Fight Card Presents: Iron Head & Other Stories

by Jack Tunney

On impulse, Lucas reached up and gently tugged at her hair in the same manner he'd done all those years ago.

  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. "Lucas!" Standing on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I thought I'd never see you again."

  "I reckon you was wrong. I'm back now."

  A hand grasped his shoulder, spinning Lucas around.

  "Leave her alone, pal."

  Lucas recognized the man called Bobby and without conscious thought, pulled the Colt.

  "Hey, don't I know…"

  He slammed the revolver into the side of Bobby's head and the man dropped like a pole-axed steer.

  Roxanne stepped back. "What'd you do that for?"

  "Long story. Let's get out of here." Lucas grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the Cadillac.

  Opening the passenger side door, he slid across the seat and got behind the wheel, and she slipped in behind him. The engine was still idling, so Lucas put the car into gear and whipped it around the building. Once on the highway, he headed toward downtown Ft. Worth.

  After several seconds of silence, Roxanne cleared her throat. "It's you isn't it?"

  Lucas gazed at her for a moment. "What do you mean?"

  "You're the one they are looking for, the man who beat up Bobby and Tom at your old home place."

  "How do…" The implications of how she could know such a thing slammed into his brain and he clamped his mouth shut.

  She must have inferred his thought process. "I did what I had to do to survive and to live my dream." Her nose rose into the air several degrees.

  "Roxy, I'm not judging you. It's just a lot to absorb all at once." He exhaled and glanced at her again. "How do you know McCord?"

  "Frank McCord. He's the biggest man in these parts. The one who bought your father's ranch."

  Lucas nodded. "I've figured that much out myself."

  Reaching across the seat, she grasped his right hand, pulling it toward her and holding it with both of hers. "He wants to find you badly."

  "Why? What have I ever done to him?"

  She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. "I've overheard some things the last few days. Things he would kill me over, if he found out I knew." A single tear trailed down her cheek.

  "What, Roxy? Tell me."

  "The accident that killed your parents?"

  "What about it?"

  "It was no accident at all."

  Lucas slammed on the brakes and jerked the car to the side of the road. His mouth hung open and he gasped for air as he tried to wrap his brain around what she'd just told him.

  "I'm so sorry."

  He nodded and put the car into gear, pulling it back onto the road. Neither of them spoke until they reached the stockyards. Finding a spot in a deserted lot, Lucas killed the motor and rolled his window down.

  The smells of the cattle wafted through the Cadillac. The soft lowing of the cows touched something deep inside Lucas' soul.

  "Reminds me of when we were kids," Roxanne said.

  Lucas nodded and squeezed her hand. Then for some unknown reason, he began talking. He told her about his time at St. Vincent's, of all the years spent in the company of others, but alone all the same. He told her he'd learned to box and then honed his skills in the Marines. He even told her about Guadalcanal and Iwo Jima, things he'd never told another human being before.

  "My mother died about a year after you were sent away," she said. "And my father drank himself to death."

  "And you were all alone?"

  She nodded and let out a ragged breath. "I have an aunt in Dallas, but I was eighteen and Frank had money." For several seconds, she gazed out the window without speaking. "I did some things, things I'm not exactly proud of, but…"

  He put a finger to her lips. "That's okay."

  "No, I want you to know."

  Lucas pulled her close and she put his head on her shoulder. He listened while she talked, telling him of the things she had done, but still managing to carve a life for herself.

  When she finished, he held her and neither of them spoke for a long time.

  Then she raised her head and looked into his eyes. "You need to leave town," she said. "Tonight. Before they find you."

  Lucas shook his head, but didn't speak.

  She edged closer to him on the seat, until their hips touched. "Please. I couldn't bear the thought of losing you again."

  "Roxy, if you know me at all, you know I can't do that."

  "I'll go with you. Right now." She reached up and ran her finger down a scar on his cheekbone.

  Lucas considered a moment, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "If I ran now, I'd be running forever."

  "At least you'd be alive."

