Fighting Contest Story
The second match
against Arch's gym went pretty much as Rusty had planned it. Not that there
hadn't been a few surprises.
As he'd expected, "Mix" Jeffries had lost on points. The kid had more power than
you'd expect a welterweight to have, but he lacked the speed most of his
opponents had in spades. Tonight he'd gone up against someone who could meet his
strength and surpass his speed. That might take away some of Mix's attitude
about working the speed bag, but Rusty doubted it.
Yuri Petrovich, the heavyweight the guys called "Ox," hadn't won a single round.
He'd fought his usual fight--standing flat-footed in the middle of the ring, a
mountain of muscle slightly above 300 pounds, and then waiting for his opponent
to get tired of punching an immovable jaw and abs of marble. Most of his
opponents seemed to give up in the second round, and then Yuri would smile and
start throwing power punches. Tonight, Yuri hadn't smiled.
For the middleweight bout, Rusty had picked Chuch Henderson, mostly to shut the
guy up. Arch had several middleweights in his stable, and any one of them should
have been able to smack Chuck around pretty much at will. But Chuck had risen to
the occasion. Where Chuck's combinations had come from...Rusty had no idea.
There'd been no evidence in the gym. Chuck would use his split decision win to
pose as some kind of champion until the next tournament came along. Rusty was
glad he wouldn't be riding back to the east side with him.
And Andy Jakes had wanted the wild card bout too much. Rusty kept trying to get
Andy to choose his fights wisely, to think before throwing a punch, but Jakes
went on andrenaline more often than not. Getting Jakes knocked out hadn't been
part of the plan, but the guy hadn't been seriously hurt, just confused. Rusty's
little "moment" with Andy after the fight had probably doubled the confusion.
Bad timing, probably, but time would tell.
His guys--all of them--slugged more than they boxed, prefering to knock out an
opponent instead of winning on points. Not a surprise, really. That's why a
fighter came to Rusty--to increase the heat on his power shots. Lately, though,
Rusty had been trying to get them to remember the basics as they went for the
kill. Some were learning, others weren't. Maybe tonight would convert a few more
to the "learning" column.
But that would have to wait.
It's time for Rusty to pay off his bet with Arch.
Rusty comes out of the locker room and into the gym, darkened almost completely
except for a few lights over the ring. He watches the sex fight between Bumps
Murphy and Phil Martin. He doubts if either of them notices Stone Bradford
slipping out of Arch's office, the fading traces of a hard-on still evident
beneath the kid's trunks. Maybe Arch had had his own "moment"?
After the fight, Bumps almost makes it to the locker room door before he sees
Rusty. When their eyes meet, Bumps pulls his shorts higher, as if everything
hadn't been on display a few moments earlier. Rusty plays it cool. "Andy's still
got his gloves on. He's waiting for you."
Bumps nods. "Hell of a night, huh?"
"Yeah, well, I gotta stick around and pay off the bet."
Bumps laughs, a single grunt. "Right. You do that." He opens the door, and light
spills out of the locker room. Rusty can see only slight evidence of Bumps' war,
just a slight swelling of the lower lip, maybe a little reddening around the
gut. "You want me to stay, just in case?"
"No." Rusty smiles, the memory of Andy's punch still fresh on his jaw. "I'll be
taking a week off, maybe more. I'll call." The door closes, and Rusty looks back
to the ring. Phil is gone, but the lights are still on. Amazing how much it
appeals to him, the smell of leather and sweat, the memory of punches. Even the
heat seduces him. He leaves his shirt on the floor and walks over to the ring.
Rusty and Arch first fought in a city tournament. Rusty had the name
then--undefeated in some eighty fights, all wins by knockout. But Arch had no
respect for the power. In the second round, Arch jackhammered a right hook into
the flesh beneath Rusty's ribs. He'd been hit before, and he'd worked his body
just as any fighter would, but this punch was different. He felt the impact as
if the punch had passed through him. The pain stunned him and forced the air
from his lungs. In the split second Rusty needed to recover, Arch launched a
right uppercut that snapped Rusty's head back. Rusty saw nothing for a moment,
only a flash of white light. Then, once his head had cleared, he realized that
Arch had moved him back several feet with less forceful shots to the gut.
Energized by the punishment, Rusty rammed his own uppercuts into Arch's face.
Arch reeled back farther with each blow until his knees buckled and he fell to
the canvas. The victory clinched, Rusty stood over his vanquished foe and
breathed heavily. The ref had to push him to the neutral corner. Even in
victory, though, he had felt the sweetness of what he came to call "the
disconnect."
