“It’s all cake from here, meat,” Tommy said finally. “I figured he had you choked out, so anything you do from here on is a bonus.”
“Yeah, T, but the asshole screwed up my singing voice,” I rasped out while standing. “I’ll never get a gig on stage now.”
That jibe induced some unintended laughter amongst my crew. I saw the laughter evoked some surprised looks on the Slayer’s side. Everything on me was hurting. If you can’t embrace the pain in this game, you shouldn’t be on this side of the cage. I grinned while keeping my shoulders and stiffening neck loose. I’m glad I talked Lora out of watching this one. I noticed something the split second before the ref signaled us to begin. He had a cautious look. I’ve never used a spinning back-fist. Guess what Slayer gets to see first.
Hands up high, while he incorporated a side slanting crouch, I could tell Slayer planned to pitter-pat my eye again with left jabs. The split second before I thought he would launch them, I spun with the back-fist strike. He was quick. Slayer partially blocked it, but the fist hit him just above the ear, and drove him into the cage. I didn’t care to hit the mat yet, so I moved in with body shots and close order drill knees. Slayer tried for a takedown, but his speed had slowed with the back-fist. I kicked out my legs and foiled the move. I wasn’t ready to hit the mat yet. His breath came in rasping gulps after the pounding I gave him against the cage.
A left hook slammed into my temple like a sledge hammer as a counter to the knee I landed under his rib cage. Pretty stars blasted around in front of my face, but Slayer couldn’t follow up because of sucking wind from the knee. We did a toe to toe trade off for a moment with the crowd nearing pandemonium. I caught him with a right cross between the eyes when he tried to pull away. Slayer reeled across the cage to the other side, but the round ended before I could catch up.
I could tell from the faces in my corner I didn’t look so good. They worked me over again without comment. That was pretty much my take on it too. If Slayer sent out signals of some weak spot I could exploit, neither my crew nor I picked up on them. Tommy gave me another water sip while Jafar held ice packs to my ribcage. Dev and Jess worked the damage from cuts and my swelling eye.
Tommy moved away so I could stand. “I don’t know where you pulled that back-fist from, but you did some damage there.”
“Don’t do it again, John,” Dev advised. “Fake it and whap him behind the knee like you did in the first round.”
“Yeah, brother!” Jess got excited. “He’ll turn the spot to you, trying to position against the back-fist!”
I grinned. I must have looked like a Halloween pumpkin too long on the porch after trick or treat, because I saw worry reflected in Jafar’s eyes. “That’s good stuff guys.”
“You better concentrate on blocking a few punches, meat,” Tommy knifed me with that barb as the ref signaled us to start. “Your defense sucks!”
I chortled a little over that line. Slayer thought I was laughing at him, and launched a flying knee. I blocked the main power, but he got up high on my head. The little birdies returned in full force with the twinkling stars as I slammed into the cage. I surprised him with a takedown, nearly getting an arm bar, but the flying knee had slowed my speed. He couldn’t get out from under my half mount for nearly a third of the round. I blasted body shots and elbows, letting offense clear my head. Slayer stayed out of my full mount attempts. The ref stood us up, even though I thought I was active enough. By the pained look on the Slayer’s face, I think he agreed with me.
When he came in to start the left jab destruction, I faked the back-first. Oh mamma did I get him but good with the leg kick when he went for the fake. He nearly buckled, so I took him down for some more ground and pound. I nearly got him in a triangle choke as the leg gave him trouble, but he shifted to full guard. I stayed in half mount, striking the ribcage while controlling his arm movement. He dropped his arms finally in an attempt to shield his ribcage. I nailed him with a head-shot, he could only turn away from. The damn round ended before I could really blast him. Slayer rolled from side to side for a moment before he regained his feet.
My crew looked a little happier, but went to work again without comment. I was bleeding again, and we didn’t want the fight stopped. The wet towels felt like heaven. Tommy took my mouthpiece to wash it while Jafar gave me sips of water. Jess worked to stop the blood flow on my head while Dev iced my eye. Tommy put the mouthpiece back in. I took silent stock of how I felt. The birdies were still chirping in my head so I figured it would be a bad idea to take another knee or left hook to the head.
