That’s what Tyson had his eyes set on — to be a champion, and to have a career as a professional fighter in the UFC. The only hurdle was those kinds of contracts weren’t handed out like candy. It took time to make a name for yourself. It required the right contacts to land that first fight. And it meant plowing your way through an army of animals. But when it all came together the payoff was incredible. He’d seen many guys struggle for years in the sanctioned amateur circuit only to fight one time in the illegal underground scene and walk away with more money than they would get in three professional fights. That was the appeal. That and of course the bragging rights. Shaky footage of fights had shown up online, spurring interest and fueling the need for more fights. And like any savvy businessman, Jeremiah Pope had risen to the occasion.
Tyson spotted him through the crowd.
Pope was an intimidating man both in stature and reputation. With his six foot of solid muscle, his shirts looked one size too small. Slicked-back hair, and in his late thirties, he was rarely seen outside of a suit or without arm candy. Native to Santa Fe, he ran a seedy fitness and training facility next to an auto repair shop and was the brains behind Rage in a Cage, the largest no-holds-barred caged fighting event in New Mexico. As a major fight promoter, he’d already helped numerous amateurs make it into Bellator and the UFC and it was because of this that fighters trusted him. They saw him as their golden ticket to the big time and he saw them as his ticket to wealth even if it was their lives on the line.
“Hey Nicky,” Tyson said, raising two fingers as he shouldered his way to the front. Nicky Martinez was twenty-eight, nine years older than him. Hispanic, shaved head, lean and with years of experience in and out of the cage, he’d experienced all the highs and lows that came with professional fighting until multiple ACL injuries forced him out. For a time he was Jeremiah’s winning ticket, the poster boy for what could be achieved with skill, determination and the right promoter in his corner. After losing his contract with the UFC, burning his way through his earnings and having no other skills to fall back on, he’d returned to the underground slugfest to put food on the table, and so far it had paid off with zero defeats and a line of fighters challenging him every week.
And though many were jealous of his undefeated record, Tyson saw him like a big brother, an inspiration, and a role model. They came from the same streets. He’d grown up watching his fights and when others turned their back on him after he was cut from the sport, Tyson hadn’t. It was for that reason that Nicky took him under his wing, introduced him to Jeremiah and managed to get him a job collecting tickets and promoting the event online. It wasn’t ideal but it was a foot in the door. Pope was leery of anyone outside of his circle. Everyone was a potential threat that could bring law enforcement down on his head. And under state law, anyone that was involved in an unlicensed fight could be charged with a misdemeanor — that meant promoters, card girls, ticket collectors, fighters, all of them could be slapped with a fine and punished with up to a year behind bars. There was too much money to be made so Pope couldn’t take chances. However, he trusted Nicky so he’d given Tyson a shot. Since that day Tyson had been pestering him for a fight but the response was always the same — you don’t want this, kid, stick to promotion, doing runs for me and collecting tickets. Nicky had put in a good word, tried to land him a fight but it only fell on deaf ears. Pope was a hard man to convince. It was all about money and unless he was willing to take a fall, chances were Pope wouldn’t give him a fight without proving himself. But that was the catch-22. He couldn’t prove himself without a fight and since Pope called the shots around Santa Fe, he couldn’t do anything but be patient.
Nicky squatted on an overturned milk crate while his corner man slathered his face with Vaseline to minimize tearing. Tyson placed a hand on his shoulder. “Looking good, man. You know who you’re up against tonight?”
“Ah, yeah, some guy from Albuquerque. Doesn’t matter. It’s just another face and body. Put ’em front of me and I’ll knock ’em down, isn’t that right, Alejandro?” Alejandro shook his head. He was a long-time friend of Nicky’s. He’d been cornering him since his amateur days back when he was eighteen.
“Hey, uh, Nicky, I was thinking maybe you should consider sitting this one out.”
Nicky turned and frowned. “Are you kidding me?”
Tyson looked around nervously. “It’s just I heard through the grapevine that this fighter isn’t a joke. He’s undefeated and rumor has it he’s put a few guys six foot under.”
“Huh. About time they put me in front of a real challenge. I’ve been getting tired of these choirboys who are all talk and no action.”
“I’m serious, Nicky.”
Nicky slapped Alejandro’s hands away from his face and gave Tyson a hard look. “Kid, I’ve been at this game for over ten years and I’ve
