Parking Lot Fight Story
On the morning
after his fight in the parking lot, Mix Jeffries had a large bruise that nearly
covered his gut. Ox's punch--that massive fist--had centered its impact just
above Mix's navel. Mix almost thought he could find the purple imprints of Ox's
knuckles. The memory of the pain triggered a gag impulse, but Mix fought back
the dry heaves. He focused on one thing--total denial. After all, he'd done
nothing wrong, not really. Chuck had started it. Mix put on a loose-fitting,
black t-shirt. He planned to follow Ox's advice and keep the shirt on all day.
He started his morning road work gently, coaxing his abs to respond without
cramping up. He took a long route to the gym, adding two miles to his usual ten.
By the time he reached the gym, his gut had loosened somewhat, but he still had
to fight the impulse to hunch over. He stretched out longer than usual, begging
his abs to relax.
Just as Mix finished stretching, Rusty came out of his office and held the door
open. Mix started to call out to him, but something told him not to. A second
later, Chuck Henderson came out of the office--the left eye black and swollen,
the jaw a bit puffy, the lower lip split and held together with several
stitches. Chuck left the gym without even looking at Mix, but Mix watched him
go, barely noticing Rusty's approach.
Rusty put his hand on Mix's shoulder. "Hate it when that happens."
Mix put on innocence, but it wasn't an easy fit. "Why? What happened to him?"
"Street fight. Had to suspend him. 'Course he says somebody jumped him, but
that's a lie. Skinned knuckles--dead giveaway." Mix resisted the impulse to
check his own knuckles. Rusty looked Mix in the eye. "He says some guy got him
in the parking lot last night. You two left right about the same time, right?
You didn't see anybody out there, did you?"
"Me? No."
Rusty held his gaze a while longer, didn't break it until he asked, "So did you
decide about taking the middleweight bout against Arch's guy? We got to train
now if you want it."
Mix remembered Ox's advice. "Yeah, I'll take it. I'd like to spar today, start
picking up my training a little. That ok?"
"Anybody specific in mind? You want to work power or speed?"
Speed meant going in with somebody smaller. His gut would scream with every
move. Power meant going up against somebody bigger, adding to last night's
punishment. "Power."
"Ok. Get Bumps to set you up and meet me in the ring when you're ready."
"You? I'm sparring with you?"
"Something wrong with that?"
Mix shook his head and went to find Bumps. As Bumps wrapped his hands, Mix
caught a glimpse of Ox working the heavy bag. The thunder of his punches cut
through all other sound in the gym. Ox moved his punches lower, clearly
practicing body work. He stopped for a moment and made eye contact with Mix. The
middleweight nodded to show that he'd got the message. Ox went back to work on
the heavy bag. He sent an uppercut into the center of the bag, doubling it over
and lifting it high on its chains.
Mix and Bumps got to the ring a few minutes later. Rusty was there, already
dressed in black trunks but bare-chested. In the months since the last match
against Arch's gym, Rusty had kicked up his training, and he'd grown lean and
hard again, almost as imposing as he'd been in his amateur days. He'd already
gloved up, and Bumps slid another pair onto Mix's hands. Nobody told Mix to take
off the t-shirt, nobody saw the bruise.
"What do you think we should train?" Rusty asked. "What needs work?" Rusty
started loosening up, bouncing on the balls of his feet and throwing light
punches at an invisible opponent. "If you ask me, you're too much of a head
hunter. You spend all your time upstairs. When your guy covers up, you try to
punch through his gloves, but you don't have enough juice to make that
work...not yet. If he's smart, he gets under your jab and does the body work you
shoulda been doing. That's what happened in the last match against Arch's guys.
Am I right?"
Mix nodded. This was going to hurt.
"So I say we get you ready for his attack. Let him go for the gut and leave
himself open to the headhunting you wanna do anyway. Sound like a plan to you?"
It sounded like a bad plan, or at least a painful plan. Everybody knew Rusty's
rep for power. Add that to the pain from Ox's punch last night...but Mix just
nodded again. Ox had finished with the heavy bag and was watching them. Had Ox
been the one to tell? Probably not. Rusty would have suspended him, too.
"So now we get to specifics. We'll go three rounds. You keep going for the head,
and I'll work the body. You do three today, tomorrow we go four. By the time the
match comes up, you'll walk right through the guy 'cause you'll be tough as
iron. This work for you?"
"Sure, but--"
"But what?" Rusty paused his warm up and faced Mix directly. The sweat that
covered him caught the light from the windows and made his muscled body glisten.
The man was a god.
Mix swallowed the fear. "You don't usually spar."
"I know. But I'm willing. Are you?"
The question hung in the air. Mix considered confessing the whole thing, right
down to Ox's last punch. It was as if the gym had suddenly emptied. Mix could
hear his own breathing, but little else. "Yeah. I'm just a little...surprised.
That's all."
Rusty told Bumps to set the timer for three rounds. Mix then realized that every
other fighter in the gym had paused in the middle of his workout. Most were
headed ringside to watch. Rusty warned them, "No yelling, guys. I gotta tell him
how he's doing."
