I felt a solid crunch as the rock he held smashed into the side of my face. Blood poured from the gash. I punched as hard as I could before he could draw back and hit me again. My knuckles landed right on his nose, I felt the bone give way as it splintered, his head snapped back and his blood went flying; creating a fan design on the freshly fallen snow. Sight of blood, doesn’t bother me, but he watched the blood dripping from his nose as it stained the snow around him.
Snow and blood mixed at my feet as I danced around so he couldn’t focus on me. He finally stopped staring at the snow, and came at me again, he wanted to smash my skull with that three pound rock. I drew my hand across my face and it came away loaded with fresh blood. I flicked the blood at him and saw the red stain spread across his eyes. Maybe it got in his eyes or he just got grossed out from the blood, but he hesitated with the rock held high above his head. Wide open now I kicked him as hard as I could right in his unprotected balls.
Every street fighter should know to keep one leg in front of the other to avoid a direct kick in the nuts. Either he forgot or didn’t know, but an opportunity like that is too good to pass up. Not when he had that rock in his hand and murder in his eyes. The direct kick caused him to drop the rock and bend forward to grab his balls—the classic position for a knee to the face, which he got while I put my hands on the back of his head to hold it steady.
A squishing sound as my knee smashed into his face. He hit the snow face first. The light from the streetlamps showed the snow around his face being colored from flowing blood. A kick in the ribs got a grunt out of him. He was still conscious, so I kicked hard and caught him on top of the head with the heel of my combat boot. I had put steel taps on the heels that afternoon and that must have been what caused a piece of his scalp to go flying. His arms fell to his side and he lay still. Should I work him over? I didn’t want him getting up again.
I looked behind me. My buddy Jimmy was laid out in the snow, and the guy that laid him out ran at me with something shiny in his hand. Either a knife or a gun I didn’t know which. From the corner of my eye I saw the rock I was getting beat with not so long ago. I picked it up and took careful aim. I knew missing wasn’t an option. When I wound up and hurled it with all my might directly at the oncoming antagonist. He was only a few feet away by now.
Thuck! Like a hammer hitting a watermelon—rock hitting head. His legs collapsed beneath him, and he hit the ground face first. I ran to him to be sure he was going to stay down. He wasn’t moving at all. The eight inch dagger he was carrying lay on the ground next to him. I picked it up and the thought of being beat with a rock and this guy coming at me with a knife, my anger get the best of me and I plunged it into the back of his thigh as hard as I could. It sunk in up to the hilt.
I walked to where Jimmy laid and didn’t see any blood. I hoped he hadn’t gotten stabbed. He moved, rolled over and looked at the two inert bodies. “Good job,” he said.
I looked at the two guys lying in the snow, all because they wouldn’t give Jimmy a cigarette when he asked for one. Not that he wanted a cigarette, it was a good reason to start a fight and that was what he was after.
“I need a drink” Jimmy shook his head trying to clear his foggy brain.
“Jimmy I don’t want to fight again tonight,” I knew because he had gotten knocked out he’d want to prove he could kick the next guys ass.
“What’re you turning into a pussy? We’re just getting warmed up.” He danced around in the snow shadow boxing.
It’s never enough for him. Jimmy wants to fight all the time, every time he gets a chance. Luckily for me I learned all his tricks and he can no longer beat me, otherwise if there wasn’t someone else to fight, he’d be fighting with me. Now I don’t need to worry about him picking on me. I hated to fight, always have. My knees got weak and my legs shook when I knew I was about to get into a fight. Once I got hit, it all went away, and I just wanted to get the son of a bitch that had hit me. But I never liked the feeling and if it wasn’t a necessary part of my life, I’d like to not ever have to fight.
When guys came around from other parts of the city, and I saw their new cars and the designer clothes they wore—clothes I couldn’t even think of being able to afford. Their affluence intimidated me at first. Then I learned I had something they didn’t have. In those days we called it “Heart” now it’s called balls. The first time I fought one of these middle class guys, he was more worried about getting his clothes ruined than he was about getting his ass kicked. When I broke his nose and he bled all over his lemon colored sweater, he almost cried because his sweater was ruined.
“Look what you’ve done to my sweater,” he moaned. How about what I did to your nose I thought as I kicked him in the balls to give him something to cry about.
In our neighborhood, you either fought or died. You didn’t literally die, but you may as well be dead, because once you refused to fight, you became a pariah and might as well be an untouchable as have the word get around that you were chicken.
So I fought and I fought a lot. The more I fought, pride began to be creep in and soon I realized how a warrior must have felt going into battle. Not for hatred did they fight or for right or wrong, it was for glory and self esteem. Growing up poor, people in general always looked down at me. I’d be unwashed and wearing raggedy clothes when I was young, and people treated me like a dog. That’s where my feelings of inferiority came from.
Once I started kicking ass, people looked at me in a new way. No longer did they look down their noses at me, but now if they looked at me at all I saw fear in their eyes. This gave me a good feeling, because I knew now I was not only their equal, but I could kick their ass and that made me superior to them.
Jimmy my best friend started a lot of fights, but I always had to jump in to save his ass. Jimmy was one hundred percent Irish. Me, I’m a half breed. Half Jewish and half Italian, a real freak around here and this was one of the reasons I had to fight all the time. I wasn’t one of them! That meant it was okay to pick on me, but I learned a long time ago to never quit. Even when I got my ass kicked, I’d always take a toll on whoever was beating me. After awhile I got a reputation and people left me alone. That’s why Jimmy liked me. He knew I’d never quit any fight he started.

################


















Chapter 2


“There’s a phone outside that gas station, we better call the cops so those guys don’t freeze to death,” I dialed 911, “yeah,” I said, “I drove by and saw a couple of drunks passed out in the snow on Hano near Cambridge Street.” I wiped my prints off the phone in case one of those guys was seriously hurt. I didn't want to make it that easy for the cops to figure out who made the call. I knew if they didn't get help, they could freeze to death lying in the snow all night. We had to get off the street before the law came to pick up the guys we left bloodied in the snow.
A neon sign, “Dew Drop Inn” flashed off and on every three seconds. It lured us in, and I had never been in the Dew Drop Inn before, nor had Jimmy. I was big for sixteen and could easily pass for twenty one, but Jimmy’s short, only around five foot five and sort of looks his age of seventeen so when we walked through the door the huge bouncer said, “Where do you think you're going?”
“To get a drink,” Jimmy put a folded up twenty dollar bill into the bouncer's hand. ”Here's my ID.”
He nodded that it was OK for us to enter.
“Where'd you get twenty bucks?” I removed my gloves and examined my bruised knuckles.
“While I was fighting with that guy, I stole his wallet and there's about three hundred bucks in it.” He showed me a roll of bills.
“Good going Jimmy,” I led the way to a massive antique looking wooden bar on the other side of a crowd of men. We passed twenty black and white marble topped tables, and each table had six chrome barstools with black leather padded seats. Seats occupied mostly by men in their late twenties or early thirties. Old people to me and Jimmy, but we knew we'd be okay in here until the streets were safe again. I figured a few hours in here and the cops wouldn't be looking for us any longer. So much shit happened around here every hour on the hour that what happened a few hours ago is old news.
I pushed my way through to the bar where there was one empty stool that stood out from the chrome ones. It was a massive wood barstool— it looked twice the size of any other barstool in the bar.
“Sit here Jimmy,” I pointed to the wood stool, and I squeezed in beside him to stand at the bar. Everything got quiet when Jimmy sat on that wooden bar stool.
“Hey, every thing's copacetic,” I said, to everyone within hearing range, “we're cool, just going to have a few beers and leave. They all stared like they didn't hear a word I said. With everyone starring at us reminded me of the old cowboy movies where the stranger walked up to the bar, ready to gun fight anybody who made a move. It wasn't like that though. We came in here with peaceful intentions.
Everyone sitting at the bar had their eyeballs glued on us when the bartender asked what we wanted. “Two Buds, and give all these guys a drink,” Jimmy waved his arm to show he meant everybody at the bar. The eyeballs fixed on us seemed to get a little softer because of this gesture.
The beers came in twelve ounce bottles, and they were cold enough that when they were opened frost formed around the neck of the bottle. Just the way I liked my beer, ice cold. I held mine up and Jimmy touched his bottle against mine, as they clinked, he said, “Semper Fi” I repeated our motto, and drank half my beer in one long drink. I placed my bottle on the old wood bar and looked in the mirror. I saw our reflections there, Jimmy with longish brown hair, white, white skin, so white it almost made his hair look black, and his blue eyes stood out like electric beacons against that pale face. His lips, although normal in color looked almost as though he must be wearing lipstick, because they stood out so vividly against his face. His blue eyes were moving quickly side to side as he checked out the other guys at the bar. My reflection showed black curly hair, big nose, and ice blue eyes. The mirror didn’t reflect the way I saw myself at all. I pictured myself a warrior, proud, strong and just. It didn’t matter we had just kicked ass for the fun of it. Even proud warriors had to practice.
The mirror showed everyone sitting at the bar, and all looked into it, watching everyone else at the bar. I counted twenty others besides me and Jimmy at the bar. The others sitting at the bar kept glancing at us nervously. If I returned the looks, they quickly averted their gaze.
The guy next to me had a pack of Pall Malls lying on the bar that he drew a cigarette from and lit up. After a few drags, he'd smash the cigarette into the ash tray like, he was killing a living thing. A split second later he'd light up again. The guy sitting beside Jimmy lit up as often it seemed, but he smoked everyone down until the lit part burnt his fingers. At that point he'd say, “Fucker” and drop the small butt. Then he'd shake his hand to chase the burn pain away, and then reach for his pack of Camels and light another. That was a sight, he'd scratch a match across the strip on the cardboard match book and the head of the match would smoke a little and go out. He'd say, “Fucker” throw it to the floor and strike another—he'd repeat the procedure over and over until one finally lit, and he was able to light his cigarette. I was tempted to give him a dry book of matches, but I've learned to keep my mouth shut around strangers.
I counted twenty men and twenty packs of cigarettes sitting on the bar and it looked like there were twenty different brands from what I could see Pall Malls, Camels, Benson & Hedges, Viceroy, Chesterfield, Etc, Etc. Now I knew these guys were what was called “Rugged individuals” after all, they all had their own individual brand of cigarette, but when I looked again I saw eighteen Budweiser bottles sitting on the bar, so much for individualism. They probably drank Bud because it's easy to say, one three letter word is all that's needed. All one needs to do was grunt Bud, and the barkeep knows what was wanted. These guys didn't look like they'd want to say something like “Give me a Harvey Wallbanger,” or any other thing with that many syllables in it.
The clientele sitting at the bar all wore blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a T shirt with a pocket. The ones I could see all wear a two inch wide leather belt threaded through their belt loops.
The Juke box volume was cranked up, and “Stand by Your Man” blared throughout the bar. The guys sitting at the bar acted like, they couldn't even hear the music. There were no expressions on any faces. Other than they stared into the mirror, smoked cigarettes, and drank beer, they sat motionless. I'd at least like to have seen one of them cry into his beer as the country and western singers, sing about.
When they all suddenly stood up as one, and stepped back from the bar startled me. A second ago these guys appeared to be a bunch of zombies, and now they moved like Speedy Gonzales getting away from the bar. I didn't have a clue what could wake them up like that until I heard a deep resonant voice that said, “Shut that fucking thing off,”
I turned in the direction of the voice and saw a real life giant. This guy was built like the Incredible Hulk, only about twice as tall. He was getting ready to kick the juke box when suddenly the music stopped and the lights on the jukebox died out. Dead silence, I couldn't see, but I felt the crowd behind me backing away from this man mountain. I found out why everyone was staring at us when he said, “That's my fucking chair and no one but me sits in it.”
“Fuck off,” Jimmy said, and gave him his middle finger.
I almost shit when he said that. I glanced at Jimmy, and I saw that he was looking directly at him when he said, “I don't see your name on it.”
“I'm going to write my name on it with your Dick.”
“Big, doesn't scare me asshole. The bigger you are the harder you're going to fall.”
Goddamn, I knew Jimmy was still on his first beer, so he couldn't be drunk. I guessed he was just a little crazy to be talking to this guy like he was. He looked at me and said, “Sempa Fi” I had no choice now, so I nodded my head and we both moved toward the giant at the same time. Jimmy swung the wooden barstool that splintered when he hit the giant in the chest with it. That was as high as Jimmy could reach. I jumped in the air and swung a roundhouse towards his head with a full bottle of Bud in my hand. My aim was good, and I felt the clunk and the bottle disintegrated, like I had smashed it against a cement sidewalk.
He laughed, the giant knew we had just given him our best, and it didn't faze him.
“Alright boys, I'm going to show you what a real ass whipping is,” He swung at me, and I tried to jump back. I wasn't fast enough and his punch grazed my chest with so much force it sent me back against the bar. I picked up two full beer bottles and started toward him as I saw his foot hit Jimmy in the stomach. He went flying, I charged the mountain and swung one of the bottles at his face. He easily blocked my swing. He grabbed me by the arm and twisted it behind my back.
“You little assholes don't have any idea who you're fucking with, do you?” All I knew was whoever it was I was fucking with was a mistake on my part. He looked closely at me and dropped me to the floor.
“Shit, you're just a kid. Who let you in here?”
I didn't say anything, this was the first time being young has ever benefited me in any way. I knew if he hadn't noticed my youth, he'd probably have killed me. Jimmy was on his feet and was picking up another barstool to try again.
“Hold on Jimmy, this'll be a slaughter if you hit him again, let's just take a pass on this one,”
“That asshole kicked me; I don't let anybody get away with that.” I could see he wanted to quit, but he didn't know how.
“Call it a draw,” I said, we're all still standing so let's leave it like it is,”
“OK by me,” the giant said, and then laughed, “You kids got some balls fighting me. Let me buy you a beer to replace the one you broke on my head?” He laughed again. I didn't trust him and was waiting to see if maybe he was bullshitting us and was going to wipe the bar up with us, or maybe he had something worse in mind. He saw the fear on my face and told me, “Don't worry, I'm not mad. I love to fight and to see a couple of kids like you stand up to me gives me hope that all Americans aren't sissified yet.
Jimmy and I drank to that and the giant told us his name was Achilles.
“I'm Joe DiBuduo and this is Jimmy Bryant,” I said and put my hand in his to shake. I felt like I just stuck my hand in an alligator’s mouth, his hand was so huge compared to mine I knew he could crush the bones in my hand without even thinking about it.
“What's your last name Achilles?”
“I only have one name.” I knew he only needed one, because once he told anyone his name it would never be forgotten.
We sat and drank a few beers, Jimmy and me that is, Achilles drank from a pitcher that held eight glasses, and he drank a pitcher of beer for every bottle, we drank. The crowd was coming back to the bar now and reclaiming their seats, cigarettes, and beers. I tried to give my stool back to its previous occupant, but he told me to keep it.
“You kids still in school?”
“Fuck no,” I said, and drank my beer.
“Too bad, what’s your plans for the future?”
“I quit, but I’m going to be a poet someday,” Jimmy said.
“You, a poet?” I laughed. “I can’t believe you said that. How come you never said anything about it before?”
“No one ever asked before.”
“Shit, I never think beyond today, live today, die tomorrow is what I believe,” I emptied my beer.
When Achilles ordered another beer I watched as the bartender put the pitcher under a gleaming beer tap that looked like it was just polished. The complete back-bar was spotless. This bar was cleaner than a hospital, and I wondered why it was like that. The floor was wood planks that were highly polished and looked like they were original but were in excellent shape.
“Hey Jimmy, do you notice anything unusual about this place?”
“Yeah, there aren’t any women in here,” I can't believe I didn't notice that. Now it was starting to add up, they're all dressed alike. I glanced at Achilles and sure enough he's wearing jeans, T shirt, cowboy boots, and a wide leather belt. No women in the place and it's so clean you can eat off the floor, I don't want to believe what I'm thinking, and if I say it out loud it might make it true. I waited to hear Jimmy's opinion, and I didn't have to wait long when it dawned on him.
“Look! They’re dancing together, Jesus Joe, what kind of place did you drag me into?” He looked at the dance floor and shouted, Faggards, this is a fucking faggot bar,”
He said not it, not me. I knew it was and he positively thought the same as I did. I'm sure happy that I had been drinking out of a bottle and not a glass that one of these cocksuckers had his lips on. We stood up, “We’re out of here Achilles, it was nice meeting you.”
“Here,” he handed us each a card that read Achilles Mixed Martial Arts with the address and phone numbers on it. “You guys come by, and I'll teach you how I to beat a guy my size.”
“Yeah sure” I said, we hurried out the door, and I looked over my shoulder and saw the jukebox lights flickering on as a couple of guys stood in front of it with their arms wrapped around each other


















