by Al K. Line
"They're good kids really. Some of them anyway. We get more every year, and it's having an effect. Crime's down, more of them are getting legit jobs, or non-legit jobs but staying away from the bad stuff. It's all good."
"You should be very proud," I said, meaning it.
"What's an old dude like me meant to do with his time otherwise?" he said, looking bashful.
"Hey, let me introduce you. This is Vicky. Vicky, this is Jeremiah, owner of the place and one of the nicest guys you're ever likely to meet."
Vicky, bless her stripy cotton socks—she bought kids' ones as they didn't have a size small enough in the adult section—handled the introductions well. No easy thing as Jeremiah wasn't the most normal looking citizen, although I guess he wasn't exactly a citizen, more someone that straddled the line like so many others—his heart was in the right place, just not much else.
"Nice to meet you. This is, er..."
"Stinking, loud, dangerous looking? Haha, don't worry, nobody's going to make you get in the ring and put on gloves."
"Um, good." Vicky watched the men in the rings, and already she was rather flustered and flushing a little. Guess half-naked sweaty men duking it out can do that to a lady.
Still Got It
"It's been a while," said Jeremiah, staring at me in that way he always did. He had intense, dark eyes set deep in the sockets of his large, boulder-like head. The facial tattoos made it all the more intimidating, not to mention the flat nose and the cauliflower ears if you got a glimpse of them behind the dreadlocks streaked with gray.
"Sure has. You know how it is."
"I do. Hey, I still haven't thanked you properly, for the, ah, you know..." He glanced at Vicky and trailed off.
"It's okay, she's with me. Actually," I said trying not to sigh, "she's my new sidekick."
Jeremiah looked from me to her and back again, and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"Yeah, really. Don't ask, but I guess you heard about Pepper?"
"I heard he got killed in a lowlife's basement. Beyond that it's none of my business."
"Turned out to not be such a good friend after all. Vicky here is on the level, is learning the ropes. Don't let her mini-mom looks fool you, though, she's ferocious." I winked at Jeremiah as Vicky puffed out her chest with pride and a few of the guys got clobbered as their attention was distracted.
"Gotcha," said Jeremiah, giving me a wink back and nudging me before hollering, "Get back to work you useless shits, or I'll make you lick the damn floor clean." Everyone got back to what they were doing.
"No, it's not like that," I protested, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. "Seriously, she's in the game now."
"Whatever you say, buddy." Jeremiah winked again and smiled sweetly at Vicky.
"I am. Arthur's got some backup now." Vicky tried to look serious but she was so damn excited to be on a job and see all this strange stuff that she couldn't help but smile her cheeky smile.
"Little lady, I don't doubt for one moment that you've got Arthur's rear. Haha."
I sighed at his lame jokes. He was good at boxing and looking after the kids but was never known for his comedy. What he was known for, back in the day, was bare-knuckle fighting. Jeremiah was legendary in the underground for his skill, his strength, and his decorum. He was a gentleman when he fought, never played dirty even when the other guy did, and people had respected him then as they did now. These days he hung out with a mostly different crowd, had put that life behind him as his body caught up with his age.
He still looked mean though. Dreads down to his knees, thick bunches of them adding to the effect of your worst nightmare in a cheap vest. He was one of those guys that was born meaty and solid and the weights and fighting and endless training had turned him into a beast. He eschewed sponsorships, preferred to do his own thing, and that had held him back from going to the very top of the bare-knuckle fighting world. But cage fighting had taken over, become legit, and the underground fights eased off at the right time so he could retire at his peak. He hadn't let himself slip since.
Bulging chest muscles swept out to meaty arms thick with veins and covered in blue tattoos barely visible on his dark skin. He was one of the darkest men I'd ever met, like a cannon ball with hair, and he punched just as hard. His fingers were slightly arthritic now, had been for years, but he never complained, still sparred with gloves on though the callouses on his knuckles hinted that he still kept his hand in with the bare-knuckle stuff. I didn't, and wouldn't, ask.
