Bridgeport Brawler (Fight Card)

by Jack Tunney

  I thought about Homer, the look on his dead face, the look of the needle still stuck in his arm. Now Carmen was messing with another friend from the orphanage, “Arrrg!” I yelled out loud causing a few other folks who had been walking on the same side of the street to crossover.

  I decided to head back to the shop and spend the night there instead of the small room I kept at the boarding house.

  Chili had been trying to tell me something, but I kinda shook it off because he was drunk. But what if it was something important? I hurried a little bit. I hadn’t realized how far I had walked. For some reason the pit of my stomach told me I needed to hurry – something was wrong. I could feel it. I began to jog, but soon broke in to an all-out run. I was about a mile away when I heard the sirens before the large fire truck sped past me. I ran even harder.

  Then the smell of burning wood, chemicals, and smoke hit me. Soot was in the air.

  I rounded the corner just in time to see the shop a raging inferno.

  A crowd had gathered, but were being held off by a group of police, meanwhile three fire engines were hard at work trying to douse the flames.

  I stood there feeling weak kneed and sick to my stomach. The fire lit up the night sky and threw heat in all directions.

  I knew without even going up and asking that Chili was in there burnt to a crisp.

  I turned and walked away, my shoulders slumped lower than I could ever remember. I walked back to the boarding house, stepped into my room, and crawled under the sheets. I just wanted to go to sleep and wake up to find it was all a dream, but I knew it wasn’t.

  I wasn’t that lucky.

  ROUND 7

  It had been a six months since they torched Chili’s garage with him in it. I had grown closer to the bottle, any bottle really, whatever I could afford or get my hands on.

  I had also made my way into the underground fight game. It was more street brawling then boxing, but it fed my needs. I was able to see my way to the bottom of more bottles than previously, and I was also able to cut loose some of the anger buried deep in my soul.

  I lived in Chinatown now, where I was out of sight of Carmen and his goons, assuming they were even looking.

  This evening, I was seated in the Dragon Q, shooting some pool and warming up for tonight’s fight with some bourbon. The chinks liked me, as well they should since they were winning a ton of money on me in the arena – their name for the location where the fights took place.

  I downed a shot of bourbon and then sunk the eight ball in the corner pocket for the win. Weng Li shook his head and forked over the money. I told him to rack em up, but he shook his head and held his hands in the air.

  “No, sir…you much too good,” he said, turning to exit the place.

  I ordered another shot. I was just about to down it when Jimmy Chu walked in. He looked over at me, saw the glass in my hand and shook his head. I smiled and defiantly gulped the booze, feeling it burn all the way down. Jimmy was not happy.

  “What the matter with you, Pat? You know you have big fight tonight. I bet much money on you to win.”

  I smiled and set my cue stick down.

  “That’s the problem with you, Jimmy. You worry too much.” I patted him on the back and let out a loud burp.

  He wasn’t amused. The two bodyguards stepped between us to show they were not amused either. They were both about five six tops. Combined, they probably didn’t weigh as much as me, but I knew they were skilled fighters. I held my hands up.

  “Now, Jimmy. We don’t want to tire me out by whipping up on your two boys here, do we?”

  Jimmy looked at the two and nodded.

  I just shrugged and watched as the two of them started doing all these fancy moves, trying to intimidate me.

  The first jumped in the air and tried to land a spinning kick in my chest. I caught his ankle mid-air and used his own force to hurl him into the mirror next to the pool table. I didn’t have time to watch him land before a roundhouse kick sent me up and over one of the tables where two older Chinamen were drinking. They didn’t miss a beat, just kept on playing the goofy domino game they so loved around here.

  I jumped to my feet and set myself in an open stance, with my hands out in front of me. It wasn’t the best for boxing, but this was hardly boxing. The guy who knocked me on my butt wasted little time it moving through a few more stances before pressing his attack.

  He tried a sweep move, but I saw it coming and jumped up in the air. I purposely did it so I would land closer to him than he was ready for. Before he even finished his original motion, I had driven my elbow into the small of his back. I heard the air explode from his lungs as he dropped to the floor.

