Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) (5 page)

   Tim then came over. “Mike wants you in for a couple rounds.”

Chapter 8

The Spar:
 
“Really? On ma first night back?”
  “Aye, you’ll be fine. You’re made o’ that Tilly grit. Come on lad, just a couple rounds.
”

  What the fuck, let’s give it a shot. What was the worst that could happen?  Not as if a punch would kill me, although I was extremely skeptical about my ability between the ropes after so many years.

  Tim gave me a couple minutes to get kitted up with my gum-shield and headgear from the changing-room. Slotting the gum shield in after festering in my bag for so many years, it was fucking minging. Tasted like chewing a bit of grotty car tyre.

  Strolling back through to the ring, the nerves were churning around in my guts at the thought of getting hurt again. As I say, ‘It’s like going swimming, can’t go in the water without getting wet.’

  I feared I was about to get drenched.
  “No need for that thing in here.” Tim nodded at my old head-guard. Having witnessed that two men go at it like a pair of bears scrapping over a river salmon, no way was I going in there without it.
  “Think I’ll keep it on, if it’s all the same wi’ you, mate.”
  “Aye, nae bother. Here, slide your paws inside these.” My hands forced themselves into a pair of worn out 14oz gloves. The inside padding round the curve mostly disappeared with Velcro hanging off the wrist and not offering to stick.
  “These are a bit past their sell-by date, are they no’?”
  “Yeah, yeah, we’re in need of some new ones, but you’ll have to make do. Listen, I know you’re knackered, but keep your chin down and your hands up. He’s a bully, and likes to dish it out.”
  I took his words on board, but really it wouldn’t help, I wasn't in any shape to stop him, being a good bit heftier than me and undoubtedly much fitter. I would just have to suck it up and get on with it.

  As my first foot touched down on the inside of the ropes, that nervous churn in my gut came, which I hadn’t experienced in years.  “OK lads, you two ready, on you go.” Tim instructed.

  Fuck sake, what am I doing here? Time to roll back the years and get rid of the cobwebs.

  Roy and I veered forward to have customary touch of gloves and a glance in each other’s eyes before we started.

  His look, confident and assured. A stark contrast to the look of anxiety in mine. Everyone in the gym stared in our direction. Waiting to see what this piece of fresh meat was capable of.

  I stuck my head into my chest, hands up, hopping back and forth on my toes, left leg in front of the right, attempting to refresh my memory.

  Roy shadowed me, impatient with my movement around him. With every little step he edged his 110kg towards me and there it was, the pain. Hitting me with the standard jab, usually the first punch you would throw. It landed bang on my kisser, coiling my head back like a rag-doll, sending a shock-wave all the way from my head to my toe. Falling onto his hairy chest, I tucked my chin in. He didn’t like that, shoving me back with both gloves.

  A straight right bounced off my chin, as he followed down to my body, clattering my kidneys with a wide swinging right, making me wince. I hung on the ropes looking for that moment to gather my breath and register the pain.

  I tried to keep loose on my feet, snapping out a few jabs, but they were hopeless. Roy repeatedly backed me up onto the ropes and into the corners, draining my energy.

  There was one thing helping me, the old boxing brain, helping me duck and dive my way off the ropes and into a bit of space, where I could get some air to breathe and a couple seconds of brief relief.

  Roy didn’t have much of a brain, just stalked me like a heavy-handed dumb dog. The creaky stiff wooden floor made his movements awkward and loud as he thumped his way round the makeshift ring.

  What he did have was a stubborn streak and a lot of power. The pressure from his massive weight following me around the ring was sapping my supply tank. The longer the round went, the more success I was achieving but at the same time, my energy levels depleting with my legs becoming sluggish and my brain slowing down.

  After throwing a punch, my hands would drop to my waist instead of protecting my head like they should, standard boxing dictionary stuff.

  Two minutes down, Roy really let the onslaught begin. He had me sunk onto the ropes for the last minute, while he rained down blows. Head-hooks, body-hooks, and every other punch in the book connected. Thrown with ferocious power, a grunt, solid impact and the intent on seeing me lying flat out on the creaky floor. The pain was shocking, and I couldn't help but pray for this fucking round to end.

