The crack of Mickey's nose echoed off the walls of the alley in back of
Pike's Bar. He staggered backwards and quickly pulled the shirt off his
back.
"Alright" he choked out and brought his fists up to his face. The fresh
scabs on his knuckles shows that he's been in these fights before. The
large drunk stared at him in disbelief. Mickey smiled and let the blood
from his mouth drip to the ground.
"Are you lookin' fo' a beating?"
The drunk said, brushing chips off his plaid shirt. Mickey's only
response was a welcoming wave towards him. The drunk shook his head and
charged like a bull at Mickey spearing him into nearby trashcans. The
wretched smell of puke filled the alley and the two brawlers were
covered in it. Now, by this time the fight has drawn quite a crowd.
People just standing in shock watching the large man beat the hell out
Mickey. The drunk sat up, drew back his large fist and slammed it into
the side of Mickey's skull. His faced smashed against the pavement
knocking his gold tooth out. Mickey has tasted his own blood before and
by now it doesn't faze him at all. The drunk climbed to his feet and
stared down at Mickey with the eyes of a demon. Mickey rolled over onto
his stomach and pushed himself up. The blood dripped from his eyebrow
now. Flowing into his right eye and down his face. With one hard kick
Mickey was on the ground again. The drunk kicked him repeatedly in the
stomach and ribs until Mickey curled into a fetal position. He turned
around and raised his hands to the yelling crowd. Mickey opened his
eyes and looked around. He saw his gold tooth lying on the ground in
front of him in a pool of blood. The taste of his own blood infuriated
Mickey. He jumped to his feet. Just as the drunk turned back around
Mickey slide to the right and with his left hand punched him in the
side of the face. The drunk rocked back and fell to the ground with a
loud thud. He was knocked cold out with one punch.
"One Punch
knocked tha **** outta him!" yelled a spectator. Mickey smiled, picked
up his shirt and walked through the crowd. Old scabs on his knuckles
were busted open and stained his white shirt. He was patted on the back
and was praised for his performance. A tall man wearing a long gray
trench coat and rings on each of his fingers approached Mickey.
"Mickey? I'm Tommy O'Hare." He reeked of JD and Marlboro Reds. The
heavy bags under his eyes told him that he loves the night life.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
"I'm here to make a proposition to you. Step into my office." He
pointed to a 1984 Cadillac El Dorado. Rust lined the bottom of the
passenger side doors. The windows were tinted, the rims were gold, or
gold plated. He lead Mickey over to the door and opened it. Mickey
looked at him and hesitantly got in. Tommy climbed in beside him and
started the car.
"Where are going?" Mickey asked.
"To my
place." Was his only answer. The inside was no better than the outside.
The seat covers were covered in clear plastic, and the steering wheel
was a leopard fur. It looked like it was stolen from a pimp. After they
rode a few blocks Tommy spoke again.
"You're a pretty good fighter. You ever lose?"
"No."
"Really? You must've been in a lot of fights." Mickey looked in
surprised at him. "Your knuckles?they're bloody." He turned off of the
street and rode down an alley next to Hooters. Once he got to the end
he shut the engine off and turned to Mickey.
"You ever hear of underground boxing?"
"Yeah. Bare-knuckle boxing right?"
"Exactly. Mickey, you are one of the best fighters I've seen in a long
time. I've never seen anyone knock out that guy back there before. In
one punch nonetheless." He reached into his coat pulled out a card.
" I need a fighter for next weeks match. All of my other guys have
either quit or can no longer physically cut it if you know what I
mean." Mickey did know what he meant. A few more fights and he'll be in
that category.
"Here's my card. Think about it." Mickey stared at
him for a moment and pushed open he car door and got out. He turned to
walk away and paused. Tommy started the car up and began to drive away.
"OK!" Mickey yelled. Tommy stopped the car and looked out the passenger side window. Mickey walked up to it and ducked in.
"I'll do it. I'll fight." Tommy slowly cracked a smile.
"Meet me here tomorrow morning at ten. I'll take you to the
facilities." The car slowly rolled away. Mickey stared at his
reflection on the car as it passed.
Mickey stood in front of
the alley where he met Tony last night. The crisp morning air hit his
scarred face. Each scar is a memory of each fight he had ever been in.
The rest of his body wasn't pretty either. His ribs and stomach had
permanent bruises, his hands cut and broken so many times he couldn't
even bend his thumb all the way back. He was dressed in a leather
jacket, and cut off denim shorts with white long johns underneath. He
slipped on his red bucket hat and paced back and forth. He was getting
impatient with him. He was about to walk off when Tommy pulled up in
front of him. The window rolls down.
"Hello. Get in." He said then
turned back looking at the street. Mickey climbed in the car and
buckled up. The car ride over to the "facilities" was silent, which was
good. It gave Mickey time to think. He thought about what he was
getting into?not even knowing the other guy. This could be the last
fight he ever has. But all the doubt and nervousness he had faded away
when he thought of the high it gave him when people were chanting his
name.
"Mickey have you ever wanted to become famous?" asked Tommy. Mickey was caught off guard by the question and hesitated.
"Umm?.Yeah, I guess that's everyone's last wish."
"Last wish? You say that like you'll be dead tomorrow. I mean have you
ever wanted to be known for something?" Tommy was getting frustrated.
"Yeah."
"Well I can make that happen." He stopped at a red light and shifted in his seat, "See-" he was cut off.
