Knocked Out: A Red, Hot and BOOM! Story
KNOCKED OUT
A RED HOT AND BOOM! STORY
BY TY LANGSTON
Credits
Published by Michele T Villery,
Copyright 2014 by Michele T Villery
Cover Art by Jennifer Howard of Gunpowder Designs
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No Part of this book can be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without the author’s permission.
These stories are a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidences are of
the authors imagination and used facetiously. Any resemblance to any actual
persons living or dead, events or locales, is coincidental.
Table of Contents
“Hello?...Hello? Anyone around?” Hayley Monroe called out. Her small voice echoed
throughout the semi-dark gym.
Her high-heeled boots may not have been the best choice of attire during a, late winter storm, but meeting former Heavyweight champion and MMA legend, Tucker Gray was worth the sacrifice. With
each step she continued to take, her brown suede boots, waterlogged and ruined clicked loudly against the cement floor.
Casually dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a pale pink sweater; her short black jacket and pink scarf fell off of her as if they were wet rags.
She was soaked through the bone. She continued to walk through the gym and decided to stand in
the middle of the building.
Once more she yelled “Hello? Is there anyone here?”
Exhausted, she placed her large tote full of files, including a small video camera and a pink laptop down on the floor. Her back was in excruciating pain due to the weight of the bag that was nearly a ¼ of her size.
Her sleep-filled eyes glanced at her watch ‘
They did say 4:30, right? I could have sworn that’s
what Billy said.’
It was 4:30 pm on the nose.
Billy was never one to be late. In fact, she was surprised he wasn’t at the gym 15 or 20 minutes before her. Billy Viele, an old childhood friend and MMA trainer was one of the most punctual people she had ever met. If if weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have this meeting with former MMA Heavyweight champion, Tucker Gray.
She mustered up enough strength to wander towards at the window. The rain and sleet were
coming down so hard that she could barely see the building across the street. She went back to her bag and pulled out her cell phone. She noticed a white envelope indicating that she had a text message.
Clicking on the envelope, she was relieved when she noticed it was from Billy.
The text read, ‘
Hey Hayl, we have a flat tire. Tucker and I didn’t forget. We’ll be there soon- B’
She was grateful to have a bit of time to gather herself before they got to the gym. Leafing
through her tote, she pulled out a mirror, a brush and some berry blush lip stain. Glancing at her reflection, she was horrified at what she saw staring back at her.
You look worse than a drowned rat.
Great first impression.
She mumbled. Placing the mirror down, Hayley brushed out her long, brown mane. Full of waves, she decided to place it in a neat bun. Seconds later, with a crumpled tissue she found in her coat pocket; she wiped off any smudged eye makeup found underneath her eyes. Giving herself a final inspection, she completed her look with a coat of lip stain.
Not bad. Least you don’t look like a
fucking clown.’
She said aloud at her reflection.
“Don’t go beautifying yourself on our account.” A male familiar voice said from behind her. He
had a distinctive New York accent with a touch of wit. It was aggravating, biting, and all Billy Viele. As she placed her things back into her bag, the voice made her realize that she was a far cry from the ivory tower of Contact Sports and back into her home state of Upstate, New York.
She turned towards the voice and replied with a wink, “Trust me Billy, none of this is for you.”
Gazing at the young woman, the two men let out a huge belly laugh. Their large physiques were
so striking that they put an average man to shame.
The younger one of the two, her dear friend Billy had short brown hair and hazel eyes. He was
wearing a black shirt with the Rounders University logo prominently displayed in the front and some blue jeans. . He was soaked from head to toe. Despite his dampened appearance, his eyes glimmered with pride at the sight of her friend.
“ Ha, ha, and I thought you missed me.” Billy quipped.
Hayley walked over to him and hugged him. She could have cared less about Billy’s appearance.
. “It’s good to be home.” As she stepped away form him. “I know it’s pouring and kind of sleeting out, but what did the two of you do? Swim here?” She quipped.
Billy was a friend of her older brother. He hadn’t changed since she left home seven years ago.
It was a comfort to see him working as a trainer with Tucker Gray’s MMA suite of gyms called Rounders University. A former Mixed Martial Arts fighter, Billy, traded in the life of the Octagon for a wedding ring, 2.5 kids, a picket fence and a demanding wife who was scared that one wrong move from an
opponent would ruin everything Billy had worked hard so to achieve.
“Maybe the two of us would have gotten us here quicker if I had.” Billy joked.
“Nah, I was a few minutes early anyways. It’s fine.” Hayley reassured him.
