by Jinx, Hondo
Freddie breathed in deeply, nodding.
Marvella stared intensely into her fighter’s eyes. “People pretend they ain’t afraid, they end up fearing their own fear. That doubles their fear. Weighs them down, steals their breath, makes them slow and heavy.
“But you ain’t afraid of your fear, baby. Because you gonna use it. That fear’s gonna keep you on point. It’s going to make you faster, make you punch harder. Gonna give you that edge. You gonna duck her punches and make her pay. Ain’t that right? You’re gonna feed her your fear one punch at a time. Gonna smash it right into her face. Smash it in her mouth, make her take it, make her suck that fear, make her swallow it. You feel me?”
Freddie nodded. “Make her choke on it.”
“That’s right, baby. Bring it all out now. Bring out all that fear. Let it ride up front with you. Let it make you strong and fast and vicious. What you gonna do out there, baby?”
“I’m gonna win.”
“Winning ain’t enough,” Marvella said and seized her face. “What you gonna do, baby?”
“I’m gonna whip her ass!”
“That’s right! You gonna whip her sorry ass every second of every round. Who does she think she is, getting in the ring with you? Huh? That girl out there thinks she’s just gonna climb through the ropes and take your Daddy from you?”
“I’ll kill her!”
“Again and again, baby. Again and again. You gonna murder her sorry ass, every second of every round.”
Johnny couldn’t help but stare at Freddie. He’d never seen this side of her. She looked fierce, almost bloodthirsty.
The door banged open. “Lopez,” the gray-haired woman with the clipboard said. “You’re up.”
Freddie popped up off the bench and smacked her gloves together. The sound echoed dully in the small locker room.
“Who we got?” Marvella asked.
The woman looked at her clipboard. “Girl by the name of Washington.”
“Fights out of Dogville?”
“That’s the one,” the woman said, glancing at her clipboard through half-moon reading glasses. “4-0, just like your girl. Now come on. They’re waiting for you.”
“Let’s go,” Marvella said, starting for the door. She nudged Johnny and pointed with her cane. “Bucket.”
“Got it,” Johnny said, picking up the bucket and following them to the door.
Marvella pulled Freddie’s big hood up then held the door for her. “You remember this girl Washington?”
Freddie nodded and strode out the door. “Short girl, heavy hands?”
“That’s the one. Use your reach, use your feet.”
“And kill her with the jab,” Freddie said.
“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl.”
Johnny followed close behind, one hand carrying the bucket, the other massaging Freddie’s shoulders, which felt very tight and hard beneath the satin robe.
This was no Arena. There were no Blade-runner-style electronic boards, just a large room packed with folding chairs and fight-goers, most of whom had floppy pink ears atop their heads.
Freddie skip-shuffled up the aisle toward the ring, throwing tight little combos. The aisle led straight through the spectators.
When they came to the section holding fans from the Ward, dozens of people called out to Freddie. Those standing closest to the aisle reached out for a high five.
Freddie flicked her gloves this way and that, smacking the outstretched hands.
Every step of the way, people cried out to her.
“You got this, Freddie!”
“Kick her ass, Freddie!”
“Do it for the Ward!”
“Freddie!”
Johnny recognized a lot of faces. It seemed like half the neighborhood had turned out to support its fighter.
One familiar face leaned into the aisle. “Knock her out, Freddie!”
It was Jenna from Coffee & Chess.
Freddie slapped the cowgirl a high five. Johnny nodded at Jenna, too tense to smile back.
Then they reached the steps. Johnny hurried ahead, climbed the three steps to the ring apron, pushed the second rope down with his knee, and pulled the third up with his hand.
Freddie bent, swiveled one leg over the bottom rope, and slipped between them.
The crowd went crazy as Freddie danced in the corner, throwing quick flurries.
Johnny held the ropes for Marvella, who scowled like she was the one getting ready to fight.
Across the ring, Freddie’s opponent and her trainers were already waiting. Washington was shorter than Freddie and heavily muscled, with dog ears poking out of her headgear and a murderous expression on her face.