  He recovered quickly and pulled some leg lock move, which again dropped me on my butt. We both got to our feet around the same time.

  My right was still no good for making a fist, but it was good for swinging in a knife edge strike, or almost as a club. I waited for him to come at me, but he was being a little more cautious.

  We felt each other out and by this time his partner had groggily picked himself up. I caught him coming at me out of the corner of my eye, so I was ready. Just as he tried to come flying over the table to jump on my back, I grabbed a cue stick off the table and whirled and drove the butt of it into his solar plexus. He went down like a ton of bricks, and this time, he was gonna stay down for a while.

  This seemed to anger his partner, who pressed an all-out attack on me. He threw kicks and punches, most of which I blocked, or at least diverted enough so they didn’t do any real damage. He kept pressing. I rolled away from one of his punches and stepped aside. As he went by, I drove the edge of my right down against the back of his neck. The force sent his forehead into the pool table edge and it was lights out.

  I winked at Jimmy.

  Leaving before things got even more out of hand, I walked down the street to Won Kow, the restaurant which housed the arena in its basement.

  I didn’t care about anything. I just wanted to get in the ring and take out the rest of my hostilities on whatever fool stepped in there with me.

  It was Friday, I guess, and the place was really packed. I tended to not care what day it was any more. Jimmy lined up the fights, and I fought ‘em.

  As usual, there were runners with their note pads taking bets on everything from who would bleed first, to whether or not someone would get their nose broken.

  I stepped over to a little booth on one end and dropped my trousers. I had my trunks on underneath. I took my shirt off and entered the arena. I was greeted by one hell of an ugly gorilla at the other end.

  He was a good six-five and pushing every pound of two-sixty. His shoulders were broad, but his mid-section was sloppy. He had greasy black hair, His nose was large and favored one side, a good sign it had been pushed in a time or two. He stared at me with eyes as black and dead as coal. He argued his case by snarling and revealing some yellowed and blackened teeth – the ones still in his mouth.

  I winked and gave him my dazzling Irish smile.

  I noticed Jimmy and his boys had made it into the crowd. They of course had front roll seats reserved. I noticed a look on Jimmy’s face I had never seen before. He was actually worried. This was new. Since the first time he’d laid eyes on me, Jimmy was very confident in my abilities.

  I lost my smile, looking back at the guy across from me to figure out what would make Jimmy look so worried. The guy was big, but I had fought lots of big guys and they were the ones who kissed the floor first.

  I glanced at the closest thing to a corner man the arena offered. His name was Chan. While he wasn’t a good cutman and didn’t have any strategy, he did keep the towels wet and ready in between rounds.

  “What’s the low down on this guy, Chan?”

  “Him bad news from what I here, strong as ox, twice as ugly.” Chan chuckled at that, he had amused himself.

  “The ox have a name, Chan?”

  “Bruno Pavelsky.” Chan answered, straight forwar
d.

  “Pollack?”

  “No, Russian. They say he kill a few people back home. I hear the Russian mob is trying to get feet into things. I would be careful if I were you, Pat. This one bad news.”

  The ref was an older Chinese fella. He did most of the fights, and all things considered kept things pretty fair and square – at least as much as an underground fight could be.

  He timed out the rounds at three minutes and stepped in if anything really below the belt was going on. I moved to the center of the ring as did the big Russian. I had fought bigger, but something about the look in this guy’s stare caught me in a funny way. It wasn’t fear, but I definitely felt my senses jump to full alert. We held our gloves out for the ref to inspect, they weren’t boxing gloves by any means -- more like winter gloves, tough stretchable leather, but no padding.

  The ref went over the rules and the whole time the big ox just stared at me grinning. I thought I actually saw drool forming in the corner of his mouth. Yep, this was definitely going to be a tough match. I wished I had listened to Jimmy’s words of advice about the drinking, but had been getting full of myself since no one had come close to beating me.

