Fight Town: Inspiration

by Jinx, Hondo

Now, this guy was talking shit, calling him a bitch, and the only thing Johnny could do was glare back at him and vow to wreck Apollo Stevenson if it was the last thing he did in his life.

  “Now,” Marvella said, her voice soft and gentle as she unfastened his headgear, letting the pooled sweat pour from inside. “Now, we see if you’re a fighter.”

  Johnny lifted one brow. He was too tired to ask what she meant.

  “You took a whupping, that’s all,” Marvella said, pulling off his headgear. “I figured he might be too much for you. Big deal. You want to spar up. That’s how you get better, you feel me?”

  She tossed the headgear aside and started peeling tape off one glove. “But I gotta be honest. Stevenson’s way better than he was when I saw him a couple months back. They been fighting him in a lot of smokers. Must be he has a manager already. That juice bling ain’t cheap. But it makes a difference.”

  She pulled off his glove and started on the other. “But hey. Sooner or later, everybody gets beat in boxing. Getting beat don’t mean shit. Especially in sparring. It’s how you react that matters. Now, we see if you got heart.”

  “I got heart,” Johnny growled.

  “I believe you do, kid. But now, we’ll see for sure. That boy ate you alive. So be it. That fact will either drive you up the ranks or into the ground. It’s up to you. You gonna put in the work, do what you gotta do, no matter what, and keep on believing in yourself?”

  Johnny nodded. “Gonna be champ.”

  Marvella smiled grimly. “Everybody wants to be champ. But first, you gotta be a contender.”

  Chapter 39

  The following morning, Thursday, the day of Freddie’s fight, Johnny set his alarm later, knowing he wouldn’t see her until after work, when he would ride with Marvella and Freddie down to the fights in Hog Island. Lou had agreed to let him off at four in the afternoon so Johnny could help corner Freddie’s fight.

  That meant he’d be on his own this morning. No chess, no watching old fight tapes. Which meant he had more time. Which in turn meant an opportunity to grab extra sleep, which he needed after getting his ass kicked the night before.

  His glorious plan was squashed, however, when at a quarter to four, his brain woke him, alarm be damned.

  Which was good.

  He had lost—had been humiliated—largely because of his poor endurance.

  Sure, there had been more to it than that. Apollo Stevenson was fast and skilled and hit hard.

  Most of all, however, Johnny had been trapped in a pattern. Stevenson would unload on him then get out before Johnny could counter.

  More agility might have helped Johnny, but the biggest factor had been conditioning. He simply hadn’t had the gas to dig deep and disrupt Stevenson’s game.

  Or, quite honestly, the skill. He didn’t have a plan in there.

  Now, heading out into the morning darkness, Johnny thought about it.

  How could he beat Stevenson?

  Because right now, he wanted that more than anything else in boxing, more than the professional championship of the world.

  Sure, being world champ would be a much bigger deal, but after last night, he couldn’t see past Stevenson, couldn’t imagine another goal until he had avenged the loss, restored his honor, and shut the bastard’s mouth.

  But the question remained: how?

  To be honest, he didn’t know.

  He would need Marvella’s help.

  But whatever the plan, power wouldn’t fix this problem. Not on its own. He’d boosted his power plenty at the end of the round, but it had done him no good. It doesn’t matter how much power you have if you can’t hit the guy.

  Speed would help. So would agility.

  Because the root of the problem had to do with footwork and timing, angles and staying in position, and getting off first.

  To make any of this work, he needed better conditioning.

  Way better.

  It was strange, running without Freddie, but he pushed it extra hard, stretching out the run longer than ever and throwing in a bunch of wind sprints, moving his mindset from shame and bitterness to sheer determination.

  He would have vengeance.

  He kicked out the last leg of the run and went to Coffee & Chess, where Jenna, the friendly cowgirl who waited on them most mornings, said, ‘Where’s your partner?”

  “Sleeping in. She has a fight tonight.”

  “Oh, how exciting! I’ll be rooting for her!”

