THUG ( part 5 )

Tom leaves Angela, finds himself in 'Butte, Montana, fighting....

THUG –  ( part 5 )

Tom Clary was walking along Diggins Street, the hub of all activity in the rollicking, bawdy mining town of Butte, Montana.

He was taking in the sights, sound and smells of the brilliant flashing colors, frying burgers, pretty girls, and some seedy-looking people that reminded him of characters in the funny papers.

As he meandered along, deep in reverie, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“How about it, fella, do you want a date?”

Tom turned to see a pretty, petite girl with large smiling eyes and brown hair flowing over her shoulders.

“Hi. I’m Meg,” she said, sizing Tom up. “Oh, I can see you’re not looking for a date. You look like you haven’t eaten for a week. – come with me and I’ll fix you something.”

Meg took hold of Tom’s sleeve and led him around the corner. He followed her up a flight of stairs to a plain, sparsely-furnished apartment, There she set about frying him a huge plate of fried eggs, bacon and hash browns – a meal fit for a king.

When Tom finished eating, Meg sat down across the table with a cup of coffee. He told her he was a pro fighter, and he would be training in Riley’s Gymnasium.

“Jack Dempsey worked out there,” Meg told him.

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Tom said, yawning. Taking the hint, Meg showed him to the spare room. Tom fell asleep practically the minute his head hit the pillow.

Tom went to Riley’s Gym first thing in the morning. He asked for the manager and was shown into his office.

“We’re always looking for sparring partners,” Riley said after Tom introduced himself. “The famous Mitch Carson is here today – I suppose you’ve heard of him?” Tom shook his head. “No? I am surprised, Tom. Mitch is an unbeaten heavyweight. He’s a great prospect, and his manager pays big bucks. But don’t expect to last very long…”

Tom walked to the ring and slipped between the ropes. The smiling, dark-skinned giant slapped him on the back and said: “I’ll take it easy on you, kid.”

A few seconds into the fight Tom felt the full force of a left hand that appeared out of nowhere, striking him on the chin. This was followed up with a couple of stinging blows to his ribs. He moved back a couple of steps and started dancing lightly on the balls of his feet. Within a few seconds he began to get the range of Carson, shooting a couple of lefts to his stomach followed by an overhand chop.

Carson developed a vacant expression and staggered backwards and forwards. His knees sagged and suddenly he was sitting on the canvas, looking up at the kid with the beaming grin. After struggling to his feet with the help of his seconds, Carson planted himself down in his corner and smiled at Tom. “You’ve got a great right hand,” he said. “That’s it, I’m calling time. No more for today, kid.”

“Whatsa matter with you?” Riley asked Tom. “You were only there to help Mitch get into shape – you weren’t supposed to knock him down.”

Tom apologized in an ‘aw shucks’ manner and asked who was next. Mysteriously, no one in the gym needed a sparring partner at that moment in time.

Tom walked slowly back to Meg’s apartment and told her what happened. She smiled.

“I’m surprised Riley didn’t have you thrown out of the gym,” Meg said. “When you spar with someone you don’t knock him down. If you’re better than them, you just carry them and protect yourself.”

Carson showed up around noon the next day, as affable as ever, and asked Tom to spar with him. At the end of a couple of rounds he pounded Tom on the shoulder and said: “Hey, kid, you’ve just taught me a valuable lesson. I’ve never before fought anyone who could change his stance at will, leading with the left and then moving to the right.”

Riley started keeping a close eye on Tom from that point on. Carson rarely managed to hit him, and when he did catch a blow Tom slid by it with an ease that had Carson on the verge of cursing. He was learning from this kid all right – although he had a niggling suspicion that the kid was learning even more from him. Riley kept watching and making note of what Tom could do in the ring.

Meg began frequenting the gym after the first couple of days. She had toned down the way she dressed and stopped smearing herself with makeup. Tom thought she was taking more than a passing interest in his progress. Meg liked Tom a hell of a lot, but he didn’t show even the slightest romantic interest in her. Sure, he was polite and friendly, but he treated her more like a little sister than a grown woman. He was a strange creature to Meg, as she was more used to the company of miners and city tuffs.

Tom generously gave Meg a quarter-cut of the pay he received from Mitch Carson’s manager at the end of the first week. Meg told Tom, there and then, that she ought to become his manager as far as money was concerned.