He wasn't tall, but boy was he wide. Like chiseled onyx but rough around the edges, age slowly creeping up but him battering it back down with his dangerous fists. Death would have a hard job taking this guy, and so far he'd stayed well away even though Jeremiah had had his fair share of war wounds over the years, especially in the early days when he was one of the main men in these parts. That was a long time ago, but he still knew everyone, knew what went down, and tried not to judge.
If you came for help he'd give it. It didn't matter who you were or what you did out there, if you wanted to learn, or blow off steam, whatever the reason, you were welcome if you left the gang crap outside the door.
"Can I have a go?" asked Vicky, interrupting our silence, something Jeremiah was very good at. It was always comfortable, like it should be with an old friend, and I guess he was waiting for me to ask for the favor we both knew I'd come to collect. I'd done him a solid a few years back, private stuff, and he'd help me if he could.
"A go?" I asked. "At what, getting knocked out in about minus three seconds?"
"I can box!"
"Yeah, your old clothes for the charity shop," I said laughing.
"Now, now, Arthur, if the lady wants to fight then let her."
"You have got to be kidding me. Look at these guys." So we did. And they were big, and mean, or scrawny, and still mean. Covered in gang tattoos, scarred, serious men, or scared kids trying to find a way to defend themselves. All of them would flatten Vicky or hurt her at the least.
"I still want a go." Vicky marched across the room, ignored the stares, and waited where they kept spare gloves.
"She serious?" asked Jeremiah.
"Yeah, unfortunately. I know it's hard to believe, but this Stepford mom shot a dude in the face the other week. Three times. Or was it two?" I mused. "Granted, he was already dead, but still."
"Damn, she's cold."
"And annoying. But she makes good coffee and she's my friend. Don't tell her this, but she's actually getting a little less annoying and becoming quite a good sidekick. Vicky's got this way about her, the goons seem to love her. She can talk to anyone, do her mom thing on them, and they're putty in her hands. She gave Merrick a shave with a cutthroat razor and her hands were rock solid."
"Wow, she's got mom balls all right," said Jeremiah, impressed.
"She sure has."
We watched as Vicky rummaged around for gloves and tried to put on a pair, looking tiny surrounded by brutish men, but you could tell there was something about her. An inner confidence. No matter the way she broke down and had her doubts about life and everything the same as the rest of us, Vicky was impressive if you looked without prejudice.
Jeremiah could see it, he could look past the generic soccer mom exterior and see what few others could.
Vicky was hardcore. She'd still get her ass handed to her, though.
Duck!
Vicky was already in the ring by the time we got to her. The men had finished their sparring and leaned against the ropes, sweating and smiling as Vicky jabbed at the air with her oversized gloves.
Jeremiah got in and spent a while showing her how to put them on properly and gave her a few tips, explaining how to stand, where to put her hands to protect herself, and how to do a simple jab, jab, punch. They messed about for a while as everyone else watched. It wasn't that women were banned so much as they seldom came in. This was a man's world however much Jeremiah tried to get the girls interested.
As was always the way,
Vicky made a new friend within minutes and they joked about as Jeremiah showed off his fancy footwork and Vicky pranced about like she was in her living room exercising to one of her lame workout DVDs.
Soon enough she'd had enough and they came to the edge of the ring and we chatted about how Vicky could improve her form and that her best bet was to use her height, or lack of it, to her advantage by hitting low and playing dirty if anyone ever tried it on with her. Jeremiah went by the book when he trained the guys, but knew the score out on the streets and gave them some more useful tips along with learning how to be a proper boxer.
"Bitch is fucking ridiculous," said a voice from behind me.
Before I turned I saw Jeremiah's face harden. He shook his head sadly, knowing this wouldn't end well.
I faced the guy, a big dude with an annoying smug smile revealing a gold tooth and an attitude I took an instant dislike to. "What did you just say?" I asked politely.
"I said that bitch in the ring is ridiculous. She's a joke. You too, scruffy. What, think your hat makes you look stylish do you?"
