Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Hard Case Book IV:
A Violent Life
by
Bernard Lee DeLeo
*****
PUBLISHED BY:
Bernard Lee DeLeo
And
RJ Parker Publishing
Hard Case Book IV: A Violent Life
Copyright © 2014 by Bernard Lee DeLeo
*****
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. Please respect the author’s work. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real life persons, events, or places is purely coincidental.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Chapter One
Rattler
I went down with the fading roar of the Mandalay Bay crowd turning the arena into a wall of noise. I barely had enough sense to roll away from my opponent. The Rattler lived up to his hype without any problem. Only reflexes honed for years in combat kept me from being pounded into a blood red corpse in this horrific first round wake up call. I scrambled, crab walking away into the cage, my head pounding with the crowd’s incredible mind numbing decibel level. The Rattler smiled at me through my haze of unconsciousness. He took no chances. The roundhouse kick to my temple exploded into the two arm block I threw up to survive, driving me to the mat again on my left. The referee dived in at some risk as the round ended with audible warning.
Tommy, Devon, and Jesse guided me to the ring stool Jafar put into place. I staggered down onto it with their help. I grinned at their horrified looks. After that round of attack I had no answer for, I must have looked a lot like raw hamburger. “Hi guys. How’d I do?”
Only Tommy chuckled, knowing me like a brother.
“You got whooped, Hard Case,” Devon Constantine smiled as he and the others tried to clean, clot, and staunch the damage.
“I think I’m going to puke if you go out there again, brother,” Jesse added with heartfelt sympathy. “Lay the fuck down, Cracker! This guy is a beast!”
Then the inexplicable happened. Al hit the cage, her fingers threading into the links, her teary eyed countenance sending a jolt right to my soul. She wasn’t supposed to be here under any circumstances! “Dad! Don’t…don’t do this!”
It was the first time Al had ever called me Dad. One of the ring minions went to grab her, and ended up with Lynn Montoya at his side. “Go ahead. Touch the girl and I will slit your fucking throat before anyone in the arena can reach you!”
Boy did she have backup. The guy backed off in open mouthed, hands gesturing compliance, with Clint, Casey, Lucas, and even Denny there surrounding her.
Lynn patted the guy’s cheek. “Get the fuck away from here.”
She watched him move away into the security squad. Lynn put her arm around Al. “C’mon, Al, sometimes it is what it is, kid.”
Al wouldn’t let go of the cage links, tears streaming down her face. “I…I love you, Dark Lord.”
I laughed, reaching back to stroke her fingers. “The Dark Lord orders you to go away with Lynn!”
Then the warning buzzer sounded. Tommy patted my shoulder. “See you on the other side, DL.”
Oh hell yeah! I ain’t candy, sugar cane, or an altar boy. I just got labeled a Dad. I stood up and pounded my fists together. I could tell the Rattler thought this was going to be his night. It probably would be… but by God… it was going to cost him some blood to put me down. I felt the pain wash over me from standing up, a long lost friend I knew well. I grinned like a dipshit buying a Big Mac at the local McDonalds. The noise enveloped me in a soothing fog of unreality.
The referee waved us together. The Rattler was six foot six of unadulterated natural muscle and know-how. He grinned at me while making chanting, pumping raised fists at the crowd. The Rattler thought he owned me, and maybe he did. Let’s see. Devon, Jesse, and I had been working on a solar plexus punch we thought would slow Rattler down. It was a great punch, but I hadn’t been able to get close enough to use it. His hands were as quick as I’d ever seen. Rattler landed at least twenty blows before I got off a completely missed jab.
Rattler circled me, motioning for me to come get some. I’d already tried a takedown. It worked out real well for him, because he blasted me nearly unconscious before I could get a hold. Then he did something overconfidence breeds in true showmen, and Rattler was a showman. He kept circling, but wound his right fist around while glancing at the crowd, making it look like he was winding a clock up. Rattler glanced in the crowd’s direction once too often. I shot forward with my solar plexus punch. I took a snake fast left to the head, but I landed it almost right on target. If I’d hit him with the attitude I’d put in throwing the punch, the fight would be over. I landed it well enough. He rebounded off the cage at his back, sucking wind. I grinned. Game on.
