Fighting to the Death

by Carl Merritt

  After my opponent finally fell to the ground I rolled onto him and pushed my hand into his head and tried to knock him out. I knew he was a lot stronger and fitter than me and I had to get it over quickly or else I was dead meat. So I smacked him hard in the ribs with my cut-off fingerless gloves just like the ones I wore in the fight against the fat Spaniard.

  But it didn’t stop him much and within moments we’d both managed to get to our feet and were having a proper full-on fist fight. I preferred standing up to laying down any day of the week. Now we were both heavily committed to a form of stand-off. First he kicked me really hard as I tried to strike out with my fists. I kept trying to reach him only for him to catch me with yet another painful kick to the ribs. This kid really knew his stuff. I knew I needed to bide my time and try to pick the perfect moment to strike out but for the moment he was completely running the show.

  Then my opponent momentarily lifted his head just a touch too high and, bang, I got him straight in the throat with the back of my hand and down he went. I steamed into him on the floor like rolling thunder and trod all over him. Then I leaned down and started smacking him just to make sure he had no chance of reviving. After a right pummelling he was finally out cold.

  It was that jab to the throat which won it for me. As we’d been scrapping during that stand-up, he’d just lifted his head high enough and I’d got him. Up until then he’d hardly put a foot wrong. I’d seen my opportunity and taken it.

  Now I looked down at him crumpled on the floor and hesitated for a split second. His breathing looked a bit strange but I couldn’t risk him coming back at me a second time because I was close to exhaustion myself.

  So I just tore into him and hurt him very badly on the knees, legs, head, you name it. This was about me or him. I just kept hitting him over and over again to make sure he couldn’t come back again. I was oblivious to the jeering crowd spitting blood because they’d once again lost a small fortune on their man.

  The car lights were still illuminating the scene with him lying flat on his face out cold. I pulled him round to take a look at him and put my hand on his mouth to make sure he was breathing. Thank God he was.

  The whole fight had lasted about ten minutes but it had felt like two hours. I’d got a severe beating, no denying it. I was lucky to still be standing.

  The crowd was getting noisier and I looked around for Dan. Luckily he was already at the gate and pulled it open and we all jumped in the van pronto. It was chaos. They were throwing bottles and stuff at the van. As we screeched out of the warehouse exit, I turned to look back at the makeshift cage and saw three geezers leaning over my opponent trying to revive him. I never even knew his name.

  It was only then I realised the full extent of my injuries. I couldn’t even see properly out of either eye so I asked Steve to drive me straight home. I was fully conscious but I couldn’t talk properly either. I didn’t care about my car, which was still parked on a meter near Southend Pier.

  Dan asked me if I wanted him to take me to a doctor but I just mumbled through my bleeding mouth. ‘Nah. Just wanna go home.’

  Inside the van, Dan towelled me down and I tried to drink a bit of water but my outfit was soaked in claret. I looked in a dreadful state.

  Steve eventually dropped me outside my house and I stumbled up the pathway before staggering in through the front door. Steve didn’t hang around to see me in. He didn’t know Carole and he never would.

  It was about eleven and thank God Carole was in bed when I crept in. Then I fell up the stairs and took off all my clothes and jumped in the shower. That’s when I saw myself in the mirror for the first time and looked back at the Elephant Man. I thought fuckin’ hell, Carole will kill me! I knew I’d taken a few whacks but I didn’t realise how bad it was until then.

  I knew I couldn’t hide my injuries from Carole but I didn’t want to wake her up so I crept back down the stairs to my little office at the back of the house and collapsed in my armchair. I took loads of paracetamol to try and kill the pain and just sat there and suffered. I deserved it for being such a selfish arsehole.

  I kept thinking of what I’d done and how I’d let Carole and the girls down so badly. I was in a right state. I had done a wrong deed and now I was preparing for her to divorce me. I was also afraid the girls – Jaime was six and Mel ten by this time – would be so scared when they saw me.

  A few hours later as the sun was coming up, Carole looked in the office and burst into tears the moment she saw me.

  ‘What have you done to yerself?’