“Fearless! Fearless!” the crowd chanted.
Freddie raised her hand.
“Fuck them,” Marvella growled. “And fuck that stupid-ass ring name.”
Suddenly, Freddie grinned. “You came up with it.”
“Yeah, well, fuck them anyway. You’re afraid, you feel me? You’re fucking terrified. That’s your secret weapon, baby.”
Freddie nodded, still waving to the crowd.
Marvella elbowed Johnny. “Mouthpiece.”
Johnny took it from his pocket and handed it to Marvella, who held it over the bucket as Johnny squirted water onto it.
Freddie leaned in and opened her mouth, and Marvella tucked the mouthpiece saying, “You gotta stick and move, baby, you feel me?”
Freddie nodded. “Stick n moof,” she said through the mouthpiece.
“That’s right, baby. You’re too quick. She’s gonna come out gunning for you, but you’re too quick.”
An announcer at ringside introduced the fighters.
The Ward cheered for Freddie, who faced that side of the audience and raised her fists overhead.
A large section of fans from Dogville roared for Washington, who threw her head back and gave a series of deep, throaty barks.
“See if she barks like that after you shove her fucking teeth down her fucking throat,” Marvella growled, staring across the ring and pawing irritably at her eye patch.
The whole crowd exploded with excitement when the announcer explained that both girls were undefeated and on their way to the open-class next fight.
“Fighters!” the ref called.
The fighters went to the center of the ring. Marvella and Johnny stood behind Freddie and nodded at the Dogville trainers, who nodded back.
“Ladies,” the ref said, and his voice boomed over the loudspeakers, echoing throughout the huge arena. “We already went over the rules in your dressing rooms.” Then he reviewed the basics. Stop when he said stop, break clean. No hitting below the belt, no hitting behind the head.
As he went over these rules, the two girls stared at each other.
Washington dipped her head from side to side, drilling her gaze hard into Freddie. The doggirl’s muscles were insane. Washington had definitely put a lot of juice into her strength stat. Probably power, too, Johnny reckoned.
But what really impressed him was Freddie’s calm expression. She stared right back at Washington with eyes as dead as nickels, looking for all the world like she really was fearless.
“Protect yourself at all times,” the ref said. “Now touch gloves and come out fighting at the bell.”
Freddie turned halfway toward her corner, holding out one glove and eyeing her opponent with simmering contempt.
Washington slammed a fist down hard on Freddie’s glove then jerked away and went to her corner.
Back in the blue corner, Freddie rolled her head in a slow circle then glanced out of the ring and raised a glove toward where Mr. Trongo sat in an expensive-looking suit, flanked by a pair of beautiful blond foxgirls in glittering evening gowns.
Mr. Trongo smiled and nodded, then caught Johnny’s eye and pointed at him with a wink.
“Stick and move, baby,” Marvella said, embracing Freddie and kissing her cheek.
Then Freddie stepped to Johnny, looking him in the
eyes for the first time since the locker room.
“You got this, Freddie,” he told her. “All the way to the top, right?”
“Right!” Freddie threw her arms around him, and he kissed her cheek and stepped back and helped Freddie get her gloves through the sleeves of her robe, which displayed patches advertising several local businesses, including El Gallo Gordo, Lou’s Diner, and someplace called Aaron Biscoe’s Balloon Creature Menagerie Fantastique, whatever the hell that was.
Johnny slipped the robe from Freddie’s sweating body.
Frightened or not, she looked fierce and ready in her royal blue satin tank top, which read 8th Street Gym on the back.
Her trunks were also blue, as were the tasseled boxing shoes that rose midway up her toned calves.
“Seconds out!” the ref called.
Johnny and Marvella slipped through the ropes and retreated down the steps, where they took stools at ringside.
“This girl Washington’s a clubber,” Marvella told Johnny. “Saw her a couple weeks back. Freddie’s gotta stick and move, you feel me?”
He nodded.
“You holler that. Tell her to stick and move and jab and be first. Tell her to move her head. And if she stands still tell her to move, you feel me?”