He didn't really have to say that. The fighters had assembled in silence, many
of them jealous of what they considered a remarkable privilege granted to the
gym's newest middleweight. When the bell rang, it echoed through relative quiet.
"Now, punches up, guard up." Rusty left his guard low and came forward.
Mix tried to stay out of range at first. He popped left jabs towards Rusty's
chin, but he threw them from a point just beyond range. He circled Rusty while
the gym owner remained planted in the middle of the ring.
"You're too far out. Come in."
Mix decided to face his punishment. He came within range and tossed a couple of
hooks off the jab. Rusty slipped them easily.
"Better. C'mon."
Mix threw a pretty good combination: a straight right off the third jab, then a
left hook and right uppercut. None of it landed. Rusty came in under the jabs
and rammed a right hook just beneath Mix's ribs. He slipped the straight right
and landed a left hook on Mix's right side. He ducked the hook and dodged the
uppercut, then rocketed a right uppercut into the center of Mix's solar plexus.
The entire bruise flared, and Mix gasped for air. As Rusty's punch cut through
him, Mix's body tucked inward and his elbows pulled tight against his sides.
"Guard up!" Rusty yelled. He emphasized the command with a straight right to the
chin. Forced back a few steps by the blow, Mix raised his guard and left his abs
exposed. Rusty came in this time, aiming almost exclusively for the center of
Mix's abs, right where the bruise still pulsed with pain. Six, seven, eight,
nine, ten hard shots, and Mix crumpled to the canvas. He stayed there, curled
into a ball, hugging his gut.
Bumps started counting him out. "1...2...3...4...5..."
"Stop." Rusty spoke to Bumps, not Mix. "Let him decide if he's done."
Mix rolled over onto his elbows and knees, then pulled himself up with the
ropes. The pain had him crying now, but he wanted to finish the round. "Let's
go."
"You sure?"
"Yeah"
"Let's finish the round. That'll be enough."
Mix started towards Rusty, determined to face the full punishment now. He threw
a half-hearted right at Rusty's chin. Rusty moved in and took the punch. Then
the gym owner poked a light hook just above Mix's navel. Mix threw a left hook
and cried out in pain as his stomach muscles refused to support the punch. Rusty
moved in so that his head was caught in the crook of Mix's elbow. Mix completed
the clinch.
"You done, Mix?"
"NO!"
Rusty managed to push back a little. He tossed alternating uppercuts into Mix's
bruised gut. After eight punches, the bell rang. Mix had made it through the
round, but he couldn't release the clinch. He hung onto Rusty to keep from
collapsing. Soon he felt Bumps behind him, the rough hands gently prying the men
apart. Bumps and Rusty supported Mix's weight and got him to a stool in the
corner. Mix doubled over as he sat, the muscles in his gut refusing to support
his weight. He stayed like that for a while. Around him, he heard the other
fighters resuming their training.
When Mix could lean backwards against the corner, he found himself still crying.
"I'm sorry, Rusty. I'm sorry."
Rusty, his gloves gone, brushed the tears from Mix's cheeks. "Sorry for what?"
"I'm the one fought Chuck in the parking lot. He started it, but--"
"Think you can walk? I want the Doc to take a look."
Mix got up from the stool, but he doubled over again. From nowhere, a pair of
massive arms lifted him and carried him back to the Doc's office. Without
opening his eyes, Mix knew it was Ox. He couldn't figure any of this, not with
the pain pounding through him. When they had him on the table, the Doc removed
Mix's t-shirt to reveal the angry bruise. He packed Mix's gut in ice packs and
told him to concentrate on relaxing the muscles. "Just visualize it, ok? It's a
little weird, but it helps. Any blood when you pissed this morning?" Mix shook
his head. "When you brushed your teeth?"
"No."
The Doc told Rusty, "Looks worse than it is. No sparring for a couple of days.
He'll recover." Doc left the room with Bumps. Ox stayed near the door. Rusty sat
on the edge of the table.
Mix tried to confess again. "I'm sorry, Rusty. I'm the one--"
"I know. I heard you the first time. Ok. You got just enough time to get ready
for the match. Soon as the Doc says so, we go back to hardening the gut. You
took some major punishment. After that, no middleweight's gonna be able to hurt
you. You'll walk right through 'em." Rusty reached out and pushed his fingers
through Mix's already messed-up hair. Then he stood up and started to leave.
"Rusty?" Mix started to sit up but couldn't. Rusty came back to his side. "You
already knew before I told you, right?"
"Right. I knew last night. Why d'ya think Ox showed up in the first place?"
Rusty knew...had known all along. More than that, Rusty had set it up, made it
boxing instead of street fighting. Rusty had had Chuck pounded to a pulp so the
street fight would show. Rusty had had Ox uppercut Mix's gut. Mix couldn't
figure any of it. He stopped trying and closed his eyes. The cool of the ice had
started its work.
Rusty left the room. Ox picked up Mix's t-shirt. Had he earned this one? He
didn't care. This one would grow strong, thanks to him. He draped the t-shirt
over his shoulder and smiled. Yes. This one belonged to him.