  Finally, Tim announced the round was over. Roy looked at me from the corner of his eye, a cocky glint as the bully inside had loved every second of this. I got back to my corner, where Tim waited for me with a much needed drink of water.
  “Shit, am fucked, give me a drink.” I huffed and spat out the words as quick as possible. I was weak-legged from the heat trapped inside my head because of the headgear. Tim lifted the bottle of water to my mouth, and I gulped down as much as possible before taking a fresh breath.
  “Right, you’ve a minute to sort out that breathing.”
  “Fuck that. I’m no’ doing another round, am done.”
  “Don’t be a fanny. Don’t you want to get your own back after that?”
  “Course I do, just no’ the day.” My head hung below my neck looking at the floor. The night’s sweat had soaked through my t-shirt, sticking it to my skin. I’m in a state of shock, looking for pity an
d
a way out.
  “Stop being a coward, that’s not the man I remember. One more and that’s you for the night.
”
 

  I lifted my head up with a blank stare, accepting I’d do another round.

  “When he traps you on the ropes, open up on him with a couple of counters on the inside, a left-hook or a right uppercut should do the business. His hands hang low between punches, so use your counters. Let him know you can hit. He’s stupid, he won’t figure you out. Right come on, that’s time.”

  He gave me a couple more sips of water before I returned to face the dumb dog again. The big geezer giving Roy a pep talk, slapped him on the back of his shoulder as he turned to face me, as if he was instructing him to finish me off.

  I marched forward, determined not to let the bully intimidate me.

  Rapidly hitting him with a one-two left-hook combo, connecting well with the sweat jumping off his face, his neck juddered as the left-hook landed. It had effect, surely it hurt. Shaking it off, he continued to pressure me again.

  Getting more success this round, but unfortunately he was still wearing me out. Pretty much done, half way through the round finding a temporary home leaning on the ropes, I absorbed the assault. It had turned to a fight in my mind at that point, he wasn't holding back.

  This was now a test of character. Pissing me off, all I cared for was to stand on the cunt’s head once I’d knocked him out. Hearing him grunt with every punch he threw, pushing me to take a knee as he did with Chris. He wasn’t far from succeeding, I’ll give him that. As I felt my legs getting hollow, an added problem was the body punches sucking the air out of my lungs.
  “Joe, remember what I said. Come on, get on wi’ it.” I tried to let my guard down to sneak in a couple punches through the rain of fire.

  The first couple of times I missed, the third time, connecting, again with a heavy left-hook, following with a right uppercut, stopping him on the spot as his brain took notice. Allowing me a ten second, well needed touch of confidence.

  For the first time, Roy had a look of respect, but catching me unaware as I gloated to myself, he began his assault again. I couldn’t take much more of this punishment. Thinking - taking a knee would be easier to let this end - but the stubborn part of my brain said different. Fuck this cunt, stay on your feet, one more chance to fight back before the round, or I, was over.

  Studying his upper body movement for that gap I needed. I dropped my hand.

  Suddenly, silence, the sound died, like amps on a speaker being switched off. I lost my vision, seeing only dots of colours flickering in my eye-line. Losing the power to hold my body-weight, my legs began to buckle to the ground, left knee brushing the wooden surface, leaving little coordination in my brain and body.

  Springing back up, I threw a right hand, feeling it clatter across his left cheek. Regaining part of my sight I saw his head ping across his neck and his bulky body coil to the ground with a big thud. Out cold, no movement whatsoever from the dead weight. I looked down on him, repaying his arrogance.

  “Fuckin’ hell, Joe! Where the fuck did that come from!” Tim gasped. He jumped into the ring, placing Roy in the recovery position, resuscitating him back to consciousness. The big guy in the corner glanced over to his smaller mate with a questioning look that said ‘Who the fuck is this guy?’

 
I never held any remorse for Roy. A new feeling that was to become ever more common. I didn’t care about his health, after all, he tried to bully, take advantage.

  Analysing what had just happened, I reckon the big man who’d been giving him the pep talks, issued him with a free pass to inflict as much pain as he desired. Well it didn’t work out quite as well as he thought.

  Fuck them. I climbed out of the ring refusing to look back on the collapsed body on the ground, made my way over to the water fountain to regain my breath. Exhausted and weak, almost as if I wasn't all there.

I never figured out where that punch came from. I must have been storing it up for a while. Acting on pure instinct without thinking.
 

