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Authors: Carl Merritt

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BOOK: Fighting to the Death
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‘Keep your nose clean, Son,’ said Bill.

I couldn’t get that oncoming fight out of my head. Soon I was living, eating, shitting and sleeping it. And there were so many questions I hadn’t got around to asking Bill … Had any fighters died? What happened if I was badly injured? Who’d get me to a hospital? But I bottled it all up and didn’t tell a living soul.

I kept my head down and got on with my training. At one stage, I thought about calling Uncle Pete but I knew he’d have a right go at me. After all, I think he’d wanted me to steer clear of Bill. But all this secrecy was making me feel incredibly lonely and a bit desperate. My stomach was twisted up in knots.

And Dad had long since disappeared off the scene. I hadn’t seen him since I’d been in South London. I heard from Uncle Pete that he’d moved in with yet another bird. Typical, he was never there when it really mattered. I so needed to talk to
someone about the biggest dilemma I’d ever faced in my life. Then I thought about the money and the excitement of winning. And I convinced myself it would all be worthwhile in the end.

 

The day I had to call Bill about the date of my first fight finally arrived, and I was so nervous I couldn’t eat anything or even think straight. I kept playing the words I would say over and over in my mind. Of course, when it came to the actual call it was easy as one, two, three. And Bill made it all sound so normal.

‘It’s on for tomorrow. Make sure you wear jeans and get yourself a pair of boots but no steel toecaps. Alright?’

‘What sort of shirt do I wear?’

‘A tight-fitting T-shirt or nothin’ on top if you want to show off yer tan.’

No way, I thought to myself, I’ll get a T-shirt. I’m not one for showing off my physique. I’m not just a piece of meat on display. I’m a proper fighter, aren’t I?

Bill told me to be outside Strafford bus station. ‘A car’ll meet you. It’ll be Jimmy, the geezer you met in the gym the other day.’

‘I’ll be there.’

 

Jimmy and a mate of his were waiting in a dark blue Volvo when I got off the bus. He waved me into the back of the car and off we went. The driver never even turned his head towards me.

‘We’re meetin’ Bill in an hour near the location,’ said jimmy.

That was it. He didn’t say another word, and although I was desperate to fire a few questions at him I knew that wasn’t the done thing. As we headed west along the Embankment I sat back and listened to Barry White playing on the stereo cassette and glanced over at the sparkling lights of Tower Bridge. Here I
was with a couple of East End hardmen on my way to a prize fight that might end in my death and I didn’t even have a fucking clue where we were heading.

Eventually we got through West London and stopped at the first service station on the M4 just before Heathrow Airport. ‘You want anything, Son?’ asked Jimmy. The driver remained up front without moving a muscle. All I could see were the pockmarks on the back of his ugly bulldog neck.

‘Nah,’ I responded.

A few minutes later we were back on the M4 and Barry White was moaning and groaning away again, ‘You’re The First, The Last, My Everything’. We took a turn-off for Reading about thirty minutes later. A couple of miles down the road I spotted Bill’s Jag slung up in a lay-by. He was in the driver’s seat and there were a couple of minder types keeping him company.

As we pulled up in the lay-by, Bill got out of his Jag at the same time as his minders. They left all their doors open as if they were planning a quick escape.

I stepped out of the Volvo.

‘Allright, Son? You ready for action?’

I nodded and muttered, ‘Right as rain.’

Bill pointed towards the back of the jag so I got in with one of the minders. Bill and the other fella sat up front.

‘It’s about ten minutes away. You eaten?’

“Bout four hours back.’

‘Good.’

The minders didn’t utter a word. They were wearing black suits with white shirts and black ties.

‘The opposition’s not up to much. Bit of a fat bastard,’ said Bill, as if he was talking about the weather.

‘Where we fightin’?’ I asked nervously, more to make conversation than because I cared. It was already too late to back out.

‘Don’t worry, Son. You’ll be well impressed.’

I presumed by that he meant a few cars parked round in a circle like that bout he’d taken me to see in Lewisham.