On Saturday night, when Carson was out partying and the gym was slow, Tom took advantage of the lull and worked hard on the heavy bag. He favored the right, although he realized that he had to toughen up his sinews and muscles – and fast. He had the strangest feeling that his powerful right hand would either make him an extremely wealthy man… or ruin his life.

Tom had been working tirelessly on the heavy bag for three hours, when Riley came out of his office. He called Tom over to the corner and said: “ Do you think you could fight next Saturday?”

“More sparring work? Sure, Mister Riley.”

“No, not sparring,” Riley said. “I’ve found a really good fighter who is looking for a match.”

“OK,” Tom said without a second’s thought, “I’ll give it a shot.” He didn’t think to ask who he would be fighting.

Tom worked out intensely all thru the following week. He ran for miles over the hills around Butte early in the mornings, followed by a couple of hours on the heavy bag. Then he sparred with every man he could entice into the ring. Riley finally told him his opponent went by the name of Clyde Tull, a light-heavy from South Dakota. “He’s fast,” he said, “and he punches like a heavyweight.”

The big night finally arrived. As Tom climbed between the ropes he rubbed his eyes. He recognized his opponent – he was the man who had recently defeated Charley Retzloff, a heavyweight who had lasted fifteen rounds with the current world champion Joe Louis.

Both men went to the center of the ring. They were instructed by the ref and then they went back to their corners. In the brief seconds before the bell Tom was jarred out of his reverie. There was a faint scent of lilac in the air. “I must be dreaming,” Tom mumbled thru his mouthpiece. “That old-fashioned scent could come from no one else but Angela!”

C L A N G !

The two men danced to the center of the ring, sparring briefly, feinting each other and throwing quick jabs. From out of nowhere Tom was stunned by a left to his chin. Shaking his head, his vision clouded, he countered with a right and missed. “This guy is a ghost!” Tom thought to himself.

Clyde Tull was visibly amused. “The kid is game,” he thought as he ducked a left and
countered with another uppercut right to the jaw. Tull was quicker than a jungle cat and hard. When that uppercut connected Tom’s lights almost went out. Blackness flooded his mind. He felt nothing......

C L A N G !

Tom heard the bell from a neutral corner, where he was struggling to get up off his knees. “Get up, damn you!” he thought out loud as he heard the referee counting. “Move, damn it!”

Shaking his head, he managed to get to his feet and weaved his way to his corner. The ref had broken off his count at eight.

Epinephrine ampules mashed under his nose quickly stirred neural responses. Tom realized he needed to adjust his game, and right now. As blood surged thru his arteries and the lights grew bright, he knew he had drawn a protagonist who had the potential to end his career, his health or his life.

“Stay away! Get on the bicycle! Back away!” Tom’s seconds yelled in his ear. “Stall him! Watch his mouth and his eyes and you can tell when the fist is coming…”

Back in the center of the ring, the two fighters touched gloves.

Damn that scent of lilac! Tom heard his name being called by a familiar voice. He looked over his shoulder to see the woman’s face… he was literally bounced off the canvas by a right to his ribs. He felt that he was floating, all the breath leaving his body in a mighty whooossh! He had committed the unforgivable sin of taking his eyes off his opponent.

Seeing Tom’s knees sagging slightly Tull grabbed him in a clinch, intent on inflicting more damage to his ribcage while he could. Tom lowered his head, determined to stave off the clinch. Tull jerked his own head up sharply. The referee was between them in an instant, deducting two points from Tull for headbutting.

His head swimming and his knees feeling like rubber, Tom felt sickness flooding his body. He thought to himself: “Two points? He commits a gross foul, and it only costs him two points?” The Stars were shining down onto the open-air ring and the moon was coming over the horizon. Tom shook his head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. And again he caught the scent of lilac. He could hear Angela calling him…

“Tom! Snap out of it!”

The bell sounded again – Tom couldn’t remember how many rounds he had fought. The referee steered him in the direction of his corner. His seconds told him he was putting up a great fight, and that Tull was weakening.

Tom looked over at Tull’s corner. He was stretched out on his stool, his seconds pouring water into his trunks and onto his forehead. His heavily-muscled stomach was heaving in an effort to breathe. Tom wasn’t surprised by Tull`s condition: it wouldn’t be the first time he had been unable to phase an opponent for round after painful round, only to see him fall unconscious off his stool.

