James Williams
James Williams sat near the front of the ring, a thin smile on his face. Jane Darby was curled up against him, her considerable bosom pressing close. She batted her eyelashes, pursed her lips, trying desperately to be engaging. She was a good-looking woman. Her chest went on for miles, and he planned to get his fill. He realized she wasn’t actually interested in him, just his money. That was all right. Because he only wanted one thing from the ditzy Southern belle, and that was her body. He intended to take it all, and when he was done, she would be tossed aside like the whores from Chinatown. It would be easy, he imagined, but just in case she wanted to pretend to be a lady, he had plans to help ease her inhibitions. He had brought along a helper. He would convince her to take a little sample from his opium pipe. A taste of the Maiden Flower would ease her nerves. James had little doubt she would cooperate. She was set on pleasing him. Oh, and she would please him. It would be like taking candy from a baby. A smile spread over his face as he looked down at her breasts. Yes, just like candy from a baby.
His smile slowly faded as his mind wandered back to Mara McClain. He planned to raise her rent again, soon. He looked forward to seeing the light go out of her eyes when he gave her the news. This time, she wouldn’t have her Irish bastard there to protect her. He’d be six feet under by then. He wasn’t going to leave this fight alive if he had anything to do with it. James had invested most of his savings betting on Samuel. The boy would do his job, earning him a small fortune in the process, and he’d be able to pay off all of his debts. Killing Patrick would change his life in so many wonderful ways. The thought made him happy, and a thin smile slowly emerged. His thoughts trickled back to Mara. He wondered just how desperate she would be to save her gallery. Yes, perhaps then they could work out some kind of arrangement. The thought stirred him, and he let out a contented sigh. Jane Darby snuggled close, whispering cloying words in his ear. Yes, it was going to be a good night tonight, a good night indeed.
* * * *
Mara sat down next to Betty, close to the ring. Joshua, Jeremiah, Donald, and Sarah followed. She looked at the empty mat realizing that at any moment Patrick would walk out with his opponent. She closed her eyes, praying he’d be safe and that the fight would end quickly. When she looked back up, she noticed the people sitting on the opposite side. A cold shiver went down her spine. James Williams was staring, a thin smile on his face. She quickly looked away, her heart pounding. What was he doing here? And Jane Darby was sitting by his side, arms wrapped around him, whispering in his ear.
As much as she disliked the girl, she was struck with an overwhelming sense of pity for her. Did she have any idea what kind of man he was? She took a deep breath, making up her mind to talk to Miss Darby after the fight. She had the right to know that she was keeping company with a monster. She turned to her right and looked at her best friend. Betty was gazing up at Joshua. They seemed completely oblivious that the fight was about to take place. He kissed her hand, and then placed his arm carefully around her shoulder. Mara looked away, happy that they’d found one another. She took a deep breath and tried to put the fight in God’s hands. If they could get through this night, they could get through anything. She just wished she could shake her uneasy feeling. A murmuring ran through the crowd, the wave of excitement intensified. The fighters were on their way out.
Samuel Johnson
Samuel sat in the corner waiting. He’d had a busy week sparring in the days and smoking Maiden Flower in the evenings. It was beginning to take its toll—blood in the sink every morning, and the lethargy was worsening. Luckily his sponsor had shown him a special way that helps him with that. He couldn’t fight very well after spending too many nights in paradise. So, his boss showed him a trick. Now Samuel was never very fond of needles, but he reassured him that it would make him feel better, and boy did it. He taught him to tape up his arm, tap his vein a little, and stick the needle in. He always had to make sure to push on the handle because there were bad bubbles that might want to kill him. He remembered his first time like it was yesterday. There was a little pinch, but he soon forgot all about it. Because this new drug, this cocaine they called it, was like liquid fire. It burned in his veins, and then he felt like God—and maybe he was. He took his first opponent down within minutes. He really enjoyed the way his head had snapped back, and how hard he’d fallen. It was quite nice, this new drug. His sponsor had promised him plenty more where that came from. Lately, he’d been thinking it might be kind of fun to shoot a little cocaine with a bit of the Maiden Flower. Wouldn’t that be interesting? The thought gave him a tightening sensation down below. He looked forward to visiting The Red Doors after the fight. With all his new money, he could afford a girl or two— maybe three. They had a couple of fresh ones recently arrived from Beijing. Might have to have a real party tonight. Yes, he would. He deserved it.
