Unstoppable (3 page)

As he ran his hand through his short curly hair, I stepped toward the entrance.

“I’m just fucking with ya, Kane. So who’s the kid?” I sighed as I pulled the door open and motioned for Kane and Dekk to walk in.

Kane put his hand against the outside of the door and tried to push it closed as he looked down at my shoes and back up into my eyes. A worried look washed over his face. I raised one eyebrow in an exaggerated fashion and looked at him as I let go of the handle and pushed the door closed. I stepped beside the doorway as he began to speak.

“This kid, Ripp,” Kane paused and inhaled, “he isn’t here yet. He’ll be here, I’m sure. Let me tell you, he talks pretty fuckin’ crazy. I met him at the BAT Bar the other day. He’s a wiry fucker - long lean muscle. He’s as tall as you, long arms, and I’d say probably thirty pounds lighter. But let me tell you, he’s intense. I won’t even tell you what all he said,” Kane looked back down at my feet as he finished speaking.

I leaned against the building and shook my head. “You can’t say
you’ll never believe what else he said
and then not tell me, you little fucker,” I chuckled.

Dekk pressed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the building, smiling. I looked at Dekk, turned back toward Kane, and raised both eyebrows – attempting to get all of his attention.  At first I felt like Kane was trying to get me riled up. But looking into his eyes, he now looked worried about something.

“Speak, smidge,” I growled as I stared into his eyes.

“Well, you know he ran that ad on Craigslist, right?” Kane asked as he looked down at his feet.

I nodded as I wiped my sweaty hands onto my cargo shorts. I couldn’t wait to see what he had to say about this twerp.

“Well, he says nobody can whip him. Hell, everyone either says or thinks that; until they get whipped,” Kane paused, took a slow breath, and looked up.

“He can be whipped,” I laughed as I shook my head. There had to be more to it than
this.

“Well, don’t get mad at
me
, okay?” Kane pleaded.

“Kane you little fucker. Say whatever you gotta say,” I shook my head and looked at Dekk, who still leaned against the building smiling a shitty little smile.

“He said he was going to whip your ass. And when he was done, he was going to…” Kane paused again and inhaled a choppy breath.

It was apparent Kane was truly nervous to tell me whatever he had to say. I felt my temperature rise a few degrees. I reached up with my right hand and wiped the sweat from my smooth scalp. Kane was always theatrical, kind of a little actor of sorts. He always told really dramatic stories, and used his hands when he spoke. Part of his sales ability, I suppose. Waiting for him to blurt out the rest of this story was about to exhaust me. As my patience wore considerably thin, the sound of a loud exhaust from a car caused me turn to face the street.

A black Ford Mustang turned the corner, downshifted, and revved the engine. Without braking or slowing down, it maneuvered into the drive, and shot through the lot - downshifting again. As it quickly approached the stall beside the Chevelle, I straightened my stance and rolled my shoulders nervously. Dekk leaned forward, pulled his hands from his pockets, and rubbed the sides of his head as he squinted – looking in the direction of the Mustang.

“That’s
him
,” Kane half-whispered.

I turned to face Kane. The stereo of the Mustang was loud enough I could
feel
it. Head-banging heavy metal played loud enough the windows of the car vibrated as he parked beside the Chevelle. I turned from facing the building, looked to my right over the top of the Chevelle, and then back toward Kane.

“What else did he say?” I growled.

Kane rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders. I rubbed my right clenched fist in my left palm. This was a tell-tale nervous habit I had when I got angry. I felt myself begin to sweat as Kane stared silently into my eyes.

“Don’t make me embarrass you, you little midget.
What did he say
?” I grunted through my clenched teeth.

Kane lowered his shoulders, slowly turned his head, and looked toward the Mustang as the driver shut off the engine. “He said after he whipped your ass he was going to butt fuck you to teach you a lesson,” he turned and nervously looked up into my eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding?” I howled laughing.

“Shhhh,” Kane whispered.

“You hear that, Dekk?” I laughed as I turned to face Dekk.

