by Jinx, Hondo
Marvella attached these skinny pieces to the bar and pulled them through his fingers, laying them tight against the back of his hand. Then she wrapped tape across his knuckles, covering these strips and drawing everything tight.
The difference between a normal hand wrap and tape-and-gauze wrap is crazy. In tape and gauze, your fists feel like rocks.
“When you sparred this asshole, you stepped into the ring tired,” Marvella said. “You’re fresh today and you got more wind now. A lot more. You been working hard. All for this. So you gotta go in there and be the boss, you feel me? You gotta push harder than ever. You gotta outwork him every second of every round. Don’t leave anything in the ring, you feel me?”
Johnny nodded, grinning at his stony fists.
“Gotta be the aggressor. Lots of head movement. Stay low and keep coming. Look for body shots in the first round. Push him. Don’t let him get his pattern set.”
The fights started.
Beyond the doors, the Wolf Town crowd roared for blood, again reminding Johnny of ancient Rome.
Freddie greased Johnny’s face as Marvella continued to whisper instructions.
The first fight ended early, the blue corner fighter stumbling back into the locker room with a broken nose and nightmare record of 0-1 by way of first-round knockout.
The next fighter thumped his gloves and went out into the clamor.
“Mitchell, on deck!” the guy with the clipboard shouted and went back out.
They got Johnny into headgear. An official came in, checked his wraps, then waited for them to pull on his gloves.
These gloves were smaller and lighter than the ones he wore while sparring. Marvella laced them up and taped the wrists.
The official marked them and left.
“All right,” Marvella said. “You got a good sweat on. Come on. We’re gonna work the mitts.”
She worked the mitts, having him dip and block and roll, closing the gap and rocking away with combinations that came from all directions.
“Gotta get on his chest and punish him,” Marvella said. “Give him no place to hide. Work his guard. Hook around the sides, come underneath with uppercuts, come overtop with choppy rights. And use your feet and your head, you feel me? Come at him from different angles.”
The door banged open.
The guy with clipboard called Mitchell out. “Rockledge on deck!”
Johnny smacked the mitts, dipping and cracking. His hands were hard, the gloves were small, and he could feel his boosted speed and power.
Thanks to his majorly boosted agility, his coordination and footwork felt magical. Everything they’d been working on came together.
He popped out to the side, fired a crisp right uppercut, then slammed the other mitt with a hook that echoed in the locker room.
Around the room, fighters and trainers stopped to stare.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Freddie shouted.
“Real sweet, kid,” Marvella said, dropping the mitts. “Real nice.”
Freddie slipped the robe over his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek.
“Yuck,” she joked. “Salty.”
In a low voice, Marvella said, “You got faster overnight, kid. More pop, too. You got better rhythm, coordination, footwork. You didn’t fuck around and get a black-market boost, did you?”
“No. I told you. I won’t mess with that stuff.”
“All right, all right,” Marvella said, studying him for a second. “You know what an enigma is?”
Johnny started to answer, Marvella cut him off. “An asshole with a good poker face. You’re a fucking enigma, kid. You know that?”
They moved around the corner of the locker room, Marvella calling out combos and swinging the mitts at him.
Johnny bobbed and wove, always coming ahead, and unloaded on the mitts, feeling super sharp.
“That’s good,” Marvella said, pulling off the mitts. “Save some for the ring. They’ll be calling us any minute.”
“You look awesome, babe, better than ever!” Freddie said, coming into his arms. “You’re gonna kick his ass!”
They kissed.
“Thanks, Freddie. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Johnny. More than you could ever imagine.”
“That’s enough of that happy horseshit, you two,” Marvella grumped. “It’s fight time.”
Johnny and Freddie stepped apart, and the locker room door banged open.
The guy with the clipboard said, “Rockledge, you’re up.”
Johnny’s heart kicked into high gear. He nodded.
Freddie pulled his hood onto his head.
“Let’s go,” Marvella said.
The guy with the clipboard held the door for them.
