Fighting to the Death (21 page)

The day before the fight I plucked up the courage to tell Carole about the details of the fight and that it was scheduled to happen at eight the following evening.

‘It’s tomorrow, babes.’

‘I don’t care,’ was her only response. But I felt that by telling her at least I’d been honest about it all.

That day of the fight I trained hard. I started with a run for half a mile, then a bit of bag work down the gym. Back home I ate well and gulped down a lot of water.

I knew the key to my success was in my head not body. I needed to take myself down a tunnel of concentration so that by the time I took a crack at that Spaniard I’d be virtually invincible.

But Carole was still not talking to me.

So I got up, walked towards the hall of the house and said I’d be back in two hours. That was a pretty stupid thing to say since I might not get back at all if that Spaniard proved a genuine killer.

All she muttered was, ‘I’m not happy, Carl.’

With the actual fight now just hours away it started dawning on me what I’d committed to and I began to feel a bit nervous for the first time. I’d done some hard training but three weeks isn’t long to prepare for a no-rules fight that might be to the death.

Dan picked me up in his Transit van. It was a Friday night. No fancy Jags and promoters in sheepskin coats this time. The two minders – both armed in case of emergencies – followed behind in a car.

Less than half an hour later, we pulled into an industrial park near Dagenham Old Docks, next to a KFC, and Dan simply said, ‘We’re here’. I noticed dim lights through a big open door into a warehouse and then saw the headlight beams of loads of cars gathered around inside.

As we drove in, I also saw there wasn’t a cage in sight. It was an open arena. I’d thought it was going to be a closed arena, at least a cattle shed to keep the fighters hemmed in. Dan didn’t say a word but I could tell he was as surprised as me. But it was too late to turn round and leave.

Lots of heavy looking characters were standing around by their cars which all had their headlights on full beam. It looked just like the opening to that Michael Caine film
Shiner
, which I’d worked on as a consultant.

I was already well hyped up and couldn’t wait to get started so I got straight out of the van just as a big black Merc with smoked-out windows glided into the warehouse. The fat Spaniard got out of it. Flash bastard was behaving as if he’d already won. I ignored him and got into the arena and began warming up. I was wearing thin layer bag gloves with cut away fingers so I could still grab him when I wanted. There were no rules about gloves although obviously I couldn’t have got away with wearing knuckle dusters!

Meanwhile the fat Spaniard was lumbering around as if he owned the place, with three or four blokes around him for protection. As I looked across at him, I’ll swear he had a bit of
onion ring hanging out of the corner of his mouth so I shouted at him, ‘You still eatin’?’

It was just a bit of harmless theatre although from the look on his face he didn’t get the joke at all – but I’ll swear he checked just to see if there was any food on his face.

Then the Spaniard moved towards me, frowning to try and look like a tough nut. It was pathetic. He was in jeans, boots and badly fitted t-shirt and his belly was bursting out all over the place. I had this tight khaki t-shirt with full army trousers from a surplus store and it made me look like a squaddie. I even had on black army boots.

So he walked across from one corner of the arena to the other and then suddenly starts charging towards me like a flabby rhino. I side-stepped him and banged him straight in the ear as he passed and he went sideways onto the floor. Then he got up and charged again. This time I moved the other way and banged him on the other ear. It was all so bloody easy.

The fat bastard was stumbling all over the floor after that second hit. He couldn’t cope with it. Then I got him square on the nose, which then burst like a balloon. Bits of gristle flying in all directions. Blood streaming down his face. I even stepped back for a moment to let him compose himself. I must have been going soft with old age.

Then he charged right at me but I side-stepped him and as he passed each time I kneed him straight in the ribs. The third time he went crashing to the floor and I steamed in and crunched on his neck. Then I smacked him a couple of times and he went out like a light. No one stopped the fight. I just stopped myself. I could have carried on mashing his head but that’s not my scene. I’d finished the job already
so there was no need to kill the geezer. He was out cold. End of story.

Now we had to get out of that arena in double quick time. I couldn’t believe how easy it had been. In less than three and a half minutes I’d copped ten grand. Trouble was that once the fat Spaniard had hit the floor bottles started flying in because these punters were angry at having lost a few bob. If I’d been in a cage like normal I’d have been perfectly safe because whatever they threw at you, it wouldn’t actually hit you. But this was seriously hazardous. I was also so hyped up I’d started taunting the customers which didn’t help. The crowd were going berserk because they’d put all their money on the fat Spaniard. They’d never even heard of me. There were screams of ‘fix’ because these sorts of characters don’t like losing their hard earned cash. In some ways it was a rougher, younger crowd than usual.