I took him down. Even his lightning reflexes couldn’t come back quickly from a solar plexus shot. Jammed against the cage, the now deadly serious Rattler gasped, wheezed, and jerked his body left and right, trying to thwart the takedown. Not this time bucko. When he twisted left again, I shot in an elbow that opened him up from behind his ear to the front of his sideburn. A little lower, and his ear would have been loped off. He collapsed to his side momentarily with blood pouring down from the head slash. I whipped in three rapid fire left hooks under Rattler’s right ribcage. Those shots made him spin back toward me in agony, covering his side while opening him up to my full mount.
I managed a little party time with the referee hovering to see if I could end the fight. No such luck. Rattler nearly turned my partial miss into a triangle choke. I had to let him go. When we both scrambled up to our feet, Rattler narrowly avoided my flying knee into his solar plexus, but it hit under his heart, sending him into a staggering lurch away from me. Before he could get too far away, my right leg shot nearly buckled him. The round ended, heralded by thousands of happy, screaming UFC fans in attendance. Rattler and I were less pleased, mostly due to wondering if our corners could stop the blood flow. My guys went to work on me with Jafar trying to keep my left eye from closing with an ice pack. The others worked stopping blood flow and closing cuts.
“That idiot just had to play the crowd,” Tommy said, with a shake of his head. “He would have put you out of your misery, if the dummy had kept his eyes on your beat up ass. We could be playing blackjack by now, and slingin’ shots down.”
“Gee… thanks, T.” Naturally my corner crew began listing the other things we could be doing in Las Vegas instead of watching me get my head handed to me.
“I sure hope he’s still slowed down a bit this round,” Dev said. “That last leg shot helped. Before he gets settled for even a split second, hit him with it again. He’ll come out jabbin’. You’ll have to hurt him in order to
shut those damn things off.”
“You almost got him on the takedown, John,” Jess added. “If the bastard wasn’t so damn fast, I’d be all for another takedown. I’m scared you’ll wake up from a takedown in the hospital… or the morgue.”
“Lora has Al. The brat snuck out of the room and pulled a fast one getting into the arena as your kid.” Tommy patted my shoulder. “She’s your kid alright, Dad. Well… you rumblin’ any more tonight or do we hit the showers and the dice tables now.”
I stood up with a smile. “I’ll stay awhile.”
“We’d have to put a bag over his head tonight anyhow if we take him anywhere, T,” Jess remarked.
“We usually have to anyway if there’re children anywhere around,” Dev twisted the smartass remark knife in under the ribs a little deeper.
Jafar grabbed my arm. “Do not get killed, John.”
I didn’t even look around. “That ain’t up to me, kid.”
The horn honked, the whistle blew, or some bell rang. It could have been a foghorn for all I cared. I watch my opponent, and the referee. We don’t make music until he signals for us to get it on. The referee waved us at each other after getting readiness grunts. I did what Dev told me to do, but I faked it. Rattler went for it, pulling up his right leg as he drifted to his left. My spinning right hand back fist smacked into the left side of his head. The force pulped his left ear while sending him head first into the cage. I tried for an immediate takedown, but Rattler dinked me right on top of the head with a desperate elbow. I felt the blood flow on top. He scooted along the cage, clearing his head.
He came at me with that machine gun left jab, but pulled back when I smashed his inner knee with the kick for real, breaking off his jab barrage. I shifted and caught him but good with an opposite leg smash he didn’t like at all. Then it was on. The red, numbing haze of battle shuttered us into our own hell dimension. We saw each other in a dim crescendo of gloved fisted strikes. Blood spattered the ring floor with red rain. Somewhere, someone signaled the end of the round, but it took a dive into the middle of Rattler and me by the frantic referee to stop us. We backed away from one another with our fists still up. Only then did absolute bedlam from the Mandalay Bay crowd waft over us. Always the showman, Rattler waved a bloody fist in the air. Damn it! I wish I would have thought of it first. If I did it now, it’d look like a cheap mimic gesture.
