The Girl, On The Bike

The next day as I walked into the gym, there was a change. It wasn't huge, but the fighters looked at me with respect. Maybe, because they saw me as being one of them now. I was a fighter; I had been in the ring. I slipped into my usual warm-up and workout routine, mostly weights. My cardio was good; I cycled everywhere. It was muscle tone in the arms and core I needed to strengthen.

I chuckled at my thoughts. Needed to work on... I was talking like fighting was something I wanted.

As I walked into the boxing gym, Tom came over and grabbed the bag while I worked up a bit of a sweat. "What'd you think of the fight?" he asked.

"It was over quickly, so at least I didn't get hurt. No requirements for plastic surgery to maintain my good looks."

He laughed as I pounded the bag. "Would you like another? Naylor is promoting another big event in three weeks. The fighter you'd be facing would be a step up from Garner."

"How much of a step up?"

"He's had about twenty fights, fifteen wins and five losses."

"When were the losses?"

"At the start of his career. He's won nine on the trot."

"Sounds like he's a pretty experienced fighter."

"Yeah bro, he's pretty good. He used to train in here, but he and Naylor had a falling out."

"Bad blood, huh?"

"Yeah, you could say that, mate."

"Then why is Naylor setting me up with him? I would have thought he would want him to get his arse kicked."

"He does, which is why he wants you to fight him."

"Piss off, mate. If he's as good as you say, I would be the one getting an arse kicking."

"Ross, you're different to other MMA fighters. You've got power in those fists. MMA is mostly about kicks. The boxing is okay, but it's the spectacular stuff the crowd wants to see."

"Tom, you are telling me you think I could honestly beat this guy?"

"Abso fucking lutely, bro. You've got something they don't have, fucking dynamite in your fists."

It went quiet as I worked away at the bag, my arms burned, my lungs cried out for more oxygen. I kept going, trying to maintain the ferocity.

It was Tom who let the bag go. "Don't burn yourself out, Rosco."

"When I was in the ring with Garner, I was exhausted. I'm not sure I could have gone three rounds. I don't think I would have lasted."

"That's natural; it was your first time, bro. First fight. Shit, I remember my first one. I was so hyped up I went crazy. Luckily, it ended quickly, because I drained the tank in the first round. You'll learn; it gets easier with every fight. You'll learn to pace yourself better. Get in clinches, then work your way out. That's what we'll work on. You can spar with Donny, and Manu."

The two blokes he mentioned were seasoned fighters. They were a couple of hard-nosed buggers, but at least they weren't sadists.

Tom stayed with me in the ring, showed me how to move, how to get inside and use my body shots, then work out, making room for jabs and hooks.

As we sparred, Glover was always at the ringside, watching, appraising. I could see him smiling as he watched me developing some ring craft.

Wednesday, after I had been sparring for over an hour and I stepped down out of the ring, Glover approached me. "Have you made a decision about the fight?"

His arm draped over my shoulder, as if we were mates. "Yes, I think I might give it a go. Tom seems pretty comfortable I will be able to hold my own."

"Yeah, he reckons you could be a champ. You've got real hammers in those fists. We don't get a lot of that here. You've got something unique, kid."

"Thanks, appreciate your confidence."

"I'm not pissing in ya pocket, boy, I mean it. You could do real good in this sport, and we can help you. This fight against Bradley will make you a grand, but it'll also push your face in front of some promoters."

"I guess we'll see," I mumbled softly.

"Fuck that shit, you gotta pump yourself up, son. Make some fucking noise. You wanna be a big shot in this game, then you gotta show some game. Give the punters a reason to lay down money to watch you."

"Sorry, that's not going to happen. That's not who I am."

"Then you gotta let some of that humble shit go. It might work for the All Blacks, but it ain't gonna get ya any big fights."

"Mr. Glover, I'm not sure I'm looking for big fights. I only came into the gym to learn to defend myself."

"Son, my name's Naylor, we're gonna be friends. You got talent, kid. Don't fucking waste it. You could be making some real coin in no time."

I noticed Roberts came into the gym, as well, over the following days. Glover had obviously told him about the fight, and he wanted to know what my real chances were.

During that time, we started chatting, nothing major, just conversation. We went out for a few beers after training one night. I was slowly working my way into his trust.

I set up my own gym at home, as well. I worked on the stuff we didn't work on at the gym: my kicks. Tom focused so much on my boxing, the rest of it sort of slipped away.

