks to the inner and outer thighs. Levy’s legs were rendered so numb, he was unable to counter Nick’s powerful single-leg and double-leg takedowns.”

  “True, Moe,” Adam replied. “Levy’s left leg was shaking like a stripper at Magic City.”

  Moe Jackson laughed. “And what do you know about Magic City?

  “Never you mind, Moe,” Adam chuckled. “Never you mind!”

  The bell sounded.

  Nick leapt from his seat and charged toward Denroy Levy.

  Denroy Levy side-stepped then shifted toward Nick as he fired a heavy right cross.

  Levy’s fist slammed into Nick’s jaw.

  Nick felt his legs turn into jelly. He collapsed onto his back.

  Levy rushed in for the kill.

  Moving fast, Nick scooped Levy’s left ankle with his right arm. He then hugged Levy’s ankle to his shoulder as he wrapped his right leg around the boxer’s calf. Nick shifted to his left, cranking Levy’s ankle into a painful lock.

  Levy collapsed onto his face.

  Nick hooked his right foot behind his own left knee, locking Levy’s leg in a tight figure-four leg-clinch. He then cranked Levy’s ankle even harder, bending it at an odd angle.

  Levy wailed in agony and then tapped the mat.

  The referee pulled Nick’s arms away from Levy’s ankle.

  Nick jumped up. He turned toward his corner and gave Hector and Miles the thumbs-up. He then turned toward the commentators’ table and blew a kiss.

  Moe Jackson pointed to himself with a confused look on his face.

  Nick shook his head and pointed toward Chizo.

  Chizo laughed and blew a kiss back.

  After the referee raised Nick’s hand in victory, Adam Arlington placed a hand on his shoulder. “So, how does it feel to win your fourth straight fight in a row?” he asked.

  “It feels great, Adam,” Nick answered. “This was a hard win, though. While all of my opponents have been tough, Denroy Levy is a beast!”

  “With this defeat of Denroy Levy, a top contender for the belt, do you feel you deserve a shot at the title?” Adam asked

  “Of course,” Nick replied. “If Dan Wallace is willing to give me a shot, I’ll show my appreciation by taking the title.”

  “What do you say, Dan?” Adam Arlington asked, turning toward Dan Wallace, who stood near the entrance to the cage.

  Dan Wallace sauntered over to Adam and Nick. Adam thrust the microphone under the CEO’s chin.

  “Nick Steed is an asset to this sport, Adam,” Wallace said. “When you find a kid with so much talent, so much drive, you give him a chance to show his stuff. So, I say, you’ve got your shot, Nick, on December thirty-first at WERK Fifty-Two: New Year’s Eve Bash!”

  A thunderous applause rose from the stands, then grew even louder as a tall, muscular, young man charged into the cage. He walked briskly to Adam Arlington’s side and snatched the microphone from him. Nick recognized him – Donald Ducky Bronson, the light heavyweight champion.

  “You’re gonna get sent back to Africa with your tail between your legs, dude,” Ducky Bronson spat.

  “Is that right?” Nick said calmly.

  “I promise you, you’re going to get all you deserve, Nicky-boy.” Ducky Bronson replied.

  All you deserve? Nicky-boy? So, this is Rico Stokes’ man. Nick thought. Good, this will make my victory even sweeter.

  “What I deserve is the belt…dude,” Nick said. “And come December thirty-first, it’s mine!”

  ROUND 16

  Nick skipped rope across the mat at the Warrior Within Wrestling Academy - Atlanta, ignoring the flash of the cameras and the chattering din as the local, national and international press documented his exercise regimen. Chizo had set this up in order to bring recognition to Nick, his school, and the indigenous martial arts of Africa.

  Nick tossed the rope to Hector and then waved to Miles, who danced onto the mat in a back and forth swaying motion, similar to that of the African-Brazilian martial art of Capoeira. Nick mirrored Miles’ movements.

  Miles somersaulted toward Nick, balancing on one hand. He extended his left leg, and snapped it downward, driving his heel toward Nick’s chest.

  Nick cartwheeled to his right, evading Miles’ kick and then whirled to
his right, whipping his right leg behind him in a wide arc.

  Miles arched his back, dropping into a back bend. Nick’s kick shot past Miles’ face.

  The two men continued their acrobatic, dance-like fight to the delight of the reporters.

  “This is an exercise that young men and women throughout Africa engage in to prepare themselves for the unpredictability and malleability of combat,” Chizo said. “You see these movements in the Americas and the Caribbean as well – in Capoeira Angola and Capoeira Regional of Brazil, in Ag’ya, or Danmye, of Martinique, and in Knockin’ and Kickin’ from right here in Georgia and in the Carolinas.”

  Nick and Miles stood upright and held each other’s arms at the elbows.

  Miles thrust his right leg between both of Nick’s legs. He hooked his foot behind Nick’s right heel and then dragged his right leg inward, pulling Nick off-balance.

  Nick jerked upward, regaining his balance and then circled his right leg inward and across Miles’ legs. He slammed his right hamstring into the back of Miles’ thigh as he pushed Miles’ torso counterclockwise.

  Miles fell onto his back with a loud smack.

  “What Nick and his partner are demonstrating now is called Lo Tinrin – or leg wrapping,” Chizo said. “A part of the Yoruba martial art of Ijakadi, in which you use your legs to off-balance and throw your opponent.”

  Nick pulled Miles to his feet. They faced Chizo and the press and knelt in the traditional Ijakadi salute.

  “That concludes the demonstration,” Chizo said. “Now, if you have any questions, please join us for the press conference in…”

  “I have a question right now,” someone shouted from the doorway.

  Ducky Bronson slammed the door behind him.

  The members of the press rushed to meet the champion, thrusting microphones toward his face and snapping photographs.

  “Your question?” A member of the press asked.

  “Why are y’all paying attention to this loser?” Ducky spat. “After next Wednesday, New Breed Steed will be nothing but a fading memory.”

  “Are you saying you are going to end Nick Steed’s career?” A young reporter inquired.

  “I have knocked out or submitted every fighter I’ve fought,” Ducky replied. “What do you think?”

  “Any predictions how the fight will go, champ?”