Across the room an angry looking Hispanic stepped forward, wearing a white T-shirt, blue plaid shirt with only the top button done up, thin belt, baggy pants with split cuffs, and a blue bandanna tied around his forehead that matched his shirt. He looked as if he was coked out of his mind. His eyes were wide, and as he smiled he flashed a metal grille of teeth back at Jack. There were few who intimidated him. Brawny guys, gang members, martial arts experts, all of them had holes in their game. It didn’t take long to spot them. The two began to circle as smiles widened on the face of spectators.
The Hispanic charged him like a bull in the ring; his head low in a desperate attempt to take him down. His attack was met swiftly by Jack’s knee coming up and colliding with his skull. Though it didn’t knock him out, it put him on his ass, watered his eyes, busted his nose up and made him even angrier. Jack cracked his head from side to side and motioned with two fingers for him to get up. His opponent let out a wild cry of rage and bounced up and tried coming forward with fists only to be kicked to the ground. Up again, he staggered forward, this time a look of defeat in his eyes. He brought over a right hook; Jack ducked and fired a fist into his nuts, then an uppercut to his chin.
He collapsed, knocked unconscious.
There was a moment of hesitation on the face of the announcer as if he was trying to gauge whether the fight was over before he rushed out and announced Jack the winner.
“There will be a short ten-minute intermission,” Gimpy said.
“Forget it. Bring on the next.”
Gimpy pulled the mic away from his mouth and looked up. “What?”
“Just bring him out,” Jack said, eager to get through them.
While others in the underground circuit might have relished the opportunity to rest, Jack’s New York street fights as a kid had hardened him. Unless he was hurt bad he’d learned the best way forward was not to stop sweating and cool off. But to keep the momentum going.
“But you are entitled to ten minutes.”
“I don’t want it.”
Gimpy nodded, and shuffled over to Pope. Pope looked at Jack and a big smile appeared. He gave a nod and the announcer informed the crowd that the fights would continue. Of course the ticket holders erupted with applause.
The next two fights followed suit to the first. While each opponent took a different approach, they all made the fatal mistake of letting their emotions get the better of them. Game plans went out the window and as ego took over, Jack capitalized on it in brutal fashion. As he finished his third opponent he glanced over at Pope. Gone was the smug smile, in its place a look of fear. Was it the same expression he had before he ordered his men to attack Tyson? God, he hoped so.
Before the final fight, Gimpy came over to Jack and tried to convince him that a break might be worth taking for who he was about to go up against.
Some of the crowd began to chant, “Duke. Duke. Duke!”
“If I were you I would take the break.”
Jack took a sip of water then poured the rest over his head, drenching his T-shirt.
“Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?”
Gimpy nodded, a concerned expression masking his face as he stepped into the center of the room and announced the fight would continue. Like any great announcer he gave a stellar performance introducing Jack, and then an even better one for the fighter they called Duke. Tyson had already filled him in on how dangerous he was, and how quickly he’d handled Nicky, but words didn’t do the man justice. The crowd didn’t need to divide for Jack to see him; he was head and shoulders above the tallest in the room.
“Duke. Duke. Duke!” The chants continued as he stepped forward, a skull bandanna covering the lower half of his face. He removed it to reveal a horribly deformed face, the result of a burn.
Jack scanned the room to make sure Spike still had the suitcase. Sure enough he was right there beside Pope. Though now Pope and Spike had melted into the crowd as if they were considering bolting if he won.
The fight commenced and Duke came forward but unlike the others he didn’t throw punches or kicks, he just walked towards Jack, fearless and convinced the outcome would be the same as before.
Jack launched into a spinning kick, striking him square in the gut. It was like kicking a steel wall. He bounced off him and Duke grinned. Jack shot in firing jabs and hooks that knocked him back but never enough to rattle him.
There were few people he’d fought like him over the course of his life.
Oh, Jack had encountered his fair share of battle-hardened men but those he couldn’t drop with fists he usually could with chains, knives, guns, any object within his reach. This wasn’t like showing up to collect on a debt where all the rules were off the table. The only weapon he had was himself.
A loud yell came from Duke’s corner and like a light switch turning on, he lunged forward striking Jack with one hell of a blow
