The Girl, On The Bike

I finally got a chance to meet Glover; he had apparently been out of the country to some tournament. Now, every day he was around the gym. We talked a couple of times, but it was brief. I have to say, I didn't like him. He exuded sleaziness, there was something about him.

My kick boxing, though, was moving along. I could hold my own with a lot of the newer fighters, and they liked to spar with me because I didn't use kicks; I focused on my punching.

A guy named Mawhiri, asked me to work with him. He had a fight coming up. He was told to pick a couple of members to spar with, and he chose me. I wasn't particularly happy, because he was one of the guys who liked inflicting pain. He was never satisfied with just sparring; once he had you going backwards, he kept going and was never happy unless you were on your back. He was a mean looking bastard, which suited him, because he was a sadistic prick.

As we sparred, he took a great deal of pleasure in getting through my defences. As always, Tom was in my corner, screaming at me to keep my guard up and to keep moving. I did my best, but the bastard kept finding ways to sting me. He was good, there was no question. I got the feeling he was toying with me, doing just enough to keep me interested. When he finally got through with a powerful left hook, it staggered me, and I flew back against the ropes. I could hear Tom screaming, "Clinch, Ross, clinch."

Preservation took control and I grabbed him, holding tightly. I clung on, waiting for my head to clear, but rather than clear, the bright red fog of anger descended and I lost control. I let him go, and I think he thought I was going to back away to let him get re-established, but that wasn't my thinking. I bored in, and rained in a couple of powerful blows of my own. I caught him flush with a right hook, not one of my best, but with the rage in full control. I let the left go, I saw his smile disappear, and that made me feel good. His guard came up, and I switched, I hit him hard in the ribs with my left, and then again, and again.

He moved, trying to get off the ropes, but I had him right where I wanted him: Two awesome hits to his rib cage with my right, before I came back with a wildly swinging right that clobbered him flush on the side of the face. I think he may have been unconscious, his guard fell away and I landed a one-two combination, left and right hook. Both landed solid blows.

I couldn't understand what was happening, but as my head cleared, I felt the arms grabbing me, pulling me away. Tom and another guy had me in their grip as Mawhiri, slid down the ropes into a heap on the canvas.

People rushed in from everywhere, they dragged his mouth guard out, as they got him into the recovery position as they tried to get him awake.

"What the fuck were you thinking, you fucking numb nuts? Jesus, Ross." It was Tom barking angrily at me.

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me. I think it was because he kept sneering and laughing as he hit me. Sorry, I hope he'll be okay."

"Fuck, Bro, god all fucking mighty. You're just supposed to be sparring."

"Bullshit. He wasn't sparring, he was trying to hurt me. It was all right for him, what was I, just some cannon fodder for the fucker?"

"No, of course not. We could see what he was doing, we were about to call it off."

Mawhiri was quickly bundled into a car and taken off to hospital. As I walked out of the shower and was in the middle of packing up my gear, Tom walked in. "Mate, I wanted to say sorry. I shouldn't've blown up at you, the way I did. Bloody Mawhiri deserved everything he got. We were talking about the way he was goading ya. He was being a prick."

"No worries, Tom. Sorry for losing the plot."

"No harm done, well, that is if Mawhiri, is okay. If he ain't then we got a real problemo."

"Why?"

"He's got a fight in the weekend. If he can't make it, we'll have to cancel, or find somebody else."

"Will they let you swap fighters?"

"Yeah, there's no title up for grabs, it's just a support fight."

Turns out, Mawhiri was in a bit of trouble. He had two cracked ribs and some heavy bruising. He definitely wasn't making the fight.

When the news broke a couple of days later, Tom and I were working on some kicks. The big cheese, Glover, dragged Tom, away for a chat. I went back to practising the kicks on the bag. I kept a close eye on the conversation, and it was very heated. Tom got a shove in my direction when Glover walked off.

I stopped my kick practice as Tom got a little closer. "What's up, Tom?"

"Mate, how do you feel about stepping into the ring for real?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Mawhiri's, fight. We need a ring in. Glover, suggested you."

"Me I've never had a fight."

"Maybe not, but mate I gotta say, you have some real power in those fists."

"But I don't know what to do. I have never even been to a fight to watch."

"Doesn't matter. Look, Ross, it's only three rounds. You'll be fighting Gavin Garner. He's a good fighter, but he's new. It was supposed to be a fight to get Mawhiri's, name in the promoters faces. It was supposed to be a walk over for him."