"Tommy. You already sold last night. You don't have to convince me to
be in a fight." They turned off the Main Street and went down a
deserted alley. At the end there was a large garage door. He stopped
the car, reached inside his pocket and pulled out a remote control. He
clicked and the steel door opened slowly, revealing a large room with a
boxing ring in the center. To the right of the ring was a big boy
beating the hell out of the heavy bag. They drove in and parked near
what looked like his office. They got out and he showed me around the
gym.
"You know the basics of a gym so I won't bore you with it all." Mickey wiped his mouth with his hands and looked around.
I put a considerable amount of money into this and I'm proud of it."
By the looks of it he put more money into that remote control than the
gym. The paint was peeling off the walls and shedding to the floor. No
one bothered to pick it up, so it just sat there. A pungent smelled
settled in the air. A mix of old plaster and what smelled like rotten
meat was in the air. There were no windows only a few lights that cast
an eerie glow on the ring and fighters around it. The ring was empty,
and perhaps the only quality part about the gym. As Tommy rattled
fighters who had been under his guidance Mickey walked over and climbed
into the ring. Memories of the old days with his father in the basement
came to him. They set up their own ring with four wooden posts, and
rope that was nailed to each post. Mickey's father slid the gloves over
his small hands. Then put both hands up.
"Come on Mickey?right
here." He pointed to his palm. Mickey swung and hit it perfectly. Then
switched to the other hand. Mickey smiled and got in a boxing stance.
He jabbed a few times at the air, dodging left and right. Throwing body
shots left and right. He felt like a kid again.
"Now Mickey we
gotta ta-" he was interrupted by the garage door opening. A Rolce Royce
rolled though the opening and drove right up to the ring. Tommy started
to nervous and looked down at the ground.
"****." He said quietly.
Mickey stopped moving and stared at the reflective glass. The door
slowly opened and out came a greasy looking fellow. His hair was
slicked back and tucked behind his ears. He helped himself walk with a
long cane and a silver dragon at the top. He wore an imported Armani
suit, only the best for this guy. He walked right up to Tommy and got
in his face. He took off his shades revealing jet black eyes.
"I thought you had Joey Marcionne? What happened?" he demanded.
"I did, I did have him. B-But there he ran into a slight problem." He stammered out.
"And what would that be?"
"A car?well more like the car ran into him." He replied looking down.
"What?! How the **** did that happen?" He yelled.
"I accidentally hit him with my car."
"Well, where is he now?"
"Of all the bullshit stories?" he looked around.
"At the hospital. Resting," he hesitated introducing Mickey.
"Of all the bullshit stories?" he looked around.
"Sid, Sid, I found a different fighter though. A good fighter." Sid smiled and let a long wheezing laugh.
"Another fight? Is that him?" he pointed to Mickey in the ring.
"Yes I'm him." Mickey said in the center of the ring. Sid stared at
Mickey. He already knew Mickey had determination and he wasn't going
down.
"You think you can beat John O'Hare? My fighter Big John?"
he asked with disbelief. Mickey knew nothing of John or his fighting
style. Hell, he didn't know what he looks like. But he played along
anyway.
"Yeah. I heard that guy has weak punch. Not too fast
either." The simplest faults could drive a fighter insane. Sid face
squished together, holding back the urge to lash out at him. He took a
deep breathe in and out.
"Really? Would you like to say that to
his face? John!!!!" he yelled over to the car and the passenger side
door opened. Two big feet stepped on the ground and O'Hare climbed out.
Atleast 6'5" close to 300 lbs. He walked over to the ring and got in.
Mickey didn't back down. He stood there looking at the O'Hare's neck.
"I say we have a practice round or two. No ref." Sid put his arm around Tommy and pulled him over to the car.
Mickey backed away and took off his hat and jacket. O'Hare unbuttoned his black jacket and took off his white shirt.
"No gloves." Mickey said with a smile. He put his fists up to his face
and waved him in. O'Hare swung at him and hit nothing but air, then
again and the same result. Mickey ducked and threw crushing body shots
to the ribs. O'Hare seemed unaffected by these and over powered Mickey
to the ropes. Mickey covered his face as O'Hare swung left and right
knocking the sides of Mickey head. He saw an opening and went for it.
Mickey swayed left and threw a right cross hitting O'Hare in the nose.
Blood shot from his nose on the mat and on Mickey. He stumbled back and
fell to the ground. His eyes closed and he went limp.
"NO!" Sid
shouted in shock. Mickey shook his head and wiped his brow. He looked
at O'Hare who was on the ground. He noticed something that was very
odd. O'Hare's chest wasn't moving up and down. In fact it wasn't moving
at all.
"What did you to him?! What the **** did you do to him?"
Sid shouted and jumped into the ring. He crawled over and felt for a
pulse. Sid dropped his head and looked at Mickey.
"You son of a *****! You killed him! He's dead!"
"What!?!?" Tommy and Mickey said together.
"Are you sure?" asked Tommy. He slowly got up and wiped the sweat from his face.
"Look at him Tommy he's dead!" he shouted. "My only good fighter and
he's dead!" Mickey took a step forward and saw that O'Hare's nose was
more than just broken. The bridge of his nose was shoved up through his
brain. Mickey suddenly felt sick. He put his hand to his mouth and bent
over.
"Mickey?" Sid said with is back to him. Mickey looked up.
"You know what they say?" He turned around and pulled a gun out of his
jacket. "an eye for an eye."
He pulled the trigger and the bullet shattered through Mickey's skull.
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