  Instead of replying, he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Then he locked eyes with her for a moment.

  She pressed her mouth against his with an urgency that surprised him. Then they were in each other's arms and everything else that mattered to him faded completely away.

  ***

  With his fists pumping furiously, Lucas blasted punches into the old bag. Sweat glistened on his chest and rolled down his body. One level of his mind processed the sounds around him. From the grunts and yells of the pair sparring in the ring to the constant drumming of the speed bags. The usual sounds of a gym. The other level of his mind turned over the details of what Roxanne had told him.

  His parents had been murdered. He'd been living a lie for the past fifteen years. The more he thought about it, the harder he punched. Everything in his life that meant something had been intentionally taken from him.

  He ducked and bobbed his head, alternately throwing different combinations. A left jab followed by a right cross, then a right uppercut and a left hook. Something began nagging at his mind, but he couldn't place what it was. Instead, he focused on thoughts of Frank McCord. He'd found a picture of the man and burned it into his brain, an old gray haired bastard with a perfect smile and blue eyes. He would find him and make him pay, no matter what.

  When his thoughts turned to Roxanne again, he smiled. He'd stashed her in the apartment he'd been renting on the north side of town. He tried to convince her to get on a bus and go somewhere, but she'd refused, telling him if he wouldn't leave, neither would she.

  He maneuvered his way around the bag, practicing his footwork. He naturally used an orthodox stance, but had experimented with fighting southpaw while in the Marines. Shifting to the left handed stance, he threw a right jab and followed it with a left cross.

  "Lucas Quaid."

  The voice registered in his brain, but it took a moment for it to process. He stopped and glanced around, realizing what had been nagging at him. The gym had become completely deserted, except for the eight men surrounding him.

  Lucas dropped his gloved fists to his sides and stared into the eyes of the man he'd come to hate. "McCord."

  "That's right, boy." He pushed the brim of a white Stetson back a little and grinned.

  Scanning over the others, Lucas recognized Bobby from his recent altercations with the man.

  "Let me have him, Boss," Bobby said, his hand rubbing the massive purplish bruise on the side of his face.

  "All in due time." Frank stepped forward. "All in due time."

  Swallowing hard, Lucas felt his hopes sink. So this was his end, to be killed by the same man who'd murdered his parents? Yet what could he do? He was completely unarmed except for his two fists.

  "I've got a proposition for you, boy."

  Sweat streamed into Lucas' eyes but he dared not wipe it away for fear the move would be mistaken for an attack. "What's that?"

  "I'm in the money making business and I figure you can make me some."

  "Why would I do that for you?"

  "Because I said so, boy. That's why." Frank threw back his head and laughed. "Besides, you have a thing for that jazz singer don't you."

  Lucas felt his blood run cold. "What singer?"

 
"A little beauty you might know. Roxanne. I've had her a few times, myself."

  Lucas gritted his teeth and stepped forward.

  "Go ahead, boy. Hit me! You won't make it out of here alive."

  The mob of men pressed closer, several of them drawing weapons.

  With a supreme effort, Lucas stilled the urge to attack, yet the muscles in is face twitched and contorted.

  "The rules are simple. You agree to a match against a fighter of my choosing, or else, little Roxanne gets it." Frank made a throat slashing gesture. "Is that clear?"

  Lucas nodded. What choice did he have?

  "One word to the police and the girl dies. Understood?"

  "I get it. Who is this fighter?"

  Frank stepped back and smiled. "Go get the Sledgehammer."

  Lucas glanced around at McCord's men. All of them were armed, what did they need with a sledgehammer?

  One of the men headed toward the door and disappeared.

  The door reopened and Lucas' stomach turned over. The fighter had to duck to enter the doorway and the mob of men parted to let him through. He was at least five inches taller than Lucas' six foot three and nearly twice as thick through the chest.

  "I give you, Roy The Sledgehammer Flannigan." Frank waved his hand with a flourish. "Did I mention he's killed two men in the ring?" Then he turned to his fighter. "Give the man a free demonstration."

