“It helped having Jafar with us at customs,” Dev said as we walked toward the limo. My driver got out and opened the cargo area. “Jess and I haven’t been in the sand for quite a while. We had mixed feelings about flyin’ into this area.”
“Yeah, John,” Jess agreed, “you’ll owe us some weekends on your new yacht. Step up and let a brother cruise. What’s he call that thing, T?”
“The Ungrateful White Bread, I think.”
I could tell they were relieved to see me and I was going to pay for it. They loved the Marriott Hotel rooms I booked for them. Yeah, I ain’t stupid enough to stay at the Hilton. Everyone had separate rooms. I gave Jafar the good news I’d talked Samira’s old man into bringing her to the states in April. Since jet lag had my friends in a haze I left them alone for twenty-four hours while I hit the Marriott’s fitness room and pool, swimming power laps until my arms and legs felt like lead. I had a plan for my old friend Rankin. If I could survive some of his bombs and takedowns, I had a little trap in store for him.
After my crew recovered, we worked out in my suite on standup, picking my shots, power kicks, and most importantly: endurance. While Jafar, Jesse, and Dev circled me with pads, Tommy took shots at me from everywhere. It was vicious, nonstop monotony until I struck without thought while guarding without hesitation. At midnight when the hotel’s guests hit the night life circuit, we bought permission to use the fitness center in a special way. I had noticed from watching our YouTube video over and over that Rankin got careless in one aspect of his ground and pound: he was so used to bludgeoning his opponents, he dropped too far down in his mount.
With Jess and Dev taking turns attacking from full mount, I worked on every tiny opening to work my triangle choke from guard. It was hell for all of us, especially with Tommy and Jafar kicking my legs free from my choke endeavor whenever I moved too slowly. Three days of intensity I had no doubt Rankin was mirroring at the UFC facilities we were supposed to train at. We began getting complaints about our not training on premises on our third day together in country. By then even Tommy was impressed with my plan. My two mat partners could not stay out of my triangle choke for more than forty-five seconds even with Tommy and Jafar beating on me. We went to the UFC facilities finally to train in front of the crowd, but we did nothing but basic kicks, punches, and sparring.
Rankin worked out there with the same relentless rage he fought every fight with. Jess and Dev remarked more than once they were glad they weren’t Rankin’s sparring partners. I watched him like he watched me. Rankin had a plan. I was certain of that. He avoided any confrontation with me, making sure his handlers acted as a buffer zone if we even had to pass by each other. Yep, not the same Van Rankin. One thing I could tell – except for some permanent scarring on his face, he looked impressive in every way. Since my plan hinged on a couple rounds of hell on earth before I attempted what I had planned, I was in for some pain. Then again, I planned to dish out some pain too. Who knows, I might even get a lucky shot in earlier… or he might.
The weigh-in was a zoo. We stripped down one at a time for the cameras. Rankin and I towered over most others around us so the crowd watching the weigh-in made a lot of noise. When it came time for us to pose in fighting stances, Rankin nearly lost his cool. He wanted me so bad, drool dripped from the snarl he gave me. His arms looked like it took every ounce of willpower he had to keep from launching them. I smiled the whole time. Tommy, Jafar, Dev and Jess flanked me. If anything started, I would back the hell out while they acted as a buffer zone. We had too much riding on this for a mistake. To Rankin’s credit, he kept his big mouth shut. I pulled my ace out just as the pictures ended.
“Hey Van, how’s the nose?”
I turned quickly, jumping around with my hands up in the air while Rankin’s trainers held on to him for dear life. My crew walled me off from him until the officials stepped in to end my little gem of an act. It was then I caught sight of Alexi Fiialkov near the front. He was smiling and shaking his finger at me in a cautionary way. I waved and shrugged. It didn’t matter if his fighter maimed me, Alexi was okay in my strange book of life. He kept his word. My team expressed their unhappiness with the way I decided to handle the weigh-in on the way back to our rooms.
“I saw some of the big names in UFC checking Rankin out and I saw fear. Did you have to poke the bear, John… really?” Tommy’s remark through gritted teeth as he spoke burst the damn.
“That prick looks like Godzilla,” Jesse added. “I was startin’ to feel good about your chances until I saw him up close. Damn! He brushed against me near the scale and tore my shirt and bruised the skin. Now you went and made him mad. Are you mental?”
Devon sighed. “Might as well do the Dark Lord for him in the cage, you psycho. If you’re lucky, you’ll survive with a colostomy bag and breathing through a tube. If you don’t survive where do you want your ashes scattered?”
I was enjoying this to no end. “It’s all in the plan, guys. I appreciate the confidence you all have in me. Hey, Jafar, you’re pretty quiet.”
Jafar whipped his hand up to the side of his face in a classic shun. “You are dead to me.”