Dekk had moved away from the wall, and was now standing on the other side of my car, waiting for the driver of the Mustang to get out. The safety of my car was as important to Dekk as it was to me. As Dekk looked at the Mustang intently, I turned back to face Kane, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Twenty-five hundred, right?” I asked.

“Huh?” Kane responded nervously.

“Twenty-five hundred. That’s my take after I knock this punk out?” I raised my eyebrows again, paused, and spit my tooth pick on the ground.

“Uhhm. Well, it’s actually up to thirty-four,” Kane responded as he turned to face where Shane stood.

“His name?” as I asked I heard the car doors open.

“Goes by
Monkey
,” Kane responded.

“No shit? Monkey?” I chuckled softly as I rubbed my right fist into my palm.

“Oh fuck. You must be
him
,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say from the behind me.

I turned my head to face the rear of my car. Shit for brains was standing behind it in swishy pants and a wife-beater. He was bent at the waist, reading the personalized license plate of my car.

“
Rippin’ it.
The fucking Ripper,” he said as he looked at the license plate.

Two women stood with him, one on each side. Both were wearing black dresses that looked like they were painted on. Dekk was a good ten feet behind him, his hood over his head and his hands now back into in his pockets.

RIPPNIT was the personalized plate on the Chevelle. I felt it fit the car, me, and my personality. When I drove the car, I was always ripping around. And me just being me? I’m Mike fucking Ripton, and I’m always
Rippin’ it.

As Monkey’s hand reached for the trunk of the car, I rotated my body to face him. I spread my legs shoulder width apart, cracked my knuckles on my palms, and stared. I reached up to my mouth, and realized I’d already spit out my toothpick. Without really thinking, I unbuckled my G-Shock and held it to my side.

“Hold this,” I grunted at Kane.

“Ripp. We need to…” Kane said excitedly.

“Take the fuckin’ watch,” I growled as I focused on Monkey-boy’s hand hovering over the trunk lid of the car.

“You’re
not
gonna want to touch that car, Monkey,” I tilted my head from side to side and popped my neck as I focused on his hands.

Both of his girls turned and looked at him as I spoke. His actions and response would tell me a lot about who this kid was as a person. As professional fighters, we’re all one person
in
the ring, and another person
out
of the ring. All the shit talking in the world can happen in the ring or in the building we’re fighting in
while we’re in the fight
. After the fight is over, the shit-talking stops. Fighters respect other fighters no different than cops respect other cops. This kid wasn’t a
professional
fighter, but he damn sure should know the code. 

As he leaned forward and placed both his hands on the trunk of my car, I felt my cock twitch.

Everyone has their tell-tale signs. Some people sweat, some shake, and some have a hard time speaking. When we reach the point we
know
there’s an imminent threat - that something is going to happen, we all have a glitch. Mine is my cock twitching.

And my cock is never wrong.

I could hear voices behind me, but I couldn’t make sense of them. I saw Dekk slowly walk around behind Monkey and the girls, staying a good fifteen feet or so away from them. As my hearing went out of focus, I began to hear a buzzing sound.

Another glitch.

“Take your hands off the trunk of my car, and let’s go inside and get this over with,” I sighed, trying to maintain my mental posture.

Letting this kid get me off my game was just what he wanted. I wasn’t about to let that happen.

His hands still on the trunk, he turned his head to face me and smiled.

The distance between where he stood and where I was standing was probably twenty five feet. There was no way he could rush me and get a punch in without me reacting. I reached down and grabbed the bottom of my shirt with both hands and quickly pulled it over my head.

“Hold this,” I said as I held my left hand out to my side, my shirt wadded up in my fist.

Monkey’s eyes couldn’t contain his surprise. I’ve always said the eyes never lie. He lifted his hands from the trunk and straightened his stance. He was probably just north of six feet tall, and roughly a hundred and ninety pounds. I was currently in as good of shape as I have ever been, and weighed two hundred and thirty pounds. Austin is a huge city, and in my daily travels throughout the city, I rarely ever encountered anyone as big as I was from a muscular size standpoint. I was
that
big. From the look on his girl’s faces, they liked what they were seeing just as much as he didn’t like it.