The guys slapped cool wet towels all over me with Jess holding a compress to the top of my head with anticoagulant. From what I could see across the way, Rattler’s handlers were trying to do something to keep his ear in place. Jafar held an ice pack over both my eyes after the initial clean up, leaving Devon and Tommy to repair and patch the cuts and splits.
“Damn… you guys are really efficient. I feel just like new.”
“Shut up, John!” Tommy cut off the initial chuckle I elicited from the rest of my crew. “You look like someone threw you into a wood chipper, you idiot! If they could siphon it up from the ring surface, they would have enough blood for a day at Highland Hospital’s emergency room back home!”
What? I waved a hand at the Rattler. “He looks like a tractor ran over his flower garden too, T. We’re not exactly playing checkers in the park, ya’ know?”
Tommy grinned. “Let him up, guys. The boat’s arrived for idiot’s island. Hop on, DL.”
Now that was funny. Rattler and his crew were gawking at each other, watching four guys and a wood chipper victim laugh inappropriately. The fourth round Rattler decided it was time for stick and move. That’s what he did, and he was damn good at it. He avoided my leg strikes while utilizing his speed with combinations that dusted my face off past my guard nearly at will. They weren’t full power strikes, but he didn’t need them. His crew wisely told him to win the fight and forget humiliating me. I appreciated that, but his barrage of left – right punishing strikes were a lot more frustrating. Then he forgot, and lapsed into a pattern. I timed it, and nearly ended the fight with another solar plexus shot frustratingly close to pay-dirt.
As it was, Rattler went on the run, wheezing for air while throwing out a weak jab to fend me off. My leg whip took him down. I went party time on him for only about two seconds, when the round ended, with crowd noise so loud the referee had to jump over the top of me to signal the round’s end. I got a warning from him, but that was the least of my worries. Rattler gasped his way over onto hands and knees. His crew helped him back to the stool. The grim looks I received in my own corner convinced me we wouldn’t be laughing during this rest period.
I shrugged. “The boat to idiot’s island was attacked by pirates. I barely made it back alive. Get to work. They gave me another ticket. It leaves in a couple minutes.”
“You nailed him that round, brother,” Jess said, as they went to work on me, without any repartee. “Another minute, and you’d have pounded the snot out of him.”
“You’ll have to knock him out to win, John,” Devon said. “We have you down three to one in rounds. If you have any Dark Lord tricks saved for a rainy day, pull them out of your ass, and make ‘em count. There’s a thunderstorm hitting right now.”
I pulled the outrage card. “That’s it! That’s my pep talk?” I looked across at Rattler. He looked grim but confident. I didn’t blame him. I shook off my guys. I stood up and brought the Dark Lord out. I did the robot, blood and all. It drew big laughter from the crowd, and my robot ended up on all the screens as the warning sounded for the fifth and final round. Rattler looked like someone shot his dog, the way he bounded off his stool, shoving his crew back.
“Gee… that was smart, DL.” Tommy picked up the stool. “I ought to smash you on the head with this. Well… enjoy the boat ride, idiot!”
I know it was stupid, but I didn’t feel like chasing Rattler around the cage this round like I was at some country fair competing in a greased pig contest. I could tell Rattler no longer wanted that either. I took one last look around me with a deep breath. It was a great place for a great finish. I planned on delivering. The referee waved us to get it on, and we did.