* * *
Rankin and I were on the bottom of the dance card as two nobodies in UFC deserve. We fought first. The arena was filled to capacity though without an empty seat I could see from where I awaited my cue. My intro music played and we started forward through the roaring crowd with Jesse in the lead, Tommy and Dev flanking me, and Jafar in back. I picked the Marine’s Hymn to piss off any of the clowns who paid Quadir in advance to kill me after the fight ended. We must have had a good number of Americans in the crowd because I really got a roar of approval for that. Once inside the cage I loosened up and went over my game plan internally until Rankin got announced.
He had picked Black Sabbath’s ‘I Am Ironman’. Rankin stomped down the aisle toward the cage with every beat, his fists hammering forward in rhythm. Timed perfectly, Rankin stalked into the cage at Black Sabbath’s declaration ‘I Am Ironman’. Even I got chills. I turned to Tommy and then I saw her. Lora waved from a front row seat next to Alexi Fiialkov. Oh my God, she looked good. Black off the shoulder dress, black heels, and red hair tied back at the neck. I waved like a thirteen-year-old at his first dance. Rankin and fight plans temporarily left the building. Tommy slapped me in the back of the head with attitude. He jammed his face two inches away from mine. He wasn’t smilin’.
“Hello, Dark Lord? Get your fuckin’ head in the game!”
I saw Alexi give me a finger wave. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one with a plan. When I turned to face Rankin he was pointing at Lora, blowing her kisses. The moment he knew I was watching, he turned and gave me the full death-ray eye stare. That’s the trouble with cheap, no account, blowhard punks. They don’t know it’s best not to play with killers.
I closed my eyes. In a spit second my mind’s eye had me standing in that Leavittsburg, Ohio hovel, watchin’ Pa circlin’ me with belt in hand while the rain pounded down outside. I could smell the Mahoning River slime that saturated the house. I could smell his rage. I smelled desperation. Oh mama, I’m home again. I opened my eyes. Rankin grinned. No matter how this turned out, I would make sure he wasn’t grinning when it ended. The referee motioned us to the center. I have no idea what he said when Rankin and I stared into each other’s eyes. I backed to my cage position when he stopped speaking. We didn’t touch gloves.
Rankin moved forward in control. He shot out lightning bolts with both arms and feet. Every strike hurt and it was good. I played the Karate Kid for forty seconds, blocking, bobbing, ducking, and measuring. For all of that nearly first minute, Rankin tuned me up for the crowd’s pleasure. When my left leg strike smashed into the inside of his extended left knee, it wasn’t nearly as pretty as his full bore attack, but oh baby did he feel that one. His eyes widened while he launched a flurry. A left hook caught me, and even pulling away from the punch couldn’t keep me on my feet.
I flailed around
as he dove into full mount on the attack. Suddenly, the deafening crowd noise faded. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. I absorbed the elbows, blocked a few, and managed a locked leg full guard. Rankin picked me up enough to slam me into the cage with my head down. Before he could tie me up with his left and hammer fist me into oblivion, I slipped my left leg out of locked full guard and around Rankin’s right leg, while trapping his left wrist under us as I rolled. He couldn’t stop my roll but threw himself backwards to prevent the reversal. We both leaped to our feet with the crowd roaring for blood. I blinked it out of my eyes as the buzzer sounded.
My team worked me over without comment until they staunched the flow of blood from the elbow lacerations on my head, washed off my mouth-guard, and cooled me with wet towels. I smiled while looking across at Rankin massaging his left knee. His guys applied ice but ain’t no amount of ice would make that puppy feel better.
“Nice knee shot, John,” Jess said. “Can you smash it again?”
I gulped a swallow of water from the bottle Jafar held for me, tasting blood. “I’ll get right on that, Jess, thanks.”
Jess chuckled but I got no other amused reactions from my other crewmembers.
“How’s your plan workin’, Ace?” Tommy asked.
“Five by five, brother. Five by five.” I started to turn my head to catch a glimpse of Lora only to absorb another head slap from Tommy.
“You eyeball your wife one more time and I’ll bitch slap you right in front of this whole fuckin’ crowd!”
I nodded as he jammed my mouthpiece back in. “Ten-four, T.”
“His left drops when he throws his right, John,” Dev said as the buzzer sounded.
Damn! Maybe I didn’t notice it because I was in la la land from the left hook. Rankin clocked me with a right in the first few seconds of the second round and followed with a roundhouse left leg strike that cracked a rib. Uh oh. Rankin heard it and came in with murder in his eyes. In a flash I was down in full guard blocking elbows. I lucked out with an inside left as Rankin drew back to strike, smacking into his nose. He immediately went into a hug for a moment which told me Mr. Nose was not happy with my attention.