A few minutes later we got to a big industrial park. It was pitch dark and most of the warehouses seemed to have closed down for the day.

The Jag then turned sharply onto a ramp up towards the front of one warehouse and in through an open double doorway. Wooden pallets lined the walls inside the building, but there was no sign of any ring or cars.

Then the car did a sharp turn to the left where a bloke was standing by a shutter doorway that was automatically opening up. Bill nodded at the fella and the Jag headed through the entrance into an alleyway between two warehouses.

‘What’s happenin’?’ I asked Bill.

‘You’ ll see.’

At that moment the jag made another sharp turn off the alleyway and into the opening of the next building where another fella stood sentry at the door. This time there were lots of people and cars. Top-quality motors that were even flashier than the ones I’d seen at that fight over in Lewisham. This was it. My stomach was turning wheelies.

Then I saw something in the distance. I squinted for a moment because I couldn’t quite believe it. It seemed to be built out of tubular steel and closely knitted wire mesh.

I was about to enter the cage.


W
elcome to the cage,’ said Bill with a slight touch of drama to his voice.

‘I’m not fightin’ in that.’

I felt like I’d been set up. No-one had even suggested I’d be performing in a cage. This was fucking barbaric.

‘I’m not some fuckin’ animal.’

‘It’s nothin’ to worry about,’ interrupted Bill calmly and without a hint of surprise in his voice. ‘You stick your head through the door at the side and off you go.’ But this was like something out of Roman times. Perhaps they’d chuck a couple of tigers in with us just for good measure?

But what could I do? These weren’t the sort of people I’d tell to fuck off and then stroll out of that warehouse a free man. They’d tear me apart limb by limb and then feed me to the pigs. I was locked in. There was no escape. I’d have to go through with it.

As I got out of the jag, the two minders surrounded me like a protective shield. Bill walked just behind us. Just then I noticed a dark blue transit van pulling up on the opposite side of the cage. It parked up sideways on, the side door opened up and four men got out. Three of them were identically dressed in black bomber jackets. The fourth fella was my opponent. He was bare-chested, in his forties and strutting around like a bulked-up peacock. He was stocky, but had a reassuringly big belly. I smiled carefully to myself. I had the scent of a victory in my nostrils. Now I just wanted to get on with the show.

The cage itself was surrounded by a lot of men and a sprinkling of well-dressed women with coiffured hair and fur coats. Some of them looked like the faces I’d seen at that last fight in Lewisham.

The atmosphere inside the warehouse was smoky and the strong, overhead lights were shooting white beams down from the ceiling. The lamplight bounced off the metallic cage giving it a bizarre, sparkling glint. There were so many people around the cage I couldn’t examine my opponent in any detail. And the noise was building.

I was so hyped up I couldn’t focus on anything other than the cage itself. The crowd separated as me and my burly minders began making our way towards the cage, with Bill still just behind. The sheets of mesh metal that surrounded the cage provided me with a distorted image of the other fighter as he made a similar walk towards the cage from the opposite direction. The cage seemed to be about the same size as a normal boxing ring, only totally enclosed. The mesh roof was about nine feet high. Bill later told me that they’d invented the cage in America in the mid-’70s after crowds kept invading the
ring during illegal fights. It was there to keep them out as well as trap us in it until one of us was out cold on the floor.

A voice snapped me back to reality. ‘He’s nothin’ but a kid,’ I heard one punter shout at me.

I’ll show them who’s the kid, I thought to myself.

Truth is, I was so nervous my gut felt like it was about to explode. My head was throbbing and my eyes were snapping around in all directions. I dipped my head down so I didn’t look at everyone but then I held my head up high again as I got close to the cage. I wanted them to see there was not an ounce of fear in my eyes.

Then my minders nodded across at their opposite numbers. It was time to open the doors to the cage and I immediately noticed how small the entrance was. It couldn’t have been more than three feet by three feet. One minder leaned down and snapped open the bolt. The other minder behind me then put his hand on my head and pushed me down and in through the door.

‘Get in there and do him, my son,’ one of them muttered at me as I hesitated for a split second. Opposite me they were going through the same routine. I crouched low in order to get through the doorway into the cage. This was it. No turning back now.