In the middle of all this bedlam, I was relieved to notice Dan walking straight over to the promoter and getting my money on the spot. He then beckoned me over and I wiped my sweat-drenched nose and we marched off towards the van. Trouble was that the crowd was now going completely AWOL.

As a mob of blokes encircled us I just managed to pile into the Transit front seat. Our two minders scrambled into the car behind us and we drove out of that warehouse at high speed.

Dan was as calm as ever and all he said to me was, ‘Where d’you want to go, son?’

‘Home,’ I said.

And that was it. Easiest £10,000 I ever earned in me life.

Less than an hour later I was walking up the garden path to my house with hardly a scratch on me. Carole ripped open the door before my boot touched the doorstep.

I walked calmly past her and slapped all the cash down on the kitchen table and said, ‘There’s yer money.’

‘It couldn’t have been that easy?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Easy as pie.’

Carole didn’t exactly give me a hug and a kiss on the spot, but seeing I was in one piece made it easier for her to forget how I’d defied her and gone back into the fight game. I was feeling on top of the moon. I’d just earned more in less than three minutes than I could earn in three months in the building trade. The old fight bug had bitten and now my biggest problem was resisting the temptation to have another lucrative scrap.

E
verything back at home seemed to return to normal really quickly. I guess Carole was relieved to see I hadn’t been hurt and she’d forgiven me although I stayed in training. When she had a dig at me about it I just said, ‘I dunno why I’m still training. I just want to stay fit, babes.’ But in the back of my mind I was still thinking about the fight game. Maybe she knew that all along?

Surprise, surprise. Just two weeks after mashing that fat Spaniard to pieces I got offered more work. It just ain’t that easy to turn your back on it.

Truth is I really fancied my chances and my promoter mate Dan had already made it clear there might be more work on the way home after I’d beaten that fat Spaniard.

Then two weeks later I got a call from Dan.

‘I got one lined up, son,’ he said. ‘Younger fella and it’s gonna be in Southend.’

I didn’t ask much else except, ‘Do we have to have a meet with him?’

‘No. I ain’t seen him but I heard he’s quite a fit geezer. A kick boxer about 28 or 30, something like that.’

I didn’t really take on board what he was saying there and then because I was still on a high at the time. I wasn’t worried. I reckoned I could take anyone on without a problem.

But I didn’t dare tell Carole because I knew this time she’d really kill me if she found out.

The fight was scheduled for two weeks later. I was already fit from training for the last dust-up so I didn’t really care when it was going to be. Dan said the money was the same and so were the promoters. But none of that interested me. I should have known better.

Back at home Carole had put the money from the last fight in the bank. Meanwhile I was still eating special food and I’d completely knocked the beer on the head, which was what really bothered her. She sensed something was happening but she couldn’t be sure what it was. But I chose to stay quiet again.

The fight was on a Saturday night and that morning I had a run and went down the gym before eating a massive pasta lunch. Then at about six o’clock I just blurted it out to Carole. ‘I’m just poppin’ out for a while.’

And she went, ‘What, on a Saturday?’

I took a big gulp and thought, ‘Oh well, in for a penny…’

‘To tell you the truth I got another fight on tonight.’

I could see the steam building up inside her head as my words sunk in.

And it didn’t help much when I added, ‘Don’t worry, babes, I’ll be back in two hours.’

That’s when she screamed and gave me a slap. Thank God the kids were upstairs in their bedroom at the time so they didn’t hear a thing.

Carole said she’d had enough and called me a lying bastard and everything else under the sun, which I thoroughly deserved. She was angrier than I had ever seen her but she didn’t try and stop me. She just said, ‘Get out! Get out and don’t ever come back.’

I was being such a selfish bastard I deserved to be divorced there and then. All I could think about was myself, not Carole and the kids. But that’s what being hyped up for a fight does to you. I kept telling myself I was doing it for the money, which would go towards the future of my kids. I wanted the money for them. I honestly did.

So I walked out of the house with Carole still screaming and blocked it all out of my mind. I was focused on only one thing – that fight. I got in my Volvo shaking with rage and drove off not knowing if I’d have a family to come back to later that evening.

It took me under forty minutes to get to Southend, where I was due to meet Dan near the town’s famous pier. I soon spotted him waiting in his van and joined him. This time those same two minders were in the back of Dan’s vehicle, packing tools once again.