Chapter 9

The Aftermath:

I wandered back around the ring to see Tim helping Roy to his feet and over to a stool in the corner. Tim had the usual supply of smelling-salts to revive the weary, and Roy was definitely weary, confused and embarrassed from getting knocked flat by the fresh blood just in the door. Tim massaged the back of his neck and give him regular sips of water.

  The bigger of the two guys Tim had been talking to slid out between the ropes, walked over to me and held out his hand for me to shake.

  “Alright, Joe? The name’s Mike and that’s my partner Bull over there.” He pointed to the back of the ring where Bull stood. “That was some punch you came out with there”. His eyes weighed heavy, looking like a half-filled tea bag.

  “Cheers, just instinct.” I could see Roy limping up to his feet out the corner of my eye.

  “Aye, he’s a tough lad, he’ll be alright in a few minutes.” By the tone of his voice he didn't care much for Roy either. “Tim tells me you used to be quite the boxer, back in the day?”

  “Aye, I stopped about eight years ago.”

  “I could tell by the way you moved around in there. You looking to fight again?” I suspected by the inviting way he talked, keen to compliment me, he was obviously fishing for something.

  “Na, not really, just wanted to do a bit of training.”

  “Because you’re a mate of Tim’s, your welcome any time to come train.”

  The mood in the gym changed, everyone making their way out. Roy now on his feet and getting his bearings. Once out of the ring, he idled over and shook my hand.

  “That was some blow, never saw it coming.” His voice had a deep crackle and his mood was OK, given what had just happened, he didn’t seem pissed off at all, just embarrassed. If anything, he was showing respect.

  “Nor me Roy. You alright?” I asked, trying to be polite, but I couldn’t give a fuck.

  “Aye, am grand. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” He came across as a heavy-hitting stubborn tough-guy in the ring but now, he knew his place. I watched him coast his way toward the changing-room.

  Tim was having a bit of a tidy up around the ring, trying to pair the gloves that sat loose on the sweat layered floor.

  “Hey Tim, how am I getting home?”

  “Well, it’s not going to be Roy, as planned. I’ll give you both a lift.”

  This was going to be a little awkward, sharing a lift with the guy who had just seriously collided with my fist.

  Keen to get going, I waited in the car for them and reflected on the nights’ events. As we left, I felt completely exhausted and didn’t have the energy to speak. I slumped back in the passenger’s seat and wondered if Roy should be taken to A&E, although I suspected hospital wasn’t a top priority for boxers around this gym.

  Knocking that bully out was something I was proud of and would repeat in an instant, given the chance. It felt as if I had just achieved something for the first time in years. It was safe to say I’d definitely be returning to Kilgours, super-keen on getting fit and losing some unwanted pounds from being a couch potato. That was the goal I set myself at the time, but there was a bigger goal on the horizon, one I couldn’t predict.

  Mike and Bull were last to leave, locking the shutters and the doors. Heavily paranoid at the thought of young rogues panning the windows and door in. Who wouldn't? Being situated in Tilly.

  Before I knew it, Tim was nudging me awake. I was woozy and a tad confused. Roy had already gone.

  “Cheers for the lift, mate. You fancy picking me up on Thursday?”

  “Aye sure, lad. I’ll pick you up, same time. You take care now.”

  “Sound. See you then.” Tim gave the thumbs-up.

  Getting in the door, I headed straight to the kitchen, needing some sustenance. Finding May sitting at the kitchen table, hand on her forehead with her hair ruffled up, trying to balance the books, figuring out which bill needed paid first.

 
She immediately noticed the small black-eye Roy left me with, hardly noticeable to me. Looking me straight in the eye, eyebrows raised with disappointment.

  “Well, well, it’s just like the old days, eh? Joe Rhodes. Walking about with black eyes?” Referring to my previous name, when I did stroll around with coloured eyes

  “Ach, I would hardly call it a black-eye, May. Anyway, you should be glad it’s not my nose that’s broken.” I tried to make light of the conversation.

  “Don’t be coming home with them all the time. The kids don’t need to see that on a regular basis. Joseph.” Her voice firm.

  “I know what you’re saying. Not the kind of thing I want ‘em to see, either.”

A big sigh “I’m off upstairs for an early night. My head’s mince, looking at all these bills.”

  “OK babe. Night.”

  She slipped out the door, not willing to take me on. I didn’t know if it was the bills lying on the table, or my black-eye that pissed her off. Sinking into the sofa, eating some leftover dinner, I felt content that I’d achieved something with my fists tonight. I was back!