Chapter 3

I lay low for about a week and by Saturday cabin fever was setting in, so I went and got Jimmy to hang out. We went to The Laid Back Inn, our hangout on the weekends. A lot of the neighborhood kids hung out there. The owner paid a piece of his profits to the local cops and they never bothered anyone in the place. If a guy left falling down drunk, the cops often gave him a lift home. As we walked through the door “Sixteen Candles” played on the jukebox. It reminded that last week was my sixteenth. Nobody remembered my birthday, but I didn’t expect anyone to so I wasn’t disappointed.
We went to the back room that was dimly lit and smelled like most bars I’ve ever been in marijuana, stale beer and cigarette smoke. There were three pool tables on one side of the room. On the other side a jukebox, with a small dance floor in front of it. The wooden dance area was surrounded by chairs and tables where couples sat, drinking and watching the few people dancing. One of the dancers looked really hot. I asked one of the girls who she was.
“That’s Mary Callahan, you better stay away from her or her brothers who’re all sitting at the bar will kick your ass if you go near her.
The Callahan’s were sitting at the bar, all eight of them. Everybody knew if you fought with one of them, you had to beat the other seven before it ended. Nobody in their right mind picked a fight with them. John Callahan had a bandage on the back of his head and his face was still recovering from a beating someone had given him. Memories of last week floated through my mind. I saw the face lying in the snow matched the one I was looking at, and wondered if he recognized me. I hoped not.
I cut in on Mary and her dance partner. He didn’t like the idea of me cutting in, but knew if he objected there’d be trouble. He handed her over and ran straight to her brothers to tell them what had happened. Her oldest brother was the one with the bandage on his head. He walked up behind me, grabbed me by the shoulder, and said in a low grumble, “I didn’t say you could dance with my sister.”
I had beaten him in a fight last week so I wasn’t worried about him. But I worried about his seven brothers who were all getting in position to assist their brother if he needed it.
“Hey Johnny,” Callahan turned and looked at my friend Jimmy, who laughed as he said, “You know we kicked your ass last week and here you’re looking for more.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“R’ya deaf asshole? Don’t you remember waking up in the snow where we left ya?”
Shit, Jimmy’s not too smart to be bragging about what we did with all his brothers sitting right there. I turned and saw his seven brothers walking towards us. John Callahan decided it was time to act, but I saw it in his eyes before he even moved. By the time his fist moved toward me, I had grabbed a bottle from a nearby table and had broken it over his head. At the sound of the breaking bottle, seven other Callahan’s sprang into action. Jimmy threw me a pool stick and grabbed one for him. We waded into them poking and swinging with our pool cues. Jimmy knocked out two and I got two. John Callahan kneeled on the floor holding his bleeding head. Now there were only three of them left and all three stood with their backs to a pool table. I started toward them when one of them threw a cue ball and hit me above my eye.
I remember thinking how I was happy it hit that side of my face, because the other side was still swollen from being hit with the rock last week. Then another ball smashed into my temple and I was out.
Jimmy told me later what happened. After I got knocked out he charged them with his pool cue going in circles. All three raised their hands to protect their heads, and as soon as their hands went up Jimmy started kicking. Aiming for their balls, he connected on two sets. Once they bent over trying to protect their balls from Jimmy’s relentless attack, he grabbed a pool ball in each hand and started smashing the balls into their heads with roundhouse swings. The last Callahan standing used good sense when he turned and hurried out the door.
Flashing lights surrounded the bar, someone had called the cops. Jimmy helped them carry me out to a squad car that drove me and him to City Hospital where I got nineteen stitches above my right eye. I wasn’t mad at the Callahans, hell I figured you win some lose some, nothing personal. It’s too bad they didn’t feel the same way.
The very next night we went back to The Laid Back Inn to show we weren’t afraid to show our faces. Everyone knew the Callahans would be looking for revenge. We sat by the dance floor. I saw Mary Callahan coming because her eyes were flashing warning signals. Words were coming out of her beautifully formed lips, but I didn’t hear them. What I heard was the song “Earth Angel, Earth Angel” coming from the jukebox, and that’s what I thought she was, until the kick came that almost got me in the balls. She started pummeling me with her tiny fists and her beautiful lips were still moving. All I could hear was the singing from the jukebox and again the words matched her appearance for me, “You’re my angel” poured from the speakers and I imagined those were the words coming from her lips. I grabbed her hands and pulled her close, her lips were still moving when I put mine against hers. She struggled— I forced my tongue between her moving lips. I didn’t expect the knee in the nuts that knocked me to the ground. That was the instant I fell in love with her. She stepped back, her hand flew to her lips and her eyes grew wide in surprise for what she had done. She turned and ran out the door. I knew this wasn’t an ending, but a beginning.





































Chapter 4
.” I was stuck on Mary, I didn’t want to be, but I was. I couldn’t get her out of my mind, day or night, her image stuck with me and stuck so strong I couldn’t shake it.
I knew for a fact it was impossible for Mary to ever even look my way after what Jimmy and I did to her brothers in front of their family and practically everybody else they knew. Two guys against all eight of them, and they ended up on the losing end. They’d never allow me to date their sister and be a constant reminder of their humiliation.
“Come on Jimmy, think of a way to make peace with those guys.” I practically begged.
“It’s never going to happen after what we did to them. Forget about ever getting together with Mary Callahan,” Jimmy paced back and forth, “We’ve been hiding out for a week already, I’ve got to get out and do something.”
“I know they’ll be looking for us. There’s got to be a way to make peace with the Callahans.”
That night we went back to “The Laid Back Inn” hung out, drank a few beers, played some pool, and while playing Jimmy pointed to one of the cue balls and said, “Look at this, it’s still got blood on it from when I beat those assholes with it. Last week.”
Maybe it’s my blood I thought but said, “Probably no one wants to use it because of the blood, that’s why it’s not worn off yet.
“Yeah, but you’d think someone would have washed it off by now.” He dropped his stick on the table, “I don’t want to play anymore.”
We sat by the dance floor drinking beer and messing with the girls as they danced for a few hours. There was no sign of the Callahans so we sort of put them out of our minds, big mistake. I dropped Jimmy of at his place and drove home. Three days later when Jimmy regained consciousness he told me what happened.
“I unlocked the door and as I walked through the lobby of my apartment building there’s an old wooden staircase with a storage area under it. One of them was hiding under the stairs, and he jumped out as soon as I reached the stairs. We started wrestling. I saw the others coming through the door with baseball bats in their hands. I knew I didn’t have a chance with those odds so I rolled into a ball to try to protect my head and nuts. They must have gotten a few good ones to my head, because the last thing I remember is the old lady who lives on the first floor yelling that she had called the police. I bet if it wasn’t for her they’d probably have beaten me to death.”

