Bowie V. Ibarra's Blog, page 13
September 16, 2014
REPOST: Borderland Beat: Mexico's PGR Agency Designates 7 of 9 Cartels Cont...
Where's the DEA on this list?
Oh, yeah. Running the game at the top.
Borderland Beat: Mexico's PGR Agency Designates 7 of 9 Cartels Cont...: Borderland Beat Republished from Excelsior click on images to enlarge The Attorney G...
Oh, yeah. Running the game at the top.
Borderland Beat: Mexico's PGR Agency Designates 7 of 9 Cartels Cont...: Borderland Beat Republished from Excelsior click on images to enlarge The Attorney G...
August 26, 2014
FIGHTS: Review - Sonambulo fights crime in 'Sleep of the Just'
EX-LUCHADOR TURNS DETECTIVE IN THE RAFAEL NAVARRO TITLE
by
Bowie V. Ibarra
Rafael Navarro is one of America's most talented independent comic book artists. I recently had the opportunity to pick up his title, 'Sonambulo in Sleep of the Just'. It was a real find. The story is a noir-style mystery mixed with elements of lucha libre.
The story revolves around our hard-boiled hero, Sonambulo, which is Spanish for 'Sleepwalker'. Sonambulo was once a lucha libre star until he had a fateful run-in with the mob, who beat him down, shot him, and left him for dead. Instead of dying, however, he fell into a kind of hibernation state, waking up years later. When he woke up, he never went to sleep again and was afflicted with the superpower to 'see' other people's dreams. It's that ability that helps him put puzzle pieces together to solve crimes.
The story itself is a lot of fun. But the best part of the title is the art. Navarro has a very distinctive artistic style that brings its characters to life. The black and white story helps add to the spookier elements to the story, and also give you that 1950s TV feel of the story.
If you have the opportunity, find this graphic novel or the individual copies of each chapter. 'Sleep of the Just' is not only well-crafted story with dynamic art, but a fitting tribute to the tradition of crime fighting luchadors. This title is ZBFbooks.com approved!
You can pick up a copy of 'Sleep of the Just' and other works from Rafael Navarro at his official website HERE.
And if you like lucha libre stories with zombies, pick up the ZBFbooks.com title, 'Sword of the Angel'. It's about a Mexican luchador who faces the zombie apocalypse with spectators after a pro-wrestling event in San Antonio. It's a great title you can find HERE in paperback or kindle.
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. Bowie likes to refer to his works as Tex-Mexploitation, as they all feature strong cultural elements of south Texas, where Bowie was raised. Some titles include '
by
Bowie V. Ibarra
Rafael Navarro is one of America's most talented independent comic book artists. I recently had the opportunity to pick up his title, 'Sonambulo in Sleep of the Just'. It was a real find. The story is a noir-style mystery mixed with elements of lucha libre.
The story revolves around our hard-boiled hero, Sonambulo, which is Spanish for 'Sleepwalker'. Sonambulo was once a lucha libre star until he had a fateful run-in with the mob, who beat him down, shot him, and left him for dead. Instead of dying, however, he fell into a kind of hibernation state, waking up years later. When he woke up, he never went to sleep again and was afflicted with the superpower to 'see' other people's dreams. It's that ability that helps him put puzzle pieces together to solve crimes.
The story itself is a lot of fun. But the best part of the title is the art. Navarro has a very distinctive artistic style that brings its characters to life. The black and white story helps add to the spookier elements to the story, and also give you that 1950s TV feel of the story.
If you have the opportunity, find this graphic novel or the individual copies of each chapter. 'Sleep of the Just' is not only well-crafted story with dynamic art, but a fitting tribute to the tradition of crime fighting luchadors. This title is ZBFbooks.com approved!
You can pick up a copy of 'Sleep of the Just' and other works from Rafael Navarro at his official website HERE.
And if you like lucha libre stories with zombies, pick up the ZBFbooks.com title, 'Sword of the Angel'. It's about a Mexican luchador who faces the zombie apocalypse with spectators after a pro-wrestling event in San Antonio. It's a great title you can find HERE in paperback or kindle.