  The Russian and I tapped gloves and headed for our corners. The bell sounded and we moved back toward the center of the ring.

  I didn’t waste any time stepping in and throwing a few quick jabs at his face and dancing around a bit. He just brushed off my jabs like I was an annoying insect.

  I danced back and forth making him pivot, but he kept his right cocked and ready. I stepped in and threw a couple more left jabs, then danced sideways and threw a couple lefts to the body. He was flabby around the middle, but that often meant it would take more to connect with something underneath, like ribs and kidneys.

  I decided to get a little more adventuresome. I side stepped the first jabs he attempted to throw and used the ridge of my right hand to land a solid blow on his temple. I danced out of the way of a couple sloppy combos from the big Russian, then stepped in with a straight left to his jaw and a hook to his ribs.

  I got out of there to survey the damage if there was any. There wasn’t. He just smiled wider.

  I was done feeling him out. This boy was gonna take some work, and without the thunderous right I once possessed it was gonna tough. I faked a right to his breadbasket and shot two left hooks to his cheek. I back out again, but quickly came back with a few jabs, pushing his gloves into his face.

  I could tell he was getting annoyed. I wasn’t hurting him, but so far he had yet to lay a hand on me.

  Here’s the thing with underground fighting – rabbit punches, kicks, they were all legal. Pretty much anything short of biting or gouging a guy’s eyes out was legal. I decided to take advantage of some of the Kung-Fu, or whatever it was called, Jimmy had his boys show me.

  I changed stances, which threw the Russian off. I faked a back-hand and brought my knee hard into his thigh, then backed out and danced around and brought a sweeping kick into his other thigh. He caught on quick that this was a street brawl. I knew a lot of time had passed in the round and the bell would be ringing soon. I wanted to find a weak spot before it was over.

  I stepped in and shot a straight-leg kick into his gut. When he dropped his arm, I shot a ridge-strike to his nose with my right. I felt the bone give and a little blood squirted out.

  I followed up with a hard left hook, which I twisted my hips into, and connected solidly on his temple. He brought his hands up to protect his broken nose, but I had that planned. My left uppercut was already on the way, sailing under his hands and perfectly connecting on the dimple of his chin.

  I stepped back waiting to watch him drop like a piece of dead lumber, but all he did was grin at me and spray the snot and blood from his nose on the floor. The bell rang for the end of round one.

  I plopped on the little stool Chan produced and shook my head. Chan went to work wiping my face and torso with a couple wet towels. I knew I didn’t have the hammer right I once did, but I’d given the Ruskie a couple very hard shots, and he wasn’t impressed.

  I was really kicking myself for downing all the bourbon before the fight. I was winded after one round – never a good sign. I looked into the audience and saw the look on Jimmy Lee’s face was even sourer. He was wishing the same thing.

  “Chan,” I said without turning my head. “Is there any advice you might want to offer.” I waited a few seconds for his response, which finally came.

  “Don’t get hit.”

  I turned to look at his grin just as the bell rang for round two.

  I met the Ruskie in the middle again, but this time I didn’t dance around. I stepped in with a straight right, knocking his hand back into his face, and then brought the inside ridge of my right hand hard into his temple area. It felt light hitting stone.

  I backed out quickly and looked for some sign of weakness on this guy. I danced around him, hoping something would come to mind. I moved left and fake a jab and then tried a quick spin-kick to his sternum.

  I felt the grip on my leg like it was trapped in a vise. The Russian spun me around and tossed me bouncing to the far end of the ring. I jumped up quickly just in time to fend off a couple straight rights. Even though I deflected them, they still made me see stars.

  I moved away and tried to clear my head, but now the big ox was stalking me. He cut off the ring so I couldn’t just dance around him. I threw a left, which snapped his head back, and drove the heel of my foot into his thigh.

  I dropped down and leg locked him causing his massive frame to stumble and land hard on the floor. I hoped it would be enough to take some wind out of him so I could get some kind of choke hold – it didn’t. He rolled to his side and swept a leg out that took my over aggressive butt down hard.