Samuel had passed his new opponent earlier in the evening. He had no doubt that he could take him down easily. He wasn’t sure about killing him the first round though. This fighter had one of those pretty boy faces that reminded him of one of his old clients. He’d like to rearrange that pretty face. Yes, he’d like that very much. He’d start with his little pug nose. Yeah. He imagined it flattening under his fist. Smash. Blood would go everywhere. It would be fun to see the look of pain and surprise. The tightening sensation started again. Yes, he would definitely be buying some girls tonight.
After his nose was broken, he’d slowly break him down, little by little, nice and slow. It’s what the boss wanted. Might even earn him a little extra for taking his time. He loved his sponsor. Yes. Sometimes he hated him, but mostly he loved him. He was the father he’d always dreamed of. He took care of everything, even when he screwed up. Like that time he killed that boxer in the alley. He was a black fellow, big as a house. He wouldn’t go down no matter how hard he tried. An hour in and he was still swinging. Samuel was exhausted, and the man was showing no signs of slowing. Well, he was starting to get real itchy by that time, really craving a fix. He wanted to speed things along. So he circled him for several minutes, playing with him, putting him off balance, and then he went for it; punched him right in the throat. His opponent froze where he stood, his hands clutching his neck. There was a lot of blood. Oh, yes. It flowed like a river, down his chest, pooling around his feet. The boxer went to his knees, gurgling, clawing at his throat. The blood was eventually replaced by a gush of white foam. Samuel enjoyed the blood more, but the foam was pretty interesting. Well, the man never got his air back. He was dead by the time Samuel had stepped out of the alley.
His boss wasn’t happy about it either. He spent quite a bit of money to make the man disappear, but he fixed it, and he was able to keep on fighting. Samuel noticed the other boxers stayed away from him after that, avoided looking him in the eyes, but that was all right. Because he still had his sponsor, and yes, he did love the man. His boss would explain things in a way he could understand, without those big words that always made his head hurt. He was good like that. Kind of patient, he was. Although he wasn’t allowed to call him by his real name, sometimes when his boss was in a good mood, after winning a big purse, he’d let him call him Pops. At night Samuel would dream that he called him dad right out in the open where everyone could hear. He’d take his hand, and they’d enjoy a little bit of heaven. Yeah. Life was pretty good. He sat and waited. Almost time. He’d make his Pops proud. Maybe tonight, he’d let him call him dad, and then they’d go celebrate together inside The Red Doors.
The Fight
The crowd rose to their feet when Patrick and Samuel walked into the room. They entered from separate corners. Patrick wore an emerald robe over his trousers. Donald had made a present of it earlier that evening. He wanted his friend to be represented in style and had been working on it for some time. Painting happened to be only one of Mr. Becker’s talents, the needle being the other. Everyone was quite impressed with the fabric’s quality and design. Mara admired the large white
shamrock on the back and his last name embroidered in bold letters. Ireland would definitely be represented tonight. Donald smiled modestly at their praise. He hoped that the robe would give his friend a little luck.
Samuel wore black. There was no design or writing on his robe. It looked more like a funeral cape. Both men were shirtless. The coaches followed their charges as they climbed under the golden ropes. Jenjie was behind Patrick; an elderly man followed Samuel. The men disrobed and were given a few words of instruction.
The fighters warmed up in their corners, pacing, jabbing at air.
An attractive woman with a curtain of blond curls made her way toward the front of the room. She climbed beneath the golden ropes, and the crowd went wild, showing their appreciation with ear piercing whistles and catcalls.