"But you said Garner's a good fighter?"

"He is, bro, but. He's young and inexperienced. He's only had two fights. There's some prize money up for grabs, as well. Two hundred and fifty bucks."

"What about all the other guys here? They'll be pissed if you throw me in."

"We'll manage all that shit. None of the other guys are really ready. You're actually pretty good. I know it's not what you came here for, but hey, you never know. You might like it, and there's always plenty of chicks hanging around. You might even get laid."

"Let me think about it. I'll let you know tomorrow."

"Sweet, no worries, bro."

It took me only a few minutes to think about it. It might get me closer to Glover. Tom was stoked when I gave him the news. The gossip started immediately, and now, rather than being the cannon fodder, I was the one in charge.

Tom worked closely with me, and I noticed Glover hanging over the ropes watching as I sparred. He waited a few days before coming over to talk to me. "Yo, Ross ain't it?"

"Yeah, that's right."

He stuck out his hand to shake. "I'm Naylor Glover. I own this place."

Shaking hands, I replied, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Nah, son. The pleasures all mine. I gotta say, boy. You pack a mean punch. Very impressive. Tom told me you only came along for some self-defence lessons?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Play ya cards right, and you might be able to make some dosh. I'm talking serious coin, son."

"I don't know about that. I'll see what happens after the fight."

"You'll do all right. I've been watching you closely. I think you could do all right." He walked off, looking smug, as if he had given me his seal of approval. I didn't like him from afar. I liked him even less up close. He had the sleazy demeanour of a thug. He had the fake American gangster slang; that was his image. He seemed almost proud of it.

With the fight looming, I was worried. I had spent a lot of hours watching the fights on TV, and the highest scoring shots were all kicks. I hardly had any. I watched countless hours of YouTube clips, working on them. In particular, the back spinning head kick. I practised over and over at home. I had it down pretty good.

Tom, he focused on my punching, and he made a lot of sense. "Ross, mate. Nobody knows you, you're a new face, and most fighters are kickers, they're the money shots. What you have is different. You've got fucking dynamite in those fists. What you've got to work on is getting in close. Take away Garner's kicks. From what I've seen, he's got nothing in his fists."

That was our whole strategy: get close and punch. Only clinch when I have to.

The day of the fight found me as nervous as fuck. The mere thought of it made me nauseous. Still, it was happening and there was no way out.

My fight was the third one on the undercard. I watched the first couple, and they looked fierce. Tom led me off to the changing rooms and wrapped my fists, the wadding tight and overseen by an official. He tied off my gloves and taped them. As we waited for the introductions. Glover, walked in, and right behind him was Roberts. Glover, patted me on the back. "Good luck tonight, boy. By the way, this is my mate, Selwyn Roberts."

Roberts stuck out his hand. "Go hard, son, I got a grand on ya."

"You're saying you bet a thousand bucks on me?" I was flabbergasted. "Fuck, are you insane? This is my first fight."

He walked in closer and slapped me on the back. "Don't worry, mate. Naylor told me he thinks you got what it takes."

"That's nothing more than his opinion."

"I trust him, mate. You'll do good. Smash the bastard."

As they walked towards the door, Glover called back. "Rosco, I'm having a party at my place tonight. If you win, there'll be an invitation for you."

They were gone, and Tom returned to getting me ready. "Come on, bro, lets get a sweat up. I want you lose and ready when you step in the ring."

The announcements came, and we walked out to the ring in the middle of the arena. This time, there were no ropes, just a cage, and there would be no putting your hand up to say, "Stop, I'm tired."

The referee went over the rules as we touched gloves. Garner was about the same height, a little chubbier, but also bigger. As we started moving, that was the first thing I noticed. He was slow and lazy. He didn't stay up, he was waiting. We traded a few half-hearted jabs, nothing serious, just testing out each others speed.

Yeah, he was lazy. He tried a couple of kicks, which I evaded easily, then he pounced, I sensed it coming, he telegraphed it by dropping his shoulder.

As he lunged, I stepped to the side and met him with a solid shot to the stomach. It hurt, I felt him flinch, and that momentary pause gave me the opportunity to get close and sink in another couple of shots to the ribcage. He grimaced as my fist sunk in.

He tried to clinch, but I avoided his clasping arms and hit him with a sharp uppercut, followed up by a left-right hook combination.