  I managed to jump up just as he did, but my breath hadn’t returned yet. The Russian locked his hands together and raised them above his head and charged at me with a full head of steam.

  I managed to turn my head away, but my back took the brunt of the hit, pile-driving me into the floor. I sensed more than saw the big foot, which might have stomped not only my wind out, but possibly my life.

  I rolled just as he brought his foot down hard where only seconds before my body had been. I rolled again, onto my back, and slammed my foot into his shin. This time he showed pain.

  I grinned. I’d actually hurt him.

  I seemed to gain a little steam. I jumped up, and as he tried to throw a wild right at me, I stepped in and gave him a hard kick in the other shin. The result was the same. He hobbled and tried to keep up his defense while moving away from me. I didn’t let him.

  I stepped in and faked another shot to his shin, but just as he bent to block, I jumped in the air and threw my full weight into an elbow strike just above his kidney. The Russian went down and I could hear some labored breathing as he struggled to get up.

  I threw a straight-kick to his ribs and felt at least one of them give way. Still he started to rise, however he was keeping an elbow at his side. I stepped in with a straight-left, snapping his head back again, and followed up with an elbow strike to his forehead. It was solid and split the skin sending a steady stream of blood running down his face. He was wobbly now, and I sensed my chance.

  I snapped two quick lefts to his cheek and a straight-kick to his stomach. As he bent over, I jumped and drove my elbow into the back of his skull. He hit the canvas hard. This time there was be no getting up.

  The ref gave a preliminary ten count before raising my hand in victory.

  The crowd erupted with a mixture of cheers and boos, but mostly cheers. I stepped out of what passed for a ring and grabbed a few wet towels from Chan.

  The fight had lasted two rounds, but I felt like I’d gone fifteen. I slid into my jeans and t-shirt and looked into the ring. A group of the Ruskie’s comrades were waving smelling salts under his nose to bring him around. After a few seconds they had him on his feet.

  I caught the eye of one of the guys helping
him. He was tall as me, but maybe a bit slimmer. He sported slicked back black hair, which was completely in place, and was wearing a suit that looked like it cost five bills, easy.

  He glared at me for a minute. Then he raised his finger and pointed it at me like a gun and shot me a wink. He followed his man mountain out of the ring.

  I walked over to where Jimmy was standing expecting him to be happy, but he wasn’t.

  “You almost cost me a ton of money tonight, Pat. You need to take this more serious.”

  “Jimmy, this is underground fighting. It isn’t pro boxing. I do this to take out some frustrations and make a few bucks, period!”

  Jimmy grimaced and stared at me for a second before speaking.

  “You a very stubborn man. I pay you good dough. This mean you put forth good effort. Do as I ask, otherwise you find yourself lying in some dark alley…Got it!” He tossed the five hundred I’d won for the fight on the ground and turned and walked away.

  I was steaming, but Chan stepped in front of me.

  “Calm, big guy. Be wise. You end up alley for sure that way, yes. For sure.”

  I cooled down and put my arm around Chan’s shoulder.

  “Chan, you’re a good man. What say we go get stinking and grab us a couple dames?”

  “You plenty stinking enough, Pat, I think, yes.”

  I burst out laughing. “I guess I am, Chan. Okay, I’ll shower and then we hit the Dragon Q.”

  ROUND 8

  I headed to the little dump I called home. It was a small room above the Siam King with just enough room for a small bed and a tiny dresser, but it suited my purposes.

  It was one of twelve such rooms on the second floor with a communal shower and bathroom. I showered and even shaved. I slapped on some cologne and headed down the street to the Dragon Q.

  Chinatown was like a world unto itself. The outsiders came to dine and shop, but they weren’t privy to the inside working of the place. A branch of the Tong ran stuff, the same as in Chinatowns in New York and San Francisco. However, eventually the main branch in China had a piece of everything. Chinatown was the one place Carmen and his mob boys seemed to steer away from.