Now Rusty stands next to the steps that lead up to the ring. He runs his
fingertips along the canvas, reaches up to trace the seam of the lowest rope. He
looks over to the door of Arch's office and wonders why Arch hasn't come out
yet. He has to pay the bet, needs to pay it, feels every cell of his body
longing to pay it. To release the tension, he climbs the steps, ducks through
the ropes and enters the ring.
Rusty hadn't felt satisfied by his first fight against Arch, so he welcomed the
chance to fight him again a few months after the city tournament. This time,
though, Arch launched his bombs in the first round. Thunderous hooks, crosses,
and uppercuts. He seemed to know Rusty's defenses and sailed right through them,
just a step sooner, just a beat faster. Only Rusty knew how this happened. He
slacked off in his training, but not enough for Lou or Bumps to notice. He'd
even complained about feeling slightly sick before the fight, but only enough to
explain the gaps in his defenses. What he'd wanted, what he had begun to need,
was that moment when the brain projected a white light because it couldn't
register the pain, couldn't process the signals. Arch was the only fighter who'd
ever hit Rusty hard enough for that to happen, so Rusty dropped his defenses and
welcomed Arch's attack. Once the punches started, he had no way of knowing how
many times he'd been hit. He simple rode the wave of the disconnect until Bumps
and Lou brought him out of it. Lou had even apologized for letting Rusty fight.
Back inside the ring now, Rusty tests the tension of the ropes. He walks the
perimeter of the ring, staying on the balls of his feet. The bounce of the
padding adds to the spring in his step, and he falls into the old patterns of
footwork. When he reaches the corner closest to Arch's office, he stops and
calls out Arch's name, but there's no answer. Is the guy trying to psych him
out? Has he left?
The two draws played pretty much the same. Rusty would keep his defenses high
and his punches hard during the first round. In the second round, he'd let Arch
turn the tide. Although the opportunity had been there, Arch never unleashed his
full power either time. He still hit plenty hard, harder than any other opponent
Rusty had faced. In the third round, they'd go to war, trading bombs toe-to-toe.
By that point, anyone watching them would believe that each had grown too spent
to finish the other off. They'd had the crowds on their feet both times.
After the second draw, Rusty had decided he shouldn't turn pro, not if he liked
getting hit. Arch was the only person he told this to, mostly because he'd hoped
they could still spar. Rusty had offered to buy Arch a beer as an apology for
controlling their fights.
"What do you mean YOU controlled the fights? I'm the one who pulled the
punches."
"No way."
"Wanna prove it?"
They had gone out and fought on the street for hours, but neither of them could
claim a clear victory. The next day, when Lou saw the effects of the street
fight, everyone knew it was time for Rusty to get out of the ring.
Impatient now, Rusty starts shadow-boxing. He bobs and weaves, ducking invisible
punches, warming up and stretching his torso. He tosses a few jabs, then a few
combinations, and soon the muscles of his arms, shoulders, and chest loosen. He
rolls his head from side to side, then fakes the effect of a left cross, a right
hook, an uppercut. Although his head still throbs a bit from when Jakes' punch
had knocked him against the wall, Rusty's jaw and his gut have released their
pain. He keeps moving, grunting with each punch he throws. Everything is
flowing, just as if he'd never left the game. He puts more force into it,
attacking the memory of every opponent other than Arch. Soon his body shimmers
with sweat. In the midst of his frenzy, he turns towards Arch's office one more
time.
Arch stands there, wearing red trunks and a pair of black gloves. He rubs the
left side of his jaw. Rusty drops his hands to his sides and waits. A drop of
sweat falls from his chin to his chest and then follows a slow path along his
stomach.
Finally, Arch asks, "Ready to pay up?"
Arch ducks
through the ropes and tosses Rusty a pair of cheap gloves, the ones with elastic
around the wrist.
"What's this for? I lost the bet."
"I know. Humor me. Let's just say it's for effect." Arch kneels down and pulls
the automatic timer close to a corner of the ring. It's already set for three
rounds, the length of each of the earlier bouts. When the time comes, a quick
thump will set their match in motion. With the timer in position, Arch stands
and waits. In a moment, Rusty's ready. Arch steps on the starter, and they
circle each other. The timer adds a thirty second delay before ringing for round
one.
"Here's the deal," Arch says. "If I don't take you out in three rounds, we go
toe-to-toe until one of us goes down."
"If you pull punches, the deal's off."