At that moment our eyes met for the first time. I’ve gotta have him or I’m dead, I thought to myself. No doubt he was thinking the same: As he got up inside the cage it seemed, for a moment, as if he was massive, his dark bulk silhouetted by the bright lights.

I stood up straight and turned just as he began coming straight at me like a bear on heat. He was growling. I could see
the yellowing whites of his glassy eyes. His growl was getting louder. As he got closer, I stepped to my left with a nifty Ali-shuffle movement. He went straight past my right shoulder through the air. I aimed a punch at an angle right behind his ear. As I connected, he went flying into the wall of the cage, which rattled like a thousand tins of sardines.

I bounced away from him and took up a boxing stance, both feet wide apart, steady as a rock, waiting for him to come back at me again. I felt I was already in control. He tried to beckon me over. I stood my ground and ignored his battle cry so he began pacing up and down. Up and down. Up and down. It was a bit of a show for the audience. He actually thought my reluctance came from fear. He wanted me to make the same mistake he had and go after him, but I knew if I stood my ground he’d be the one in trouble.

Then it went deathly quiet around the cage. The crowd wanted action and they’d gone numb.

‘Fuckin’ kill him,’ said one charmer, breaking the wall of silence.

‘Go on, Son. Have him!’ said another smooth talker.

With that last shout, my opponent snapped into action and started bounding towards me growling like a grizzly on heat again. This time he got near enough to land a flurry of punches but he only hit my upper torso, the strongest body area of all. Then he tried to pull my head down on his knee but I managed to slip out of his grasp. I punched out at him with a high-speed flurry. Right, left, right, left.

Then I put my hands on his shoulders and pulled him towards me for the perfect putting position. I aimed for the bridge of his nose and heard it crack as I connected with all the
force I could muster. He stumbled backwards against the rattling cage walls once again.

Then I moved in low, stabbing uppercuts to his face and throat. He grimaced each time I connected. Soon he was blowing hard, Obviously losing his breath. A couple more uppercuts and his legs began buckling. I saw his eyes roll as he toppled backwards and slumped against the cage yet again. Then I kicked out at his lower stomach over and over again with my left foot, into his fat, blubbery gut. It was me or him out there and I couldn’t afford to let him recover or else I’d end up on a slab. All or nothing.

By this time my frenzied state had completely taken over my fighting skills. I was like a madman. In some ways, I’d lost the plot. I’d never felt like this before in my entire life. I started pummelling his face as he leaned, slumped against the metal walls of the cage. Seconds later he went out like a baby on breast milk.

A white towel was thrown into the cage and the contest was over. I looked down at him on the floor for a moment and thought I saw him move so I started pummelling him just in case it was all a trick. When he didn’t respond, I stopped as suddenly as I’d begun and stepped back from my victim.

Bottles were raining against the mesh wall of the cage. Little splinters of glass were crunching under my boots. I looked round and spotted Bill standing by the doorway to the cage with the two minders.

‘Come on. Let’s get goin’!’ he yelled.

There was screaming and yelling going on all around me. I moved towards the cage door when a punter appeared alongside my minder. He’d got into the cage and was heading
right for me, all fists flying. The minder took him out with one sturdy right hook. Looking back on it I reckon many of the punters were on coke or something because they were so fucking hyped up it was ridiculous. Of course, some of them were angry because they’d lost a bucketload of cash by betting on the other fighter but that didn’t give them the right to have a pop at me.

I stooped down and stepped out of the cage. Then one of the minders covered me with a blanket as if I was some serial killer up at the Old Bailey. Bottles and stuff were being lobbed right at us. A few seconds later we got to the car where Bill was already revving up.

We screeched off and headed out through the two warehouses.

‘Good work, Son. You’ve earned yourself a few bob.’

I didn’t reply.

‘You alright?’ asked Bill, although I didn’t think he really gave a fuck.

‘Yeah. But me mouth is fuckin’ sore.’

