Smokey’s was two things. First it was a homely and half decent bar in Chicago that did enough business to keep afloat. However it had second function in the seedier parts of Logan Square. It was host to a rather populated underground fighting ring, that sat beneath it’s fake varnished wood floor in a concrete covered basement. The set up was simple, one large and falling apart boxing ring surrounded by benches and a small table serving booze. On Saturday nights, as the moonlight reached a midnight apex, it came alive and so did Leland Avery.
Today was quite the night, the smell of booze hung in the air while raucous conversations echoed out through, money being passed like a donation drive, as bets were made and hands were shaken. On the average night, you could make three hundred bucks from a win, not that Leland was there for that. The money was helpful but only insofar as given him something to blow freely without consequences - normally on rum.
The heat clammed around Leland as he stood in his wife beater vest, belt off as per the rules (a few years ago apparently a man used one like a whip during a fight). It was his turn to go. He stared at the dimly lit stage, rolling bandages tightly over his fingers. Even now, outside the ring, he could feel the adrenaline start to build, and light came to his dark eyes. This was it, and the electricity of excitement crack between each of his knuckles at the memory of what this would bring. He would win, or he would take the blows, but either way he’d leave with a smile on his face.
“Gentleman! We’ve got some old favourites here today, squaring off for a second time. First our beloved Champion, the former navy Seal and a Goliath in his own right, Colton “The Mountain” Jones!”
WOOOOoooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOO!
The face that ducked under the ropes was a familiar one. Colton Jones wasn’t a pretty man - his face had clearly being punched into something resembling a bruised apple, and his nose was so off centre you’d wonder whether it had been broken, or ripped off and stuck back on badly. But by god was he big. He stood a head taller than any man in the basement and even with the high ceiling, he would likely reach the top without much effort. It wasn’t just his height either, his muscles bulged in his tshirt and his calves were large enough to feed a family of eight. He truly was a mountain, and last time Leland had faced him, he’d nearly sent him home in a body bag. But that didn’t deter the Marshal. You didn’t get into the line of work he did without some big balls.
Plus this time he had a strategy, and some extra anger to let loose. “And second, our crazy, unrestrained uncle that’ll still be coming here even with a zimmer frame.”
The crowd gave a collective laugh, the referee giving a smug look at the attention. Leland licked his lips and cracked his neck as he thought about giving that man his own beating. Other than the peppering of grey in his beard sometimes, he surely didn’t look that old?
“It’s Dale “Dallas” Lee!” The applause was still there, though not as loud as for Colton. Not that Leland gave a shit, but he’d somehow become a sort of legend in these parts on the simple fact that he’d been doing it for years, that and he won even when people thought he had no chance. A mix of having a love for pain itself and being agile from all his years of fitness in both the army and the deputy marshals was the key to his success. It felt odd to have people know you by a different name, but it wasn’t like he really cared about any of these guys, they were just the tool for his own desires, just like he was their entertainment.
He didn’t show off like Colton when he entered the ring, simply getting himself in fighting stance and doing a small hop to make sure his body was warm and ready.
“Ready?”
Two nods.
“Fight!”
Colton didn’t hold back. The first fist came out almost immediately, but unlike last time, Leland was ready. He ducked his head neatly under the jab, throwing in a punishing hook into the mountain’s side. It was like hitting concrete. His opponent showed no sign of hurt and his skin barely moved but Leland knew in a fight it didn’t matter. Just because it look like it didn’t hurt each punch would add up.
He hopped back, putting distance between them as they encircled each other. Leland kept his eyes on those deadly looking fists, as he made sure to not get too close to the ropes.
The next encounter hurt more, as Colton charged forward, reminding Leland quickly that this wasn’t a boxing match. The giant fighter seized Leland’s waist, trying to push him to the ground. The air pushed out of marshal’s lungs from the impact, but he fought back immediately, his knees coming up to slam into Colton’s stomach. His elbows joined in too, battering at the man’s face.