  The giant swung a ponderous fist. Lucas ducked under it and then raised his foot into the man's groin, causing him to groan and drop to his knees. Then the mob rushed.

  As blows rained down upon him, Lucas did the best he could to defend himself. He saw the eyes of the man directly in front of him shift slightly toward something to his rear, so he broke that man's nose with an overhand right and then slammed his elbow backward. Someone screamed.

  Something sapped him in the back of the head and lights danced in his skull. He felt himself falling and still the blows continued. He hit the ground and was kicked mercilessly. Curling into the fetal position, he struggled vainly to protect himself.

  Finally, the blows stopped and he laid there unmoving. He heard their footsteps fade away and he feigned unconsciousness. Somewhere along the line, he fell asleep.

  He became aware of the pain in his body before he totally awoke. Gradually, his eyes opened and he tried to mentally catalog his injuries. After a moment, he decided it would be impossible. Everything hurt.

  He unwound his body, stretching his legs and then his arms. His extremities seemed bruised and battered, but nothing was broken. His hands had been protected by the gloves he been wearing and he jerked them off. He tried to sit up and hissed in agony. A lightning bolt of pain shot through his rib cage.

  His mind clicked into gear and one thought shoved to the forefront. Roxy! That bastard said he'd taken her. He had to get to the apartment. Pushing all thoughts of pain aside, he struggled to his feet and had to pause, gasping for air.

  He stumbled toward the back of the gym, surprised it was still deserted. Where had the cowardly sons-of-bitches gone? He grabbed his bag from his locker, checked the loads in the Colt and slipped into a shirt as best he could, grimacing in pain the entire time. Without bothering to change out of his boxing trunks, he slung his pants over his shoulder and shoved the fedora onto his head.

  Then he rushed for the exit in a lumbering, shuffling, limping run. Once outside, he hobbled down the street until he hailed a taxi and cast himself into the back seat with a sigh.

  "Where to?" the driver asked.

  Lucas gave him directions to the apartment.

  "You sure you don't want to go to the hospital? You look like hell."

  "I don't have time for it right now, just drive."

  He slung some bills into the back seat when the car screeched to a halt. "Thanks."

  "Hey, do you want…"

  Lucas slammed the door and lunged toward the apartment building, climbing the stairs as fast as he could considering his condition. When he hit the third floor, he pulled the Colt from the bag and limped down the hall.

  His door stood slightly ajar and the jamb was splintered. Standing to the side, he shoved it open.

  Nothing happened.

  "Roxy!"

  He peered into the apartment and utter destruction greeted him. Everything inside had been broken or turned over. Glasses were shattered. Yet the place seemed devoid of human habitation.

  Holding the Colt out in front, he limped inside. "Roxy!"

  No answer came. Lucas sighed heavily, but this time, not from the pain. He let the hammer down on the Colt and dropped to his knees. For the second time in his life, everything he cared about had been taken away.

  ***

  Lucas Quaid leaned back against the ring post and gazed out at the crowd, trying to quell the butterflies in his stomach. It had been a month since he'd taken the beating and had fanatically worked himself back into shape. Miraculously, none of his ribs had been broken, just severely bruised.

  He'd spent countless hours running up and down the grandstands of Amon G. Carter football stadium at TCU, and time immeasurable working in the gym. Not once in that month had he laid eyes on Roxy.

  Not until tonight. She sat in the front row directly across from him. McCord sat next to her with his arm around her. Roxy's face was completely devoid of expression.

  The hell of it was, he still didn't know what was going to happen if he actually won. Or was McCord counting on his man to kill him in the ring?

  The fight had been billed as a hometown hero takes on impossible odds, sort of David versus Goliath. McCord had spared no expense. Posters had been plastered everywhere. Yet the odds against him were ten to one.

  The crowd booed when Roy The Sledgehammer Flannigan entered the arena. Despite himself, Lucas smiled.