"Don't worry. You game?"
"Sure."
The bell rings. Round one.
Arch begins by popping his jab into Rusty's jaw with just enough force to rock
his head slightly. Bip-bip-bip. He's using this as a warm-up. After about thirty
seconds, Arch's shoulders have loosened, and the pain of his earlier gut
punishment at the hands of Stone Bradford has dwindled into memory. So Arch
turns up the heat by throwing more complex combinations: left jab, right cross,
left hook, right uppercut to the gut followed by another uppercut to the jaw.
Rusty offers no offense and only raises his fists into the imitation of a
defensive posture. Arch tosses punches at will, most of them headshots. He's not
throwing with full force yet, but he's not pulling punches either. Rusty moves
back when the force of Arch's blows force him to move. Together, they work into
a rhythm of give and take. At ten seconds to the end of the round, the timer
clicks a countdown. Arch finishes the round with five uppercuts that rock Rusty
back into the corner.
The bell rings. End of round one.
"How was that?" Arch asks. He paces back and forth in the center of the ring.
Rusty smiles. His head cleared just before Arch asked the question. "Perfect,"
he says. "Gotta love the disconnect."
At fifteen seconds before the round, the timer clicks again. Rusty starts
towards Arch, but Arch shakes his head. "Stay right there in the corner." Rusty
breathes deep, backs into the corner, and grabs the top rope with both hands.
Arch comes forward.
The bell rings. Round two.
There's no warm up this time. Arch moves in close and starts throwing power
punches into Rusty's gut. First he targets the navel area and visualizes his
punches passing through the muscles and organs. Rusty grunts after each blow
sears through him, and his grip on the ropes loosens. Arch moves the shots
higher, following the fold between the ab muscles, trying to sense the spine. He
keeps the rhythm steady, a punch every few seconds. Rusty struggles for breath
now, and he can feel his knees buckling. He pushes his hands from the ropes with
enough force to end up with his arms draped over Arch's shoulders. Arch pushes
him back into the corner and keeps him there. Rusty closes his eyes, pulls Arch
close, and lets his ab muscles loosen. Arch feels the change, feels the muscles
turning to mush. The timer clicks, so Arch throws the last few shots into
Rusty's solar plexus.
The bell rings. End of round two.
Rusty won't let go right away. Arch lets his fists hang at his sides. He
supports Rusty's weight and holds him against the corner.
"Had enough?"
"Not...yet..." Rusty leans against Arch. Neither of them is wearing a cup, and
both have developed hard-ons from the contact. Arch brushes a glove against
Rusty's crotch. "No," Rusty says, his voice faint. "Not...yet..."
The timer clicks again. Arch steps back to the center of the ring and gestures
for Rusty to meet him there.
The bell rings. Round three.
By this point, Rusty's showing signs of the beating: a trickle of blood from the
corner of his mouth, a welt under his left eye, bruising on his abs. He
approaches Arch slowly. When Rusty's within reach, Arch throws a hard right.
Rusty steps back, his eyes unfocused for a moment. When he thinks Rusty's clear,
Arch launches a left uppercut and follows it with a right hook. Rusty steps back
again, and it takes a bit longer for his head to clear. Arch throws two straight
lefts and then a right. Rusty staggers back, but he stays on his feet. Arch
alternates right and left hooks, snapping Rusty's head from one side to the
other. Flat-footed now, Rusty turns into the punches to maximize their impact.
The timer clicks, and Arch finishes with hard blows to Rusty's temples.
The bell rings. End of round three.
They're both breathing heavily now. Arch has almost no strength left, and it's
hard to tell what's keeping Rusty on his feet.
"Ok," says Arch. "Your turn. We'll trade off."
Rusty throws a right, a stronger one than Arch expected. When he recovers, Arch
throws his own right. They exchange punches like this six or seven times.
Finally, Rusty's left sends Arch to the canvas. His momentum send him down as
well. They stay there, backs to the ground.
Arch's head clears, but he's not certain how much time has passed. He checks
Rusty's breathing, he listens to Rusty's chest to check his heartbeat. He takes
off their gloves, unwraps his hands. He checks Rusty's eyes the way he's seen
the docs check hundreds of fighters.
"I'm ok," Rusty says. "I set things up with Doc. You gonna need him, too?"
"Maybe. C'mon, I'll get you there."
"Not yet."
Rusty pulls Arch down on top of him. He kisses Arch and runs his hands over
Arch's back and buttocks. The struggle shifts gears, and the contest continues.