I was watching some fights on TV, when the doorbell rang. Opening it, there was Sarah, looking radiant. "Hi, Ross, I brought a bottle of wine. Thought maybe you might like a drink?"

I waved her inside. "Sounds great. Is there a special occasion?"

"No, I came to be nosy. Wondering how it's going?"

"If, by 'it,' you mean my reconnaissance mission, it's going okay. Roberts and Glover have been very friendly. Mostly because they think I'm going to earn them some money next weekend. There's a fight, and they think I can win."

She gasped in shock. "Oh my god. Not another fight. Ross, you have to stop this silliness. You will get injured."

"Relax, Sarah. If I can't handle it, I can just fall over."

"Then do it, please Ross. Don't put yourself in danger."

I poured her another glass, as she had gulped the first one down so quickly. "Can I be honest here, Sarah?"

She frowned a little, wondering where I was going. "Certainly, I hope you know you can trust me." Her voice was soft, a little tremulous.

"Okay, here goes. You might not like hearing this. I like the fighting. I enjoy it."

She recoiled, aghast. "You have to be kidding me. You enjoy some Neanderthal hitting you?"

"No, I don't enjoy getting punched. I do, however, enjoy the physicality, and yes, the brutality. Maybe it goes back to our caveman days. It gives me a sense of accomplishment."

"I don't understand, Ross. You are successful, people like you, you're good at your job."

"Yes, I know all that. This is different. In the past, I shied away from confrontation. I walked away rather than stood up. This has given me a confidence I never felt in the past. I don't mean that in purely physical terms, either. It is an inner sense of self-assurance."

She sighed, leaned back on the sofa and sipped her wine. "You are a different man, that is for sure. I do sense something about you, maybe it is boldness. I don't mean brashness. But you do seem more in control."

"Yes, that might be a good word. In control."

We finished the bottle, and as she got up, she noticed the punching bag set up on the back deck. Sliding open the door, she gave the bag a push. "You work out here, as well?"

"Yep, have you ever boxed, Sarah?"

"No, never. I have lifted weights, but, no. Never boxed."

"You should give it a try, its a great workout."

She sniggered. "You think that boxing is harder than cycling?"

"You use different muscles. I thought I was fit, but after twelve minutes in the ring, I'm exhausted."

"Twelve minutes? You have cycled much longer than that."

"Sarah, its different. Its completely draining. Bring some gear over tomorrow night and I will show you what I mean."

She giggled slyly. "You think you could show me up?"

"Yes, definitely."

She nodded, "Okay. It's a date. What time should I come over?"

"It will have to be late, I have to go to the gym straight after work. Maybe eight-thirty."

She turned up on her bike and carried her fitness gear inside.

I was feeling a bit flat, having already put in three hours at the gym. The only thing keeping me up was the sight of Sarah. She really looked sensational. She might have lost some of her body toning. Not competing and training every day robbed her of that perfectly toned physique, but in many ways, it looked good on her. She had a more curvalicious, shapely figure.

I gave her a whistle as she walked out in her training gear. "Wow, you look good." I said admiringly.

"Oh stop it, I have put on ten kilos."

"Maybe, but bloody hell, they have all landed in the right places. Holy shit."

She giggled and blushed. "Stop it."

"Come on then, lets get you started. You obviously cycled over, so you are already warmed up."

She nodded. "Yep, all ready to go. What do I do?"

"Put some gloves on, and we'll work slowly. I threw her a pair of gloves I bought for her. She pulled them on and I laced them up for her. I positioned her in front of the bag. "Right, all you have to do is punch the bag. She swung a couple of weak lazy punches before I stepped in. "Not like that. If that's all you got, then don't bother."

"Well, what am I supposed to do?"

I moved in front of her and showed her how to work the bag. "Combinations, left right, left. Get into a rhythm, and don't stop until I say so."

She started working into it. "Come on Sarah, lets pretend the bag is Roberts. You hate him, well, show me how much."

I saw her face tighten, and she stepped it up, suddenly the punches had some intensity. "Good, keep it up, show me how much you want to hurt him."

She started puffing and panting as she worked away, her face red.

I watched the clock, and at the ten minute mark she was really struggling. "Okay, lets change it around." I slipped the pads on my hands and showed her what I wanted. She started swinging punches, hitting the pads. Compared to the fighters, I could hardly feel any impact. "Come on, Sarah, hit me, put some effort in."