“He probably won’t have brain damage, because most of the blows were to his back. I’m not sure, but there may be damage to Jimmy’s spine. It’s possible that he won’t walk again,” The Dr. said.
I wanted to get revenge for Jimmy, but I admitted to myself I was scared. I didn’t want to end up like him. I’d rather be dead than crippled. I decided if they wanted it that way I’d get them somehow, but I had no idea how at this time. I just knew I better not let them catch me before I figured it out or both of us would be going to physical therapy together.
I continued thinking of Mary, no matter what her brothers did to my best friend. I loaded my.357 and thought if I shot her brothers she’d probably never talk to me again. If I believed in God I’d pray, but I don’t so I did the next best thing.
I looked in my junk draw and dug it out. How ridiculous I told myself, but I remembered how desperate I was. I held it in my hand and rubbed my other hand over it three times. The magic number was three. I remembered it from the first time I used it to make a wish. I wished for a quarter for my tooth that fell out that day. When there was a quarter under my pillow in the morning, I thanked my lucky rabbit’s foot. It always seemed to work when I asked for something. Once my mother told me she had put the quarter under my pillow I threw the rabbit’s foot into the draw and haven’t used it since. Now I asked myself, if I hadn’t made the wish with my lucky charm, would my mother still have put that quarter there? I looked at the rabbit’s foot with a metal cap on top and a chain running through it, and remember what I heard a million times. It wasn’t lucky for the rabbit. I disregarded that notion, and I rubbed it. I wished that this problem would resolve itself somehow without involving me.
I put the .357 in my waistband as I left. If they caught me, I’d make them sorry they did. I started the car and the radio blasted at top volume. I spun hit the change station button instead of the down volume and when I heard the news my first thought was “The rabbit’s foot worked” I could hardly believe my ears. “Eight brothers arrested today in the vicious beating of a James Bryant in the lobby of his apartment building. The state’s attorney called it one of the most cowardly acts he has seen perpetrated in all his years as a prosecutor. That’s the reason he wants bail to be set at $500,000 for each brother. ‘We need to protect our community from thugs like this, and I’m going to do my best to see that all eight of them go to prison for what they’ve done. A witness has come forward and identified all eight of the defendants and I want to thank this courageous woman personally.’”
I turned it off and sat for a long time wondering just where that left me? I reached into my pocket to rub my lucky charm, feeling it between my fingers I thanked my lucky charm. How did I know my wish had anything to do with them getting arrested? I couldn’t believe it didn’t. I put the rabbit’s foot back in the junk draw, unloaded my .357, because with them in jail I wouldn’t need it.
With all the brothers in jail, I felt safe to walk the streets again, but I was mistaken, the Callahans’ had so many relatives I couldn’t count them all. The majority of the male members swore they’d get me, and I got pursued everywhere I went by any one of the clan members who spotted me. I felt like a coward, because, for the first time in my life I ran from a fight. After seeing Jimmy lying in that hospital bed, possibly crippled for life brought home reality to me. Fighting wasn’t all fun and games. I decided to avoid all fighting if I could. I went to the draw, found the lucky rabbit’s foot and hooked it onto my keychain. I felt I’d need all the luck I could get.
#X
“There he is,” someone shouted. I turned and there were six big guys running toward me.
“Get that bastard, cut him off at the end of the block,”
I saw a guy peel off and go through the alley. I knew that was a shorter way and he’d be waiting for me at the end of the block when I got there. That’s when the storefront came into sight. “Achilles Mixed Martial Arts” painted in large red letters outlined in black on the front window. I had forgotten all about the giant telling us to stop by. Seemed like the perfect time, would be right now. If the six guys chasing me followed me in, I think Achilles would help me take care of them.
I sped through the door into a room crowded with weightlifting equipment, racks and racks of weights, benches, machines, and a lot of other stuff I didn’t recognize. I sped through into the next room loaded with all kinds of exercise machines. There were quite a few guys in both rooms, but I was going so fast I didn’t see what they looked like. There was a large open overhead door and it led to a truck dock. When I ran through this door I was greeted by shouts coming from a crowd of men surrounding what looked like a boxing ring surrounded by a chain link fence. Inside the fence two guys were going at it with fists and feet. Just like street fighting I thought, I wished I could stop and watch, but I ran to the far side looking for somewhere to hide.
A loud roar came from the crowd and I looked through the fence and saw one of the fighters laid out cold. There was nowhere to hide, and the Callahan Clan surrounded me. I backed into a corner so I could get a few licks in before they overwhelmed me. All six wore shit eating grins, because they knew they had me now. They slowly advanced and the two in the lead took their belts off, wrapped a few loops around their fist. This was so they could hit me with the sharpened buckles and stay out of my punching range. I tore my sweatshirt off and wrapped it around my forearm so I could block this action. I heard that unmistakable voice of Achilles boom out. “Hey, what’ve we got here?”
The six just looked at him their mouths hung open and I couldn’t blame them. He stood before us wearing only a pair of boxing trunks and without a shirt on his muscles was indeed mountainous. I can’t believe me and Jimmy had the balls to go after this mountain of muscle when we did. I told Achilles what was going on.
They told their side and confirmed that one of the guys Jimmy and I left bleeding in the snow was Johnny Callahan.
“OK, you guys got a legitimate beef with Joe, but let’s even things up by you taking him on, one at a time.” They all nodded agreement.
“Every one strip down to your underwear,” Achilles said.
I remembered the queer bar where I met him and decided I didn’t want to run around in my underwear in front of a fag.
“I’m not stripping anything,” I told him.
“Then go on out in the alley and fight them all at once,” he pointed to the back door that led to the alley. I reconsidered and took my shoes and pants off.
“T shirt too,” he said.
The crowd that had been watching the fights, now crowded around us. They were excited at the idea of me fighting six guys, betting how many it would take to put me out of commission. I heard the betting going on, five to one that I wouldn’t last the three minutes. Achilles allowed the Callahan relatives inside the fence to fight me, one at a time. I went through the swinging gate into the ring, wearing nothing but my underpants, I backed into a corner. My opponent bounced into the cage and skipped to the opposite corner. His muscular body announced he was a body builder or some kind of athlete, solid muscle, skin tanned to a golden brown.
The ground I ran on was snow covered, so I knew he probably used a sunlamp. In comparison I looked drawn and underdeveloped. My skin, a pasty white, I know he outweighed me by at least fifty pounds.
“I’ll referee,” Achilles said, “No biting, eye gouging, no other rules, anything goes. You guys get one round each. Everyone will get an opportunity to fight him, if he can last that long.
Furious betting action went on, I could see money changing hands as more and more bet against me as Hercules or whatever his name was, strutted around the cage. He ate up all the attention and posed for the crowd. I ran at him and flew through the air feet first, my foot landed directly on his right ear. He dropped to one knee, and got up before I could recover from falling to the canvas after hitting him. The crowd in an uproar wanted a foul called, but I just heard there were no rules and that’s what I went by.
He came at me, I went into a boxing stance and he showed no fear because his size dwarfs mine. I danced around, he lumbered after me and led with his left and shuffled forward. Pretty good foot work, I could see he boxed before. I resorted to Jimmy’s trick, pretended I’d trade punches, when he stepped forward to swing I dived at his feet, yanked his ankles out from under him. He went down hard, and before he could get up I smashed his face in with my left knee. As soon as my left foot touched the canvas I swiveled on it and delivered a roundhouse kick to his face with my shin hitting his nose, the nose erupted with a shower of blood. That dazed him, but I had to finish him off.
On his hands and knees trying to get up, his most vulnerable spot was wide open, I aimed my right foot between his legs and heard the squish as it connected and squashed his balls.
He fell forward and laid flat on the canvas. I danced on his head before Achilles pulled me off and raised my hand in victory.
I got a two minute break and a drink of water. The next guy came through the gate. Wary because he saw what I did to his cousin. He charged me and put me in a headlock and tried to get his arm around my windpipe so he could choke me. I reached between his legs and grabbed both his cock and balls in one hand and twisted as hard as I could. He let go and jumped back. I smiled because I knew I had him now. He backed up and I kicked his thighs and knees. Finally I got a good hit right on his knee cap, smashing it, he crumpled to the ground. Achilles stopped me in midair as I flew toward him to finish him off.
“This fights over,” he said.
The third one I faced was around my size but a little skinnier. The two I just beat went to my head and I thought a little guy like this would be easy. He knocked me out in six seconds, I didn’t even see it coming he was so fast. I had no idea how he accomplished it, but I’d know his hand speed if I ever fought him again. Now the remaining three were clamoring for their piece of me. They thought it was going to be easy. I’ve been knocked out before. To me it’s just an opportunity to get rested. I got five minutes before the next one came into the ring. We boxed all five minutes, Achilles called a draw. The next one, about my size knocked me out in a minute and a half. He must have been a professional fighter the way he used combinations to keep me of guard and then put me away that quick. A mean looking guy, the last cousin had a shaved head and tattoos covering his body, He went down with a high kick to his jaw that knocked him cold.
I got dressed and could hardly move from the beatings I had taken.
“You’re all right kid -- if you come around the gym, I’ll teach you how to really fight.”
I thought I just had a real fight.