"I think it's none of your damn business what I think about anything. And I think, no, I know, that you owe the lady an apology."
"Fuck you and fuck her. Fuck you too, Jeremiah. You shouldn't be letting these white bitches in here, nor this freak."
"I've warned you, TS, this is the last chance you get, and more than you deserve."
"Or what, granddad? You gonna make me leave? Haha, I'll stomp you." The guy put a finger to his mouth as if in thought for a moment, then smiled and said, "Ah, fuck it," and pulled out a gun. He shoved the barrel into my chest and tried to stare me down. "You've got some freaky ass eyes, you know that?" he asked.
"Duh, they're mine. I see them when I look in the mirror. What do you see when you look, apart from a dickhead who should show some respect around women and Jeremiah here?"
"You don't tell me what to say. Who the fuck are you anyway?" He jabbed me hard with the gun and practiced his sneer.
"Doesn't the hat give it away?" I asked, still being polite.
"No, should it?"
"It's The Hat," someone shouted. Everyone was staring, looking either concerned or annoyed. It probably wasn't the first time something like this had happened, or the last.
"What the fuck? You called The Hat? Haha, that's lame," said TS, whatever that stood for.
"You've got a gun pushing at my chest. Please remove it." I said.
"You what? You're one polite dead old man. What's wrong with you?"
"I'm trying a new approach. Seeing if being nice will stop twats getting themselves beaten up."
"What, you think you're a match for me?" he asked, surprised.
"I know it."
"Then let's do this."
This character was proper dumb. I knew he'd try to pistol whip me the moment he spoke, and as he swung, which I have to admit was fast and powerful, I shunted the smallest amount of magic I could into my left hand and stopped the gun as it arced at my head.
He looked at me in shock as he felt my fist clench, squeezing his hand around the gun. I stopped short of breaking his bones as I knew that wasn't the way to deal with this. His buddies were with him and they needed to see that TS was no good, no hardcore dude to look up to. He needed to be beaten down at least somewhat fairly.
I let go and he winced as he pulled back but tried not to show it. "What, you too much of a pussy to fight me like a real man?" I asked, smiling.
"Arthur, there's no need for that. TS was just going, weren't you, TS?" Jeremiah leaned over the ropes and stared at him hard.
"No, I wasn't. Let's go." TS handed his gun to one of his guys then sprang over the ropes into the ring and shadow boxed like he was going to show the shadow what for.
I nodded at Jeremiah, and he gave me the go-ahead. He despaired of this guy, that much was obvious, and probably would have beaten TS himself if he'd been able to do so in private. Now was the chance to get this guy out of his hair, or at least show him he wasn't as tough as he thought he was.
I climbed in slowly, took my time getting through the ropes, and then gave Vicky my hat. "Watch and learn, grasshopper."
"Arthur, you don't fight with your fists. You do, er..." Vicky looked at Jeremiah and said no more.
"It's okay, I know all about The Hat," said Jeremiah. He did, but it wasn't his world, and he had enough on his plate without worrying about magic. "Not in here, Arthur. You know the rules."
"I know," I said. "Wouldn't dream of it."
"I'm gonna show you up in front of your bitch, how does that sound?" said TS, acting up for the crowded room.
"There's only one bitch in this room, and he's about to get spanked by an old man in front of his buddies. You'll look pretty fucking pathetic when you get hammered, and then you better apologize to Vicky. And Jeremiah."
"Haha. If you beat me I'll apologize. If I beat you I'm gonna drag that bitch out back and me and my—"
I didn't wait to hear any more. I punched him straight in the nose, no magic used. His head whipped back but he took it.
"That all you got?" he asked as he jabbed out a few times looking for an opening, getting in a few to the kidneys before swinging and clipping my ear. It stung, but I didn't cry or anything.
"Nope, just warming up."
Fisticuffs
You see fights all the time on TV, but it's all nonsense. If you've ever been hit in the face, and not even that hard, with bare knuckles then you know what I'm talking about. It hurts like nobody's business and you're lucky if you can take a few punches and remain standing.
