Page 50 of Hit and Run
“Race wars and the big fights were last weekend, so tonight is more of amateur night,” he tells me.
“Sounds good to me. Let’s roll.”
“Where we goin’,” Clutch asks. I roll my eyes.
“Rascal and I are going to the fights,” I say.
“I’m down,” Clutch replies.
“Alright, but let’s go before anyone else tries to tag along,” I say to both of them.
We get to the warehouse that holds the fights in twenty minutes. There’s a good amount of people already here.
“Come with me,” Rascal says as soon as Clutch and I step out of my car. We follow Rascal into the warehouse. We navigate through the crowd of people and walk up to some guy with a clipboard.
“Ray! My man,” Rascal greets him.
“Rascal! Long time, no see, fucker. How’s it goin’,” Ray asks.
“Been better. My brother, Shade, needs in on a fight, asap,” Rascal tells him, hooking his thumb at me. Ray looks me over, then glances at his clipboard.
“Yeah, for sure,” Ray says. “I got a spot in about twenty minutes.”
“Perfect,” Rascal and I say in unison.
“Right on,” Ray replies. “Just be back here, ready to go in fifteen.”
We don’t stray too far from Ray after we finish talking to him. I came prepared, wearing basketball shorts under my sweats, and a t-shirt. We check out the fights going on right now. Both of the guys in the octagon look like toothpicks with arms. They’re visibly fit, but are tall and lanky, slightly lacking the muscle that I’m used to seeing on a fighter. Rascal did say this was an amateur night.
These twigs don’t even know how to fight. They’re both letting their anger control them and aren’t pacing themselves. One kid isn’t even guarding his face. The other can’t throw a straight punch.
I know what it’s like to lose control of my emotions during a fight. I also know if I had waited any longer for an outlet, I would have ended up looking like these fools. Before their fight is over, I walk back to my car to put my sweats away. I fold them and toss them into the back seat. I lock my car up and take a couple of deep breaths before heading back in.
“You ready, brother,” Rascal asks, slapping my back. I nod once and we make our way over to Ray. There’s a guy standing next to him that’s a couple of inches taller than my six-foot. He’s bulky and gives off meathead vibes.
“Oh, this should be good,” Clutch mumbles to me, then chuckles. I’m doing my best to stay focused. I’m not going to let some rookie asshole pull one over on me.
“Shade, this is Tyson,” Ray introduces me to my opponent. “Tyson, Shade.”
We fist bump.
“Follow me, fellas,” Ray says and walks toward the octagon. Tyson and a couple of his buddies follow Ray while Rascal, Clutch, and I follow them. We stop just before the entrance to the octagon.
“Tyson, red corner. Shade, blue corner,” Ray instructs us. I pull my shirt over my head and slip my shoes off my feet, followed by my socks. I hand everything to Clutch to hold on to.
“Do your thing, brother,” Clutch says to me. Rascal pulls me to the side.
“How’s your headspace?” He’s asking if I’m going to be a loose cannon or if I’ll have my shit under control. It’s an appropriate question, considering everything that’s been going on.
“I got a lot of built-up emotions, but I’m good,” I admit to him.
“Good. You got this. Take that fucker down,” he says with a smile.
“You know it.” I walk to the octagon entrance and climb the stairs inside. Ray and Tyson are standing in the middle, waiting on me.
“Alright, fellas. This isn’t the UFC. There are no rules,” Ray explains. Tyson and I both nod. “Bump fists.”
I hold my fist out to Tyson. He looks at it with disgust and walks to his corner. I let out a sound that’s a cross between a huff and a laugh and walk to my own corner. Ray walks out of the octagon and closes us in.