  Johnny thanked her and ordered a large cult coffee, which he carried out into the predawn gloom, unsure what to do next.

  You have to meditate, he told himself, sipping the hot, bitter coffee. Have to clear your head and put yourself on the right track.

  He started walking, looking for a good place to meditate, but everything seemed dark and cold compared to Freddie’s rooftop garden.

  Finally, he went back to his room, where he settled in to meditate.

  At first, he couldn’t sink into his grid. Nightmarish flashes of sparring Stevenson filled his mind.

  He pushed these aside, but a new concern filled the void.

  How many riders had he lost?

  You couldn’t box without getting your ass handed to you from time to time, at least in the gym. Not if you wanted to be the best.

  Because to become the best, you have to fight people who are better than you. You have to pay your dues, take your beatings, and hang tough.

  Like Marvella had said, you gotta spar up.

  Which made sense to Johnny. He was durable and determined, not one of these guys who throws a hissy fit if things don’t go perfectly.

  Anybody who got into the fight game expecting to win every sparring match clearly knew nothing about scrapping.

  Any riders who couldn’t struggle through the discomfort of a single, vicarious loss were pussies.

  But that didn’t change the situation for Johnny. He needed riders, needed their support. So he hoped they would hang with him despite the loss he’d suffered.

  At least it hadn’t been an actual fight. That would’ve been way, way worse. Because even though Johnny knew he would lose sparring matches from time to time and was tough enough to take a beating and keep coming back for more, to be a contender, as Marvella put it, he did not want to lose a real fight.

  Few riders would continue subscribing to a fighter who was 0-1.

  The riders couldn’t hear his thoughts, of course, so Johnny paused his meditation to throw them a bone.

  He couldn’t allude to the game, couldn’t speak to them directly, without getting punished. But he could talk out loud to himself.

  Johnny opened his eyes and stared across his little room with a determined expression. “I’m gonna beat Stevenson if it’s the last thing I do. And when I do, when I finally catch him and put him on his ass and stare down at him and see the fear in his eyes, man, that is going to be the sweetest thing in the whole wide world.”

  After meditating, Johnny showered and left his room again. Nikita, the foxgirl at the taco truck, also asked Johnny where Freddie was.

  “That is so awesome! I hope she wins!” Nikita chimed, handing Johnny his breakfast tacos.

  He carried them back to his room. As their glorious aroma wafted around Johnny, his stomach growled and he smiled. Breakfast tacos make everything better.

  Millie’s cart stood outside his room, but Johnny was disappointed to see his door was closed. He hadn’t seen the mousegirl for a while.

  When he unlocked the door and went inside, he heard a feminine squeak and caught a blur of motion as a pale ghost fled into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  “Um… hello?” Johnny called.

  For a few seconds, silence reigned.

  Taking a bite of his bacon and brisket breakfast taco, Johnny stared at his bed with confusion. Atop its unmade bedspread and sheets lay a frilly, black-and-white uniform and two tiny scraps of white lace that Johnny finally recognized as a bra and panties.

  He grinned. What a
n interesting situation…

  “Millie?”

  A beat of silence, then the bathroom door opened a crack, and a timid voice responded faintly through the narrow slit.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Johnny laughed. “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning your room?”

  “In the nude?”

  He heard her gasp.

  A few seconds later, Millie said, “I’m so sorry, sir. I… you’re normally out now, and I thought… it was just so hot and stuffy in here, and um…”

  The door opened a crack more and Millie’s pale face appeared. Sadly, the door shielded the rest of her.

  Millie’s huge, purple eyes glistened with tears. “I’m so sorry, sir. Please don’t tell Lucinda. I’ll do anything if you promise not to tell.”

  Johnny held up his hands. One held a half-eaten taco. The other still clutched the sack holding the rest of his breakfast. “Hey, Millie, no problem, okay? I won’t tell Lucinda. I promise.”