The force of an average punch by somebody unpracticed in the art of fighting, and it is an art, can be several hundred pounds. That's a hell of a lot for the human head to take, and more than most people's noses can withstand. When you get into a fight is when you're likely to find out if you have a glass jaw or you dislike having knuckles slamming into your cheekbones, eye sockets, or temples.
Real fights, where people know what they're doing and aim for the head rather than just grabbing each other and punching ineffectively anywhere they can think of, are over quickly. Skin splits, blood flows, and someone's down.
Trained fighters can punch with anything from five hundred to well over a thousand pounds of force, and it has little to do with how big you are, but the speed with which you can deliver your killer moves. I could move fast.
It's also really, really scary. Most fights never come to anything, not real violence. They peter out when those involved suddenly understand this is a very bad idea and they have no clue what they're doing.
This was different. I wasn't scared, neither was TS by the looks of it.
TS was no stranger to fighting, but as with so many of his type much of it was bravado, relying on intimidation to make others back down, and often weapons were involved. Well not now.
He stepped back and paced about, grinning and cocky, then came up and threw a few dummy jabs as he weaved and bobbed around me, trying to get me off guard and sucker punch me. I let him have his fun, knowing it was futile.
I'd fought worse than him, much worse. He really had no idea. But what set me apart from the likes of him was that I had honor, was fighting not to impress but for valor. He'd insulted my friends and threatened Vicky, and you didn't get to do that if I thought I could make you apologize. Sure, there had been times when I'd run away when the odds were stacked too high against me, that's just common sense, but against a numpty like him? Nah.
I saw his punch coming from a mile away. His hips adjusted, his leg shifted, and his weight along with it, ready to power me into the mat. Right at the last moment I ducked and as I came up I gave him an uppercut that lifted him off the floor a fraction. As his eyes widened, I punched out hard to the solar plexus and as he doubled over forward I swung with my right and he slammed into the mat.
I stepped back, no fancy footwork needed, aware that the room was deadly silent. Nobody had expected TS to go down like that, and it was obvio
us they were pretty happy about it.
TS spat blood then got shakily to his feet. He sneered, wiped his mouth, then shook his head to clear the fog. I knew that feeling only too well. Your head is ringing and the pain is filtering through and your body is screaming at you to run away. But he couldn't back down now as I'd shown him up; he had to beat me or his street cred would be null and void.
"If you say sorry now we can stop this," I offered.
"I'm gonna kill you," he snarled as he got into the classic boxer's stance.
His eyes were streaming and his nose wouldn't stop bleeding but he was resolute. He was a hard man and he would not be shamed.
What he failed to realize is that there's always someone stronger, smarter, better, and the sooner you face that reality the happier you'll be with the person you are.
"Last chance. There's no need for this. I didn't start it, didn't ask for any of this."
"Come on, TS, he's an old man," said Jeremiah, hands out as he tried to calm the lad.
"He disrespected me. I'll beat him until he's a fucking vegetable."
TS turned his attention away from Jeremiah but he failed to understand the situation even slightly. Here he was threatening to beat me until my brain was mush yet he still expected me to wait patiently while he had a chat.
Sorry to disappoint you buddy. As his head spun it was already game over. I put all my weight forward onto my leading leg and punched not with my fist but with my whole body. My upper back tensed then released coiled energy like a spring, transferring that power, combined with my own rather unsubstantial bodyweight, and my fist shot out in a slight arc.
When you want to put somebody down you don't aim for them, you aim through them. I aimed for a spot not on his left jaw but on his right, so as my fist connected it kept on plowing through, intent on reaching the other side. Without magic it didn't actually physically drive through to that spot, but the effect was just as impressive.
My arm came to a dead stop as it reached its destination, TS already falling away to the mat. I watched as a gold tooth sparkled beautifully flying through the air, blood splattered across the mat, and a moment later TS landed. There was a crunch as he hit, his already broken jaw shattering even with the give of the canvas.