“No need to get mad, big boy,” the sound of his voice was an irritating squeak.

“I’m not mad,” I paused and rolled my shoulders, “yet.”

I motioned toward the door.

“Let’s get this over with,” I said sharply and slowly.

Knowing Dekk would keep Monkey-boy off of my car and from jumping on my back, I turned toward the door. Taking this shit in the building was in everyone’s best interest. The people inside were the ones who bet on this match, and in a sense they paid to see what was going to happen. Kane’s place had few rules, but they were strict: only by invitation, no loitering, no fighting by outsiders, and no going in and out of the facility. After you were here, you stayed inside the facility until the fight or fights were over. It kept the attention down to a minimum. Although the cops had a good idea of what we did, there was no sense bringing unwanted attention to Kane or the facility.

Kane followed as I walked through the door. I looked up and made note of thirty or so people gathered around talking. Wearing cargo shorts, Chuck’s, and no shirt, almost everyone stopped talking as soon as they looked in my direction. I wasn’t new to this facility, and most of the faces were familiar. On and off, I had been fighting here for ten years, and to date I had never lost a fight. This kid coming from out of town would have the people wondering about his ability, but I was a crowd favorite for sure.

I quickly walked to the center of the floor, onto the mat, and turned to face the door. As I waited for Monkey to come in, I touched my toes a few times and stretched. Fucking and fighting were two things that made me happier than anything. Knocking this punk out would be nearly as satisfying as getting laid, maybe just a little more. Knocking him out and taking one of his girls home with me would be even better. Knocking him out and taking both of them home with me would be like hitting the fucking trifecta.

“I appreciate you bringing this inside,” Kane said nervously.

“It’s all good,” I responded as I stared at Monkey and his two girls.

“You alright?” Kane asked.

“I got this,” I responded as I raised my hands over my head.

The building had an open floor plan with very few amenities. A complimentary keg of beer in the back corner was Kane’s offering to the group. In the center of the floor were martial arts style folding foam mats forming a fighting surface about sixteen feet by sixteen feet. Standing on the mat, I began to shadow box as I waited for Monkey. As he reached the edge of the mat, he pointed to an opening in the crowd and snapped his fingers sharply. Almost immediately, the two girls at his side walked to where he had pointed and stood.

What a douche bag. Oh yeah. I’m going to enjoy whipping this kid.

As the girls turned to face us, I noticed one was blonde and one was a brunette. Hair color aside, they could have been twins. Monkey-boy pulled off his wife-beater and handed it to the blonde, who smiled as she reached to grab the dingy shirt. I watched in awe as he reached down and removed his shoes. Now standing barefoot and in swishy pants, he began to swing round house kicks over the height of his head.

What the fuck?

The difference between a good martial artist and a good boxer is the difference between night and day. A good martial artist will have predictable fluid like patterns, and will fight with a more artistic style. Fluidity and form are important. Years of practice of the same movements and motions make the martial arts fighting style, to an observant outsider, almost predictable. Boxers tend to adjust more to the advancements of their opponent. A typical boxer, however, isn’t prepared for someone to attempt to kick them in the head.

I’m not a typical boxer.

As Dekk stepped to the edge of the mat, he pulled his hood over his head and smiled, “You alright, Ripp?” he chuckled as he watched the Monkey-boy do a back flip.

“I got this,” I nodded affirmatively as twisted my body from side to side, popping my back.

Although it was pretty damned entertaining watching this kid do his Bruce Lee imitation, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of feeling I had any interest in paying attention to his Kung Fu horse shit. I continued to stretch and look beyond him and into the crowd. Putting his hands on my car was uncalled for and disrespectful. In some respects, it was no different than the boxers who talk a mad line of shit at the press conference before the match. It’s one guy trying to get the other off of his game. Intimidation tactics.

I can’t be intimidated.

By anyone.

“Ok, fella’s,” Kane’s speaking caught me off guard.

Kane motioned for the primate to stop with the bouncing around, and pay attention. As Monkey worked his way to the center of the mat, Kane began to speak again.