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. Bowie likes to refer to his works as Tex-Mexploitation, as they all feature strong cultural elements of south Texas, where Bowie was raised. Some titles include '
August 9, 2014
FIGHTS: Preview - A Jobber takes the lead in Push
LATEST FIGHT CARD TITLE DROPS A PRO-WRESTLER IN BUSINESS INTRIGUEreposted byBowie V. Ibarra
Our Fight Card entry this month comes from Nathan Walpow, author of the popular Joe Portugal mystery series (www.walpow.com). Fight Card: Push takes us behind the scenes and behind the hoopla of the world of professional wrestling.FIGHT CARD: PUSHYou’re a ‘jobber’. You make your living by losing in the wrestling ring. You’re a good wrestler, but promoters don’t think you have what it takes to become a superstar. Then Thumper shows up. Big and strong, with a bunny-rabbit gimmick and fans eating out of his hand. His finishing move is called The Thump, and most guys don’t get up from it on their own.One night, Thumper puts his opponent in the hospital. Not a big deal. Sure, the outcome of a wrestling match is fake. But the ‘bumps’ in the ring can be all too real. Sometimes you get hurt. Part of the territory.Then it happens again. Only this time, the guy who got ‘thumped’ is tossed into a car like a sack of potatoes. Lou Boone, the promoter who runs Central States Wrestling with an iron fist, knows you saw something and offers you a ‘push’ if you keep your mouth shut.A push. Every jobber’s dream. To get to win some matches, to get to be on the big cards in the big arenas. You want it more than anything. You begin thinking you imagined the sack-of-potatoes guy – until it happens again.Now, you have to choose between wrestling fame and doing the right thing. Before this is over, someone else will be dead. And you don’t want it to be you…Based on the short story “Push Comes to Shove,” selected by Lawrence Block for the Best American Mystery Stories series.
Amazon Link: http://tinyurl.com/lbn2mrxHere's a preview of the first two chapters of the title
FIGHT CARD:PUSH
ANOTHER TWO-FISTEDFIGHT CARD TALE
JACK TUNNEY
FIGHT CARD: PUSHe-Book Edition – First Published August 2014Copyright © 2014 Nathan WalpowCover by David Foster © 2014
This is a work of fiction. Characters, corporations, institutions and organizations mentioned in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any intent to describe actual conduct.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission from the publisher.
Fight Card, Fight Card Now, Fight Card MMA, Fight Card Romance, Fight Card Luchadores, Fight Card Sherlock Holmes, and the Fight Card logo © 2010 Paul Bishop and Mel Odom
FIGHT CARD: PUSH
ROUND ONE
BAKER CITY, OREGON, 1993
I was lying on the canvas in a run-down ring in a run-down auditorium in Baker City. Though maybe lying isn’t the best word for it. I was plastered face first, right in front of one of the ring posts, with my butt up in the air. The crowd of a couple of hundred was yelling at Olaf Olafsen, the Swedish Strongman, to pick me up and hurt me.
He came over and grabbed me by the hair and hauled me up. When a guy grabs you by the hair, you have to match how fast you get up with how fast he’s pulling on you, so it doesn’t hurt as much as you’re trying to make it look like it does. I didn’t do a real good job, so it felt as if Olaf was yanking my scalp off.He got me to my feet and delivered a forearm smash. That one we pulled off just fine. Olaf stomped his foot when he hit me. You’d think the fans would understand the foot stomp that always goes with a forearm smash doesn’t do anything, it’s just to make noise so the smash sounds like it has some force behind it. Maybe they did understand, but if they did, they didn’t mind.I sold it really well, falling backward into the ring post, and sliding down onto my butt. Olaf hauled me up again, again by my hair, and this time I got it right. He pulled me to him and whispered, “Time for some shots,” and I twisted around and made a V with my fingers and poked him in the eyes.Of all the dirty tricks a heel can do to a babyface, that’s one of the worst. It just makes you seem, well, evil. It’s as much against the rules as anything can be, but no ref in wrestling history has ever disqualified anyone for an eye poke. I hated to do the poke, because there’s always the chance one of the fingers is actually going to do some damage.But I did it anyway, because it’s what the fans expect from the heel. One finger hit just below his eye and the other never touched anything. But Olaf sold it really well. He stumbled around, holding his arm in the air, palm forward, just like the fans expect. Of course, all the damage he’d done to me immediately stopped hurting. I rushed over to him and kicked him in the leg, once, twice, three times, until he went down to one knee.I went around back and clamped on something that was supposed to look like a choke hold. I’d never figured out exactly how that was supposed to go, but I knew it had something to do with putting one forearm under the other guy’s chin and grabbing it with the other hand, so I put it on and shook and howled and yelled, “Who’s tough now?”At which point Olaf stood straight up, and I ended up riding on his back. Any normal person in that situation would just let go. But wrestlers never do, especially dumb heel jobbers like I was in this match. So I hung on, feet hanging in mid-air, and then Olaf reached back and tossed me over his head. I flew through the air and made that ring post’s acquaintance again.Everyone was stamping their feet, and yelling “Moose!” The name for Olaf’s finishing move. He picked me up again and held me upside down and climbed to the bottom rope, facing into the ring, and as he jumped off he tossed me forward, so I took another swan dive toward the canvas and head-first. I went limp, like I’d had all the fight taken out of me. Olaf came over and turned me over and hooked the leg and one, two, three, it was over.The ref came and held Olaf’s hand up and the announcer told the crowd what they’d just seen, and I magically recovered enough to roll out of the ring and make my way back to the dressing room.There were thirteen matches that day, enough to supply the local TV stations for a couple of weeks. I was in three of them. In the first, I was up against Man Mountain Beazel, which made me the good guy. Which meant the white trunks. Then there was Olaf, who was a babyface, so I got moosed in the black trunks, with matching tights. Now, Olaf wasn’t any more Swedish than I was. His name was really Ted Perkins, and he was from Ohio. But he was a superstar, and it was 1993, the time when they were starting to give all of the superstars’ gimmicks, so Ted became Olaf and talked on camera with about the worst Swedish accent you’ll ever hear.I had one more match to go, against Tino Terranova, who the company had flipped from being a face to being a heel at the last pay-per-view by having him attack his tag team partner, Rick The Trick Finnegan, during an interview. So, back to the white. But there were a couple of matches in between, so I grabbed a Coke and sat down to watch on a monitor.I was about the only jobber they’d let be a good guy sometimes and a bad guy sometimes. There were guys like Tyrone Banks, who always played the heel, and ones like Sam Masterson, who was always the babyface. But there was something about me that, even though they always announced me by my real name, the fans were fine with me being the always-play-fair innocent victim of Man Mountain and an hour later be evil enough to poke Olaf in the eye.