  Millie sighed, and her eyelids fluttered shut for a second. “Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you so, so much.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Johnny said. “I really don’t mind. Just let me grab a clean outfit from the closet, and I’ll go to work, okay? I’ll lock the door behind me, and I won’t return until this afternoon, so you can keep cleaning in your birthday suit if you want.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “No problem. But it’s Johnny, remember?”

  Millie laughed. “Sorry.”

  “No problem. And Millie? Thanks a lot for taking such good care of my place.”

  “You’re most welcome, sir—I mean Johnny. It’s my pleasure. Truly.”

  “All right, then.” He crossed the room, got an outfit to wear to the fights later, and tossed the paper sack on the bed beside her panties. “I’m heading out, Millie. I left you a breakfast taco.”

  When she didn’t respond, he opened the door and stepped outside. He was closing it behind him when Millie called out again, her voice full of emotion.

  “Thank you, Johnny, but… um… why are you so nice to me?”

  “Why not? I like you, Millie.”

  “I like you too, Johnny. A lot. In fact, I…” She trailed off.

  Figuring she might be feeling awkward again, Johnny said, “Hey, have a great day, Millie. I’ll see you around.”

  And he left, closing and locking the door behind him.

  Work flew by.

  Johnny brought a clean change of clothes with him and got cleaned up in the men’s room then headed straight for the gym, where Marvella and Freddie stood beside the ugliest car Johnny had ever seen; a huge, green monstrosity polka dotted with dents and body putty.

  Freddie gave him a hug. “Hey, Johnny. Missed you this morning.”

  “Missed you, too.”

  “You train?”

  He could see the tension in her smile and bright eyes. Her tail looked extra bushy.

  Not wanting to make her self-conscious, Johnny acted as normal as possible. “Of course, I trained. But it was weird without you. Oh, and by the way, Jenna and Nikita both wish you luck.”

  “All right, you two, that’s enough chit chat,” Marvella said, handing Johnny a spit bucket and a gear bag. He could see Marvella was uptight. “Get in the back, kid. Freddie, you ride up front with me. Can’t be late to weigh-ins.”

  They got in.

  The ancient car shuddered and chortled to life, and they headed south toward Hog Island, a 45-minute trip at this hour, Freddie explained, turning in her seat to smile at him.

  Marvella seemed tense as she started ahead, scowling at the streets of Fight Town.

  Freddie asked him how his night had been.

  “Sucked,” Johnny said.

  “Aw, did you miss me?”

  “You know it. But not just that.” Though he was still burning inside, he wouldn’t make a big deal out of his loss and risk upsetting Freddie before her fight. He shrugged and smiled. “Got my ass handed to me by some kid from Wolf Town last night.”

  “Oh shit! Who?”

  “Guy named Apollo Stevenson.”

  Freddie rolled her eyes. “I know him. Total asshole. Real creep, too. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women. We fought on the same card a few months back. He was pissed when I wouldn’t give him my number.”

  The fire inside Johnny burned higher.

  He didn’t show it.

  “Well, I’ll get him next time,” he said.

  “I know you will,” Freddie said with a smile. “We’ll work harder. Partners, right? All the way to the top?” She held her fist over the seat.

  He smiled back and pounded it. “Partners—all the way to the top.”

  Chapter 40

  Johnny’s gut was in knots.

  If it was him fighting, he wouldn’t be nervous. But after four hours of waiting on Hog Island, he was going out of his mind.

  First, they’d weighed in. Freddie came in light at 124.

  They spent a couple of hours just sitting around in the beat-ass lobby of the hotel, pretending to doze and talking in whispers like people at a funeral.

  Fighters and trainers came and went. Some swaggered, some slunk, some shouted.

  Every time a girl around Freddie’s size passed, Johnny narrowed his eyes, wondering if she was the fighter they’d match Freddie with. In the amateurs and especially the novice division, you rarely knew who you were boxing until the fights were posted after weigh-ins… if then.

  Thanks to last-minute changes and the ineptitude of the Hog Island crew, this night was looking like one of those times when a fighter didn’t know who she was fighting until she went through the ropes.