Marvella limped out of the locker room.
Johnny followed, bopping his head from side to side and throwing short punches, Freddie behind him, rubbing his shoulders.
They stepped from the locker room into a volcano of vitriol. The place roared at Johnny, a hundred thousand Wolf Town fanatics screaming for his destruction.
Wolves leaned into the lane in front of him—men, women, children—screaming at Johnny, cursing him, flipping him off, spitting at him, their eyes wild with rage.
A bottle came flying out of the crowd.
Marvella batted it away nonchalantly. “I fucking hate Wolf Town.”
Two thirds of the way to the crowd, they passed an island of fans from the Ward. They cheered loudly, shouting Johnny’s name and reaching out to touch him.
He grinned, smacking his gloves against their outstretched hands, thankful for their support.
He was surprised to see several familiar faces. Lou from the diner, along with Orlando and a cluster of coworkers; Ginny and her friends; even Sylvia, flashing him a huge smile and the double thumbs-up.
He was shocked when Lucinda leaned into the aisle, a black hat reading Ward Style crammed atop her orange mane. “You’d better kick his ass, kid!” the motel manager shouted. “I didn’t come all the way to fucking Wolf Town to see you lose!”
Johnny laughed through his mouthpiece, still moving forward, and did a quick double-take.
Beside Lucinda, Millie gave a wave. She wore a plain blue smock and a worried expression, her face paler than ever.
Johnny nodded at her.
Then someone jumped into his path, screaming his name and waving a big, bright poster in his face.
Again, Johnny laughed aloud.
Lennie had made it back from training camp.
“Kick his ass, Johnny!” she shouted, waving the sign overhead. In bright pink glitter paint, the poster read, I FUCKING LOVE JOHNNY!!!!!!
Lennie popped onto her tiptoes and kissed Johnny’s cheek as he passed.
He felt a lump in his throat.
All these people had come out to Wolf Town, this violent shithole, to support him. It was surreal, and it burned him to the ground with gratitude.
They went up into the ring.
No sign of Stevenson.
Johnny raised a fist in all directions.
The crowd roared their hatred.
Across the dome overhead, the flashing ads ceased, and the countless screens united into a single image, the doors of the other locker room. Strangely, smoke was billowing from the gap beneath the doors.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for Wolf Town’s rising superstar, Apollo “The Alpha” Stevenson!”
The crowd went nuts as the locker room doors flew open, emitting a cloud of smoke, and loud music full of booming bass shook the Fang.
Decked out in a bright white robe glittering with sequins, Stevenson danced out of the smoke, flanked by a huge entourage, one member of which snarled into a microphone, rapping the song that filled the arena as Stevenson started his ridiculous ring walk, dancing and bopping his head and smiling cockily.
“Is he wearing sunglasses?” Freddie said incredulously.
Marvella frowned up at the screen. “Ain�
��t but two types of people who wear sunglasses indoors, baby: blind folk and assholes.”
Stevenson savored his ring walk, which took forever. On either side, people screamed their love and waved signs and chanted, “Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!” A dozen times, wolfwomen stepped forward, lifting their shirts and exposing their bare breasts.
Stevenson nodded and smirked through it all.
“What an asshole,” Freddie grumbled.
“Yeah,” Johnny said. “I just wish he’d hurry up and get in here so I can punch him.”
Stevenson came through the ropes, threw a quick combo that made the crowd explode all over again, then circled the ring.
Seeing Johnny, Stevenson howled laughter. “This little bitch again? Couldn’t y’all line up a real opponent?”
Johnny just looked at him with no expression on his face.
Stevenson glared back at him. “You scared, little bitch?”
Johnny said nothing. He just stood there throwing loose punches and sweating bullets.
He was ready to fight, not talk about it.
“That’s what I thought,” Stevenson said and raised his gloves overhead. “It’s Alpha time! Future champ! Future champ!”
The crowd chanted, “Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!”
Freddie pulled off Johnny’s robe.