When the bell sounded, Tull was slow to rise. Tom’s blows, struck from instinct alone,
had done more damage than Tom had suspected. Tull was hurting and his eyes weren’t focusing properly. Tom quickly waded in with a right and left to his ribs. Tull grabbed hold of Tom’s sides and refused to let go for a few seconds until, with great effort, he pushed him away. While gritting his teeth due to the immense pain he brought over a hard right to Tom’s head, intentionally hitting him in the forehead with the laces and cutting a two-inch gash above his left eye.

The Referee spotted the foul and was between the fighters in a flash. He penalized Tull another two points and told him he would award the fight to Tom in the event of any further fouling.

The bell sounded to end the round. Blood was streaming down Tom’s face and his eye was closing. The seconds rushed to close the wound with styptic. They washed the blood from his face and chest, and reminded him to watch Tull’s mouth. “Just before Tull throws a knockout punch,” one of them said, “he grits his teeth and his lips snarl.”

Back in the center of the ring Tom continued his assault on Tull, who was beginning to look OUT on his feet. But Tom was well aware that Tull was still dangerous. He had seen fighters’ eyes go blank before, and although they were no longer fully-conscious, they were still deadly fighting machines, punching instinctively as though they were scrapping in their sleep. Tom squared his opponent away, delivering a right to the jaw that should have floored him, but it had little effect. Like a robot, Tull was still battling with steady and deliberate desperation.

Tom knew what he had to do. Tull was very vulnerable, but Tom`s mind was beginning to regain the old cunning intuition. He needed to get Tull off balance.

For the next couple of rounds Tom delivered one right hand blow after another to Tull’s jaw and head. Finally Tull started turning away, trying to hit with his right as he turns to his right. He stumbled slightly. Tom squared his body, planted his feet, ducked another haymaker and then delivered an overhand right hard to Tull’s jaw.

Tom walked to his neutral corner without giving a backward glance. Although he was tired and bleeding, with his his left eye swollen shut, he instinctively knew that Tull was lying unconscious in the middle of the ring. Tull was a valiant fighter who had put up one fight too many, and this one had surely ended his career.

The final bell sounded and Tom was suddenly surrounded by well-wishers. He smelled lilac and felt arms around his neck. Angela was kissing him – and so was Meg. They didn’t seem to see one another…
----- Eagle Cruagh                        --- Continued ----


 

 

Reviews

[Tracie Skarbo]

Oh my I wonder what is going to happen when they do notice each other! Arge...I don't think there is anohter chapter...what am I going to do? You have me on the edge of my seat...I am sure you love to have your readers there, what writer wouldn't! I am so enthralled with this character, and his story. This is the best story of yours I have read to date.

Simply Wonderful. And to think...I don't even LIKE boxing. :)

Tigra

[patricia]

great running commentary on the fight. Thought Megs transition from naughty to nice was brushed over a bit too quick. Well told. Well done.

[Brittany]

This was really well written and engaging. Full of suspense and thrill. I really want to know more. Great characterization. Great descriptions help me 'see' the fight.

[Norma M Sutton]

Lilac and sweat . . . . what a interesting combination.

[x]

Love it. The write takes the reader directly into the fight with brilliant imagery which is exhausting to experience. Blow by blow, it is a well written account of what happened. The romance angle is interesting and adds a dimension that will appeal to a wider audience but the straight out development of the boxer is the true story here and has all the elements of courage, tenacity and wit that makes for a great read.
Good luck with the ending, it would be worth pursuing.

[Eagle Cruagh]

Champions from every pursuit, including
writers, appear to have one thing in common,
they never give up.

----- Eagle Cruagh

[Eagle Cruagh]

My profound apologies to you and you and you.

Tom`s story had been written through chapter eight
(8) when Cafe went blank and many of us lost our writing.

The writing has been pieced back together, but the final
chapters have been lost.

Someday I will write all of this from memory again. It is just
a daunting job and difficult to get started, but for you
I will get it done.

------Eagle Cruagh

[emmajoy]

I can't believe that this story actually has me wanting more. It has to be the way it's being written! You've developed characters, even if they ARE based on real life... your conversations work, the descriptions are explicit or colourful or both.

Will come back for more soon... need to jump on my two wheeled horse (bike) and gallop off!

[IMOGEAN]

please continue

[IMOGEAN]

It is my hope that you will continue writing this story. I believe it would be a best selling book were you to complete and publish it.