  I could barely talk, my mouth was so sore. When I tried to say sorry a load of blood bubbled out of my mouth. It was pathetic.

  Then Carole started screaming. It was ear-piercing stuff born more out of frustration than anger. I was driving her mad and this was obviously the last straw.

  The girls had remained in their bedroom until now but they came down when Carole began screaming. I told her to keep them away from me because I was so worried about what they might think. They didn’t deserve this. Nor did Carole.

  Then Jaime caught a glimpse of me through the crack in the office door and started screaming. I mumbled something about how I’d run into someone’s hand but I’m not sure she could hear me above all the noise in any case.

  Somehow, through all the hysteria and crying I managed to earn some sympathy from Carole and instead of screaming divorce at me she started looking after me and helping me to recover. She put me straight to bed and asked if I wanted a doctor. At first I refused but the pain got so bad the next day that I went to my GP because I couldn’t breathe. When he asked me what happened I said I got run over. He just looked at my hands and fists and shook his head in disbelief.

  I then had to go and have my ribs and hands x-rayed at Basildon Hospital. I had a face x-ray as well but luckily I only had hairline cracks and lot of bruises but no actual breaks. The doc in the hospital even pointed out I had some gristle in there because those ribs had been broken a few times before. They all knew only too well that I’d been in a serious scrap.

  Even now when I lift my arm too high it still hurts. Amazingly, my face was alright apart from the missing teeth. I never found them. And that piece of plastic put in my face all those years earlier had somehow survived so I was quite lucky in a way, although my hands were like balloons for about two weeks.

  Dan the man turned up with my money the very next day. He refused to come into the house and chucked it through the letterbox instead. He didn’t even take his usual percentage out of it although I’m sure he was getting something from the other side as well.

  A few days later I rang Dan and told him for the very last time: ‘Never again.’

  I know he’ll try and pull me back in for another fight, but this time it really is the end of my career.

  Carole said my excuse that the money was for the kids was pathetic but at least we’ve put it away for them. Deep down I felt I’d learned a lesson and that now I had nothing to prove to anyone. Now I’ve done it I can sleep easy in my bed at nights. I had forgotten what pain was like and never want to feel this way again as long as I live.

  If I’d had it too easy in that second fight I might have been sucked into carrying on. Meeting such a tough opponent was a good thing. I thought about my opponent after the fight but I had to remain detached from anything to do with him otherwise it would have done my head in. I know for a fact he didn’t die because I specially asked Dan to find out and he said he was just badly bruised. ‘He’ll kick on again. Don’t worry about him,’ added Dan. I hoped he was telling me the truth.

  That fight has taken a lot out of me because you don’t heal so quickly when you’re older. I’d also got a timely reminder that I wasn’t so invincible after all.

  I even promised Carole I’d change my phone number so I wasn’t tempted ever again. The girls still haven’t got a clue what I was up to. They just think that daddy got into a fight in a pub. Teachers at their school have read about me and know what
I used to do. No doubt my daughter Mel will get her hands on this book one day and find out all about her old man. I hope she doesn’t think less of me when she learns the truth.

  Things are back to normal again at home. I’m working in the building trade once again and I’m in one piece, thank God. That’s it. This time I ain’t going back in The Cage. I’m definitely too old for this game.

  End of story.

  Copyright

  Published by John Blake Publishing Ltd,

  3 Bramber Court, 2 Bramber Road,

  London W14 9PB, England

  www.johnblakepublishing.co.uk

  www.facebook.com/johnblakebooks

  twitter.com/jblakebooks

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those may be liable in law accordingly.

  ePub ISBN 978 1 78418 505 3

  Mobi ISBN 978 1 78418 506 0

  PDF ISBN 978 1 78418 507 7

  First published in paperback in 2009

  ISBN: 978 1 84454 690 9

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data:

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Design by www.envydesign.co.uk

  © Text copyright Wensley Clarkson and Carl Merritt 2009

  The rights of Wensley Clarkson and Carl Merritt to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Papers used by John Blake Publishing are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  Every attempt has been made to contact the relevant copyright-holders, but some were unobtainable. We would be grateful if the appropriate people could contact us.