It was a ruthless sport that chewed fighters up and spat them out with broken bones, sprained muscles, damaged brains and downtrodden hearts. That’s why he never got involved. He had no need to. Gafino paid him good money to fuck people up, and most of the time they didn’t even know what had hit them until it was over.
It was like entering a ring with a blind man.
Tyson led him into the main gym with thick blue mats on the ground, a professional octagon cage in the far corner, state-of-the-art fitness equipment and multiple speed and heavy bags hanging from the rafters. The sound of automatic timers, the snorts of sparring partners and the thud of fists striking bags dominated. Jack scanned the faces that stared back. It was a mix of white, black and Latino using the place and a variety of ages but mostly guys in their mid-twenties, full of spunk and moxie.
“Hey Mr. Pope,” Tyson hollered over the ruckus of sparring.
Jack was keen to put a face to the name. His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met Gafino. He’d heard his name on the streets. He saw the fear in people’s eyes when he was mentioned in conversation, and the way young guys envied him. Watching Tyson was like seeing himself young again. Maybe it was because of that he found himself tagging along when he could have walked away.
“You’re late. The package is in my office. Spike here will tell you where it has to go.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll get right to it. Um, Mr. Pope, a friend of mine here came into town and well you said you were looking for new blood. I think I’ve found what you’re looking for. My man here can throw down with the best of them.”
Pope looked Jack up and down. His brow furrowed.
“He’s from Colorado. You haven’t seen anyone fight like this. He took down five guys all by himself. Without breaking a sweat. It was incredible.”
Pope eyed him skeptically. “Is that so?”
Tyson walked over to Jack and wrapped his arm around him pulling him in closer. “He’s the real deal. Anyway, I said you might be able to hook him up with a fight. I mean you’re short a fighter, right? Now that Nicky is out of the picture. Or unless you want me to fight.”
“You’re not ready,” he said referring to Tyson without taking his eyes off Jack. Pope sniffed. “I’ll think about it.”
“You think you might be able to give him a job?”
“Depends. What you got to offer?”
“He could train the fighters. Me for instance.”
Pope rolled his eyes. “You still owe me money for training here.”
“I was sparring with Nicky. He needed someone to hold mitts.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” he said looking at him then glancing at Jack. “Diego,” he yelled out to a fighter across the room who was beating on a bag. “You need someone to warm up with?”
“Yeah.”
Pope looked at Jack. “Well? What are you waiting for? Let’s see what you’ve got to offer.”
Tyson got all excited. “Oh you won’t regret this, Mr. Pope.”
“Yeah, yeah, just get that package out now.”
“Will do.”
Jack removed his jacket and took off his shoes, placing them off to the side of the room. Tyson headed into the office and returned with a large parcel in his hand just as Jack headed into the octagon with a brawny fella. The cage door closed behind them and someone tossed over some 4-ounce gloves. Jack slipped into them as Pope and Spike got close to the outside of the cage. Out the corner of his eye he saw Tyson lingering by the door waiting for the action to begin.
No sooner had Jack secured the gloves than Diego charged at him. The battle began. Diego fired a shin kick but Jack stepped back causing it to miss. Automatically he tried dropping a bomb on him with a right hook. Jack countered it with a maneuver that sent Diego slamming backwards to the canvas. Diego used the back of his hand to wipe blood from his lip. The look of surprise on his face matched that of Pope.
“All right. Lucky punch,” Diego said bouncing back up and moving lightly on the toes of his feet. He attempted a roundhouse kick but Jack just stepped in, latched on to his leg and drove an elbow down into his knee followed by a backhand to the face.
Diego casually got back up again. Jack showed no fear or apprehension as he came at him again. However, as Diego swung, Jack expertly avoided the blow. Diego tried again and again and again — but Jack was too fast. Frustration masked Diego’s face, followed by embarrassment. It wasn’t Jack’s intention to humiliate him but the kid made it too easy. Jack dodged punches and ducked kicks and blurred every attack like a whack-a-mole. Out of breath and reacting emotionally Diego lunged forward for one final attack before Jack ducked and brought up his arm, clotheslining him against the ridge of his forearm. Diego hit the ground and it was lights out.
“Yeah! That’s my boy!” Tyson yelled.
Pope glanced over his shoulder at him and Tyson went quiet. Pope stared at Jack, then looked at Diego. “All right. You’ve got yourself a fight. This evening. I’ll give Tyson the location.”
He motioned to a couple of guys to head in and help Diego while Jack ripped off the gloves and exited the cage. Tyson came bouncing over and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Holy crap, do you know who you just dropped?”
Jack shrugged.
“A guy with eighteen wins on his record. He’s never lost.”
He glanced back. “Well now he has.”
Chapter 12
Jack Winchester had made a name for himself in the small town as a handyman, at least that’s what the publisher at the local newspaper had to say. Kelly was keen to find out more about him and since house fires