I felt great, the crowd roared so loudly, it was like being at the end of an airfield runway, and a 737 just took off right over our heads.

He was hurt, and tried to back away, get his breath back, but with Tom screaming, "Finish him," I moved in close and started to land shot after shot. Exhaustion crept in, and I lost my shape, but luckily, landed with a wild roundhouse haymaker. My whole arm shuddered with the impact.

Garner stiffened, and I saw his eyes roll back. He was unconscious, and he did nothing to soften his landing.

In slow motion, he tumbled sideways, and splatted on the canvas.

The referee pushed me away, and quickly grasped Garner's mouth guard. Garner's team flooded the ring, obviously worried.

Tom appeared beside me, jumping up and down. "Fucking awesome, bro. What a fight. You fucking beauty."

He shepherded me into the corner, "Just stay here, bro; chill while I check on Garner."

I leaned back against the ropes, searching the crowd. Glover and Roberts weren't hard to spot. They were busily high-fiving, a couple of attractive bimbos on either side.

No, that wasn't fair. They might be nice girls, but the way they dressed. Hardly enough clothing for a lingerie show. Maybe I was right with my first thought.

The fight announcements were made, and I was awarded the fight by TKO.

My head spun as I walked back to the changing room. Everything was going so fast. It was impossible to make any sense of it. I showered and changed. I had barely got my clothes on when Tom walked in. He handed me a cheque for two hundred and fifty bucks, and a slip of paper. "That's Naylor's address. He said the party will be getting underway about eleven, or thereabouts. Depends on how the other fights go."

"Are his parties a big deal?" I asked nervously.

"Oh, hell yeah, dude. For those of us in the fight game, biggest god damned parties in town. Mate, there'll be loads of chicks, booze. Drugs, if that's your thing."

"Drugs?" I gasped questioningly.

"Yeah, come on, bro, don't act so surprised. It'll be a choice night."

The address was a really swanky area in Remuera. As I walked out of the arena, I was swamped by a group of reporters wanting an interview. After standing beside Sarah while she went through these things. I knew exactly what questions they would be asking.

They took photos, assuring me the article would be in Sundays Herald.

I drove out to Glover's place. It was lit up like a Christmas tree, there were cars everywhere. Bloody hell, what a place. Must be worth well over four million, at a guess. The grounds were enormous, huge stone walled fences surrounded the place.

There were two security guards on the front door, but apparently, they were expecting me. Inside the monstrosity, it was floor to ceiling glass and granite tiles, hardwood floors, huge art works on the walls.

The place swelled as the crowd moved. A DJ spun discs as the dance floor, which was full of scantily clad young women, heaving, dancing, and squealing, as their favourite songs played.

I found Glover, he was hard to miss. Two gorgeous women hung over him like blankets. Roberts was there, as well, again, accompanied by a spectacularly beautiful young woman.

They both welcomed me into their group, Glover doing all the introductions. Roberts slapped my back. "Great fight, man, you're a fucking natural, and holy fuck. You do got explosives in those fists of yours."

"Nah, I just got lucky."

"Lucky my arse, you were on fire, bro. Fuck, you made me a mountain of cash tonight."

"Nice to know you were feeling confident."

"Not me, bro, it was Naylor, he saw something in you. A hunger, he described it as a rage burning inside you. He was fucking right, my man. Fuck, you kicked his arse."

Glover appeared with drinks, and he raised a toast to my success. "If it hadn't been for you, I would've lost big time tonight. I lost a bundle on Stephens, but you pulled me outta the fire, mate."

"Glad to be of service." I replied laughingly. "This is a hell of a place you have here."

"Yeah, I like it. Finish your drink, I'll get us another round," he exclaimed, as he collected the glasses and headed away.

Turning to Roberts, I said. "You're a cyclist aren't you? Didn't you represent New Zealand?"

"Yeah, used to be. Had an accident a year or so ago. Now, I'm more of a promoter."

"What do you mean, promoter?"

"You know, events and shit. I make things happen. Chase down funding and sponsors and shit."

Glover re-appeared with our drinks, and we threw them back quickly. He more or less chased me away when some expensively dressed bloke turned up.

There were sporting stars from all different codes, rugby players, cricketers, cyclists, athletes. They weren't the only celebrities, though. The place was full of them, and I didn't have to look hard to find people participating in drug usage.

