Thai Horse

charging out, kicking and punching and then going for the change-up, switching feet and lashing out much as a Western fighter might change his lead from right to left. But Sy had psyched out his opponent’s style, and he, too, did a fast change-up. Now he suddenly started showing his stuff. He ducked inside Tan’s combinations and lashed out with a brutal uppercut that grazed Tan’s jaw, throwing him off-balance. Sy jumped back and landed two quick kicks to the stomach, switched feet and caught Tan with two more vicious kicks. Tan staggered back, stunned by the sudden ferocity of the little fighter. Sy took immediate advantage. He came in fast on one foot, then quickly changed feet and landed a sizzling kick on the bridge of Tan’s nose. Blood spurted like juice from a ripe orange. Tan backed away, shaking his head and fell into a protective pose.

Now it was Sy who became the pursuer. He feinted with two kicks. Suddenly he switched feet again, turning the upper part of his body almost parallel to the ground, and lashed out with a brutal kick to the groin. The larger fighter roared with pain, spun around and dropped to one knee. He took a six count, then, bellowing like a bull, charged Sy from his knee.

Sy was expecting the charge. He spun around, landed a brutal kick on the side of Tan’s neck, snapped three right-left combinations straight into Tan’s face. The bloody nose got bloodier. Then he kicked again, this time with deadly accuracy. The blow snapped Tan’s head back. He stumbled backward, obviously in trouble. One eye was beginning to swell shut. In desperation he charged the smaller fighter, wrapping his arms around him, pinning them to Sy’s sides and snapping his head against Sy’s forehead.

The crowd reacted with boos their affections quickly switching to the underdog. The referee moved in quickly and separated the fighters, admonishing Tan, who jogged back away from Sy. The little man’s nose was bleeding from the head blow. He shook it off, waved off the referee, and began to stalk the big man. The bell ended the round.

Sy’s trainer was babbling in Sy’s ear, and the small fighter was listening and nodding. Hatcher continued to scan the spectators between rounds, hoping he might get a break, although it was an adds-on bet that Wol Pot was not there. This was not, after all, a major bout.

The fourth round, Tan changed his tactics. He moved more precisely, more like a Western fighter, feeling Sy out, looking for an opening. Sy moved gracefully, dancing around his heavy-footed opponent.

Suddenly, ferociously, Tan slashed his foot out and landed a direct hit in Sy’s groin_ The little Thai doubled up in pain and fell against the ropes.

The crowd wasn’t sure whom to scream for.

Tan stepped in like a tiger and landed three grueling punches to the face. Sy was down on one knee, shaking his head, blood spattering down his chest and mixing with the sweat. He glared up at Tan, and Hatcher saw hate in his eyes. This was the look of a killer. Sy wiped the blood from his face with a glove and shook his head when the referee leaned over and said something to him.

Now he was back on his feet, bolstered by the cheers of the crowd.

Tan charged again, using his flat—footed jogging step to get inside Sy’s defense. But then the little Thai did something amazing. He cart-wheeled away, landed on his feet behind Tan, and as the bigger man whirled to face him, took three short jump steps, leaped in the air and snapped two kicks straight into Tan’s face and landed back on both feet.

While Tan was still staggering under the blows, Sy jogged in again, feinted with a kick, and landed two right- left combinations straight to the point of Tan’s jaw.

All four punches found their mark. Tan staggered backward and Sy did his change-up step again, jogging in, switching feet, leaping up and lashing out with a double kick before he landed back on both feet again.

Hatcher was on his feet, screaming with the rest of the crowd.

Bemused, hurt, dizzied by the ferocity of the attack, Tan threw a desperation roundhouse killer punch. It whistled a quarter-inch from Sy’s jaw.

Sy smacked him with two fast lefts and slammed a right into the corner of Tan’s jaw just under the ear. Whap!

Tan spun around, fell face forward into the ropes, bounced off and sat down hard, flat on his ass. He looked around the ring through glassy eyes.

The referee started counting. On six Tan was on his side. On eight he had both feet under him. On nine he shoved himself to his feet.

The referee stepped back.

Sy moved like a shot. He zigzagged across the ring while Tan tried to get him in focus. lie never saw the last two blows.

The first was a kick to the top of the stomach, which doubled Tan over.

The second was a blistering right hand that had all of Sy’s 120-plus pounds behind it. Tan’s head snapped like a punching bag. He fell straight to the canvas, bounced on his knees and fell face forward to the never-never land of the deck.

Angels couldn’t have awakened him.

Sy was leaping around the ring, holding his hands over his head, a picture of pure joy. His trainer charged into the ring, lifted him up in a bear hug and danced around the square with him.

The crowd was going crazy, throwing programs, hats, amulets and bottles into the ring,

Hatcher started to laugh as he applauded. That, he said to himself, was one helluva fight.

Hatcher waved his winning tickets over his head, yelling, as best he could, to Sy as his trainer hopped around the ring with him. ‘Seven hundred and fifty bahts, pal, seven hundred and fifty bahts!’ At that moment, Sy could not have cared less. Buddha had believed him. He had taken down the big man. And the crowd was cheering for him.

In his excitement, Hatcher did not notice the old Chinese watching him. The main was tall, but stooped. He had gray wispy hair and a white beard, and was wearing a silk cheongsam. As Hatcher left the arena the old man followed him.

Hatcher made his way back across the arena floor and went outside to one of the five pay-out windows. He felt