“We figure the rounds are 2 to 1 in your favor,” Tommy said. “Maybe you should run around this round since you haven’t blocked a punch all night.”
Everyone chuckled over Tommy’s nearly accurate assessment. I stood up, embracing the pain. “I’ll think of something.”
The ref signaled us to get it on. Slayer couldn’t hide his favoring the leg I’d mulched. He shifted to southpaw for added protection. I took a few jabs and smashed my right foot into the inside of his right knee he had extended a tad too far. That really pissed him off. He went into a boxing stance, shooting out bombs with both hands. Crowd noise rocked the building at our toe to toe bombing run. I took a right to the head, countering with an uppercut from my feet. It lifted the Slayer off the mat, dropped his hands numbly at his sides, and put a glazed look on his face I fixed for him. My roundhouse right leg kick to his temple banged him into the cage and out cold to the mat. The referee dived across him, taking out his mouthpiece and signaling it was over.
My crew swarmed me with the crowd hitting a new high note of noise. Tommy and Jess worked me over with towels, but blood was streaming from our bomb exchange, and my right eye peered through a slit of swelled tissue. Jafar took my mouthpiece and gave me water. Dev wiped dry my over the eye slice and pressured a bandage with strips into place. The referee and announcer were next. Slayer’s crew had him sitting up on a stool, but he wasn’t going to be participating in the after fight festivities. The ref held up my hand as the winner. I went over to the Slayer and patted his shoulder, crouching to look into his eyes.
“Good fight, Slayer.”
His mouth tightened, but he nodded. Then I had to endure the post fight interviews that have to be done. The guys doing them know what they’re talking about, so it’s not like you can blow them off easily with the usual clichés. My head cleared to a point where it seemed the birdies were on their way to the next nest. Tommy stayed near me, with a semicircle of Jafar, Jess, and Dev making sure I didn’t get pushed around by the media inside the cage.
“The Slayer looked like he had you out cold in the first round with that triangle choke, Hard Case.” The UFC interviewer observed.
“Yeah, he did. I was only seconds away from blackout.” My voice confirmed the aftermath of the choke hold. “I was damn lucky to get out of the first round.”
“At least no one died in the cage tonight.” He nailed me while smiling like a shark.
I had to move between Tommy and the guy. “You’re right. That is a blessing.”
Failing to get a rise by baiting me, he asked me to describe the uppercut I disabled Slayer with while watching it on the video screens.
“We were bombing. I took a shot to the head in order to catch him with the uppercut. It could have been me laid out instead of him. He was out of it when I nailed him with the roundhouse kick to the head. Slayer seems okay now when I went over to see him.”
“Will you give him a rematch?”
“This was a rematch. I broke his arm the first match.”
“That wasn’t a sanctioned match. The crowd loved the fight,” he said, gesturing at the packed house.
I considered saying there wasn’t any use, but then I thought of Denny throwing things at his screen. The rematch could conceivably take place in Dubai, the place Denny refers to as a target of opportunity. I shrugged. “I’ll fight whoever UFC picks for me.”
“There you have it!” My
interviewer spun toward the camera.
I answered a few more questions until UFC officials signaled to Tommy it was time to go. He yanked me toward the cage exit and I followed with my crew keeping the media at bay. It was a joyous, uneventful trek to the dressing room. A lot of the crowd liked me, which didn’t happen back in Oakland. A doctor examined me in my dressing room. When he was satisfied my head was clear, he told me to see him after I dressed and he’d stitch up my eye. I smiled at Dev. He knows I hate stitches. They always get infected. Dev would be sealing the leak with those strips.
“That was some uppercut, brother,” Jess stated. “I saw you nearly got your ass knocked out landing it.”
I grinned while holding the ice pack Dev had given me in place over my eye. “You summed it up nicely, Jess. The Slayer was all business tonight. My head’s going to be ringin’ for a couple days. You didn’t look too good during the fight, kid.”
Jafar nodded and shrugged. “I thought he was going to beat you, John. When he closed up your eye with all the blood, I figured they’d be stopping it.”