Chapter 5

Jimmy sat in a wheelchair, his bruises had cleared up but anyone could see his nerves were screwed up by the way the chair shook. I pushed Jimmy out of the hospital, and when I opened my car door he insisted on crawling from the chair to the front-seat by himself. I tied the wheelchair onto the roof of my car. Nobody told me I’d need a carrier for the damn thing.
I drove him to his first physical therapy session where he was going to learn to walk again, so they said. He could barely take a step because of the damage to his spine and he was to attend therapy four days a week.
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked Jimmy. He showed her the prescription the doctor had written for him.
“Insurance card,” she demanded.
“I don’t have any insurance.” He looked embarrassed when he replied and turned red when she said in a loud voice, “We don’t run a charity here. If you don’t have insurance, you need to pay cash.”
Jimmy hung his head, I knew how he felt. “He’s not even eighteen yet, how do you expect him to have insurance?”
“I already told you, we aren’t a charity. She turned her back to us and looked busy going through files. I looked around the room and saw four other patients with an array of casts, one neck brace, two ankle casts and one arm cast and they all had their eyes glued on Jimmy when I inspiration struck. The cleaning crew had left a mop bucket outside the janitor’s closet.
“Wait here Jimmy,” I walked to where the bucket was, and I purposely engaged the four sets of eyes that followed me to be sure they saw what was about to happen. I tripped over the bucket and let a loud scream, “Jimmy, my legs broken. Call my lawyer.”
Lawyer was the magic word. Miss “Where’s your insurance card” is saying, “Calm down, the doctor will see you right away.”
“No he won’t,” I said, “I don’t have an insurance card.” That fixed her. She didn’t know what to say. I told Jimmy to call my lawyer again, and this sent her scurrying back into her office.
Jimmy limped over and said in a whisper, “Good show Joe, do you think. . .”
“What happened here?’
I looked up at the tallest doctor I ever saw. He could have been a pro basketball player. Even his white medical coat barely came below his butt. The four other patients all started talking at once, trying to tell him how I tripped over a bucket. He looked at the bucket and from the look in his eyes I knew he knew that I could cause a lot of trouble so his voice became friendly.
“If you’d let me I could check your leg to see if any things broken.”
“No I don’t have an insurance card.” I saw the look on his face—no insurance to someone like this meant your life wasn’t worth saving. I knew I had him when he said. “I can make an exception in this case.”
“Can you make an exception for my friend Jimmy here?” I showed him the prescription for physical therapy.
“I don’t know his is a long term commitment.”
“I better call my lawyer before I let you touch me.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll give Jimmy a week of free treatments and take care of your leg, all at no cost to you or your friend.”
I had four witnesses who heard his promise. I watched Jimmy going through his physical therapy, the weight machine they used was identical to the one I had seen at Achilles gym, storefront or whatever it was called. I carefully watched everything they did, because I knew a week of therapy wasn’t going to be enough. I wanted to know how to help him if I could. Once his week was up we got the cold shoulder when I asked for another week of treatment for Jimmy.
“Could I see his insurance card please?” was the reply. She knew damn well he didn’t have any insurance. I looked for something to trip over, but the office was spotless and not a thing was out of place. I guessed the tall doc had learned his lesson.
“Achilles even if he’s queer, seems like an alright guy. We’ve got an invite to go to his training place, some kind of an old store with a big truck dock in back where he has a fighting ring set up. But he has all the equipment you need to continue your therapy, and I watched what they did so it’ll be a piece of cake.”
The next day we showed up at Achilles training facility. Once I told him what we needed he told us it was okay to use the facilities as long as Jimmy needed to.
That’s how we started going to the gym every day. After a couple of weeks I could see jimmy needed professional therapy. I wasn’t helping him enough and didn’t know what to do. He had discovered that Mary Callahan was a physical therapist during the time he underwent physical therapy in the hospital.
I knew if ever wanted to feel safe walking the streets of this city and possibly get to date Mary I needed to end this ongoing feud that had developed with the Callahans.
I got Mary’s number from the phone book and called her, “Don’t hang up Mary this is important,”
All her brothers were unable to make the high bail set for them and have been sitting in the Charles street jail for months. They were due for trial in a week and the prosecutor was still making headlines with his threats of sending them all to prison. “I’ve got an idea to get your brother’s out of jail,”
“How?”
In that one word I heard the exhaust of her breath. I knew she must have experienced immense relief at the thought of her brothers getting out of jail. “My friend needs months of physical therapy because of what your brothers did to him.”
“He had it coming after what he did to them.” I heard the anger in her voice.
“Mary, both of us learned a lot since that fight. We see how fragile life is. We’re not the same guys we were then, and I think your brothers have probably had a few insights after being locked down in that crummy jail.” I heard her thinking during the long silence. “If you agree to help Jimmy with his therapy, he’ll tell the state’s attorney he decided not to testify at your brothers’ trial. Without the victim, there’s no case and your brothers will walk.” More silence.
“Maybe we can compromise and end this thing before it escalates any further.” I heard her breathing over the phone and I pictured the breath flowing between her perfect lips and wished I was there with her so I could see her breathing.
“I'll have to ask my brothers,” she whispered into the phone. The whispering voice sounded so erotic to me that I got an erection while holding the phone, and wondered if I was normal, or maybe I was one of those guys who get off having phone sex? I thought her brothers would agree to a truce just to get out of jail. If they honored it once they were out was another story.
The brothers agreed and Mary came to the gym for an hour three days a week to help Jimmy rehab. I showered and shaved everyday she came. I started lifting weights so I could impress her while she was there helping jimmy. My weakness surprised me. Guys half my size was lifting more weight than I could.
I noticed she watched me from the mirrors in the gym while I worked out and I finally decided to ask her for a date.
“You know ever since that night when we first met in The Laid Back Inn I’ve been thinking of you, and I can’t forget our first kiss,” she blushed and looked at the floor.
“I’ve been thinking of it too, and I’m sorry for the knee to the groin, but you had no right grabbing me like that.”
I was floored that she apologized, and overcame the feelings of inadequacy she caused, and went ahead and asked for a date. She told me that if it was up to her she would, but her brothers had told her I was a bum. I didn’t have a job and was probably a thief because her brother’ Johnnies wallet with the rent money in it turned up missing when you fought him.
The truth hurt, I was a thief. Jimmy took the wallet, but I helped him spend the money. “I’ll get a job,” I told her, and I meant it. If that’s what it would take to take to get a date with her, I’d do it. The next day I went to Arrow Armature, a factory that rebuilt automobile starters and generators. It took two weeks before I got a paycheck, and I had a date with Mary that very day.
We went to the Public Gardens and rode on the Swan boats in the lagoon and fed the birds. She got frightened because as we fed the birds more and more birds arrived until every tree branch in sight was covered with birds and the sky got dark with so many of them. She told me it reminded her of a horror film called “The Birds” We left as soon as she told me that. I didn’t want her having bad memories while being with me. I acted like a gentleman and didn’t attempt to kiss her, but I handed her an envelope with three hundred dollars in it.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“The money that was in your brother’s wallet,” the look of accusation she gave me said, “You are a thief”
“Listen, I didn’t steal his wallet, but I did help spend the money and when you said I was a thief, you were right. I felt guilty as hell. I never stopped to think about it before you said it. Coming from you that accusation hit home, and I swore I’d never do anything like that again.”
The glare from her eye softened a little, just a little as she bid me goodnight and went through the door leaving me standing there feeling like an idiot. I wanted to make amends, but by giving her the money, I admitted I was a thief. I wondered if she’d ever go out with me again.
It turned out the job was good for me physically. I unloaded the truckloads of junk starters and alternators that came one after the other all day long. The junk starters and alternators came in fifty gallon drums that weighed around 1800 pounds each. I moved these with a hand-truck, and had to force the blade under the barrel. Then I had to tip it back on two wheels. This was the difficult part where I had to use every ounce of strength I possessed to tip that 1800 pound barrel. I’d brace one foot and jump into the air to use all my one hundred and eighty pounds as leverage.
a few weeks after I started working I stepped out of the shower and looked in the mirror, and the sight of my muscles surprised me. They had grown considerably since the last time I noticed them.
Now when I lifted weights while Jimmy and Mary worked on his therapy, I could lift more than most of the others in the gym.
Mary told Jimmy she had warned her brothers if they messed with me or him she would see to it that Jimmy testified against them. She thought they were trying to forget about the feud for her sake.
“When’re we going out again?” I asked Mary and she told me that maybe in a month or so if I stuck with my job. I knew I’d keep my job, not for her, but for the muscles and strength it gave me.
I watched the guys who competed in the cage fights while they worked out at the gym, and I saw the tremendous pride and camaraderie they had amongst themselves. I wanted to partake in this pride and camaraderie so I informed Achilles that I wanted to learn to be a cage fighter.
“Mixed Martial Arts, isn’t for everyone one. Maybe you’ve got what it takes,” he said, and showed me the schedule for daily Karate lessons. “After a month or two Ju-jitsu will be mixed in with the Karate if you last that long,” he handed me a gi to wear during practice. “One other thing you have to know before you start training,” he studied my face to see if I paid attention to what he was about to say.
“What do I need to know?”
“In feudal Japan, any sign of disrespect was a direct challenge for a duel to the death. I don’t go quite that far, but any disrespect and you’ll wish you were dead. Always remember, courteous manners are required.”
A month after I started training, Achilles signed me up for the Golden Gloves tournament. Now I had to skip rope and punch speed and heavy bags for two hours a day on top of my weight lifting and Karate classes.
I lost all three of my Golden Gloves bouts to guys who had come up through the silver gloves and had a lot more experience. Fighting with only my hands turned out to be a liability. I had always fought with anything and everything available that could be used as a weapon. I’d use a common drinking glass and smash the open end into an opponent’s face, or even a rolled up newspaper to a guy’s solar plexus turned out to be an effective weapon. There was always some kind of weapon within reach when I got into a fight, but now restricted to fighting with pillows tied on the end of my arms, I didn’t know what to do. During a street fight it would usually end with a kick, a knee or a baseball bat being utilized at just the right minute.
“Just keep training; I’m going to start introducing you to more techniques now that you’re coming along.” Achilles said. “I want you to become a fighter who can defend himself completely. By learning Brazilian Jiu-jitsu you’ll have significant advantages over most trained in other martial arts.”
“Why am I learning all this other shit then?”
“Everything you’ve learned will be useful to you. Jiu-jitsu is the only single style that addresses all areas of fighting completely. Fighting styles like Boxing, Karate, Kung Fu and Tae Kwon Do all specialize in striking someone, none of them present solutions for someone who is pinned on the ground; Jiu-jitsu offers solutions for defending against striking attacks while standing and on the ground.
I was halfway glad Mary still refused to go out with me, because if she agreed to a date, I didn’t know how I’d find the time to do it. No sooner had I this thought crossed my mind than I got a call from Mary.
“I’ve thought it over and Jimmy told me it was him who stole my brother’s wallet and not you. So I think it’d be Okay if we dated,”
I decided I’d make whatever time I needed to take her out. Soon we were seeing each other daily. I got fired from my job.


