His knuckles began to sting, but it only spurred Leland on. That pain, he lived for it, each small drop brought him closer to the feeling he desired. The one that kept him going.
But he was up against the mountain, and even those sharp blows couldn’t stop Colton throwing Leland to the ground, lifting him up and tossing him to the other end of the ring like a barbie doll. His back slammed into the hard leather, Leland arching in as it reminded him how old his was.
There wasn’t much to think about before Colton was on top of him, ready to start bloody murder. It was a repeat of their last fight, and he knew what was coming. But as Colton stranded him, pushing that heavy weight onto his stomach, there was only a manic look on Leland’s face that made even the mountain pause.
It was only a moment, and then the first hit came down. He could smell the blood as it dripped down his nose, licking it as it touched his lips. Pain. Agony. His body tensed with it, coiling as a shock of sharp neural impulses shot through his muscles and mind.
Another punch and he could feel his jaw click, as bone feebly took the impact. Now the blood was in his mouth, pooling among his teeth. But when Leland looked up he no longer saw Colton “the mountain” Jones. He saw a man in a mask, light blue eyes piercing through the slits of the balaclava.
Freeze!
Leland!
Bang! Bang…
His stomach burnt in memory, as his blood raised and suddenly his eyes saw nothing but red. All that echoed in his mind was the screams of a crying girl, all he could see was her being dragged away by the man with the blue eyes, and the blood. His own blood, spilling through his hands as he held onto parts of him that were never meant to be held.
He felt the unshakeable, relentless, berserk rage fill his whole body. The anger he had felt in those moments, that poisonous, frenzied hopelessness that drove a storming resentment in his veins. It had the power to make a man do stupid things, or in Leland’s case bestow on him a temporary insanity that made him do the most unpredictable things.
A bellowing roar, the kind belonging more to an animal than human, rang out in the ring as the laughter died a moment and all eyes lay on the stage to witness what was about to happen. The mountain’s fist hovered in confusion as spittle launched into his face at Leland’s cry, but he didn’t have time to wipe it as suddenly the deputy’s head came careering into his own.
Their heads smashed like metal plates, not that Leland could feel the pain anymore, completely lost in his own torturous memories. The impact was sudden enough to send Colton leaning backwards, which gave Leland all the space he needed to slip his legs out and kick the man off him.
Colton seized his likely ringing head, blinking from the migraine that was forming as he didn’t have time to see a unstoppable Leland. The nimble older man wasted no time returning the favour from behind, leaping to launch his entire body at the other fighter. Even at his size, the mountain couldn’t take the full weight of another man, and they both toppled to the ground, but with Leland on top.
The rest was just a blur to his mind. His fists went wild, hammering over and over again, the initial pain as they crack along Colton’s already broken face lost in the slick blood that began to cover them. He wasn’t even thinking where he was striking - eyes, nose, mouth, it was all the same. He didn’t know how long he was punching the daylights out of the other man before a few regulars jumped into the ring and dragged him off.
The whole basement was completely silent. Colton lay almost still, the ring covered in splatters of blood. The referee charged forward, immediately muttering to the mountain and checking his pulse. Finally there was a cough and Colton stirred, groaning and rolling to his side, to which there was an audible breath of relief.
“The winner is, DALLLLLAAAS”
The crowd erupted. It wasn’t necessarily applause so much as reaction, grumbles of loss, hurrahs of surprised victory against likely bad odds and general discussion. He had just upset the Champion.
Leland paid near no attention to any of it. They let him go, focused on dragging Colton out of the ring while he was left standing, blood dripping down his nose still, knuckles numb and unmovable. He took a breath, looking around at everyone their gazes expectant. They wanted a show, for him to be victorious. But the man he wanted to kill just then was still alive, and now the pleasure was simmering his body simply wanted more and there would be none tonight.
Despite everything Colton wore him down enough that this would be a decent end to the evening. With a small breath, he shifted to the ropes and ducked out, moving to a small nearby bucket to wash the blood off his knuckles.