“After that damn choke hold, I didn’t know what to think,” Tommy admitted. “How the hell you broke out of that is a mystery. You’re goin’ to sound like a croaking bullfrog for a month.”
Dev laughed. “You should have tapped out, blockhead. I figured you to be about ten or twenty seconds away from death.”
I stood up with outrage on my face, shifting into the bullfrog Dark Lord. “The Dark Lord taps out for no one!”
My one eyed, croaking Dark Lord drew laughter from even Tommy. “Gentlemen, that was a hell of a payday. Am I right?”
“It was indeed, DL,” Tommy replied. “Get your shower, and we’ll seal you up. Best keep the ice pack with you in the shower. You’re startin’ to look like a troll.”
“At least we don’t have to walk around in mourning like the last time you fought in a nice place,” Jess said. “Maybe the UFC will forget about Rankin’s death in Dubai and give you a couple regular matches. I wonder if you have a shot at the title in the future.”
“Don’t know, and don’t care,” I replied, grabbing up a big towel. “Call Lora, T. Tell her it wasn’t as bad as it looked, and that I said she better not have let Al see the fight. We’ll be up in a couple hours once we tilt a few. I need me some Bud and Beam.”
“I ain’t lyin’ for you, Dark Lord,” Tommy retorted. “It was worse than it probably looked on TV. I hope she’s partial to the troll look, because she’ll be sleeping with one.”
I laughed with the rest of the guys. Yep, she sure would be.
* * *
Alexi Fiialkov left word with our dressing room attendant we would be expected up at the Mix Lounge, and anything we wanted would be on his tab. I had a professional interest in taking the same elevator up that Montoya plinked Darzi in. It was surreal, because I could imagine it. Then getting off the elevator, I could almost see her breaking off for the restroom, ordering him to go get a table, knowing he was already dying.
Jafar went to join his bride and entertain Lori and Alice while we celebrated. Also, he was there to call for help if there was even a hint of trouble around my room. Casey and Lucas had been watching the women during the fight. They joined us in the Mix Lounge. It was nearly empty because the UFC matches were still going on. We took a few of the tables near the incredible window view. In minutes we had drinks in hand. I was the target of course.
“To the Chokestir!” Yeah, Tommy did that one.
“To the back-fist,” Devon added.
“To the money,” Jess put in.
“Marines!” Lucas of course added.
“Semper Fi,” Casey agreed.
“To pain,” I stated with respect. “Without it, and the ability to ignore it and embrace it, I’d be just another putz.”
We clinked shot glasses and drank the first one down. I looked out the window wondering if Darzi’s last glimpse of life was there. Oh yeah, I’m not much on sentiment, but the speed at which Montoya took out the main objective of all this hype will not be forgotten, at least by me. Then I saw Denny striding towards us with the grinning evil of a zombie with unlimited brains to feed on. Suddenly the double Beam I’d inhaled was unsatisfactory. I signaled the waitress. Denny brought over a chair.
“Hi all. Great fight, John. I wrote you off in the first with the choke. I knew you’d never tap out, so I was already racking my head for a replacement when the Slayer snuffed you. Thankfully, you’re too damn stubborn to die.”
The waitress brought over another double Beam for me, and a double for Denny. He held up his double shot. “To John. He has proven to be the cement head I needed to form this exceptional group.”
We laughed, toasted, and threw down our shots. The waitress, sensing rightly we were far from done refilled everyone. Denny then did what Denny does best, mix in business with pleasure with a very amiable demeanor.
“Okay… let’s get this out of the way. The assassin at the airport, and the four guys Clint did for, along with the shadow he picked up were all Darzi’s. The assassin Alexi Fiialkov dealt with was the key. Gentlemen, we’re as good as gold on this op.”
Having only been in the inner circle a short time, Jesse asked an astute question. “What about the Slayer? A couple of his guys got aced in this.”