  The referee called them to the center of the ring. "Keep it clean. Break when I give the word. Understand?"

  Lucas nodded and bit deep into his mouthpiece.

  The ref backed away and Sledgehammer swung.

  Lucas ducked under it easily and smashed a right hand into the big man's unprotected stomach, before dodging away.

  Roy bellowed like an enraged bull, spun and charged.

  Lucas feinted with a left jab and then threw an overhand right he aimed at the point of the man's chin, but caught him full in the mouth. The blow didn't faze the man at all. Lucas dodged to the side and blasted a hard left into the giant's ribs as he went past.

  Flannigan stopped and waited, spinning his right hand in a windup motion. The crowd erupted with boos and jeers. Lucas stepped in, ducked under a right cross and threw another left hook to the same spot on the man's rib cage. Before he could edge away, Flannigan caught him with a left hook across the jaw, flinging him backward several paces.

  The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and Lucas shook his head to clear it. He raised his left arm just in time to partially block a right cross that knocked him off his feet.

  "Four! Five!"

  Lucas pushed himself off the canvas and staggered a few paces. Where had those first three seconds gone?

  The ref appeared in front of him. "You alright?"

  "Fine," he said around the mouthpiece. When his eyes met Flannigan's, he saw a look of genuine surprise in them. Had no one ever got up from one of those haymakers?

  Lucas circled to his right, staying away from the power of Flannigan's right cross and knowing he needed time for his head to clear. If another of those punches connected right now, it would be over. Flannigan rushed and Lucas clinched with him. The power of the man amazed Lucas as he felt himself being forced back.

  Maneuvering so the referee was behind Flannigan, Lucas tucked his face against the big man's chest and then raised his head, slamming the top of his skull into unprotected chin.

  Flannigan stepped backward and Lucas threw a right uppercut that caught Flannigan off guard, staggering him. When the big man raised his hands to protect his face, Lucas changed to the southpaw stance, jabbed a rig
ht into Flannigan's solar plexus and then torquing his body, threw a left cross with every ounce of power he had into the sweet spot on the man's ribs. He felt something give.

  Then the bell sounded.

  Flannigan hunched over in pain, grasping at his side. The crowd went wild.

  During the break, McCord approached his fighter's corner, screaming and yelling obscenities.

  Lucas caught Roxy's eye and winked at her. For the first time that night, she smiled and so did he, or at least he tried to until he realized his lips were swollen.

  Feeling refreshed, Lucas brushed aside the ministrations of his corner man and danced to the center of the ring early. The ringing of the bell could barely be heard over the cheering of the crowd.

  Instead of swinging, Flannigan surprised Lucas by clinching.

  "I'm gonna kill you," he said, only loud enough for Lucas to hear.

  "Good luck." Lucas broke the hold and tapped a quick left hook to the rib cage before circling away to the right, resuming his orthodox stance.

  Flannigan grunted in pain and grimaced.

  Lucas stepped in close and feinted with a left jab to the body, following it with a right cross. The blow glanced off the big man's cheekbone, splitting the skin and drawing blood. Flannigan answered with a left jab to the face that broke Lucas' nose.

  Sliding away, Lucas feinted a left to the body, which Flannigan attempted to block, feinted a right to the face. Whe Flannigan tried to block that punch, Lucas slammed a left hook into the rib cage.

  Flannigan staggered backward and dropped to one knee. He got up quickly. Lucas stepped inside, tucked his head and hammered a right uppercut to the solar plexus.

  The bell sounded again.

  Lucas went to his corner, letting the corner man work on his nose. He glanced at Roxy and was surprised to see her on the edge of her seat with her face flushed and her eyes shining.

  They answered the bell at the same time and Flannigan hung back. Lucas danced close, feinted a left and stepped away. He lowered his left glove, showing Flannigan an opening.

  The giant took the bait, swinging a sweeping right cross that took forever. Lucas felt a thrill go through his veins, changed his feet to the southpaw stance as he ducked under the punch, and slammed another left hook into the rib cage.