We kept at it, but any sting she had was long gone. Punches felt more like butterfly kisses.

As I called a halt to it. She leaned over, her hands on her knees. "Shit, oh my god. My shoulders hurt."

"You'll get used to it. Lets move onto the speed bag."

I chuckled as she tried to get a rhythm going.

Half an hour, and she was done. "Bloody hell, that is hard work. How long did you practise tonight at the gym?"

"Three hours."

She looked shocked. "You did three hours of that?"

"Not just bag work. We spar and practise. I did weights, as well."

"Shit, no wonder you look so ripped." She blushed as the words slipped out.

I helped her out of the gloves and got her a bottle of water. She shook her head as she wiped away some perspiration. "You were right, that is a great work out. I feel totally shot."

"Yeah, it gets you, doesn't it. And, in places you least inspect it."

"It is so much more intense than normal gym work."

"Yeah, you will be sore in the morning."

She gave me a cheeky, sheepish grin. "You know all this gear just sits here doing nothing during the day."

I chuckled, softly. "Why yes, it does."

"I could come around and look after it for you, if you wanted?" she purred.

"Like a security guard?"

"If you like, but I could use it while I looked after it."

"Sarah, you are always welcome here. If you want to work out, then you can."

She leaned over and hugged me. "Thanks, Ross. I would like that. I have missed training, I've been on a few mountain bike rides, but I have missed the gym, and friends."

"Then come around and make the most of it."

I walked her to the door after a brief chat. As she wheeled her bike out, she leaned in for a kiss. The feel and taste of her lips on mine felt wonderful. I had missed her more than I realised.

Sarah came to my place every day to work out after that. She always left a note to say she had been there, and always left a gift, a cake, chocolate or something. She knew my weaknesses.

The fight came much quicker than I wanted. I wanted to be a more rounded fighter, but like every good student, I listened to my coaching team and worked relentlessly on my boxing ability. I suffered no illusions; this was a young man's game. I was at the age most guys were trying to get out of the game, not in. As long as it achieved the goal of getting into Roberts' inner sanctum, it would be worth the pain.

The morning of the fight, Sarah turned up. She looked pretty in her floral dress, her hair tied back tightly. She breezed in the front door without even knocking. "What the heck, Sarah? I might have had a girl in here. You can't just walk in unannounced."

She sniggered. "I know you well enough, Ross. A girl, really?"

"I might have."

"I came around to tell you not to fight. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Sarah, I'm getting close. Glover always has a party after fights he promotes. Tonight, all going well, I will get an invite and see if I can fond out a little more about their dealings."

She leaned in close for a hug. "Thank you, Ross. I am grateful."

"its not a problem, babe. I want to help."

Her smile flickered, those sexy dimples twitching. "You haven't called me that for a long time. It sounds nice."

We had a light lunch and went for a walk along the waterfront. "Ross, Dad said I had to ask. Who should he bet on, you or Bradley?" She giggled as the words flowed out.

"I guess the smart money will be on Bradley, although I don't think the odds will be in his favour. If he fancies a gamble, put everything on me. If I win, he'll make a killing."

She winced at the word. "I was only joking, Ross. Dad would never bet against you." She patted my arm comfortingly. "Just don't get hurt, take a dive if he gets the better of you."

"Listen to you. Who's been reading to many crime novels? Take a dive, as if."

Back at the house, she wrapped me in her arms and we hugged tightly. "Please be careful, Ross."

In the arena, there were three fights before mine. Tom had me in the dressing room preparing, my fists taped, and working up a sweat. Glover and Roberts walked in. "Looking good, kid." Glover said loudly in that bloody awful fake gangster accent.

Roberts walked over and gave me a pat on the back. "Smash the bastard, don't hang around, Rosco. Smack the shit out of him."

"I'll do my best."

"Good for you, bro. You can take him."

Glover nodded. "Yeah, take him down. I've got a lot riding on this fight kid. Deal with him and I'll throw in an extra grand."

"Yeah, count me in on that, mate," Roberts added. "In fact, if you take him out in the second round, I'll throw in another."

"Second round, huh? Shit, I'll be lucky if I last that long."

"Fuck off. You got this, kid," Glover snarled. "Don't get all nancyfied on us. You give no mercy, you got that?" He added his own pat on my back before the pair of them walked out. It was Tom who got me back into our warm up.