Chapter 6

I tried my best to keep my old job for the simple reason, I felt like I was getting paid to work out, by moving the heavy barrels all day. Doing that saved me a lot of gym time. One day I dropped a barrel off at the wrong location.
My foreman said, “Hey asshole, that barrel don’t go here.”
“Asshole, you need to watch who you’re calling an asshole.”
“Whatever just get it the hell out of here . . .” and he said it so softly I could hardly hear it, but the last word he uttered was again asshole. I let him have my knuckles right in his mouth. As he fell over the words that came from his bloodied mouth were, “You’re fired.”
He knew better than to say asshole again. I knew I’d get fired as soon as I hit him, but because he was my boss didn’t give him the right to talk to me like that. I’d do it over again under the same circumstances.
Achilles gave me a cool job. I was to help train his fighting dogs which I knew nothing about. He took me to his house outside of the city where I’d be working. He had an immense yard with three very mean looking pit bulls chained in it. When I stepped into the yard they made a racket as they all lunged at me, but were held back by thick chains attached to their collars. He was going to show me how to exercise the dogs every day when one of them slipped free somehow and ran snarling and growling toward me.
Achilles stepped in front of me and commanded the dog to halt. Unbelievably it listened to him and stopped its charge at the sound of his voice. The dogs tail was now wagging, he was so happy to see Achilles.
“How’s my Bad Dog,” he said as he bent over and scratched the brindle striped dog’s head that was now furiously wagging his tail with pleasure at being acknowledged. The love for Achilles shone through the dogs actions of rubbing against his leg and the attention it paid to every word Achilles muttered. The dog shook with pleasure as its back was rubbed.
“Bad Dog loves two things in life, me and fighting, and I’m pretty sure the fighting comes first. He already won three fights, if he wins two more he’ll be a grand champion. A grand champion’s pups sell for at least $1,500 apiece, so if he wins the next two I’d be crazy to risk his life in another fight,”
“Why do you call him Bad Dog?”
“I overheard a guy making a bet saying, ‘Put $20 on the brindle, I can see he’s a bad dog’”
I learned Bad Dog was full size and considered large at seventy pounds of what looked like solid muscle. He stood about twenty inches high and so energetic that I couldn’t imagine him ever getting tired out. Achilles showed me how he harnessed him to a treadmill behind a caged raccoon and Bad Dog would run for hours trying to get at the raccoon.
I hated running on treadmills and I felt sorry for the dog having to do it every day, and the poor raccoon—Achilles would throw the tired raccoon to the dogs when they were done exercising to be torn to pieces. I imagined how terrified the poor animal must have been before being tossed to the dogs. I started taking Bad Dog with me on my runs to spare him and the raccoon hours of misery. He became attached to me and waited for me every day to take him running. If for some reason I couldn’t make it, I’d feel guilty all day.
My job, train all three of the dogs, they already had their preliminary training of fighting against one another and against older, more experienced dogs.
My job was more to keep them in condition than to train them to fight. I was shown how to attach weights and chains around their necks to build muscle and increase endurance, reminded me of Achilles weighted gi.
There was Bone Crusher, a fearsome looking, almost solid black Pitt Bull. He had two fights so far and had crushed the bones of both his opponent’s legs and both fights ended almost as soon as they began. Then there was Cleopatra, she had won her first fight, a beautifully colored brown and white Pitt that had her ears cropped and her tail docked close to her body.
Achilles told me later that this served two purposes. It limited the number of areas of the body that another dog might grab onto in a fight, and secondly, it made it more difficult for other dogs to read Cleopatra’s mood and intentions.
He showed me a method he used to strengthen the dog’s legs. He hung a cage, and put a small cat inside it to use as bait. The dogs would repeatedly lunge up toward the cage and having weights strung around their necks made this a very effective way to build their strength.
Achilles taught me how to mix an additive he fed them every day. I was amazed at the long list of ingredients given the dogs. The vitamin supplements he gave them were iron/liver extract; vitamin B-12; Provim, A Magnum supplement. There were hormones mixed in too, testosterone, Propionate, Repotest, Probolic Oil. I knew Probolic oil is for gaining muscle, but I had no idea what Proppionate or Repotest was supposed to do. A weight-gaining supplement Creatine Monohydrate was in the formula, and there was speed, and the steroid, Winstrol V. I recognized this as being the steroid that was found when they drug tested Ben Johnson in 1988 after he had won a gold medal. I had no idea steroids were used in fighting dogs until now. No wonder they’re all so muscular. Dinabol and Equipose were other anabolic steroids that were included in the formula.
I read the ingredients several times and looked at the muscular dogs and decided what’s good for them should be good for me. I started taking a daily dose along with the dogs, and before long I was jumping with the dogs and found I could jump higher than I had ever jumped before taking the doggy supplement.
About six weeks after I started taking the supplements Mary noticed my skin was sprouting bumps or pimples. I shrugged it off until the next time she saw me stepping out of the shower and commented, “Your arms are getting humongous and it looks like you’re growing muscles all over.”
I looked in the mirror and saw a body that looked hard as a rock and I knew I had the doggy supplements to thank for it. I thought I sort of resembled Bad Dog’s musculature, the skin eruptions I could live with. This job turned out to be much better for building strength than pushing those heavy barrels around ever was.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you Joe. You used to be so quiet and mellow, now it seems like all you want to do is argue or do something active. You can’t just sit around and relax like we used to do. What I liked most about you, was your easy going ways.” Mary said, a few weeks later.
I knew she was right, I wondered if I changed because of taking the supplements. I admitted to myself that even if I knew that’s what caused me to change, I wouldn’t stop taking them. I liked my new found aggressive personality and never wanted to go back to the old me. Then there was my physique to consider and my strength. The overall improvements on both were tremendous.
I could feel the difference in my punches when I hit the heavy bag, I really moved it, and I was hitting it a lot harder than I did previously. I lifted more weight and did more reps than I used to be able to do. The urge to fight grew and I didn’t get weak behind the knees when I thought about it like I used to. I decided to try one more boxing match, but the Golden Gloves were over for the year. One of the guys at the gym told me where there was a club fight every Friday night.
“They’re always looking for fighters there. You’ll get $25 for a three round fight, but you never know who you’re going to be matched against. A lot of washed up professional fighters go there and if you fight with one of them you could get hurt bad.”
I didn’t let that bother me. Friday night I found myself sitting in one corner of the club’s boxing ring as the announcer told the audience about my opponent.
“In this corner we’ve got Francis O’Flanery, former middleweight contender for the wooorrrld’s championship.” A loud round of applause went up as O’Flanery stood up and raised his hands. He sure didn’t look like a champion to me, more like a wino, here to make enough to get another bottle. I wasn’t worried and figured I’d just go toe to toe with this guy and I’d be sure to outpunch him.
“And in this corner we’ve got a brand new fighter that goes by the name of, ‘Whatcha name kid?’ “Dog gone, I picked that stupid name out of the air because I didn’t want to use my real name and let everyone know I’d fought a club fight with some washed up boxer.
“In this corner is Dog Gone,” he pointed to me.
“That dog’ll be gone soon enough,” one of the crowd shouted.
I looked at the area where the comment came from and gave the best impression of the finger I could with boxing gloves on.
“Aw, you made the dog mad,” another shouted and a round of boo’s erupted from the drunken audience. Boos didn’t bother me. The memory of my three losses did, I was determined to make this one a win. The bell rang and Francis danced toward me more gracefully than I ever imagined he would or could. I jabbed, he countered. I charged, he sidestepped and caught me behind the ear with a short punch as I went by him. He swung a right uppercut, I stepped back and he caught me with a left hook as I was going back. I swung my left with all my might in reaction to his punch and caught him full in the face as he had turned in that direction when he threw his devastating left. Both his and my punch landed on the other’s nose. Being a professional he had had his nose cauterized so it wouldn’t bleed. Mine poured blood.
“Kill him, keep going, murder the dog,” shouts came from the audience as they saw blood wanted more of it. Now I’m going to get this goddamn wino I decided and rushed in with my arms flailing. He just covered up and smiled. He was waiting for me to wear myself out, but I wasn’t going to let that happen. I attacked throwing every combination I knew.
“The dog’s really mad now. Hey mad dog, go on get him now.” The crowd picked up on mad dog and started chanting, “Mad Dog, Mad Dog,” I liked the name and decided then to keep it for my ring name.
O’Flanery dodged every punch I threw and started countering with devastating body blows. I pressed in and got him against the ropes, throwing punch after punch his head. He raised his hands to protect his head and I instinctively kneed him in the nuts. The crowd went wild. For a minute I thought they were going to lynch me. I got disqualified and Francis got declared the winner. I got my $25 and warned to never return.
I used my knee, even though I had never once thought of doing it. It was like my knee knew what to do and when to do it. I decided then that boxing wasn’t for me. Some other kind of no holds barred fight was what I needed. I needed some kind of fighting without a lot of civilized rules to worry about. I trained harder now and studied Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu books and watched videos when I wasn’t practicing.
Achilles sent me to upstate New York with Bad Dog to fight what he said would be an easy fight for Bad Dog.
“I wish I could be there to see him win this one. All he needs is one more after this one and he’ll be a champ. I’ve got to take Bone Crusher and Cleopatra to the South End on the same night, so I can’t watch Bad Dog, but he’ll be fine with you. He likes you and he’ll fight his heart out as long as you’re there to encourage him.”
I had never been to a dogfight and I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I couldn’t admit this so I gathered all the information I could about what the role of a dog owner was during the fight and thought I had it down pat. I drove to the address Achilles had given me and found a gate on a dirt road. Standing by the gate were two men cradling shotguns in their arms. They looked in my car and saw Bad Dog. “Who you with?” one of them asked.
“Achilles sent me with his dog,” they knew his name and waved me through the gate. About a mile up the road I came to a large red two story barn with lights shining through all its windows and open doors. There were over a hundred cars parked around it and a canteen truck selling hot drinks and sandwiches was parked alongside one of the doors.
I left Bad Dog in the car while I went in to look around. I pushed my way through to the center of the barn where there was a fighting area about twenty square feet set up by stacking bales of hay in a square. The floor was cement and there were pools of drying blood spread throughout the square from earlier fights. The pit had scratch lines marked in opposite corners, where the dogs faced each other about 14 feet apart.
I looked for someone in charge and walked to an area where they were washing dogs. First they washed them, and then they weighed them so they could be matched against a dog that waived approximately the same. I found the Organizer of this fight, “Max” and told him I had Achilles dog outside.
“Bring him in so my handlers can wash and examine your dog,” Max said.
“Examine him for what? Achilles didn’t say anything about an exam.”
“Relax kid, we examine and wash every dog before a fight. We want to be sure the dog doesn’t have any toxic substances placed on his fur,”
“What about the dog he’s going to fight? Do I get to wash him?”
I washed Dr. Kevorkian, A name he got because he killed so many dogs. It’s hard to believe this dog I have my hands on is a killer. He’s so relaxed while I wash him it looks as though he could fall asleep. He probably outweighs my dog by about five pounds but they’re almost the same size.
I had a long drive to get back home so I asked Max if my dog could fight right away. He agreed and I took Bad Dog to the scratch line on the far side and we waited for Dr. Kevorkian and his owner to get set. They got set and the ref gives the signal and I released Bad Dog. The dogs exploded from the scratch lines. Two projectiles flew through the air into the center of the pit. They met and both tried to grip the other, leaving a trail of spittle and hair. They collapsed in an entangled, heaving heap onto the dirt. Both dogs tumbled on their sides and Bad Dog broke free. He dove onto Dr. Kevorkian, catching the back of the dog's head. He shook and jiggered, arched his back, tried to loosen Bad Dog’s grip.
Bad Dog threw his head back, yanking Dr. Kevorkian up. He whipped his head down. Dr. Kevorkian hit the ground hard, his legs splaying like the splatter of an overturned pie. But Bad Dog lost his grip when Dr. Kevorkian hit the ground. He twisted his trunk around, swiveled onto his back, front paws revolving, back legs churning in the air. Bad Dog leapt toward his exposed throat. The crowd bellowed, anticipating, the bloody finish.
The dirt was turning to syrup around the dogs' heads. The bloody skulls thrashed in a terrible unison, Dr Kevorkian’s muzzle gaping helplessly up at the lights, Bad Dog grinding downward . . . Now the crowd got what it came for. The blood cascaded down Dr. Kevorkian’s breast. Bad Dog worked his jaws, deepening and widening the wound, aided by Kevorkian’s jerks and jumps. They lurched together across the pit. Kevorkian’s muzzle propped on Bad Dog’s probing skull.
Somehow Dr. Kevorkian got Bad Dogs right front leg in his mouth and the sound a breaking bone could be heard over the noise. Bad dog stumbled on his broken leg and Kevorkian got loose and went for his other leg. He shook his head and the loud snap told everyone that Bad Dog would be fighting with only two legs from now on. A turn was called and I carried him back to the scratch line.
Bad Dog’s face was a mass of deep cuts, as were his shoulders and neck. Both of his front legs had been broken, but he wasn’t ready to quit. At the referee’s signal, I released him. He couldn’t support himself on his front legs, so he slid on his chest across the cement floor, propelled by his good hind legs, toward Dr. Kevorkian that rushed to meet him. Driven by instinct, and love for me Bad Dog drove himself painfully into the charge by Dr. Kevorkian. Bad Dog got a grip on his leg and everyone heard another loud snap as his leg bone was broken. He turned away and a turn is called against Dr. Kevorkian. Both dogs had to be carried back to the scratch lines and Dr. Kevorkian refused to cross the line again. Bad dog has crossed his line using his hind legs to push himself to get at Dr Kevorkian one more time. He was declared winner and as I carried him from the pit, he turned his head back toward the ring; his eyes glazed as he searched for a last look at Dr. Kevorkian, once he saw him he struggled to get free so he could go after him one more time.