In the ripples of the bucket, he saw himself. Beat, bloody but more than that. He looked empty. He laughed weakly to himself. His voice was a whisper.. “All hail the new champion.”
A week went by, a week without a fight but also without booze. When Leland had awoke after his night of drunken parlay, the headache was one thing but the sick feeling that rolled in his stomach was far worse. He ended up emptying his guts for three days straight as his liver fought back and his life long illnesses urged him to stop ignoring them. Instead he spent long days thinking, which as dull as it seemed, it was refreshing. When cases came to his table, he trailed them with a new found energy, a frustration that wanted to get out and helped keep his legs going. It helped too that a couple of warrants had decided to make a run for it, and he got his knuckles wet anyway trying to arrest them.
The picture frame still haunted him however, and Leland spent as much time out of the house as he could, even if it meant sipping water at a bar. Something wouldn’t stop leaving his mind however, beyond the usual guilt. A certain kiss with a particular redheaded mess that he still couldn’t wrap his head around. Now that he was sober, the article felt a little more daunting, but he trusted she wasn’t stupid enough to put his name in it for real. Still, his story would be out there for people to read, and it was strangely like opening his chest up for examination.
It should have been no surprise when Leland walked past a news stand in the early morning and spotted it on the front page of a local paper.
The New Fight Club?
Inside Chicago's underground fighting rings
By Caitriona Byrne
He bought a copy of course, flicking through it. It was a Saturday and he had the day off, which meant he had plenty of time to mull over what she’d written about him. Leland wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he doubted it’d be flattering considering all he’d done was getting beaten up and drunk around her.
...There are of course the kinds of people you’d expect to see there, adrenaline junkies, men looking to prove a point or boost their egos, but there are also men who are there for entirely different reasons. Men who have witnessed or been part of traumatic events looking for a way to cope with all that life has thrown at them.
These men, some of whom I had the honor of sitting down with, see it as their only option. The only release that makes life a little more bearable. The people that take part in this sport aren’t simply sadists or masochists, they all have reasons to fight whether it’s to find a way to cope with the past or to feel something again.
The question then becomes whether illegal fighting is a blessing to these men or a curse that takes everything they have left to give without giving anything back. My heart goes out to those men. I can only hope they find what they’re looking for.
Leland smirked to himself softly. A blessing or a curse. It was spur of the moment, but he wasn’t the kind to resort to texting for communication. At first he figured that she was truly done with him after the kiss, and now the paper was out it was less likely he would see her again. He was fine with that, but he was curious how much she would stick true to her claim that she didn’t want him just for the story.
It didn’t take long to link her name to a business address, and so Leland hatched his little message. It was simple, he left a copy of the paper and a single rose in her PO Box, his cursive writing scratching an invite on the top of the newspaper.
90 Miles Cafe, 2540 W Armitage Ave. 8pm
Now it was her move. Leland waited just before the set time, sipping on water as he watched the cafe’s entrance. It was a Cuban joint, with easy food and close to his place. They offered vegan food which is really all he could ask for nowadays.
Leland knew something would have to fill the hole that being temporarily barred from fighting would bring. It didn’t take long after that his drinking began to spiral. Every time he wanted to punch a wall, he took a drink, every time he felt his blood spike and hands shake, he took a drink, every time he wanted a drink, he took a drink.
It was little surprise he ended being gently kicked out a bar in the late hours of the night. He staggered out the door, hat in hand, making it a few steps down the street before the rum got to his balance and he collapsed by a pile of trash on the sidewalk. While normally Leland may be moody, drinking gave him a juvenile and jovial nature, leaving him laughing hysterically to himself.
Yet in between the laughter, his hands were shaking for another drink, and eventually he paused, staring at his hat and hands. Images floated in his mind. A young teen holding his hand and pointing out a light cream hat among the racks. “It’d look good on you.”
“What do you know about hats Kiddo?” Leland murmured to the air, remembering the memory as if it was playing out right in front of him. He stared down at the hat before him, not noticing the shadow that loomed over until they were right above them..
“Hey you’re blocking my hat light.” Leland slurred.