We drove off to another industrial park and a few minutes later turned up a sloping entrance towards a warehouse. Through the small entrance I could see it was all lit up inside. As we drove in, we passed forklift trucks and boxes scattered across the concrete floor.

This time there was a cage of sorts consisting of metal fencing with concrete blocks holding it down like you get on building sites. It had been arranged like an eight-sided cage without a roof.

Anyway, we pulled up next to it and suddenly all these car headlights outside the cage lit up. It was very theatrical and dramatic. I’d been in a lot weirder places than this so I wasn’t bothered by any of it. But this time there were a lot more people than usual.

I got out of Dan’s van and walked straight towards the cage where some big fat bald-headed geezer dragged the fence with the concrete weights open for me to go in. I was in the same khaki gear I wore against the fat Spaniard which I now considered to be lucky after my last fight.

My opponent was already in there kicking around and when I first caught sight of him I thought, ‘Fuckin’ hell. He looks fit.’ He was about my height, my sort of weight but clearly fitter and younger than me. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d presumed.

He looked a bit eastern European although I never actually found out his name let alone where he came from. Anyway, I continued into the cage as the fat bloke dragged the gate shut.

Now we’re off.

My opponent came straight at me, kicking out skilfully and quickly. I was on the floor in seconds. Then I punched upwards from the floor into his bollocks to try and slow him down only to find he had a bloody box on. So I grabbed at his box and started to drag him over. Then he kicked me very accurately on the chin as he finally tumbled over. I felt two of my teeth clatter together and snap as his kick connected with my face. Later I
realised they’d flown out of my mouth, although I didn’t notice any of this at the time.

After my opponent finally fell to the ground I rolled onto him and pushed my hand into his head and tried to knock him out. I knew he was a lot stronger and fitter than me and I had to get it over quickly or else I was dead meat. So I smacked him hard in the ribs with my cut-off fingerless gloves just like the ones I wore in the fight against the fat Spaniard.

But it didn’t stop him much and within moments we’d both managed to get to our feet and were having a proper full-on fist fight. I preferred standing up to laying down any day of the week. Now we were both heavily committed to a form of stand-off. First he kicked me really hard as I tried to strike out with my fists. I kept trying to reach him only for him to catch me with yet another painful kick to the ribs. This kid really knew his stuff. I knew I needed to bide my time and try to pick the perfect moment to strike out but for the moment he was completely running the show.

Then my opponent momentarily lifted his head just a touch too high and, bang, I got him straight in the throat with the back of my hand and down he went. I steamed into him on the floor like rolling thunder and trod all over him. Then I leaned down and started smacking him just to make sure he had no chance of reviving. After a right pummelling he was finally out cold.

It was that jab to the throat which won it for me. As we’d been scrapping during that stand-up, he’d just lifted his head high enough and I’d got him. Up until then he’d hardly put a foot wrong. I’d seen my opportunity and taken it.

Now I looked down at him crumpled on the floor and
hesitated for a split second. His breathing looked a bit strange but I couldn’t risk him coming back at me a second time because I was close to exhaustion myself.

So I just tore into him and hurt him very badly on the knees, legs, head, you name it. This was about me or him. I just kept hitting him over and over again to make sure he couldn’t come back again. I was oblivious to the jeering crowd spitting blood because they’d once again lost a small fortune on their man.

The car lights were still illuminating the scene with him lying flat on his face out cold. I pulled him round to take a look at him and put my hand on his mouth to make sure he was breathing. Thank God he was.

The whole fight had lasted about ten minutes but it had felt like two hours. I’d got a severe beating, no denying it. I was lucky to still be standing.

The crowd was getting noisier and I looked around for Dan. Luckily he was already at the gate and pulled it open and we all jumped in the van pronto. It was chaos. They were throwing bottles and stuff at the van. As we screeched out of the warehouse exit, I turned to look back at the makeshift cage and saw three geezers leaning over my opponent trying to revive him. I never even knew his name.

It was only then I realised the full extent of my injuries. I couldn’t even see properly out of either eye so I asked Steve to drive me straight home. I was fully conscious but I couldn’t talk properly either. I didn’t care about my car, which was still parked on a meter near Southend Pier.

Dan asked me if I wanted him to take me to a doctor but I
just mumbled through my bleeding mouth. ‘Nah. Just wanna go home.’