Billy sighed with relief. “Well, everyone’s glad you’re home. Let me introduce you to the reason why you have graced us with your presence. Hayley Monroe, this is former MMA Heavyweight
Champion, Tucker Gray.”
Hayley smiled with pride. Tucker’s face was as recognizable as the President of the United
States. The four –time decorated champion of the Cage was still handsome in his early fifties. His chiseled café au lait face with the trademark blue eyes was still perfect despite some wrinkles and threads of silver woven in his goatee and throughout his black hair.
Trying to hide her nerves, it took everything in her to extend her hand to him. “It’s an honor, Mr.
Gray.” She told him.
Tucker beamed as he took his firm hand into hers and shook it. “The honor is all mine, Ms.
Monroe. Any friend of Billy’s is a friend of mine. All I ask you is that you call me Tucker. Anytime that someone says to ‘Mr.’ to me. I feel like my or father or grandfather. .” He jested.
She laughed. The nerves fluttering at the pit of her stomach eased. “Fine. Only if you call me Hayley.”
Tucker nodded as he stared at her large tote. “Agreed.” “Now, that we got formalities covered.
Billy said you needed my help?”
Walking over the carry on, Hayley pulled out several colored manila folders and gave them to
him. “My boss, Ella Corbett, along our friend Billy here wonders if you can help me with a project Contact Sports is doing?”
Tucker gave half of the large stack to Billy to hold onto while he began to leaf through the
folders. They contained colored 8x10’s of various men with interest. “Okay, I know a couple of these guys. What’s Ella up to?” he asked.
“Well, these are some of the contenders for a reality series she’s tapped me to produce and host, called ‘The Next Great Hope.’ She needs 6 contenders to vie for a spot in an elimination competition. The winner will receive a $1 million contract from Contact Sport and a chance to fight current champion, Jackson Briggs in an exhibition fight to be broadcasted live on July 4th.”
The two men’s eyes opened wide as Hayley continued. “Tucker, Billy, I know Mixed Martial
Arts as a casual fan, but not either one of you. My forte in broadcasting is investigative journalism. When I applied for the job, I was under the impression that I was being hired as Ella’s assistant. To my surprise after working a total of 10 minutes with her, she decided that I was overqualified for the position after watching a documentary I did for my thesis. Right then and there she promoted me as one of her
producers for this show. A few weeks before I arrived in Los Angeles, Ella told me that she and the management of Contact Sports had held a press conference to announce the competition. She also during that time encouraged any prospects to mail Contact Sports. This is only a few of the responses.”
Exasperated, Tucker, asked, “I bet. Did any of them send tapes? Just skimming through these
folders, I can tell that a couple of them wouldn’t last a minute against Briggs, let alone 3 rounds with him in the Octagon.”
Hayley glanced at Billy’s face as he surfed through the folders. He shook his head in disbelief.
“With all due respect to Ella, who was one of the best sports journalists in the industry. I have to ask if she’s out of her mind. ? We’re in late March. By the time you find the contenders, interview them and get them trained, they still won’t be ready for someone like Jackson Briggs. Besides, Hayl, some of these guys look more like models than MMA contenders.”
“Which is why I’m here, Billy? Ella wants guys who can fight, hold a conversation and also have the cover model looks that will attract the female demographics needed for ratings. I’m at a total loss of where to begin. Some of these guys have the looks, but I have no clue if they can fight or not. Not one sent in a video. The one guy I did manage to find on You Tube, called himself an MMA fighter, but he was clueless on what the difference was between an armbar and a superkick. There has to be guys out there who can fit the bill.” The young producer pleaded.
Tucker handed Hayley back the folders. “Let’s go into my office. We’ll finish getting dry, order some dinner and put some coffee on. If you’re up for some long hours, we’re going to do this my way.
You up for it?” Tucker asked her and Billy.
“Yes, thank you. I’m in town for a couple of days. I’m willing to do whatever the two of you
need me to do.”
“You like pizza? This is a pizza kind of night to me.” The former champion added.
Hayley’s lips curved into a smile. “I’d eat anything right now. I haven’t had a bite since early this morning.”
“Same here.” Billy said.
“Let’s see if we can find a needle in a haystack.” Tucker asked.
Evan Bates rolled into Milson’s Steel in a rusted, 1998 Navy Blue Nissan Sentra. The car’s dying muffler shattered the early morning silence of the sleepy town of Brockton, New York. Despite the car’s appearance, it was dependable and most importantly, paid for. As he parked the car into the lot, his blue eyes studied the front of mill whose wrought iron gates and broken locks had reminded him of the mill’s better days.