Now I know what I did was a mistake. At the time all I could think of was finding a way to relieve the pain Bad Dog suffered. “Hey Max, where can I find a vet to fix my dog?”
“Fix him? That dog needs to be put down, here,” he held out a pistol for me to shoot the dog with.
I looked at the pistol and my eyes traveled to Bad Dog. He looked at me with those big trusting eyes of his and I knew he wanted me to be proud of him. I surely was proud of him—his fighting spirit and determination were so like my own. I knew we were kindred spirits. At this realization a bond between us materialized like no bond I had ever experienced. I felt closer to this dog than I had ever felt to anyone or anything else in my entire life.
I pushed the hand holding the pistol away, “I need a vet not a god damn gun,” I picked Bad Dog off the floor as careful as I could and held him in my arms like a baby. His head rested on my shoulder, as he closed his eyes and drooled all over my shoulder. The drool mixed with the blood pouring from his wounds and soon soaked through my shirt.
“There’s a veterinarian ten miles down the road there,” he pointed to a road running from the front gate, “He’ll know you’ve been fighting that dog and he’ll make you pay because of it,”
Bad Dog whimpered with pain and I walked as fast as I could to my car without jarring him too much. Laid him on the front seat and once I got behind the wheel I put his head on my lap. His eyes opened and I saw the trust and love in his eyes and swore to myself that no matter what it took I’d take care of this dog.
I spotted the clinic after only ten minutes of driving. I swung into the parking area and stopped directly in front of the entrance. I picked the dog up and rushed into the reception area. The receptionist stared at me and the dog like we were apparitions from hell with us both now covered in blood and gore. “Get the doctor! Quick! My dog needs help now,” I shouted in my grief and excitement.
“Dr Singh,” you better come out here right now,” she spoke into an intercom. An older dark skin man appeared, and he ate a sandwich as he walked into the reception area. One look at Bad Dog and he threw the sandwich in the garbage, “Bring the dog in here,” he held the door for me that led into an antiseptic looking room.
“I need x-rays of those broken legs and a few of the dogs head,” he adjusted the machine as I laid Bad Dog on the table. “I hope you’ve got cash with you. Treatment for fighting dogs is expensive.”
I didn’t dare tell him I didn’t have any money. I just kept my mouth shut while he worked.
“X-rays show multiple bone fractures in his fore legs. I can cast the left one, but the right leg needs to be operated on and I could use stainless steel pins inside the bone, but I recommend using bone plates.”
“I’m not familiar with that term doc—can you explain what you’re talking about?”
“First off, they’re very expensive, but the dog recuperates much faster and is usually pain free. Bone plates hold the broken bone pieces together by placing a metal plate over the break and screwing it into each side of the break. I usually leave these plates in the dog.
“Give him the best of everything doc,” I didn’t know where I’d get the money to pay for this treatment, but I wanted nothing but the best for Bad Dog.
“Once he heals are you going to fight him again?” the doctor gave me such an evil look when he asked I knew he hated anybody who would fight a dog.
“No I’m not going to fight him,” I said without lying, “he wasn’t my dog to fight,” any idea how much his treatment is going to cost?” Bad dog looked at me with such trust and love in his eyes I knew I’d pay whatever it took. “Give him the best of everything.”
“I can’t give you an exact price at the moment, but I figure between three and five thousand.” He looked me in the eye to see if I’d protest paying that much for care.
I didn’t have any idea where I’d get that kind of money. I had my .357 and if need be I’d rob a few liquor stores to get the money. “When can I pick him up?” I patted Bad Dog as he quivered in pain.
He better stay here for a few weeks, I’ll need some sort of payment by next week or . . .
I’ve got to get some money fast. Will I need to become a robber to pay this bill or could I fight for the money like he did. I drove back to Boston thinking during the drive how to get the money.


At the start of the fight, the dogs are released from their corners and usually meet in the middle, seeking to get a hold on the opponent, often shaking and tearing to maximize damage. Handlers are not permitted to touch the dogs except when told to do so by the referee. This can happen if dogs become “fanged,” with the tooth of one dog embedded in the skin of its opponent. Becoming “fanged” may require the use of a “breaking stick” (also called a “bite stick”) to pry the animals apart. If the action slows or if a dog turns away from his opponent without renewing his attack, the referee may call a “turn,” and require that the dogs be returned to the corners and released after 20-30 seconds. If the dog that committed the “turn” fails to cross the pit and grip his opponent, the match is over and the other dog is the winner. A draw may occur if both dogs fail to “scratch” several times in succession, i.e. repeatedly fail to cross the “scratch lines” and re-engage in the fight. This is generally a rare and unpopular end for those involved.
Q. How long do dog fights last?
Fights can last several hours. Both animals may suffer injuries ranging from puncture wounds, lacerations and blood loss to dehydration, crushing injuries and/or broken bones. Although fights are not technically fought to the death, many dogs succumb to their injuries.
Q. What happens to the losing dog?
Losing dogs are often discarded, killed or left untreated, unless they have had a good history of past performance or come from valuable bloodlines. If the losing dog is perceived to be a particular embarrassment to the reputation or status of its owner, it may be executed in a particularly brutal fashion as part of the “entertainment.”







Chapter 7
“You did what?” was Achilles response when I told him about Bad Dog, “I assumed you were half smart. You should have known you don't bring a broken down dog to a vet for repairs. Why didn't you just shoot him like Max told you to?”
“You did what?” was Achilles response when I told him about Bad Dog, “I thought you were half smart. You should have known you don’t bring a broken down dog to a vet for repairs. Why didn’t you just shoot him like Max told you to?”
Up to this point I had liked Achilles. He seemed like a nice guy, but now after his dog’s life was on the line. I couldn’t believe he didn’t give a damn about his dog. “You mean you won’t help pay for his care?”
“Only an idiot would pay to fix a busted up dog. He’ll probably never be able to fight again.” He looked at me letting me know he thought I was that idiot.
I stormed out of his house. I didn’t have any idea where to go so I headed for Jimmy’s house to see if he had any money making ideas.
“You need $5,000? I don’t have any ideas where we can get that kind of money in a hurry, except, maybe … there’s a place I used to work that paid in cash every week,” he rifled through his wallet and found an old pay stub. “Here’s the name and address of the place. It’s an old shoe factory where they now make medical supplies. There are about twenty five workers that get paid every Friday.”
“So does everyone working there make at least $200 a week?”
“For sure, that’s minimum wage and they pay better than that.” Jimmy said.
Never to good with numbers I did some quick figuring and came up with 25 times 200 would be exactly how much I needed. “Okay, who delivers the payroll? Are they armed? Does someone follow them to be sure they don’t get robbed or take off with the payroll? Will they hand it over or will I have to hurt them? Will …
“Whoa, hold on. You’re asking all kinds of questions I can’t answer. You’re going to have to case the place for a few payrolls and figure it out yourself,” Jimmy pulled a double barreled shotgun from under his couch, “here, you can use this. I traded a bag of dope for it a couple of years back and I don’t think it’s traceable,” he handed me the over and under rifle.
“I don’t have time to case anyplace. I need the money next week. Besides I don’t want to rob anyplace unless I absolutely have to. There’s got to be another way.” I handed the rifle back to him.”
“Okay genius, you came to me asking for a way to get some quick money. If you have a better idea, let’s hear it. Better yet why don’t you tell me why you need it so bad and so fast?”
I explained about Bad Dog.
“Shit, you mean to tell me you’re willing to commit a robbery or worse to get some broken down dog fixed?”
“Asshole, you were broken down and I helped get you fixed. Bad Dog is as good if not a better friend to me as you are. I don’t abandon friends when they need me.” I said a little too loud.
“What’ll happen to the dog if you don’t come up with the money?”
“I don’t know for sure, but Achilles said he knew the vet where I took Mad Dog and according to him if the vet doesn’t have money in hand come next week Bad Dog will be a dead dog.”
I’ve got a few hundred stashed, take that for a start,” Jimmy reached under the couch cushions and slid his hand down as far as it would go. When he pulled it out there was a roll of bills in his hand.
“There was a lot of betting going on at the dogfights. Maybe we could turn this money into five thousand real quick by betting on a few long shots.”
“I’d rather bet it on me, we can hook up with a fighting club and you bet it all on me. I’m new so the odds will be against me.” I tried to think where we could go for a quick match.
“There’s always something going on in NYC. The Underground Combat League has fights in all five Burroughs so there’s one almost every night. No one knows us in N.Y. so the odds of you winning will be long.”
Jimmy did some internet searching and got a phone number to find out where the fight would be the next night. He got another number to call one hour before the fight. “This shit’s illegal in N.Y. and to stay a step ahead of the law the fights aren’t advertised. Only by word of mouth can anyone find them. I used Achilles name and he’s known down there.”
We drove there that day to be ready for tomorrow.