Inside the van, Dan towelled me down and I tried to drink a bit of water but my outfit was soaked in claret. I looked in a dreadful state.

Steve eventually dropped me outside my house and I stumbled up the pathway before staggering in through the front door. Steve didn’t hang around to see me in. He didn’t know Carole and he never would.

It was about eleven and thank God Carole was in bed when I crept in. Then I fell up the stairs and took off all my clothes and jumped in the shower. That’s when I saw myself in the mirror for the first time and looked back at the Elephant Man. I thought fuckin’ hell, Carole will kill me! I knew I’d taken a few whacks but I didn’t realise how bad it was until then.

I knew I couldn’t hide my injuries from Carole but I didn’t want to wake her up so I crept back down the stairs to my little office at the back of the house and collapsed in my armchair. I took loads of paracetamol to try and kill the pain and just sat there and suffered. I deserved it for being such a selfish arsehole.

I kept thinking of what I’d done and how I’d let Carole and the girls down so badly. I was in a right state. I had done a wrong deed and now I was preparing for her to divorce me. I was also afraid the girls – Jaime was six and Mel ten by this time – would be so scared when they saw me.

A few hours later as the sun was coming up, Carole looked in the office and burst into tears the moment she saw me.

‘What have you done to yerself?’

I could barely talk, my mouth was so sore. When I tried to say
sorry a load of blood bubbled out of my mouth. It was pathetic.

Then Carole started screaming. It was ear-piercing stuff born more out of frustration than anger. I was driving her mad and this was obviously the last straw.

The girls had remained in their bedroom until now but they came down when Carole began screaming. I told her to keep them away from me because I was so worried about what they might think. They didn’t deserve this. Nor did Carole.

Then Jaime caught a glimpse of me through the crack in the office door and started screaming. I mumbled something about how I’d run into someone’s hand but I’m not sure she could hear me above all the noise in any case.

Somehow, through all the hysteria and crying I managed to earn some sympathy from Carole and instead of screaming divorce at me she started looking after me and helping me to recover. She put me straight to bed and asked if I wanted a doctor. At first I refused but the pain got so bad the next day that I went to my GP because I couldn’t breathe. When he asked me what happened I said I got run over. He just looked at my hands and fists and shook his head in disbelief.

I then had to go and have my ribs and hands x-rayed at Basildon Hospital. I had a face x-ray as well but luckily I only had hairline cracks and lot of bruises but no actual breaks. The doc in the hospital even pointed out I had some gristle in there because those ribs had been broken a few times before. They all knew only too well that I’d been in a serious scrap.

Even now when I lift my arm too high it still hurts. Amazingly, my face was alright apart from the missing teeth. I never found them. And that piece of plastic put in my face all those years earlier had somehow survived so I was quite
lucky in a way, although my hands were like balloons for about two weeks.

Dan the man turned up with my money the very next day. He refused to come into the house and chucked it through the letterbox instead. He didn’t even take his usual percentage out of it although I’m sure he was getting something from the other side as well.

A few days later I rang Dan and told him for the very last time: ‘Never again.’

I know he’ll try and pull me back in for another fight, but this time it really is the end of my career.

Carole said my excuse that the money was for the kids was pathetic but at least we’ve put it away for them. Deep down I felt I’d learned a lesson and that now I had nothing to prove to anyone. Now I’ve done it I can sleep easy in my bed at nights. I had forgotten what pain was like and never want to feel this way again as long as I live.

If I’d had it too easy in that second fight I might have been sucked into carrying on. Meeting such a tough opponent was a good thing. I thought about my opponent after the fight but I had to remain detached from anything to do with him otherwise it would have done my head in. I know for a fact he didn’t die because I specially asked Dan to find out and he said he was just badly bruised. ‘He’ll kick on again. Don’t worry about him,’ added Dan. I hoped he was telling me the truth.

That fight has taken a lot out of me because you don’t heal so quickly when you’re older. I’d also got a timely reminder that I wasn’t so invincible after all.

I even promised Carole I’d change my phone number so I wasn’t tempted ever again. The girls still haven’t got a clue what
I was up to. They just think that daddy got into a fight in a pub. Teachers at their school have read about me and know what I used to do. No doubt my daughter Mel will get her hands on this book one day and find out all about her old man. I hope she doesn’t think less of me when she learns the truth.

Things are back to normal again at home. I’m working in the building trade once again and I’m in one piece, thank God. That’s it. This time I ain’t going back in The Cage. I’m definitely too old for this game.