The solar plexus shot at the end of the last round still haunted Rattler. He was fired up, but not stupid. The body shots had taken their toll on him. The snap in his punches had dwindled in power and speed if not ferocity. I threw rib shots until Rattler lost his mind. We went at each other again full bore in the middle of the octagon. Nothing in the way of murderous body or head shots waylaid the two bloody zombies we had become. Then time slowed down. A moment became locked, moving at its own macabre pace. A left hook to Rattler’s ribcage jarred his rhythm. My right smashed flush on his chin a split second before the referee rammed into me, grabbing in wrap around desperation. The round had ended. That didn’t mean much to Rattler. He was lying so still on the mat, I thought maybe I had sent him to the last Rattler roundup. That had been my intent. The referee’s screaming in my face. I’m grinning.
He breaks away from me with absolute chaos going on out in the crowd. They were cheering us – the fight, the blood, the knockout. They cheered everything including the referee pointing at me, telling the judges to take a point off. Who cares? I didn’t. They didn’t. I hoped Rattler was okay, but at this point as my crew surrounded me, my head was thinking of how nice a Bud and Beam would be. They worked on me with wet towels, patching me as the officials dealt with the details.
“That was the best fight ever, John,” Devon said.
“What he said,” Jess added, “and can I get an amen, brothers?”
“Amen,” Tommy said along with the crew. “That robot dance really sent Rattler flamingo hat crazy, DL. It didn’t win the fight officially, but I doubt anyone in the crowd much cares. I’m just glad you’re still alive. We’ll have to double bag you for the Bud and Beam tonight though.”
Jafar, who was studiously holding the ice to my eyes nodded solemnly. “Most adults will run screaming at the sight of you. I am barely holding in my lunch.”
At that humorous remark, I broke away to go see Rat
tler. Unfortunately, he was not yet coherent. They had managed to get him on a stool, but waved me away. I understood. The ring announcer pulled me over. He went through his whole spiel as if Rattler was standing next to me. He then pointed at the Rattler on his stool, announcing him as the winner. The crowd booed like hell, but it was the right call. Rattler hadn’t known the round was over either, but it was, and not much remained for me to say. I clocked him after the end.
I was swarmed afterwards by the UFC fight reporters wondering if I felt cheated, and the usual blather hoping to get a rise out of me. I patiently explained that Rattler had turned me into hamburger, and the knockout punch was a split second after the round ended. I smiled and finished it simply by pointing at my face. “Do I look like I won? I lost.”
Some of the veteran reporters thought that was a funny enough line to walk away. We’d have to leave the cage soon anyway. Then I got a cheap shot. It was what I expected. A guy got in front of me. Jess reached for him, but I shook my head. We can’t duck stuff out here in UFC land.
“You didn’t seem broken up about putting The Rattler in the hospital with that late blow. Did you know they think you broke his jaw?”
“I’m sorry neither he nor I heard the end of the round. We were mixing it up in the final couple minutes and we simply didn’t hear it end.”
“Any remorse?”
“Sure. I wish it had happened a second sooner. I would have won.”
“Is that all you care about? You’ve killed two men in the cage.”
“When I’m fighting in the octagon or anywhere else, winning is the only thing I care about. No fighter goes into a UFC match worried about hurting his opponent. If you think differently, you’re too stupid to be doing interviews.”
That drew loud laughter from my crew and others within hearing. It shut the clown jamming the mic in my face up for a moment. Before he could speak, Mandalay Bay officials walked up to move us along. Good, because I needed a shower and probably a doctor to stitch up a few spots. Jafar helped me off with my bloody gloves. The interviewer tried to approach again as we were escorted out, but Jesse accidentally ran him over. I received loud applause as we made our way to the locker room. I guess the fans liked the fight even though there was a little controversy. I waved, bumped fists, slapped hands, and had a good old time as we trekked along. I know I looked like Frankenstein’s Monster, but at least I didn’t leave on a stretcher. I did feel bad Rattler made his triumphant exit from the cage on a gurney. It could have just as easily been me.
Hard Case IV: A Violent Life (John Harding Series Book 4) Page 1