Outside in the gardens, the smell of marijuana wafted around like a fig. There were people indulging in lines of some shit. Christ, it was rampant; it seemed only the sports stars were limiting their activities. A few were drunk, but they shied away from the drugs, either that, or they were bloody cautious. I stayed away from the cyclists, because I knew most of them. I managed to gets lots of surreptitious photos of people taking drugs, exchanging small packages.

I just couldn't get anything involving Roberts, although I did hear a couple of conversations, which indicated he could get whatever you wanted. Promoter my arse, he was a god damned deler, nothing else. If he did any promoting, it was just a front.

I gave up after a while. It was late, and I needed to get home.

I crashed once I got home. I wasn't used to late nights. The next morning, I awoke with a thumping headache. I needed, coffee, toast and pain killers in that order.

It was a nice day, the sun was out, but a nice gentle cool zephyr wafted from the harbour. I was doing the dishes and clearing up when the wild banging on the front door became unbearable. Flinging open the door, I was surprised to see Sarah. "You bloody shit," she snarled.

"What the hell has got into you?" I asked, totally befuddled.

"You and Roberts; there's photos in the Herald this morning. You're buddy, buddies now, apparently. I suppose you told him all about me trying to get evidence against him. I can't bloody believe you would sell me out, as well."

She screamed so loudly heads were appearing from the doors and windows of my neighbours. "Come inside, Sarah. Let me explain."

"Explain what?" she growled, as I manhandled her inside, pulling the door shut behind us.

"Would you like some coffee? After all this yelling, I think I need another cup," I gushed.

"I didn't come here for a bloody social call. I'm angry, Ross. I thought, you of all people, I would be able to trust."

Grabbing her by the shoulders, I stared into her pain-stricken eyes. "Sarah, I'm trying to help you. The only reason I ingratiated myself in with Glover and Roberts was so I could do some digging for you. See if I could uncover any evidence."

She looked dumbfounded. "You did what?"

"Sarah, I believe you. I went down to Glover's gym so I could hang around, see what I could see. Somehow, I ended up in a fight. The only good thing about that was, because I won, he invited me to a party at his place. You're right about the drugs; I just don't have any evidence yet."

I saw the tears building up in the corner of her eyes. "I'm sorry, Ross." She fell into my arms, her head buried into the side of my neck. "Thank you for believing in me."

"I knew the moment I heard all that stupidity it was garbage. I knew you'd never get involved in that stuff."

"How do I prove it, though?" She sighed, her tears saturating my shirt, which now clung wetly to my skin.

"You let me worry about it. I'll see what I can find out."

"Ross, you can't. It's dangerous, they're unscrupulous people."

"Don't worry, I'll be careful."

She leaned away from me. "And what's all this guff about you being a fighter?"

I laughed. "Hey, lighten up. I'll have you know. I won my first fight last night."

"For god's sake, Ross," she gasped. "You're going to get hurt."

"I'm only doing it long enough to collect evidence."

She leaned back against me, her sniffles drying up. "You're doing all this for me?"

"You can't tell anyone, Sarah, not even your parents, okay?"

"Yes, of course. It will be our secret." She sniffled. "I promise, not even Dad. You realise he thinks you've gone mad. He's the one who saw the story in the morning Herald about you."

I laughed loudly. "He's probably right. I never thought I'd climb into the ring."

"God, please don't get hurt. I couldn't live with myself, if you got injured."

"Don't worry about me. I'm being careful, although I have to say, it's a real buzz."

A shocked expression paled her face. "You enjoyed it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, in a strange way, I did. It's incredibly empowering. Walking into a ring, knowing the other guy wants to knock your bloody block off. The only thing that will save you is your skill. And the crowd, holy shit, it was insane."

"Ross, you've never had a fight in your life. You hate confrontation."

"Up until last night, I would have agreed with you. Now, do you want coffee?"

She grinned, giving me a sort of tut, tut look. "Yes, please."

We spent a pleasant morning talking. The afternoon, though, became a little darker as we picked away honestly at the real problems that caused the failure of our old relationship. It was confronting, and we had to lay bare some things we probably didn't want to.

Our relationship expired in a fiery explosion at the end, and both of us walked away with more questions than answers. This painful reopening of the old wounds forced us to rationalise and explain. The most important lesson was to listen, for both of us. We didn't resolve anything, but we did have a better understanding of each other. With both of us so inexperienced, in relationship terms, this gave us closure, if nothing else. That, in turn, offered a little crack in a closed door, admitting at least a little light.