The Bigtime (Part Two)

Before reading please listen to the theme song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6jCJZEFIto





The Ringer in:

Bigtime

(Part Two)

 The hardest part about finding a person is always at the beginning. How do I start? Where do I start? Who do I start with? You know the end result, but the rest leading up to that is blanker than a polar bear drinking a glass of milk in a snowstorm. You have no leads, only the rough info. I needed to start somewhere. Before he left my office, Miles Kalivas gave me his phone number and told me to reach him when I got the job done. With a smirk, he trotted out the door waving his hand dismissingly, like he had better things to do. It was like he had crossed off an item on a list at the grocery store. He had moved on to the eggs and milk while I was stranded there with no further information other than ‘Stop the gink what's been knifing my bread and butter’. I bitched about it, but honestly I’ve worked with less. First things first, I needed to talk to some of the fighters. If anything one of those goons might have some info on people wanting to off them, and more importantly, where I might find them. The next day I put on my shades and headed to the closest gym I knew, and to the biggest name in boxing in the past five years…..Buck Bellringer.

I opened the wooden door to the gym, the afternoon sun bleeding in from the open warehouse-style windows. There were a few boxers here and there, some sparring in the ring, others taking their turns on the rhythm bag and such like. Towards the back I saw him. Pale, tough skinned, beefy, and hitting a punching bag so hard that I’m pretty sure I heard it cry a bit. I made my way through the equipment obstacle course, passing the sounds of grunts and jump rope thwaks as they rapped on the ground in tempo. A few boxers shot glares at me as I maneuvered around them and began to whisper the nickname I had acquired over the year. I couldn't care less what they called me; all I cared about was my next paycheck. And the guy standing in front of me was going to help me do just that. I pulled off my shades and hung them from my shirt collar. I coughed in the typical manner of when you want to get someone’s attention without seeming like a dick. Strangely enough, it always made you look like one anyway. Buck never broke focus.

“You need’n somethi’n Mr.?” Buck wailed on the bag, never breaking his focus for a second. He was in his own little world committing genocide against bags filled with sand the world over. “I’m kinda busy.”

“I got a few questions if you don’t mind Mr. Bellringer. Won’t take too much of your time, I promise.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. I had to play it straight with this guy. If I pushed too hard he would clam up. Push too limp and he would blow me off.

“Answer me someth’n: What does The Ringer, Elihu Ballentine, want with a guy like me?” He switched to southpaw and tried to control the conversation. I ignored the question and went straight in.

Jab.

“What do you know about a man named Miles Kalivas?”  I asked. He paused for a moment, placing his hands on his hips. The bag that he had been so vehemently abusing rocked back and forth, squeaking on its chain. He turned to me, grabbed a towel, and sat on the closest bench.

“I know that he’s gather’n fighters for a tournament. Why?”

Jab.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Do you also know that one of his fighters was attacked recently?” I crossed my arms.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yeah, I heard someth’n about it. A guy named Sammy got jumped a few days back. He was on his way back to his apartment when some goon stuck him. What does this have to do with….” I cut him off.

<p class="MsoNormal">Left hook.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Do you know of anyone in the city that would want to see Mr. Kalivas’s fighters put out of commission?” I could see his face tighten.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Just what are you try’n to get at here, Ringer? You think I had someth’n to do with this?” Buck stood up and closed the distance between me and him. He towered over me. The angle of the light pouring through the dingy glassy made his shadow engulf me. This was not the guy I wanted to get on the bad side of, let alone get into a tussle with. I stood my ground.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dodge.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Calm down Buck. I’m just trying to get info is all. No need to get your panties in a wad. I need to find the shmuck what did this to Mr. Kalivas’s fighter. That’s it.” He frowned.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What makes you think I know, huh?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Haymaker.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Cause if there is anyone who knows about blowing fights, it’s you, Buck.” Red flushed his face.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Why you little…” He raised his hand and clenched his fist. I had to act quickly.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t give a damn about what you did or why you blew those fights, Buck. All I care about is the info. Someone out there is taking out fighters. Now the only reason I can wrap my head around why someone would do that is because Kalivas is hurting someone else’s business and these guys are trying to push back.” I took a small step forward. It was a bluff, and thank God it worked. Buck stopped his punch and lowered his hand to his side. I softened my tone. “I’m trying to stop these guys from hurting any more people, Buck. I need your help.”  It was a convenient lie. I couldn't care less if a few boxers got jumped. All I cared about was the payout, pure and simple. Buck returned to his seat and took a deep breath.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You know you got a lot of nerve bring’n up things from the past.” He stared at me for a moment. “Ok, I might know of the guys you’re look’n for. Not much, but it may be a start.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “There are these guys who get a lot of bread from organizing street fights, see. For the past year they were the only guys in town that ran the business. They went through a lot of trouble mak’n sure they were the top dogs in the circuit; y’know, shifty stuff. After the virus hit, a lot of mugs tried to make a name for themselves in the underground fighting circles, but none of ‘em could hold a candle to the guys I’m talking about. I don’t know much else, but I know a few guys that may. If I send you their way will you let me be?” Jackpot. My first lead. Buck gave me the names and where I could find them. I thanked him and made my way out of the gym and back to the office.