Denny shrugged. “Too many layers on that one, Jess. I will get back to you on it when I find out. This stuff is definitely ongoing. This gig has been so successful, on so many levels, our funding is a blank check. I know better than to lie to the deadliest group I’ve ever assembled. I’m shooting for CIA director. That will mean a lot of pluses. It may mean excess scrutiny. We’ll deal with that later. If I ever make director, you bunch will be my palace guard, and I don’t mean guarding me. I mean guarding this country.”
We toasted that with vigor. I don’t wave the flag. I live the flag. My companions share my beliefs, including Denny. If Denny can get to the CIA director’s position, I know he has enough common sense and logic to realize what he’ll have under his control. He’s also fluent in political puppets who believe America takes a backseat to their political ambitions. Denny may smile at some politically correct moronic decision regarding America’s safety, but he will not hesitate to make it right in ways not anticipated by our leaders driven by their own image in a mirror. He takes his shots carefully. In these times, a guy who can decipher the political malaise on a daily basis is golden.
I leaned back, sipping my Jim Beam double while looking out at the magnificent view out the window with wary optimism. That changed in a split second as Big O and his entourage arrived. My crew sucked in a glance at my face and came instantly on guard. I understand hype, and playing for monetary gain in the future, but I was getting bored with the Big O. Baatar Okoye had made some unfortunate statements while hyping our first fight. His subsequent beat down with attitude had apparently not detoured his mouth, as illustrated by him showing up to mouth off at my last fight.
“Harding!” Okoye walked up on us, his big smiling face pissing me off.
Casey jumped up as it seemed the Big O’s entire entourage planned on invading our space. “Don’t know what you have planned here, partner, but it ain’t happening. We’re having a private celebration.”
Big O got the look like he wanted Casey. That ain’t happening. I jumped up in the O’s face with my marked one. “Don’t even think about it! One more word or gesture, and I don’t give a shit about the hype or anything else. I will destroy this bar with your face! You hear me, you punk ass loser!”
Big O’s handlers jumped him. He wanted it, but I could see doubt running across his face too, because I have none. Sure, I had a couple of Beams in me, but I go all in here, and I don’t fool around with rules.
Big O made placating gestures, his annoying smile still making my blood boil. “Okay, okay, we don’t want to do this now. We have our drinks, and-”
“Like hell you will,” I interrupted his bullshit. “Find another bar to drink in, b
ig shit. Back out to the elevator with your crew, and no one gets hurt. Try and stay here, and I end you! I bet Alexi doesn’t know you’re here, you idiot!”
Oh boy did I have the Big O. He wanted me so bad, the veins in his neck and forehead pulsed. His fists clenched in violent promise, and best of all, his damn smile disappeared. I grinned from a few inches away from his face. I am a killer. I take pride in it. That I have a moral underpinning in what I do, yeah, I adhere to a code. I’ve never let it become a suicide pact.
The Big O postures, backing away and pointing his finger at me. “I will kill you when we meet in the cage again.”
Tommy put a full desperate leap hold over me as reality wavered into rage. I’m a little tired of being threatened by punks.
I point my finger at him while my crew moves to stabilize his. “I have something better for you. At this hour there’ll be very few people using the gym facilities. If anyone’s there, we’ll slip them a hundred to workout at another time. Our guys here will watch the door while you and I go on in and settle our business. You want me so bad, punk? Here’s your chance! One on one, no refs, and no one to stop us. The two of us walk in but only one walks out. If I win, I’m going to kill you. I suggest if you win, you do the same. Let’s go.”
Big O just stood there. He looked around, but there wasn’t anybody with answers or advice standing by his side. He started backing toward the elevator, but that ship had sailed. I started for the O to kill him where he stood. Denny jutted out in front of me, both hands held up in a stopping gesture. Only Denny has that card to play, but I didn’t like it.
“John? You’ve made your point. I don’t believe Mr. Okoye wants anything to do with a fight right now. Am I right, Mr. Okoye?”
The Big O met Denny’s glance back at him, and then looked away, shaking his head no. His entourage was already very quiet, because Casey and Lucas were smiling at them, weapons in hand. O kept his mouth shut. He led the way back to the elevator without a word from anyone. I looked around and shrugged before sitting down.
Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books) Page 50