“Upstairs,” Jimmy said. We walked up three flights of green carpeted stairs. Looked like it had been a long time since paint had been applied to the smoke colored walls, because of caked on dirt and grime along with bloodstains and buggers smeared on the wall.
The door opened onto a large room, and to my surprise a regulation looking boxing ring sat in the middle of the room surrounded by bleachers. There were over one hundred mostly young men spectators. Some definitely were fighters themselves. A few females mixed in with the crowd that sat listening to a DJ named “Blastic” spin hip-hop and techno music at deafening levels. A green chair sat against one wall. On the chair, a cardboard sign warned, “Nobody sits in this chair, ever, this means you!” Above the chair hung a portrait of Bruce Lee whom is considered the father of mixed martial arts.
A guy with a shaved head and a tattoo of a coiled snake wrapped around his neck spread up the side and over his shaved head until the snake’s fangs were on his forehead waved us over, “You guys from Boston?”
Yeah,” Jimmy said, “you Chavez?”
He pointed to the snake’s tail where thick black letters said CHAVEZ. “So what brings you all the way to N.Y.?”
“My man here wants to fight and I’m going to bet he kicks ass,” Jimmy said.
“No problem, on either count. He’ll find plenty of dudes glad to kick his ass and twice as many glad to take your cash.” He pointed to the ring, “Looks like a boxing ring, but that’s all. There ain’t no regulations to be concerned with, no medical staff so if you get hurt bad you need to get a ride to the emergency room. No fingers in the eyes. No hitting the groin, and no “fish-hooking.”
Two guys climbed through the ropes, both wore only shorts and four ounce gloves. The ref wore black slacks and a black T-shirt and was twice as big as both fighters. He announced Sean Pierre at 156 pounds would fight three, three minute rounds against Mawagali Wamukota a three hundred and four pound immigrant from Nigeria.
No bell, only a hand signal from the ref. They touched gloves and Mawagali lumbered after Sean who was back-pedaling.
“I’ll bet a hundred on the black guy,” Jimmy yelled out. At least ten guys jumped up with money in hand to cover the bet.
“Be cool man. Watch what you’re doing with your money,” Chavez whispered to me, “Mawagali’s a two to one underdog in this fight.”
It soon became obvious why. As he chased Sean around the ring he was breathing heavy and appeared to be out of condition. Sean landed a kick to Mawagali’s temple and followed through with one to his nuts followed by another to the temple. Mawagali reeled from the kicks. It looked like it was all over, but Sean made the mistake of quitting too soon. He stopped kicking and that gave his opponent the opportunity to wrap his arms around Sean and they fell to the canvas entwined with Mawagali on top. Even though Sean was a superior fighter he couldn’t budge three hundred pounds off his chest. He had to submit as Mawagali rained punches into his head while he kneeled straddling Sean’s chest.
“All right we’re on a roll,” Jimmy said as he collected his hundred in winnings.
A couple of more fights went by, but we didn’t bet on either one. There’s no way to tell who’d win. The local champion a Pacific Islander named Eloni Yokwe had to be seven feet tall and close to four hundred pounds stepped into the ring. A cheer loud enough to cheer the Yankees reverberated through the room.
“You all know I can kick any butt in the room, anybody with doubts about that is welcome to step into the ring for three rounds with me. If you think you can last that long,” The lights reflected off his very dark skin.
“What are the odds if Joe fights him?” Jimmy asked Chavez.
Chavez eye balled me and with a dismissive shrug said, “Hell I’ll give you ten to one he can’t last three rounds. Jimmy asked me and I said, let’s rumble. He bet the entire four hundred that I’d last three rounds. The good news, I didn’t have to win, only stay alive for three rounds and we’d have $4,000. The bad news, though he weighed close to four hundred pounds he moved like a jungle cat. Smooth, lithe and with caution. I remembered how Sean got beat by letting that big guy get his hands on him. I was determined that wouldn’t happen to me. I’d been practicing blows meant for big guys just like him and thought I had a shot at beating him.
The ref signaled, and we touched gloves. My hand looked like a baby’s compared to his.
I circled away from his power hand. I knew the best defense is an offense. I smashed my right foot into the big man’s knee. He smiled and came at me. I ducked under his outstretched arms and got behind him with quick footwork. I got my right forearm under his chin and pulled as tight as I could by grabbing my right hand with my left and pulling with all my strength I cut off his air supply. He ran around the ring trying to dump me from his back. It was like riding a mad bull. He gasped for breath—I squeezed his neck with all my strength. He fell on his back with me between him and the canvas floor. I held on as the mountain of flesh crushed me into the floor. I wrapped my legs around his waist so he couldn’t get me off. I felt him weakening as his body ran out of air. I squeezed as hard as I could. Finally he tapped the canvas three times and it was over. I won and jumped for joy. B.D. would get taken care of now.
Silence, dead silence filled the room. No one could believe I beat Eloni Yokwe in the first round no less. “Get our money from Chavez and let’s get out of here,” I told Jimmy.
Chavez heard me and said, “Not so fast. Aren’t you going to give me a chance to get even?”
“Sure next time. Just pay up now.”
“I’m giving you a chance to double your money, see that little guy over there?” He pointed to what looked like a Mexican boy around fourteen or so. “Jesus Morales is our smallest fighter and if you beat him you’ll have $8,000 instead of four.”
I looked at the skinny Mexican. He couldn’t have weighed over 130 pounds. A piece of cake. I’d beat him and have $8,000 instead of four.
“What do you think Jimmy? Should we go for it?”
“After beating that mountain of flesh this guy’s like taking candy from a baby.”
“Okay, Chavez. You’re on. Double or nothing, same rules and three rounds, right?”
The ref announced our fight and money changed hands furiously. I was a five to one favorite and Chavez had bet me even. I felt good about that until the fight started and I realized I was the underdog. The Mexican had blazing speed, his hands and feet were a blur. They hit my face, my legs, my body, and my face again and again before I ever got a chance to respond.
Incredulous at the power he packed for being so small I tried to get my arms around him or grab some part of him, any part would do, but he punched and danced and kicked and danced circles around me. Kicking and punching at will before I could ever get a punch or kick in. I felt like a stark amateur fighting this kid. I wondered if me beating the big guy was a setup to get the odds in my favor and then put me up against this lethal weapon so they could rake in all the dough. I tried like hell to screw up their plans, but Jesus wouldn’t let me.
I bled from the top of my head where his elbow had gashed a jagged opening. Blood dripped from my nose and mouth—both eyes were almost swollen shut. He didn’t have a mark on him because of his speed I couldn’t connect with anything. I dived and got my arms around him and my knees went to work punishing him with powerful blows to every area they could reach while my arms held him immobile. I head butted him and opened a gash in his forehead.
His blood poured forth mixing with my own blood coming from the top of my head. So much blood and sweat made Jesus slippery and hard to hold. Before I knew it he had slipped from my grip and rained punches and elbows to my face and head again. I dived at him again, but the blood and sweat made for slippery surfaces, and he slipped out of my hands. I landed on the canvas face down. Before I could roll he was on my back and got me in a choke hold. I did my best to break it. I remembered Bad Dog crawling on his broken legs to meet his opponent. Inspired by this thought I knew I’d never quit.
That’s the last thought I remembered as Jimmy dumped water on my face to wake me up. “God damn, who would have ever thought a skinny little kid like that would be so tough,” he helped me off the canvas.
My face burned red with embarrassment from being beaten by a skinny little shrimp. All my Karate and other training seemed useless against him. I swore I’d work twice as hard from now on so something like this never happened again.
Jesus walked over to shake my hand. Burning inside I wanted to try again, but I knew I couldn’t do that at this time and in this place, but I knew I’d get him if I ever got the opportunity.
“You got any money at all?” Jimmy asked me, “We need a tank of gas to get home.
Like a sledgehammer it hit me, we had lost every dime and I was no closer to getting the money I needed than I was yesterday. Now what? My thoughts turned to Jimmy’s shotgun. I tried to shut it out, but the thought wouldn’t stay gone and kept popping up. Prison, think of it, get caught and you’ll go to prison for a long time. Scary as that thought was I constantly reminded myself of Bad Dogs loyalty and how he was willing to lay down his life for me. What if I have to kill someone during the robbery? I asked myself and answered telling myself that Bad Dog would kill anyone or anything for me. I went to sleep while Jimmy drove.

Two days later when some of the stiffness left my body I looked at the stitches in the mirror where Jimmy had sewn together the gash in my head. I wouldn’t let him take me to the E.R. so he sewed it shut himself. “So you won’t bleed to death,” he said.
Black eyes and bruises all over. Jesus! That Jesus guy really beat the shit out of me. Thoughts of revenge and better training whirred through my mind along with the pressing need for money. Friday today, and I needed money by Monday or B.D. would be a dead dog.
Friday was payday at the shoe factory. I hurriedly got dressed, stole the first car I could get my hands on and drove to Jimmy’s house. “Give me the gun,” he got the shotgun along with a box of shells. I had my .357 stuck in my waistband. “Thanks Jimmy, see ya.”
“Hold on. Here use these,” he handed me a pair of panty hose and a pair of black leather gloves.
Shows I wasn’t thinking straight. With stitches in my head and black eyes I’d be as easy to find as a purple Martian. “Thanks Jimmy,” I patted his back as I left and drove to the old shoe factory. Jimmy said the owner brought the payroll money just before 11: am and carried it from his car to the office. 10:45 I sat in the parking lot jamming shells into the shotgun. I checked the hand gun and it was loaded.
A large suv with tinted windows pulled into the lot and I knew it was him. I parked as close to the entrance as possible, wiped my prints from the car pulled the panty hose over my head and put the gloves on. Looking in the mirror I saw how well the pantyhose disguised my features and I silently thanked Jimmy.
I spotted the owner getting out of the suv with a gym bag in his right hand. I waited to he got real close then leapt from the car. “Okay motherfucker, throw that bag over here,” my shotgun pointed at his chest. Instead of fear on his face there was a smile.
He threw the bag insolently, like he thought I was harmless and I was tempted to fire off a round to let him know I was serious, but knew better than to attract attention. I bent to pick up the bag and as I bent a glancing blow from the butt of his body guard’s pistol skimmed across the back of my head. I dived to the ground rolled and fired the shotgun. I blew out the windshield of a van. Both of them dived for cover. The owner dropped the bag-I picked it up and ran. I couldn’t get to the car so I ran through the gate followed by both of them. The owner stopped running and pulled out a cell phone. I stopped turned aimed and fired the shotgun again. The cell went flying as he dove for cover. Pistol shots were zinging around me and I couldn’t see where the bodyguard shot from. I took off again. I knew one block over was a busy street and I could maybe blend with the crowds if I went there.
I ran and thanked my lucky stars for being in good shape as they pursued me with everything they had. I hit the crowded avenue and got slowed down by the crowds. They gained on me and would soon be close enough to shoot or grab me. I looked for something to slow them down and saw zip, nothing. The people walked along unconsciously not knowing or caring what was happening. The owner started shouting, “Help, stop that robber,” people stopped and looked at me, but my fearsome look with the pantyhose wrapped around my head and a rifle in my hands stopped anybody from being a hero. Those chasing me gained on me with every step and I had to stop them somehow. I couldn’t go to jail before I paid for B.D. so I opened the bag and threw a handful of money in the air. Like locust, the crowd descended on the money effectively blocking my pursuers. I ran through an alley to the next street over where a squad sat. Once they saw a rifle toting masked man they turned on their flashing lights and headed right for me.
I used the money from heaven trick again, and started throwing handfuls of bills into the air. So many people milled around trying to get a share, the police car got blocked. I ran to the next intersection where a guy sat waiting for the light to change on a Harley Davidson. I touched his spine with the barrel of the shotgun, “Put the kick down and get off, real slow,” he did what I told him and backed away from the bike. I mounted it with the shotgun stock stuck under my armpit and the barrel laid across the handlebars. I reached in the bag to get the money and it was empty. I had thrown it all in the air. No time to think about that now I popped the clutch and roared down the street accompanied by the sweet roar of the Harley.
I threw the shotgun into the Charles River as I rode over the Cambridge Street Bridge. Rode into a parking garage, ditched the bike and tore the pantyhose off my head and ran down the back stairs. Shit, I hope they didn’t have security cameras in the garage, too late to worry about that now. I walked to Jimmy’s house.
“You threw the money away. What a waste.”
“Hey, fuck you. I’m sitting here now ain’t I? If I hadn’t done what I did they would’ve caught up to me and either I’d be sitting in jail or they’d be dead.