The announcer introduced both fighters.
More sneering, more cheering.
Johnny could feel hatred coming off the crowd in waves.
He didn’t give a shit.
He waved a fist toward his people. He had to win this for them, for the Ward, for his riders, for Marvella and Freddie and himself… had to win this or, as Paul was so fond of reminding him, it would be game over.
The ref called them to the center of the ring where Stevenson, who’d finally removed his shades, glared at Johnny, spewing garbled shit talk through his bright red mouthpiece, which read ALPHA in white script.
Good target, Johnny thought.
The ref went over the basics and told them to touch gloves.
Stevenson slammed his gloves down on Johnny’s and stalked off to the red corner, and Johnny walked back to the blue corner.
“This is it, kid,” Marvella said. “Kick his fucking ass.”
Freddie kissed him one last time. He loved the faith shining in her eyes. “I love you, babe. Now do what you gotta do. You got this, Johnny!”
She slipped through the ropes, the bell rang, and Johnny moved forward.
Chapter 53
Stevenson hurtled toward him like a lightning bolt, firing a quick one-two.
Johnny slipped the shots and counterattacked, Stevenson’s punches grazing his gloves as he drove forward and threw an overhand right.
Johnny’s punch sliced through the air, and just like that, Stevenson was gone.
Then surging back in, firing another burst.
Johnny dipped the jab, but there wasn’t time to get under Stevenson’s left.
Johnny rolled, took the shot on his shoulder, and fired back, this time to the body. The punch thumped into Stevenson’s midsection. Johnny felt his glove sink deep into Stevenson’s gut and followed up with a hook upstairs.
Stevenson blocked the hook and scampered away, circling to his left.
Johnny swung his right, trying to catch Stevenson on the way out, but missed.
Abruptly, the Wolf Town fighter quit circling and surged back in quick as an arrow.
Johnny’s head snapped back, full of sparks as it had been so many times during their sparring match.
This time, Johnny didn’t freeze. Because this time, he knew what to do.
If only his brain had known what to do, it would have been too slow. But thanks to months of tireless training, his body knew what to do, too, and it responded automatically, crouching and dipping and driving forward even as Stevenson tried to punish him with a furious burst of power punches.
The body shot must’ve pissed him off, Johnny thought, a curious calm having come over him. Normally, Stevenson would have been circling on the outside again.
Even as this thought occurred to Johnny, he slammed forward into Stevenson’s chest and launched a blistering combination, jabbing to the chest, smashing a right uppercut through Stevenson’s guard, and throwing a hard hook to the chin.
The hook landed, thumping loudly and sending Stevenson stumbling across the ring.
Johnny rushed forward, hands held high, swinging his head from side to side.
Again, Stevenson surged, firing hard shots, but Johnny used his feet to get to one side then swung back in, bringing his head under a jab and letting go with a chopping right that sent Stevenson reeling again.
Rather than retaliating, Stevenson circled away, his eyes wide with bewilderment as he tried to reestablish his plan.
Fuck your plan, Johnny thought, cutting off the ring and going to the body, dipping and rolling and hammering away like a 175-pound version of Henry Armstrong.
Stevenson spent the rest of the round on his bicycle, flicking jabs and leaning away from Johnny’s shots. He was fast and slick, and Johnny wasn’t able to land anything important, but Stevenson barely touched him.
The bell rang.
Johnny raised a fist overhead and headed to his corner, the crowd yodeling its hatred.
Marvella and Freddie hurried into the ring and set a stool in the corner.
Johnny sat down and opened his mouth. Freddie, beaming, plucked his mouthpiece and held the water bottle ready, letting him suck air while Marvella spoke.
“Beautiful, baby. Beautiful. That was your round all the way. One in the bank, two more to go, you feel me?”
Johnny nodded, trying to catch his breath.
“Sit up straight,” Freddie said, “and get your arms off the ropes.”
Johnny did as she instructed and pulled in a deep breath.