I dropped my gumshield out of my mouth and pulled out my cricket box. I had a split lip and two big black eyes and a handful of cuts and bruises. But it was nothing serious. As I turned to look behind us, dozens of cars were flying out of the warehouse at top speed as well.

The minders talked amongst themselves but they never said a word to me during the entire drive back to East London. It made sense since they weren’t supposed to know who I was.

I allowed Bill to drive me all the way home to Forest Gate that night. I was too knackered to care if he knew where I lived. I was completely entangled.

‘Call me in two days and I’ll have your dough,’ said Bill as we pulled up at the end of my street.

Then I turned and asked him: ‘D’you think that other fella’s alright?’

‘Don’t worry about him,’ Bill snapped back.

It wasn’t until a long time later that I discovered he’d died before they’d even got him to hospital.

 

It was almost eleven when I crept into my mum’s house as quietly as possible, in the hope I could get to my bedroom without bumping into anyone. I’d made it to the bottom of the stairs when a voice called from the kitchen.

‘Where you been?’ yelled Mum. I stood frozen to the floor in the hallway.

‘Been out for a while.’

‘Come in here, darlin’ and kiss your mum goodnight.’

I pulled my collar up around my face and headed sheepishly into the kitchen. But you can’t fool mums that easy, can you?

‘What the hell have you been up to?’ she asked the moment I walked in.

‘Got in a pub fight.’

‘Who with?’

‘Dunno.’

‘What was it all about?’

I hesitated while my brain slowly clicked over as I came up with an excuse.

‘Spilt my drink on some fella.’

‘What? And he did that to you?’

‘Bit of a hard bastard,’ I mumbled.

‘Come ‘ere, you,’ she said, putting her hand to my face to get a closer look at the wounds.

That night I let mum dab my wounds with iodine. She had a couple of girlfriends round to watch the telly and they all made a right fuss of me. She even filled a tea towel with ice and made me press it up against my face to bring out the bruising. Then she did what all good, caring mums do best and made me a cuppa. Eventually I sloped off upstairs and soaked it all off in a piping-hot bath. I was surprised at how many knocks I had, considering the short duration of the fight.

After the bath I started shaking as the realisation of what I’d just done began to sink in. I’d gone and got myself caught up in something I had little or no control over. I’d just become part of an evil world filled with dodgy fellas who considered me nothing more than a piece of meat. Then I thought about the money I stood to make. I lay on my bed looking at Bill’s card once again and knew there was no turning back. This was a chance to make some big bucks that would help me settle my life once and for ever. Trouble was, I was shaking like a leaf thinking about what the future held.

So I phoned my beloved Carole to see how she was. I felt a real need to talk to her. She was asleep so I didn’t manage anything more than a few mumbled words. If we’d had more of a chat maybe I would have told her and that might have been the end of it all. But I didn’t and I decided to use the illegal fight game to fund both our futures.

That night I found it near impossible to sleep. I started flashing back to the fight and the dreadful state of that other fella when I left the cage. I kept seeing his bloodied, crooked face over and over again. I was obviously riddled with guilt
about the state I’d left him in. I also felt bad about lying to Mum and Carole, who were two of the only people in the world I trusted. Then I thought about the sweetness of victory and how it made me feel important – as if I was somebody for the first time in my life.

The next day I ate a mountain of food and chilled out around the house. My hands and knuckles were red raw from where I’d hit the cage instead of my opponent and I didn’t want to go near Carole until all the swelling had died down.

That evening I called Bill about the money. We met at midday the following day outside Stratford station. I couldn’t face a drink with him so I just leant into his Jag and said I had to see someone and couldn’t hang about.

‘You alright?’

‘Right as rain, Bill,’ I replied.

He handed me the envelope. ‘Here you go, Son. Don’t spend it all at once.’ Then he added, ‘It’s all there plus a bonus.’ He’d whacked another £200 on top of the four grand. ‘Gimme a bell in three or four weeks.’

I was still nodding unenthusiastically as his motor slipped off into the lunchtime traffic.

That first fight was still weighing heavily on my mind.

BOOK: Fighting to the Death
7.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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