Saturday morning we went to Achilles gym so I could plead with him to save B.D’s. life by putting up the money. The door was locked when we got there and I walked around back to see if maybe the rear door was open. It wasn’t and I walked back around front. Mary had just gotten off the bus and she didn’t see me, but she saw Jimmy standing out front. She ran to where he stood and flung her arms around his neck and planted a kiss smack on his lips. Jimmy tried to escape from her grasp but she didn’t allow him too. He tried to tell her I was there, but she wasn’t listening, she was talking so fast Jimmy couldn’t stop her, “I read your poem and . . .”
“Mary,” I said.
She yanked her arms from around Jimmy and her face was like any kid who got caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, Joe, I was looking for you to . . .”
The look on my face shut her up. Now I knew I had to save B.D. He was the only one I had that cared anything about me now that my best friend and my girl friend have stabbed me in the back.
“”Wait Joe, it’s not what it looks like. I’ve been writing poetry and Mary has been critiquing them for me,” he held his hands out in appeal.
“Yeah, I saw that critique. I can imagine the critique for a really good poem.” I turned and walked to the rear to see if Achilles had arrived yet. They both stood still and silent as I walked away from them.
Achilles just pulled into his parking spot. I waited until he opened the back door to the gym and followed him in. “I’ve only got two days left to get the money or BD’s going to get a lethal injection. Can’t you front me the money? I’ll pay you back, somehow,” I practically begged.
“I’m a businessman, and businessmen don’t throw money away. By the way, I heard you got your ass kicked in N.Y...” A crooked smirk appeared on his face and after what just happened between me and Mary I didn’t give a fuck how big he was.
I was about to smash that smirk when he said, “There might be a way you can earn the money you need.”
Those words probably saved my life. If I would have smashed him as I was about to, he would’ve smeared me all over the back alley like grape jelly. “What’re you talking about? How can I make four grand?”
“I’m starting a new league, and I was going to fight myself today but I broke my damn knuckle while training.”
“What‘re you talking about? What kind of league?”
“I came up with a brand new sport. There’ll always be those sad motherfuckers who need an animal to do their fighting for them, but my idea is to weed out those chicken-shit assholes.”
“How?”
“By having teams, a dog and his owner will fight another team side by side. Men in one ring and dogs in an adjoining one, both the dog and owner must win the fight, or a draw is called. All these assholes strutting around because their dog is tough are going to have to show their own toughness or shut up.
“But I’ll be fighting, not you.”
“I put a clause in the rules to allow for the dog owner to use a replacement fighter if he’s injured, sick, or disabled in some way or is over fifty years of age.”
To me this sounded like anybody who wanted to could have somebody else fight for them. I didn’t really care. All I cared about was getting four thousand to pay the vet.
“What if I don’t win?” I squinted at him through my swollen eyes, and wondered how my stitches would hold up to being smashed.
“If you put up a good fight and lose I’ll give you $2,000.”
That may be enough to stop the lethal shot on Monday. “What if I win? Will you give me four thousand?” He shook his head in assent.
“Who do I fight?” I asked Achilles.
“Fights are picked by drawing numbers. We throw the numbers in a hat and five of the ten owners get to draw the numbers of the owners not drawing. Their team will fight the number drawn. I couldn’t argue with a system like that, it seemed fair.
Achilles drove me to a factory in Allston. The garage of a carpet cleaning company that had been emptied of the twenty or more trucks usually kept in it to make room for tonight’s event. Two enclosures, one about twenty square feet enclosed with two foot high pieces of plywood held in place by steel rods inserted into the cement floor. The enclosure next to it was enclosed in a circle with a chain link fence that supported by being wired to steel rods that were imbedded in the cement floor. The diameter of the circle was ten feet.
There were two chalkboards hung on the wall, one with the team names and the other where the odds would be placed once the teams were chosen.
Achilles got to draw. Cleopatra and I were the third set of fighters. I sat in a corner patting Cleopatra while she licked my face. Achilles walked around to see what he could find out about the other fighters. The first fight got ready to start. Cleopatra and I walked upstairs to get a good view of both pits. We watched as they lined up at the scratch lines.
Someone had brought a bell and used it to start the fight. I figured it would be used to signal the end of the five minute rounds too. The dogs didn’t get to rest after five minutes. They just fought until one won.
I knew I had a good team mate in Cleopatra, but I wondered about the competition and tried to spot the other fighters. I couldn’t determine who was a fighter or spectator by just looking. I’d find out soon enough. A touch of that old weakness passed quickly through the back of my knees. I knew I wasn’t scared to fight, must be an adrenaline rush.
One of the guys near the chalkboard picked up a microphone and blew into it, “Testing, testing,” I was surprised to discover they’d be equipped like this. I wondered if besides the microphone they had any first aid equipment for the injured fighters. Dogs or men.
Achilles and a couple of other guys stood under where I sat with Cleopatra. I could hear their conversation over the crowd noise, because somehow their words rose straight up to where I sat.
“Yeah, I fed Cleo, a special mixture. By the time she fights she’ll be practically out on her feet,” Achilles said.
“What about the guy fighting for you? Any chance he may win?” I didn’t know who was talking, but I’d never forget that voice.
“He got whupped by a skinny Mexican two days ago. He ain’t no fighter, don’t even worry about it.”
“Get out there and bet all you can against him and Cleopatra. This is a sure thing. How often does a chance like this come around?” Achilles said.
I always thought Achilles was a decent guy and he had always treated me right, so I didn’t understand how or why he was doing this. I knew he’d make money betting, but I couldn’t believe he’d do this to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised after what my best friend did to me?
I did pay a little more attention to Achilles now and when he walked around the crowd I noticed things I never saw before. He had cauliflower ears and was missing the pinky on his left hand. He looked to be around forty or so, but he was still in terrific shape for that age. I watched him moving through the crowd, exchanging money with almost everyone he talked to. I knew he was betting against me and Cleopatra. My blood boiled at the thought of him setting me up like this. I wondered if he’d even pay me what he promised he would.
An announcement came over the speakers and told the rules and explained how the team fights worked. The fighters were introduced. A white guy with a black pit got introduced as, “Hammering Hank and Chesty. I didn’t know which was which, but I assumed the human had the Hammering Hank name. The other fighter a black guy with a solid white pit bull got introduced as Sampson and Samantha. I didn’t have a problem figuring out who was named what in this case.
The bell rang and Sampson and Chesty flew at each other with no defensive strategy whatsoever. All they wanted was to kill. The two men circled warily looking for an opening. They appeared to be similar in size. Sampson appeared to be more muscular, but Hammering Hank chased Sampson around the ring swinging away trying for a knockout punch right away.
The dogs rolled across the floor, ripping and tearing flesh from each other. Both dogs’ faces had been bloodied. Neither one paid any attention to their wounds as they assailed one another. The men danced about defensively, waiting for the chance to be aggressive. Sampson unleashed a flurry of punches, his opponent grabbed him in a clinch, and he used his head as a weapon. Hammering Hank had blood pouring from a cut opened by the head butt.
He got blinded from the blood. Sampson came in and caught him with a roundhouse kick to the jaw. The kick knocked Hank down and the Sampson jumped on him, sat on his chest and pounded away until the five minute bell rang. The dogs had teeth sunk into each other as they rolled and strived to dominate. They didn’t get to stop at the bell.
When the bell rang Sampson stood. The damage he had caused was now obvious. The laid out fighter didn’t move other than a spurt of blood from his forehead every time his heart pumped.
Samantha’s head spurted blood. The spurt showed where the blood came from, because both dogs heads were covered with blood.
“Get up you bum. How can you let a guy beat you like that? God damn quitter,” were some of the comments coming from the audience. Two guys dragged the knocked out fighter from the fenced in area. They laid him on the floor and returned inside the fenced in area with mops and buckets to clean up the puddle of blood.
Samantha was on her back and Chesty got a good grip on her throat and shook and ripped until the Samantha no longer moved. The handler picked up Chesty and set him down outside the plywood barricade. Chesty walked to where Hammering Hank lay on the floor. He was being tended to by someone who appeared to be trying to revive him. Chesty licked his face, looking for his recognition for winning his fight.
They didn’t bother to clean up the blood in the dog pit. Samantha was dragged out, leaving a bloody trail. She was laid beside the door so Sampson could take her body when he left. He walked over to where his dead dog laid. A look on his face could have been sad or angry. The look didn’t change as he kicked the dead dog three times. He had won, but his dog lost. That made it a draw by the rules. Nobody won and there was a dead dog and maybe a dead man, because the downed fighter hasn’t moved yet.
“Next teams get to the scratch lines,” came over the loudspeakers. “Let’s ruuuumble.” The dogs were brought into the pit by their handlers. The human fighters didn’t need to be led into the combat zone. They went willingly. The fighters looked to be a mismatch. Both the dogs and the men showed tremendous differences in size. One man was over six feet tall and outweighed his opponent by at least a hundred pounds. It was the same with the dogs. One was a brown and white female pit bull that weighed 80 pounds. The other was a Tosa, a Japanese fighting dog that weighed at least two hundred pounds.
The dog’s sizes matched their masters, the Tosa belonged to the big guy and they did sort of lookalike when you compared them. The bell sounded, the pit bull charged, the Tosa head butted it and sent the pit bull flying. The smaller man stalked the big man who in turn was trying to get his hands on the little guy. He jumped in the air and caught the bigger man with a flying kick to the temple.
The pit bull flew through the air at the Tosa that nimbly stepped aside, and head butted the pit as it sailed by knocking it on its side. The hundred pound difference was making a difference as the Tosa rushed the pit bull that had just regained its footing when it was hit in the ribs by the massive dog. It flew through the air and smashed against the plywood barrier, making a dull thud as it hit. The thud sounded like a sack of potatoes being thrown onto a cement floor.
The big man shook off the kick and got a hand on the smaller man. Shouts arose from the crowd—everyone thought it was over now. The little guy somehow grabbed hold of the hand that had grabbed him and flipped the big guy onto his back. The crowd roared, everyone in the place was standing and shouting as the little guy sat on the bigger mans chest punching as hard and as fast as he could.
The Tosa closed in for the kill. The pit bull was hurt and moving slow. The crowd was rooting for The Tosa. This was a rare and valuable dog, and no one here had ever watched one fight before. It looked like it was going to easily win over the smaller dog. The Tosa charged and the pit bull scrambled and got a grip on its throat.
The bigger fighter sat up with the little one sitting on his chest. He tried to brush him off with his right arm that was grabbed by the other fighter, and quickly broken. When the bone snapped, the cracking noise could be heard over all the shouting. The little guy had his arm around the bigger fighter’s throat and was trying to choke him out.
The Tosa tried shaking the grip on its throat loose and dragged the other dog around the ring a few times until it was dragged to the floor by the weight of the dog hanging on its neck,
The big fighter stood with the other fighter on his back and tried falling to the floor on his back to get him to release his choke hold. He must have known this was a dangerous maneuver and could have broken his neck, but he did it anyway.
The pit bull was in the position it wanted to be in and tore chunks from the throat of the Tosa. The Tosa wouldn’t quit and kept trying to stand and at each attempt the other dog would tear out a piece of flesh from its throat area. Blood was pouring from the wounds and it could be seen that the big dog was on the way out. Blood lust incensed the crowd and their cheering and cursing became deafening.
The little guy didn’t let go when he wound up on the bottom as the big guy fell flat on