"Rosco, you can do this mate. Forget about the money, go in with a clear mind. Get in close, land those body shots, then work your way out with some head work."

We got the call and headed out to the ring. My heart raced, and there was nothing I could do to slow it down. Adrenalin, I guess. The announcements were made, the referee called us to touch gloves. Bradley was a seasoned fighter, he glared at me, and the arrogant shit sneered, "You're going down, dude."

As I moved around the ring, he moved with me. Unlike in the previous fight, this guy was ready; he looked balanced and agile. He threw a few jabs, tried with a couple of kicks, but I was already in auto pilot. I blocked the jabs easily. He was a kick boxer; his punches weren't fluid, and he was biding his time, waiting for his opportunity to show off his kicks.

He tried a spinning back kick, but telegraphed it. I caught him off balance when he landed and got in close. I landed four really good body shots, which hurt. I felt him wince, saw the pain as he grimaced. I tried to land a couple of crosses to the head, but he blocked them well.

He was more cautious now, and we traded a few jabs. He gave me an opening late in the round; he tried a high snap kick. I saw it coming and deflected his kick, spinning him to the side, I landed two very heavy body shots to his kidneys, and he reeled backwards. That hurt. His face was drawn, his mouth wincing.

I followed him as he staggered and landed a couple of good solid jabs, then finished off with two more body shots, although this time, he turned to protect his kidneys. He dragged me into a clinch, trying to win some points with knee strikes.

He tried to use his experience to take me down on the mat and get me in a wrestler's hold. Tom had explained what to do, and he was hurting, moving slowly. I twisted out of his grasp as he tried to throw me. He was off balance, so I swept his legs and it was he who went down. I jumped on top of him and landed some good shots to the head. I was lost in a red hazy blood lust. The punches rained down on him.

I didn't even hear the buzzer, but the ref dragged me off him and shoved me into the corner, screaming in my face. "When I say break, you break. Got it dickhead?"

Tom was in with water and a towel. "Sorry, Ref, he's new to it."

"No excuses, Tom. You tell him to listen, or his arse is outta here."

Tom handed me the towel. "Shit, you gotta listen to him, bro. He's a fucking hard arse. He will disqualify you."

My mind had finally slowed down, and the roaring rage that burned so hot a few seconds ago was gone. "Yeah, I heard."

"You're doing good, Rosco, just keep doing what you're doing. Work on those fucking kidneys, you hurt him bad, bro. Even if you have to take a couple of shots, work that side of his body."

The buzzer rang, and Tom was gone. Bradley was far more conservative, but urgent. He threw jabs to keep me away, but now we were boxing and it was my game. He threw a wild left hook, which I swatted away over my left shoulder and landed a heavy overhand right that smashed into the side of his temple. That sent him stumbling away, and I followed quickly, balanced on the balls of my feet. I worked inside, and landed a couple of hard combinations to his body. He was so conscious about protecting his kidneys, he left the door open. I snuck in with two heavy punches to the head, and he was out. Just like in the previous fight, his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed. His face planted directly on the canvas. He was out.

I didn't wait for the ref, I walked back to the corner to wait.

The dressing room was jam-packed with people as we walked in: people I didn't know, clearly friends of Glover, or Roberts.

Roberts patted me wildly on the back. "Fuck, what a fight man, oh man. You fucking nailed his arse, bro. Fuck me, you are a mean bastard."

"Yeah, well done, Rosco." Glover added. "Listen, we gotta go, another fight's about to start. There's a party at my place tonight. I got some killer fucking weed. We'll celebrate in style. Man, I got some wicked coke as well, if that's your thing."

After they were gone, Tom kept repeating the compliments. "Fuck, mate, you're killing it."

The party was a wild affair. There were celebrities everywhere. Glover dragged me into a private room with Roberts and a few very attractive women. Girls really, they were young, sexy girls, who already looked stoned or out of it on some shit.

Inside, he handed me a wad of bills. "Here's your money, Rosco, and there's plenty more where that came from."

Roberts handed me some extra cash, as well. Glover pulled out a little silver platter and tipped some white powder onto it. I had already started my phone recording before they got hold of me.

"This is the best shit in the country, Rosco, me old mate. The best coke money can buy."

"You mean cocaine?"

"Don't sound so shocked, bro." Roberts sniggered. "It'll put hairs on your chest. Your fucking cock'll be hard all fucking night." The girls laughed as they all started snorting lines.