Goldie Donahue was the Golden Queen in both spirit and essence. She was in her early forties, but her baby doll face was fresh and youthful. Hazel eyes glimmered in the lights. She looked out at her audience, seeming to know each and every one of her patrons. She was a tall woman, with long legs and an hourglass figure. Her golden gown flickered with a thousand teardrop sequins. Blond curls bounced around her head as she waved to her adoring fans. She’d put her heart and soul into the casino. It was the only child she’d ever have, and that was fine by her. She’d pulled many strings, and extended quite a few favors to make this fight happen, but now that it had, she was ready to sit back and enjoy. She would make a pretty penny tonight. Goldie looked out at the crowd, her white teeth flashing like shiny pearls. It looked as if the entire city had come out to play. She was ready to give them the fight of their life. It took several minutes for the audience to settle down. She stood in the middle of the mat and stretched her golden-gloved arms outward, eagerly welcoming them all. A wave of cheering followed, along with whistling and applause. When it finally quieted down, she continued.
“I’d like to thank you all for coming out to join us for our very first boxing championship at The Golden Queen Casino. We’re so very proud to host this special event for you fine ladies and gentleman. We hope many of you will stay afterwards and enjoy the festivities down below.”
Loud whistling and cheering echoed around the room.
One man stood on his chair and hollered, “I want you to help me with my festivities down below, Goldie darling!”
This brought another roar of laughter and applause. Several men pounded on their tables. She walked toward the front of the ring, her hips swishing from side to side.
“Johnny, you just show me your big golden nuggets, and then maybe we can talk about it.” She winked.
The crowd lost it, hollering and cheering. The man blew her a kiss and sat back down.
After the noise died, she went on, a radiant smile lighting up her face.
“Now, I know that you’re all eager to get this show going. So, let’s get this party started! Tonight, ladies and gentleman, two of our very own San Franciscan boys will be facing each other in the fight of their lives.
“This competition may be a little different then what some of you are used to. You won’t be seeing the same rules and regulations associated with standard boxing. In the spirit of true bare-knuckle fighting, we want to stay close to tradition. So, tonight, there’s no rules, rounds or referees. It’s anything goes! There will be one exception to this free-for-all. I will be counting down to ten for any boxer that falls to the mat and does not make it back to his feet. The winner will be the last man standing. My friends get ready for the fight of the century!”
Applause exploded.
“In the left corner, wearing emerald green, a true Irish gentleman, and ladies, a handsome one for sure! Please put your hands together for Patrick Deane!” People clapped and cheered. Some stamped their feet. “Mr. Deane is fighting today as an undefeated champion, at six foot two, weighing in at one hundred seventy-eight pounds.
“In the far right corner is Samuel Johnson, a Kearny Street native, six feet, six inches, and weighing in at a whopping one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. He’s a true San Franciscan giant. Please give him a warm welcome!”
A few clapped, others murmured, and several booed. His legacy was dark, and his fans were few.
“When I ring this little golden bell, it’s time to come out fighting. Good luck, gentleman.”
She climbed over the ropes and stood outside the ring.
* * * *
The two opponents jumped around their corners warming up. Samuel caught Patrick’s eyes, giving him a dark smile. There were several black holes where his teeth should have been, his gums decayed and bloody.
The bell rang, and the two men raced toward one another. Patrick was light on his feet, moving swiftly along the mat, studying his opponent with experienced eyes. He was aware of his past, and knew he was bound to play dirty. Samuel was a lumbering giant, with an arm span several inches longer than his, but he was all bulk, not an athlete. And there was another thing. Jenjie had learned that the fighter was compromised, a hard-core drug addict. It was written all over his face. So, even if he outweighed him by more than twenty pounds, and was several inches taller, he was certain that he could beat him with endurance and intellect.
So, he danced around him, arms held high, teasing him into swinging, and then backing off every time he came close. This worked pretty well for the first few minutes or so, each fighter getting in some punches, but nothing too serious. Patrick could already see the shadow of fatigue on Samuel’s sweaty face, the dark shadows under his eyes, but there was one thing Patrick didn’t consider while they paced one another taking jabs. It was the blind rage that the man had for him, or the cocaine flowing through his veins, just beginning to gather and pulse. Like a bomb, the man was getting ready to explode, and he was thirsty for his blood. Yes, Samuel was not seeing enough scarlet tonight and it was frustrating him. He wanted the pretty boy to bleed, and he needed to win, so he and Pops could go visit The Red Doors, and this boxer was too damn fast.