  Finally, Marvella took Freddie into the women’s room and got her geared up, then they rejoined Johnny, and they all went together to the blue corner waiting room, a dusty equipment closet where a handful of fighters congregated in islands around benches and folding chairs, wrapping hands, talking, and warming up.

  Out in the main ballroom, the fights got started. The crowd roared.

  Marvella held the mitts for Freddie.

  Freddie looked great. Her hands were quick, her punches crisp. She had a good sweat going.

  But Johnny could see fear building in her big, blue-gray eyes.

  He wanted to give her a hug, but Marvella had been tense and cross all day and would probably kick him out of the makeshift locker room if he did.

  Marvella sat Freddie down and told her to stretch her legs out.

  Johnny stood there beside the spit bucket feeling semi-worthless. He and Marvella both wore short, black satin robes over their street clothes. The backs read 8th Street Gym.

  Freddie’s robe was longer. Across her lower back, it read 8th Street Gym. Higher up, across her shoulders, large silver letters blocked out one word: Fearless.

  A gray-haired pig-lady with a clipboard came in and called out the order of the next few fights.

  Freddie would be up the fight after next.

  The doors banged open, and a guy with a badly swollen eye staggered into the room between his trainers.

  “Battista,” the woman with the clipboard called out. “You’re up. Lopez, you’re on deck.”

  Freddie nodded at the woman.

  “Who we got?” Marvella called after her, but the woman was already gone.

  “Don’t matter anyway.” Marvella put her hands on Freddie’s shoulders and cooed, “How you feel, baby?”

  “Good,” Freddie said.

  “You lie,” Marvella said. “How you feel, Freddie?”

  “Scared.”

  “Good,” Marvella said. “How scared?”

  Freddie let out a shuddering breath. “Terrified.”

  “That’s right, baby. You’re terrified. You are scared shitless. Why?”

  Freddie bit her lip and glanced at Johnny, who forced a smile.

  What was Marvella doing? Why was she prodding Freddie like this?

  “Don’t you worry about him,” Marvella said. “We�
�re all in this together, baby, you feel me?”

  Freddie nodded.

  “Now,” Marvella said, “what are you scared of?”

  Freddie’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m scared I’m gonna lose him.”

  “Who?”

  “You know who.”

  “Say it.”

  “Daddy.”

  “You’re afraid you gonna lose your daddy?”

  Freddie glanced at Johnny again then looked back to Marvella and nodded. “Terrified. I’m afraid I already have. He’s fading.”

  Johnny hated seeing Freddie suffer like this. He almost said something, almost told the trainer to stop, but Marvella reached out and stroked Freddie’s face.

  “Good, baby. That’s good. That’s that truth, right there. And that’s why you’re gonna win this fight, you feel me? The truth always beats bullshit. This other girl, why’s she fighting?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Try. Talk to me, baby. Why’s she fighting?”

  “Money?”

  Marvella shook her head.

  “Pride?”

  Marvella kept shaking her head.

  “For her neighborhood?”

  “No,” Marvella said. “This girl’s fighting to take your daddy. No matter who she is or what she thinks, she’s trying to take your daddy away.”

  Freddie nodded, her eyes darkening.

  “You lose this fight, Freddie, how you gonna get your daddy the help he needs? How you gonna hire somebody to come in, help your mama? How you gonna buy him treatments, make him better? This girl beats you, how you gonna get your daddy back?”

  Freddie shook her head, looking pissed now.

  Marvella gave her shoulders a little shake. “You gonna let her take your daddy from you?”

  Freddie shook her head. “No.”

  “Let me get a hell no.”

  “Hell no.”

  “Hell no what?”

  “Hell no, I’m not going to let her take Daddy away.” A drastic change had come over Freddie. It was crazy, like Marvella’s words had flipped a switch in Freddie’s brain. Her eyes shone brightly. Her lips peeled from gritted teeth.

  “That’s right, baby, that’s right,” Marvella said, her voice soft now. “There it is. There’s that truth. Use your fear, baby. Use it.”