“I got you.”
“Don’t tell her to hang tough or hit hard or kick her ass or any of that shit.”
“But you told her—”
“Don’t worry about what I told her, you feel me? Just tell her to stick and move and work that jab.”
“Gotcha.”
“Freddie’ll listen to you. Out of this whole crowd, yours is the voice she’ll be listening for. Don’t fuck this up, kid.”
He nodded, privately thinking there was no way in hell Freddie would be able to hear him over the deafening roar of the audience.
The bell rang.
The fighters touched gloves as directed and stepped apart.
Then Washington charged Freddie like a rabid pit bull, winging a wild overhand right.
Freddie dipped under the attack and pivoted aside. There was no time to counter, because Washington was already coming at her again.
“Stick and move!” Johnny hollered.
Freddie snapped out her jab, connected, and danced away as Washington charged her again.
Freddie moved laterally, snapped out a jab, and ducked another haymaker.
“Girl can’t fight,” Marvella said, leaning in close to Johnny, her eyes locked on the fight. “But she can punch. Keep talking to Freddie, kid.”
He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Stick and move, Freddie, stick and move!”
Freddie obeyed, flashing her jab and dancing out of reach every time Washington charged again.
One jab landed solidly, jerking Washington’s head back, and the crowd went wild.
Freddie stepped back in, crack-crack, with a quick double jab, and the crowd roared louder still.
“No!” Marvella shouted as Washington’s looping hook barely missed. Turning to Johnny, the trainer said, “Tell her to stick with one jab at a time. Just one.”
“One jab at a time!” Johnny shouted.
“Don’t get greedy,” Marvella said.
“Don’t get greedy!” Johnny echoed.
Freddie listened, sticking to single jabs. They were crisp, scoring shots. Her speed was incredible, and her timing was perfect.
The pattern was set. Washington charged again and again, hurling heavy shots. Freddie moved side to side, flicking her jab.
Washington was unorthodox, awkward, and aggressive. A few of her cuffing shots walloped into Freddie’s gloves and arms, but none of them landed clean.
And thank God for that because every clumsy shot she landed sent Freddie skittering away.
Washington had insane power and strength.
She bulled Freddie into the corner just above Johnny and Marvella and hammered away with a series of wild body shots. Her gloves hammered with loud thumps off Freddie’s arms. Their force shuddered through her.
“Get out of the corner!” Marvella called.
Johnny repeated his trainer’s advice, adding, “Get to the center of the ring!”
Freddie hunched for a second, covering up as Washington started winging shots at her head, then dipped a hook and spun away, dancing toward the center of the ring.
Washington gave chase, eating a couple of crisp jabs, and the bell rang.
Johnny ran up, slid the stool in place, and held the ropes for Marvella.
Freddie sat down hard.
“Good work,” Marvella said, pulling out Freddie’s mouthpiece and handing it to Johnny. He rinsed it off over the bucket and held the squirt nozzle to Freddie’s open mouth, which gasped for air. He squirted a quick stream of water into her mouth, and she swished it around then spat it into the bucket.
Leaning in front of her, Marvella said, “Deep breath, Freddie. That’s it. Sit up straight. Control your breathing, baby.”
Freddie sat up straight, breathing deeply.
Johnny gave her another squirt of water.
“That was a close round,” Marvella said. “You gotta win the second. You feel me?”
Freddie nodded, still gasping. “Hits… really… hard.”
Marvella shrugged. “So keep your distance, baby. Stick and move, stick and move. Listen to Johnny. Stay off the ropes and you’ll win, you feel me?”
Freddie nodded.
Johnny started to hold out the bottle again, but Marvella pushed it aside. “No more water. Look, Freddie. One jab at a time, okay, baby? You double up, you’re staying in the same spot too long, giving her a chance to catch you.”
Freddie nodded.
“You got this, Freddie,” Johnny said. “Stick and move.”
“That’s right, baby. Stick and move. Let her dumb ass keep trying to bulldog you. Kill her with the jab. That’s it. That’s all you gotta do. Stick and move, stick and move. You feel me?”