Then it happened. Samuel eyes lit up as a burst of energy flowed through his body. His arm swung back, and he hurled it forward, striking Patrick square in the nose. Blazing pain exploded behind Patrick’s eyes. A spray of blood spattered across the room, some of it landing on Jane Darby’s pretty pink dress. She screamed as the droplets hit the fabric. For Patrick, it was like being hit by a bag of bricks, he heard the sound of cartilage snapping, only vaguely aware that it was coming from his own face, and then there was the pain. It was sharp, alive. A wave of nausea gripped him. The blood was warm and sticky, and he tasted its coppery flavor on his tongue. He was vaguely aware of his name being screamed out over and over again. It was Mara’s voice. His love was crying for him. He wiped at the blood, as another wave of pain almost took him to the ground. It was pouring out like a faucet. From the corner of his eye he could see James Williams, grinning, clapping. Jane Darby’s arms were wrapped around him, a satisfied smile on her face.
Then his opponent began to laugh, it was a strange sound, something he’d never imagined hearing during a fight. For a man his size, it should have been deep and low, but instead it came out like a high-pitched giggle.
“Did you like that, pretty boy? Did you? Not so pretty anymore are you? I’m going to make you bleed, you Irish bastard. My pops wants you to hurt.”
Patrick tried his best to ignore the taunting. He had no idea what he was talking about, and he didn’t want to. He continued on with a succession of right jabs, but it was getting more and more difficult to breathe; the blood was going down his throat in thick clots, which he tried spitting out on the mat. A feeling of panic washed over him when he couldn’t get his breath.
Jenjie called out to him from the corner, “Get back to your center, Patrick. Try to stay calm. You’ve got this. Don’t worry. You’ll get your breath back. Focus.”
He spit out a mouthful of blood, trying to ease his body through the pain. Yes, Jenjie was right. He had to stay calm. He tried to steady his breathing. Get back into the zone. He struck
out again with everything he had, jabbing in rapid fire. He raised his fists high, pummeling Samuel with a series of uppercuts. His head snapped back and forth, but his opponent just stared back in dull surprise. Patrick was dumbfounded. The man should have been down on the floor unconscious, but instead he just lumbered around the ring with an idiotic grin on his face. So, they kept at it, back and forth like two dancers. Patrick was slowly getting his breath back. He landed several more blows to Samuel’s face, chest and stomach. He’d hear an occasional groan, but nothing really seemed to faze him. He’d strike him hard, and Samuel continued to just smile without any signs of slowing down. They traded blows back and forth, and to Patrick’s bewilderment, it looked like Samuel was becoming more energized. He was beginning to get the upper hand, laying in some hard hits to his face and chest. Blood was running freely now, into his eyes and out of his mouth, and then there was a brilliant flash of light as Samuel pummeled him across the jaw. He lost his footing, slipping in a pool of blood and fell. With his hands on the ropes, he struggled for balance.
Samuel came up behind him. He grabbed him around the throat, and his other hand laid in a series of punches to his kidneys. There was an agonizing bolt of pain. He cried out weakly, and was answered by a high-pitched squeal of laughter. Booing rumbled through the crowd, people had come for a fight, but many weren’t prepared for this level of violence. Patrick slipped in his own blood as a cramping gripped his insides. A thousand knives pierced him. Samuel’s shadow descended, and he continued to punch and kick him while he was down on the mat. The crowd roared with excitement. He pummeled him with a series of blows to the back of his head. Women were screaming and men calling to stop the fight, but none came forward. So, Samuel continued on with the abuse. He reached down, and picked him off the ground by his hair, then struck him hard across the jaw. When he released Patrick, he fell to the ground motionless, but this was not enough for Samuel. He followed it with a swift kick to the face. The tip of his shoe caught him under the right eye. A bolt a light flashed in his head, and his eye swelled shut. Patrick crawled around the mat, unable to see.
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