I did double strikes under his rib cage until he popped out of the hug. Mr. Nose took an immediate right hand shot, because Rankin didn’t figure I’d be quick enough to slip under and up quick enough. When he flinched back, I locked his right leg and rolled him, missed an arm bar by a split second, and kept going to my feet. Rankin confidently threw leg strikes for my cracked rib, but another leg strike to his inside left knee nearly buckled it. He threw the right when I feinted for another left leg strike. His left hand dropped and I popped Mr. Nose with a straight right hand. The new nose job gave and blood spattered down his front. When he covered up I smashed his inside left knee again. Rankin dropped with a grunt of pain. The round ended before I could drop kick his head into next week.
The guys worked me over, clearing the blood away. Jess pressed an ice pack to my rib after I pointed out where Rankin caught me.
Tommy took out my mouth piece. “Was it in the plan to get your rib cracked that round?”
“It’s an inexact science, T. That feels good, Jess. Keep it right there. He dropped the left and I said hello to Mr. Nose, Dev.”
Dev chuckled as Jafar gave me a couple swallows of water. “We don’t know how the judges will score the rounds, John. It might be one apiece or he took the first two. That plan of yours better get launched this round.”
“Gonna go get me some, Dev.”
The referee tried to get us to touch gloves starting the third and final round but Rankin wasn’t having any of it. His corner had staunched the flow of blood, but he was favoring his left leg. He’d have to rely on hand strikes to get my rib. When he did, me and Mr. Nose would get intimate. He was breathin’ through his mouth, but his eyes were clear. I knew what I was going to do: jab until he took me down. Rankin swung for the fences with both hands, hitting my arms and shoulders with pile-driver blows, trying to keep me on the defensive until he got a clear head or rib shot. Unfortunately for him his left dropped a tad too far. Mr. Nose splattered again from a straight right. Rankin dropped for a takedown and I went with him. Showtime.
Rankin’s full mount was too low. I kicked off into his sides, pulled his right arm down against me, wrapped his right leg while reaching under and grabbing his left leg. His left knee gave out and I locked my legs around his head in a triangle choke. We locked eyes. Rankin knew I had him. The referee hovered over us, knowing the predicament Rankin was in. Rankin started to tap out but that ship sailed the moment he blew Lora kisses. I flipped him using his left leg while closing the triangle during the flip. Rankin’s neck broke. I immediately popped up from around him like I was all hurt that something bad had happened. The referee motioned frantically for the medics while he and I tried to administer to the fading Van Rankin.
They hooked him up to oxygen while inflating air harnesses to keep Rankin immobile. I could see from the medical team’s faces, they didn’t want a death announced right in the cage. I did my award winning compassionate killer routine while they took him away, even touching his arm soulfully as he went by. The referee consoled me and did a quick solemn lift of my arm as the winner. Then came the post fight interview for the pay-per-viewers. Van Rankin was a warrior. Van Rankin had my utmost respect. I pray he’s okay. Blah… blah… blah… Van ain’t comin’ back unless it’s an appearance on Ghost-Hunters. My crew stayed near me the whole time commiserating with anyone who would listen about what a tragedy it was for the fight to end in such a way.
Outside the cage, Lora wrapped around me with abandon, her lips wet with salty tasting tears, engulfing my soul in a kiss so intense my knees started to buckle. Fiialkov patted her shoulder like an old uncle, pulling her away and promising I’d be back out soon. He merely gave me a slight salute. Security and my team rushed me back to the locker room. Rumors already circulated Rankin died of his injury, so we were met by another host of reporters. We played the violins until finally the next fight drew everyone away for the time being. Tommy shook his head with facial features frozen in grim sorrow.
“You cold blooded, heartless monster.”
I put on my stunned look. “Whatever do you mean, T?”
Dev grinned appreciatively. “You smiled when you broke his neck, John.”
“Did not.” Yeah, I did.
“I saw it too, you sicko,” Jess added while stifling a laugh.
“Most impressive,” Jafar piped in. I could tell his adrenalin was still flowing.
“If we’re all done mourning for poor old Van Rankin let me get my shower so I can go see Lora.”
“Go ahead, but because you couldn’t settle for a win, we’ll all have to have our sad faces on for the rest of our stay,” Tommy gripped. “You can bet another killing in the cage ain’t going to get you on the UFC’s dance card anytime soon.”
I walked toward the showers with a shrug. “Shit happens. Hell, I always liked the old, smelly warehouse fights anyway.”
“Not everything’s about you, John,” Jess called out.
“You should have consulted with your crew,” Tommy added.
“Yeah, you selfish bastard,” Dev put the finishing touch to me as he broke out laughing.
“Most impressive!” Jafar repeated.
Tommy administered a head-slap to Jafar’s head I could hear without turning. “Shutup, kid.”
All I knew was I had Lora waiting outside the locker room with that fine ass black dress on. Be patient, baby, the Dark Lord’s on his way.
The End
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Hell on Earth Page 62