Freddie nodded. “Stick and move.”
“Seconds out!” the ref called.
Freddie stood and Johnny pulled the stool back through the ropes.
“Mouthpiece,” Marvella reminded him, and he leaned against the ropes.
Freddie turned to him, dark eyes bright with adrenaline and purpose. Within the headgear, her face glowed pink with exertion and glistened with sweat and grease. She opened her mouth and Johnny slipped the mouthpiece into place.
“Be first,” he said, and retreated down the steps as the bell rang.
Behind him the crowd from the Ward chanted, “Fearless! Fearless! Fearless!”
The bell rang.
Freddie snapped Washington’s head back with a stiff jab and danced away.
A second later, Washington was bulling forward again, windmilling heavy punches.
As the round progressed, Freddie established her jab, snapping back the muscular fighter’s head several times.
Most of Washington’s punches missed, but a few got through.
Johnny winced with every thumping shot. His heart thudded in his chest.
Come on, Freddie, he thought. Come on.
He balled his fists and shouted at the top of his lungs, sweating bullets.
Every time Washington winged a looping haymaker, he tensed, willing Freddie to duck the shot. And again and again, like some psychic puppet, she dipped under thunderous shots and retreated again into the open ring.
Freddie obeyed Marvella’s commands, which Johnny repeated at the top of his lungs, hollering, “Stick and move! One Jab! One jab! That’s it, Freddie! Be first!”
The Dogville crowd and a good deal of the remaining non-Ward fight fans countered these commands with cries for blood, urging Freddie to get off her bicycle and fight.
“Stand and fight, coward!” someone yelled.
“This ain’t a track match!” someone else shouted. “Quit running and mix it up, catgirl!”
Freddie ignored them, clinging to Johnny’s voice as he repeated whatever Mar
vella said. “Jab and get out! Jab and move!”
As she grew more comfortable, Freddie found her feet and her rhythm, circling and flicking her jab, catching Washington, and slipping back out again.
The crowd engaged in its own fight, boos and cheers roaring against one another. Washington was growing frustrated. She swung for the fences with every punch and once came around so hard that she slipped and fell.
The crowd roared with laughter, and the ref put himself between the fallen fighter and Freddie and pointed to a neutral corner.
Freddie retreated and put her back against the white turnbuckle and glanced toward Johnny and Marvella.
Close behind Johnny, someone shouted, “Kill her, Freddie! Knock her block off!”
But Marvella patted the air, and Johnny translated. “Nice and easy, Freddie. Stick and move.”
“Tell her to breathe,” Marvella said.
“Breathe!” Johnny said.
Freddie nodded and stood up straight and took a deep breath then shook out her arms.
The ref brushed off Washington’s gloves and stepped aside. “Fight!”
The fighters came together again, resuming their brutal dance.
Freddie was excellent. She ducked and dodged, flicking one hard jab at a time, turning Washington’s head into a punching bag.
Washington landed a few clumsy shots to Freddie’s arms and shoulders and staggered her with a low blow to the hip, which made Freddie wince and drew a warning from the ref.
The timekeeper slapped the ring mat three times.
Ten seconds left.
Washington surged, winging a barrage of punches.
Freddie stumbled backward, hit the ropes, and barely ducked a wild overhand right.
The bell rang.
Freddie limped back to the corner, rubbing her hip with one glove.
Johnny’s heart hammered. He eyed her limp like a harbinger of doom.
Marvella got her onto the stool and started her ministrations. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Hip,” Freddie gasped as Johnny removed her mouthpiece and gave her a shot of water. “Low blow.”
“Gotta suck it up, baby,” Marvella said.
Freddie nodded, panting hard. “I’m good.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re real good, real fine. Nice work out there. Good round. All yours.” As Marvella spoke, she smoothed fresh grease over Freddie’s nose and brows and cheekbones, then slid her slick thumbs along Freddie’s jawbone. “Same thing. It’s one round apiece. Okay? You gotta win this round, baby.”