“That’s it, baby,” Marvella said. “Hold it in, control your breathing. Give him a shot of water, Freddie. Just swish and spit.”
Johnny swished the water and spit into the bucket.
“He’s gonna switch up now, kid,” Marvella said. “You shocked the hell out of him. He’ll probably stay on the outside, look to catch you as you’re coming in. Keep pressing him. Keep your hands up and your head moving, you feel me?”
Johnny nodded. His breathing had calmed down.
When he’d sparred Stevenson, he’d been finished after one round, completely exhausted. But now, he felt strong.
There was no reason to trigger a boost. He’d be a fool to do so and risk losing riders. Not when he was doing just fine on his own.
“Give him some water, Freddie. Just a sip. Go ahead and drink it. That’s it. Beautiful, baby. Beautiful.”
“Seconds out!” the ref shouted.
Freddie replaced his mouthpiece and kissed his cheek. “All you, Johnny. All you, babe.”
Johnny stood and looked across the ring to where Stevenson was staring in his direction, nodding as his trainer leaned over the ropes, giving last-minute instructions.
The bell rang.
Stevenson started dancing.
Johnny followed, ticking back and forth like a metronome, but took his time. He’d won the first round and would need gas in the third, so he kept coming, looking to unload, but didn’t scramble desperately after the guy.
Stevenson was down on the cards. Let him press the action.
The Wolf Town fighter threw a quick burst, not putting much on them. They smacked off Johnny’s gloves, and Stevenson circled away.
Then he popped back in with another light flurry and got out again before Johnny could do anything about it.
He’s trying to reestablish his game plan, Johnny realized around the one-minute mark. Trying to set up a gap and tend it.
Another burst, another quick exit.
Johnny didn’t have time to counter.
Midway through the round, neither fighter had landed anything significant, but Stevenson had at least hit Johnny in the gloves, and the judges would see h
im using ring generalship.
The crowd grew louder, chanting “Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!”
Stevenson grinned, snapping out a quick jab. One and gone, building momentum, putting together a game plan.
“Shake him up, Johnny!” Freddie shouted.
Johnny had been biding his time and saving his energy. He rushed forward, jabbing his way straight down the middle, but Stevenson was too quick for him, catching the jabs, pivoting smoothly, and launching a hard left that snapped Johnny’s head back.
Johnny came back with a wild overhand, but Stevenson was already gone, circling now, flicking a jab and looking pleased.
The Wolf Town fighter had controlled the distance all round and landed a solid scoring shot.
Johnny had landed nothing. He hurried after him, knowing he had to make the final minute of the round count.
Swinging his upper body back and forth, slipping Stevenson’s shots, he poured on the aggression, cut an angle, and unloaded. His gloves got tangled in Stevenson’s guard, but he bulled forward, driving the taller fighter into the ropes, and dropped downstairs with hooks to the body.
Stevenson spun away, but familiar with the move from recent sparring sessions with Lev, Johnny kept his balance and corralled Stevenson with a looping hook that cuffed him upside his head and sent him into the ropes again.
Johnny was on him in a flash, and a quick step to the left drove Stevenson into the corner.
The Wolf Town fighter fired a vicious volley of straight shots.
Johnny bobbed and weaved, took a shot on the shoulder, and launched a hard right that nailed Stevenson and rocked his head back.
Instantly, Johnny dropped downstairs, thumping Stevenson’s long body with heavy uppercuts.
Stevenson fired back, but Johnny stayed on his chest and smothered his shots.
Johnny registered the thump-thump-thump of the ten-second warning and ripped an uppercut through Stevenson’s guard, smacking him under the chin and snapping his head back.
The bell rang, and the ref appeared, shoving them apart.
Johnny raised a fist overhead, ignoring the jeering crowd.
“Good work,” Marvella said, as he dropped onto the stool. “But close. I think you stole it at the end, but you waited too long.”
Freddie pulled his mouthpiece, and Johnny dragged in a gulp of air. She sprayed water in his mouth.