Chapter Twenty Two
The crowd was about to eat each other. They’d been pumped for violence and then denied. They’d been made to wait and then told to wait more. By the time the opponents were ready, the crowd was whipped into such a frenzy that the cage was less to keep the fighters in and more to keep the crowd at bay.
When Rocky showed up in trunks and lifted his arms to the crowd, the shouts and screams drowned out the constant background growl of the bikes that endlessly patrolled the road. Hoodoo slowly realized that the background sound of the engines had all but stopped and the crowd was growing.
Rumor had gotten out that this was a cage fight “death match” between representatives of the two groups that had trashed the park. One from The Bandits, one from The Gilas. The fact that neither fighter was part of either club, nor the fact that Krocker had no affiliation with The Bandits other than hiring them to get Tracy’s bike… neither of these things mattered.
The crowd had missed an epic fight in the park. This was their chance to see it again in miniature. When Krocker walked out, he was met with boos and cat-calling. It was a Bandit that trashed one of the most important bikes in history. It was a Bandit that was arrested for stealing the bike. Krocker was the enemy.
Rocky was the knight in shining armor. It was his group that tried to save the bike, and that had rescued the girl (despite the fact that she’d done a fair share of the rescuing herself). There was enough chivalry in the crowd to harken back to the idea of chivalry, of knights on mechanical steeds that roamed the wilds of the interstate to protect the innocent, and to defeat the villainy.
Inevitably, there were those who sided with the aforementioned villainy. These were in the minority, however, and anyway, it was about to be played out behind chicken wire in a cage between two men who dedicated themselves to fighting and fighting dirty.
Rocky took the mouth guard and Hoodoo laced the gloves. Not too tight, not too loose. Somewhere in the crowd, a good ways back and shaking her head at the whole affair was Tracy. Hoodoo wondered if she’d stay for the duration of the fight. Whether she’d still be there when it was over. Despite her declarations of love, despite everything that had happened, they hadn’t had time to really talk. There was still stuff between them that needed settling.
As though reading Hoodoo’s mind, Rocky smashed the gloves together and winked. Hoodoo grinned.
Rocky entered the cage and stretched, walking to his opponent with an easy confidence and grace. Seeing Rocky face Krocker was like watching a boulder roll up to a sequoia. Krocker stood as tall as Mad-dog and tried to lean over Rocky for intimidation. Rocky, although just under six feet, flexed and the effect was like a solid brick or fireplug. It was Krocker that broke the stare-down first.
“I know about your deal.” Rocky spat the mouth guard into his mitt so that his words carried just enough for Hoodoo to hear.
“What deal?” Krocker said through his.
“The one where you arranged to have a motorcycle stolen because you have the delusion that it’s some damn family heirloom. Did you include kidnapping with that? What did you tell them to do with her when they were done? Where you going to kill her? Dump her body somewhere?”
“You’re insane!” Krocker said, spitting his guard out too. “I don’t even know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“Really? You and your damn babbling the whole way from the airport, you kept on and on about your fucking ancestor and his great bikes.”
“Yeah?”
“Its spelled wrong, asshole.”
“It was changed.” The argument was weak, the look or belligerent defiance on Krocker’s face worth the price of the ticket. The crowd, getting a sense of the conversation quieted, hanging on every word.
“Bullshit. You saw an opportunity and went for it, what were you going to pay, huh? How much were you giving them for grand theft and kidnapping? How much were you going to pay for my friend’s girl?”
“You can’t prove a damn thing.” Krocker spat. “All you have is the deluded ramblings of a crazy little man in a hospital bed.”
There was silence. Hoodoo watched, as did the largest group of bikers in history, riveted as the two men realized that although no one could hear them clearly, the announcer had finished and the entire rally watched them as their faces grew red and angrier as their words were passed back by those closest to the cage.
“Trial by combat,” Rocky said, putting his guard back in.
“Remember, guys, this is an exposition,” the referee said, “I want a clean fight.”
“Trial by combat.” Krocker agreed. He clamped down on his guard.
Hoodoo felt Val next to him. Her knuckles were white on the railing that separated Rocky’s “corner” from the cage.
“Boss,” she said in a strangled voice, “what are they doing?”
Hoodoo looked in the general direction of where he’d last seen Tracy, knowing she was too far away to hear the combatants, or to even see the clearly. Hopefully.
He couldn’t help it. He worried about her. Even knowing she could take care of herself just fine, he worried about her.
“Being true to themselves,” Hoodoo said.
“Listen up!” The referee said, clipping his words. “This is not…”
If Krocker’s swing came before Rocky’s kick it was by a matter of moments. The ref was barely able to jump out of the way before both men exploded into action. Hoodoo had never seen anyone move that fast before in his life.
Val gasped and ogled the two of them. Even compared to her lightning-fast speeds, the two of them were fast. Krocker countered Rocky’s kick by bringing up a knee. Rocky stepped into the punch while on one foot and spun, deflecting the fist that was coming for his face.
Krocker skip-jumped and brought up a knee, Rocky stepped back and Krocker turned it into a full-on kick. Rocky deflected it with his shin and sent a left hook crashing into Krocker’s chin. Krocker took the blow, although the sound of it was deafening.
The crowd began to scream and yell for their favorite. The fighter were all speed and power and the referee was blowing his whistle, but neither of the combatants cared for his judgement.
Rocky spun and mule-kicked Krocker. If it had connected, it would have shattered the man’s knee. Krocker spun and dodged and connected to Rocky’s solar plexus and threw his weight behind the blow. Rocky bent over, spitting blood and spinning to put his foot in his opponent’s face.
Krocker went down but leapt back to his feet. Rocky anticipated the move and laid in with lighting-fast punches. Krocker danced as Rocky drilled the man with left and right fists. The ref tried to intercede, to pull Rocky off of Krocker, but when Rocky would have stepped back, Krocker followed him and landed a devastating kick on Rocky’s’ groin that he couldn’t dodge because the ref was in the way.
Krocker grabbed the ref and threw him to one side and leapt on top of Ricky.
Rocky held his arms up over his face and Hoodoo could hear Val crying out as Krocker landed blow after blow on his opponent.
The crowd was pressing against the fencing that held the stage. Their shouts and screams and thrown bottles turned the match into an organized riot and in the middle of the pummeling, Rocky jumped and fell in front of Krocker in a push-up position.
Hoodoo stole a glance at Val who watched with wide eyes as Rocky lifted one foot into Krocker’s crotch and then, as his opponent fell, grabbing is groin, the other foot came square into his face.
Krocker flew backward and landed on his back. Rocky fell to one knee beside him and pulled the glove lacings free of his right hand with his teeth.
He grabbed Krocker with the gloved left and raised the right for a killing blow.
“Yield!” Rocky roared.
“Yield.” Krocker agreed.
Rocky let the man drop. He stood and staggered to his corner.
The crowd went wild.