“But…”
Nicky stood up and wrapped a hand around his head.
“No buts, Tyson. You talk the big game — wanting a shot, wanting to go pro and, kid, you’ve got some raw talent but that shit only gets you so far. If you want to run with the big dogs you’ve got to be willing to fight anyone, anytime, anywhere. That’s where the money is made. You hear me?”
He nodded.
“Now I’m gonna go out there and do what?”
Tyson offered back a thin smile. “Make this look easy.”
“Exactly.” He slammed a fist into the palm of his hand several times and rolled his head around. “Undefeated. Killed people.” Nicky laughed. “Whatever next?” He motioned for Tyson to take a spot while he limbered up. Tyson took Carla’s hand and got out of the way as Nicky made his way into the cage. The announcer’s nickname was Gimpy; he was a four-foot dwarf with a bowler hat and a cigar in his mouth. He slipped into the center of the octagon and yelled at the top of his voice while beating the ground with a metal walking stick. “Ladies and gentlemen, next up we have the fight of the night. This is what you’ve all been waiting for. The Duke against the Legend, Santa Fe against Albuquerque, two undefeated champions will go toe-to-toe for a filthy amount of money. And as you know, the odds are four to one for Santa Fe’s golden child. To my left we have our homeboy hero, thirty-one fights and zero losses, he’s KO’d the best, ended more careers, rearranged more faces and inspired more fighters than anyone else in the region. Give it up for Nicky ‘The Legend’ Martinez!”
Tyson surveyed the crowd as they let out a deafening roar and Nicky walked into the center of the cage and did his signature roundhouse kick followed by a back flip. He eyed Tyson with a smile and winked at him as he strolled back to his side of the cage.
“And to my right we have a monster of a man hailing from Albuquerque, the home of the Dukes. Twenty-six wins and zero losses, he needs no introduction as his reputation precedes him. We have the reigning, and undefeated champion, the beast from down under, the wrecking machine himself, ‘The Duke’!”
Heads turned as a section of the crowd parted like the Red Sea. A brawny, oversized man surged forward. Rarely ever seen outside of Albuquerque, he was an African American with a bald head and tattoos covering him from his belly to his cranium. Covering the lower portion of his face was a black-and-white skull bandanna. As he stepped into the octagon with a look of death in his eyes the crowd went wild. Around his neck were thick gold chains. He removed them and handed them to his corner man before pulling the bandanna away to reveal a terrible burn over his lower jaw.
Tyson glanced at Nicky and he smiled back but even he could tell that this fighter wasn’t of the caliber he usually went up against. Nicky had fought large guys but The Duke towered over Nicky as Gimpy brought them into the center of the cage.
“Tonight we are changing things up. There will be no five 5-minute rounds. Tonight these warriors will battle it out until only one man is left standing. No rules. No interference from the ref. There will be only one winner.”
Nicky glanced at Pope across the room and tossed his hands up but Pope just smiled back. Tyson frowned, a look of fear masking his face. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t how they did it. As dangerous as these fights were, their corner men could stop the fight anytime if they wanted to, and fighters had a chance to catch a breath between rounds. This flew in the face of that.
“Remember, I want a dirty fight. If you want to touch fists, go ahead.”
Nicky raised his only to have The Duke shove him back. The sheer force sent him sailing into the steel barricade. It clattered and the crowd pushed him forward. No. This didn’t feel right. They needed to call this fight off. Tyson approached Alejandro but he said it was out of his control. Pope called the shots. Tyson elbowed his way over to him.
“Pope. What’s going on?”
“It’s a fight, kid. Watch and see.”
“Call it off.”
He scoffed. “Now why would I do that?” he asked without even looking at Tyson. His gaze was fixed on the fighters as Gimpy yelled, “FIGHT!”
“He’ll kill him. You’ll lose money.”
Pope’s eyebrow shot up. “Will I?”
Tyson stared. He made it sound as if he’d bet against Nicky.
“There are rules.”
“I make the rules.”
Tyson looked over his shoulder just in time to see Nicky do a roundhouse kick to The Duke’s face. The animal barely flinched. His jaw was like granite. Nicky fired off several of his best shots, striking him in the plexus and face, but had little impact. The Duke pressed forward putting pressure on Nicky, causing him to circle, and yet not once had The Duke taken a shot. Then it happened, like a double-barrel shotgun exploding faster than Nicky could react. Nicky hit the ground hard spitting blood.
Tyson jabbed his finger at the ground. “Pope. Please. Stop the fight.”
“Why, you want a shot?”
“Not like this.”
“Tyson, back away or you’re fired.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Tyson stared back with a blank expression as Pope ignored him, his eyes wild with excitement as he watched. He’d heard of how Pope dealt with anyone who tried to stand against him. Although he was hesitant to walk away, Tyson used common sense and melted back into the crowd. He returned to Carla who was pressed up against the steel barricade yelling at the top of her voice. She didn’t care. This