<p class="MsoNormal">For the next two days I made my rounds to the names Buck had given me, but the reality was that everyone I talked to all said the same thing. They gave me the short history on the group and not much else, each one ending in the all too familiar ‘Don’t mess with these guys or they’ll fix you up good’ shtick. Either everyone was too afraid of these guys or they honestly didn’t know where to find them. Dead ends, the lot of them. After three days of nothing I decided to head back to my flat above my office for some RnR and a few shots of liquor. I was tired. I was frustrated. My first big paying job and I had ran smack into a brick wall. I needed a new lead. Little did I know that it was about to land right in my lap like a wrecking ball.

<p class="MsoNormal">I opened the door to my apartment and flicked the light, only…the light didn’t come on. A slight hesitation ran up my spine, but I dismissed it as the building I was in having shitty wiring. Things like that were always happening after the virus hit, so I thought nothing of it. I walked into the kitchen to grab my bottle of Wild Turkey when I heard it.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Welcome home Mr. Ringer.”

<p class="MsoNormal">My vision went red. Something heavy struck the back of my head and knocked me to my knees. Slowly the red filtered away and I could see four silhouettes standing over me. Each one was laughing and talking amongst each other, but all I could hear was the ringing in my ears like the school bell calling us in from recess. The muffle became audible.

<p class="MsoNormal">“So this is the Ringer? This little shit doesn’t seem like anything to get worked up over.” A hand grabbed my shirt collar and lifted me from my prostrated state. I could feel talons tear through cloth and rip into my chest; blood dinged my shirt.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You shouldn’t have been so nosy, Mr. Ballentine. We don’t like shits like you poke’n around our business.” A fist connected with my nose. It felt like I was hit by a brick wall. I heard a crack as my head jolted backwards from the impact. They all cackled.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Now we’re gonna have’ta fuck you up a little. I’m sure you won’t MIND!” Another blow connected with my face. From there, the beating escalated. Punches and kicks hailed down upon me like the plagues of Egypt and there wasn’t shit I could do about it. These guys were supers. Each one of them had something that made them perfect for the job of a goon. Big, dumb, and powered with demigod strength. I took my beating. I thought of the punching bag that Buck was wailing on and suddenly sympathized with its plight. We were kin now, me and that punching bag.

<p class="MsoNormal">They dragged me into the living room and continued their lesson in earnest. I even bit my tongue a few times. After thirty mints of having all manner of thrashings given to my body, they stopped. I coughed up blood, a lot of it. I could feel that most of my ribs were broken and that my eye no longer resembled an organ but rather an ostrich egg that had been painted purple for Easter. I sat there in the fetal position, hearing only the labored pants of my attackers. They spoke.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Alright Tommy, you stay here and keep an eye on this shit. If he tries anything, you end him. You got it?” The one they called Tommy nodded his head and the other three left. Tommy turned around and gave me another quick kick to the stomach. It turns out that my summation about being hit by a brick wall wasn’t too far off. Tommy was made of brick. His body was blocky and angled and his face looked like a Thwamp from Super Mario. I chuckled a bit, spitting up blood in the process.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You think that’s funny?” Another kick to the stomach. I clutched my midsection and groaned. ‘Well this is a fine mess you’ve gotten into. How’s that five thousand look’n now, hot shot?’ I thought. I began to crawl over to the wall and upon reaching it, I propped myself in an upright position against it. I pulled out my crumpled pack of Pall Malls and grabbed a cigarette.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You mind?” I gestured in the most sarcastic way I could. Tommy could only laugh. I smiled and ignited my lighter, taking a long drag and releasing the smoke towards the hulking brick man in front of me. He chuckled in a grainy voice. “You know,” I said, “it’s the ugly motherfuckers like you that give this brave new world a bad image. I bet your old lady's cootch closed up like a steel vice when she got a look at the new you. Am I right…..Tommy boy?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Hey let out a yell in anger and moved towards me, fist ready to crush my face. I lifted my hand and snapped my two fingers together.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Sorry, Tommy.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The bricks fell off of his body. They clattered on the ground in heaps and piles until they dissolved away like freshly burnt leaves. Tommy was human again. He flipped out.

<p class="MsoNormal">“W-what? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” He began anxiously rubbing his arms in disbelief. Over and over he tried to reactivate his brick abilities, all for nothing. Tommy began to cry.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Look at it this way.” I stood to my feet coughing up more blood. “Now your girl will put out a little. Oh, and sorry about your face.” Tommy, with tears in his eyes, looked up at me, confused.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What do you mean about my face?” he yelled.

<p class="MsoNormal">“THIS!” I grabbed the brass knuckles I keep in my pockets and forced all my remaining strength into an uppercut. Tommy flew across the room, yelping and holding his nose in agony. It was sad really, but I was in no mood to sympathize. I slowly walked over and flipped him on his back. I punched again, and again, and again, and again, each blow more violent than the last. I needed to make him fear me, and at this point, no extreme was too extreme in my book. I needed to get paid, that was all I cared about, and this guy was messing with my stack. Tommy screamed through the whole process. I grabbed him by his hair and pulled him close to my face.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Now listen here you little fuck, I'm gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna give me answers. Otherwise this goes on the whole night, capiche?” Tommy nodded with tears, snot, and blood running from his face.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Anything, anything you want just…..JUST PLEASE DON’T HIT ME AGAIN!”

<p class="MsoNormal">Paydirt.

<p class="MsoNormal">____________________________________________________________________________________________

<p class="MsoNormal">Please listen to the end theme:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE6YN9VcPPA

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal">Characters Involved:  Buck Bellringer , The Ringer

<p class="MsoNormal">Post in the talk section and tell me how you liked it.