As the bell sounds to begin the first round I hear Rudy shouting above the crowd noise.
"He wants to chain her to his basement wall for the rest of her life!"
I turn to look at Rudy and feel a fist crash into the back of my skull.
The blow sends me reeling, and I'm knocked stiff-legged into the side of the cage. Mike jumps on my back and starts raining blows on the top of my head. Between his weight, my being off balance, and his furious attack, I go down. Had Mike ridden me to the floor it might have been over before I landed the first punch. But Mike's left leg gets hooked under my hip, and when I hit the canvas, his leg takes the brunt of my weight. When I roll over, he grabs his knee in agony. I quickly jump on him and start flailing away until I can barely breathe. Mike's arms were pinned under my knees throughout the assault, which means I landed at least forty clean shots to his face and head. But when I stop swinging to inspect the damage, I'm shocked to see I haven't even drawn blood.
I can't believe I'm this exhausted. Meanwhile, Mike is re-energized. He flips me off him and gets to his feet. He's favoring his left leg, but it's not keeping him from coming after me. Just as I'm about to stand, he tackles me and bites the back of my upper thigh. I let out a yelp and try to get away, but he's got his legs wrapped around mine and I can't get out from under him. He continues to bite my leg and I'm almost delirious with pain, but before he can do any more damage, the bell rings to end round number one.
One of the bouncers pulls Mike off me and pushes him to his stool. The other one drags me to mine, and Gus starts working on my thigh wound.
"Don't worry," he says, "I'm a great cut man."
"Good thing."
"Never had to work on an ass cut before, though."
From behind me I hear Rudy say, "You guys fight like old people fuck."
I have no idea what that means, but his next comment makes a lot of sense: "It takes time to beat a man to death. Save your energy. Make every shot count."
I wonder if he has any specific advice. He does: "Kick his bum knee."
For the next three rounds I let Mike use up his energy trying to rush in and paste me with his fists. Most of the time his punches miss me, and when they connect, they don't have much power. I don't land a single punch in rounds two, three and four, but I do manage to kick his knee several times in each round.
Now we're in the fifth round and he sees it coming, and when I fake the kick, he moves away, but straight back, and I'm able to land a blow to his cheek, just hard enough to make him stumble on his bad leg, exposing his right knee, which I kick with all my might. When he goes down I don't bother trying to hurt him with my fists like I did in the first round. I've come to realize that neither of us has any real punching power. But my kicks are working, so I start kicking him while he's down. He tries to catch my foot with his hands, but I'm keeping my kicks low and fast, and they're not doing much damage, but they're doing some, and just as the bell rings, I manage to kick his wrist and when he screams, I get the feeling things are going my way.
In round six we're both so weary the action lags and the referee calls time out and announces we're involving the corner men. He explains what that means:
"For the balance of the round, each fighter gets a free punch. After both fighters land ten punches, the round ends. Red corner goes first."
Our bouncers bring us to the center of the ring. Mine pins my arms behind me and holds me as Mike lands a solid punch. I catch the full force of the blow on my upper cheek, just below my left eye, and this one causes serious damage. I go all wobbly and nearly fall down. My eyes are glazed, and when I look down at the canvas, I see spots of blood dripping on it. I focus on Mike's face. He's sneering at me. He knows he's stronger than I am, and knows I can't win this type of fight.
He's right. My punches have virtually no power. I can't even make him bleed.
But I have an idea.
As his corner man pins his arms, I wind up with my right hand. But instead of launching it, I kick his right knee with every ounce of strength I've got. He howls with pain and shifts his weight to his left leg, which proves to be too much, and, but for his corner man holding him up, Mike would have crashed to the canvas.
The damage I inflicted with that perfect kick is evident. Mike can barely stand up, and his next punch comes in at less than half power. On my turn I kick him again. He makes a pathetic attempt to kick me on his next turn, but he loses his balance and his foot barely grazes me.
My turn.
I fake the kick and Mike is so worried about it landing, he tries to jump out of the way. But his corner man holds him steady, and Mike's face drops into perfect position and I strike his nose with all my might. And this time I draw blood.
When Mike's bouncer releases his arms, Mike touches his nose. He's got tears in his eyes and when he realizes his nose is broken, most of the fight in him has gone. He winds up and launches a roundhouse punch that takes so long to reach me, I'm able to duck my head, which means his punch lands on my skull. He screams in pain and I think his right hand might be broken. I try to land my final punch on his broken nose, but he gets it out of the way. I do manage to hit his eye flush, and figure that's going to start swelling up before long.
In the corner, Gus finally has the opportunity to work on my eye. The referee announces the next round will be fought the normal way unless the action stops for fifteen seconds. I hear Rudy urging me to keep kicking Mike's knees.
But I have a better idea.
Since I can't punch hard enough to hurt him, and since my legs are in good shape and Mike's are not, I decide to rush him. Not like he rushed me earlier, when trying to get in close enough to hit me, but to rush him and push him down. Mike attempts to land a big right hand, but I jump back in time to avoid it, and push him squarely in the chest with both hands. His bad knees give way and he falls to the floor. With his face an open target, I kick it until he brings his hands up to protect it, which leaves his ribs unprotected. I kick them until he brings his hands down, and then I kick his face again. Mike's in bad shape and getting worse. I get myself in a zone and keep kicking him wherever I find an opening. I'm thinking about how Mike is fighting to win my wife, while I'm fighting to keep her. He's got everything to gain, and I've got everything to lose. But while I cheated on Lissie, he raped her. And, like Perkins said, Lissie deserves better.
Chapter 34
I'm lying on the couch in the ladies' room, while Gus patches me up. My ears are ringing and I've got double vision. Every part of my body is aching and sore, and I realize I've taken a much harder beating than I thought.
"Where's Rudy?" I say.
"Collecting his money, I think."
It's just me and Gus in the dressing room.
"Thanks for your help," I say.
"My pleasure."
"Can I ask a favor?"
"You can ask. Don't mean I'll grant it."
"Can I borrow your cell phone?"
He thinks about it. "Twenty bucks."
"In my bag," I say.
He hands me his cell phone and crosses the room to get my bag. I dial the number my sister made me memorize a year ago, and silently pray it's still in service.
It rings several times, and finally he answers, saying, "Creed."
"Mr. Creed, this is Buddy Pancake. I'm in trouble."
I hear Creed say to someone, "Wait. You lost an earring." Then I hear a woman scream. Then Creed says, "Buddy, you're a pain in the ass."
"Sorry, Mr. Creed."
He pauses a moment, then says, "What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, Buddy?"
"The worst kind."
He sighs. "Where are you?"
Part Two:
DONOVAN CREED Chapter 1
Buddy Pancake was in Louisville, Kentucky, in an abandoned warehouse behind Standiford Airport, claiming he'd just beaten a man to death in a boxing match.