Page 83 of Spike

“The pay off partwent fine,” I said, in between punches. “It was the part that came after thatwent all pear-shaped.”

“Why the fuck didyou agree to the fight?”

“I want him out ofTrixie’s life.”

Clutch cocked hishead. “And you think Edison will keep his word?”

I shrugged. “I’dsay it’s fifty-fifty odds.”

“Better than yourchances in this fight,” he retorted.

“Hurtful,” I deadpanned. “Besides, how can you know my odds when we don’t even know anythingabout the guy I’m fighting, other than he’s a middleweight?”

Clutch sighed.“Another dumb move on your part.”

“I figure he’ll bea Russian tough guy with lots of tattoos, and a textbook mean mug.”

My muscles beganto burn and spasm as I neared the end of the drill.

“How’s your chin?”Clutch asked.

“I’ve never beenknocked out, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Twenty-five,”Clutch called out. “That’s it for the day. Sit down and I’ll get your glovesoff.”

I plopped down onthe wooden stool, and placed my gloved hands on my knees, palm up. Taking mygloves off was the best part of every workout. It meant I was done withClutch’s torture session, but it also meant a hot shower with Trixie was in myvery near future.

“You think I’vegot a shot in this fight?” I asked.

“Of surviving?”

“C’mon asshole.Can you at least pretend to be my coach?”

“Alright, nojokes. You’ve got talent. Your height and weight are ideal for this weightclass. Your cardio is strong, and you can swat pretty hard. Do you have knockout power inside those gloves? I dunno. But you’re a hard worker, you’rementally strong, and you’ve got a shit ton of heart.”

“Does that meanyou’re betting on me?”

Clutch laughed.“Fuck no. They’re probably gonna lure their fighter out of his cage with rawmeat seconds before the fight starts. You’re gonna want your old lady to take along look at that symmetrical face of yours before this guy turns it into aPicasso.”

My coach was onlyhalf joking, and I knew it. Normally, I wouldn’t be the least bit nervous tofight. I never went looking for trouble, but also never backed down from iteither. The main differences between this fight and every other fight I’d beenin were massive.

First, I didn’tknow my opponent. Every street or jailhouse fight I’d been in, I knew the guy Iwas fighting on some sort of personal level.

Next was the factI’d be fighting in front of a betting audience.

And last was thebiggest difference. Time. Hours and hours of time to think about the fight. Itwas almost enough to drive me crazy, but I stayed focused, and determined tonot only survive this fight. I was going to fucking win it.

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

Spike

We arrived atthe address Edison gave me just beforeten o’clock. His thriving fight venue was, in truth, an abandoned Crisp-O’spotato chip factory near The Grotto that hadn’t been in operation since twothousand four. Cars were stacked in the venue’s makeshift parking lot, whichwas the only remaining paved section of land on the overgrown property. Loud,thumping music emanated from the place, which was lit up like the fourth offucking July. The place was in a remote location, but not so remote that youwouldn’t want to be careful not to draw too much attention to the operation. Ifigured, if Edison was being this brazen with his fight club, someone withinthe Portland PD was getting paid.

We made our wayinside and were shocked to see a venue that was sold-out, and then some.

“Every car outthere must’ve been packed with ten fuckin’ people,” Minus shouted over themusic.

The boxing ringwas located in the center of what I assumed was previously the main factoryfloor. There were a few chairs circling the ring, but other than that, it wasbare. Only a DJ booth, and two bars, which were serving beer and vodka only.The DJ was pumping Eastern European techno music at levels so loud, I thought Imight get a concussion before I even stepped into the ring.

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