Ted – outside the ring, I was able to ditch the kayfabe names and think of them with their real ones – came into the dressing room with Harvey Higgins, one of the refs. Harvey was really good at always seeing when a face did something a teeny bit illegal and always missing bad guys hitting people over the head with chairs. The two of them were laughing about some girl in the first row. I’d seen her too, with her boobs hanging out all over the place. There was one in every town, hot to hook up with one of the superstars, though only Silky Morgan ever owned up to having gotten together with one of them. However, if he was to be believed, he’d gotten together with all of them.I was standing there with my Coke, when Ted came over and said, “Good job out there.”“Thanks. Means a lot when you say that.”“I mean it. You sold that moose really good.”“Thanks again.”“Really, I think…” He looked around. Dropped his voice. “Some of these other jobbers, that’s all they’ll ever be. But you, you got something. I think they ought to give you a push.”“I wish Lou thought so.” I said. Lou Boone was the promoter and just about everything else that counted in the Central States Wrestling Federation.“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll put a bug in his ear. Not that he ever listens to me. Or anyone else.”“Appreciate it.”He clapped me on the shoulder and headed for the showers. I drained my Coke and tossed it and sat down to watch the next match on the monitor. Then Thumper came into the dressing room.I’d heard about him, of course. He was the next big thing. His gimmick was about the stupidest I’d ever seen, but the fans loved it, and they loved him.He dressed up like a giant rabbit. He had furry tights and furry boots and furry trunks. He had a pair of rabbit ears he attached to his head before matches. He had this finishing move called The Thump. It started out like a power slam, but then he would twirl the other guy around so he’d go face-first into the mat. Then the poor guy would just lie there and they'd get a stretcher and carry him off.
Thumper would act real sorry and walk halfway back to the dressing room beside the stretcher, and then suddenly run back to the ring, put his rabbit ears on, and get a big pop from the crowd.
I’d seen him on TV, from a taping I’d missed because Sue’s cousin was getting married and we had to go to Akron. But in person, holy maloney. He must've been six foot six. Real buff, not bodybuilder buff, but enough to know he hit the gym regular and lifted a lot. He was nowhere near the 380 pounds they announced him at, but a solid 300 at least. His face didn’t look like it belonged with the rest of him. It was real pink, one of those faces that looked like he never had to shave.I’m a pretty friendly guy. I used to be shy until I joined the Toastmasters Junior in high school, and now I can talk to anyone. And there’s a certain amount of, I don’t know, call it team spirit, going on in the dressing room. There are guys who hate each other, sure, but in general we’re just workers on a job together. The guy you were up against wasn’t your enemy. He was just someone you were supposed to entertain the fans with.So, after Thumper stopped in front of a locker and opened it and dropped his Army green duffel bag, I walked up to him and told him my name and held out my hand.Thumper looked at it. But he didn’t shake it. It wasn’t like he thought he was too good for me. It was more like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.Then he looked in my general direction and said, “I’m Thumper.”“I get it,” I said. “But what do your friends call you?” “Name’s Thumper.”“Right, but…”“Got no friends.”“Okay, but...” He turned my way. I looked at his face. Then I thought better about the whole thing, and backed away to where I’d been sitting by the monitor.The look on Thumper’s face...it wasn’t like he was mean. Not a tough guy. Not a jerk. It was like he was like some kind of space alien or something. Like his eyes weren’t attached to the rest of his face, but just sat there in the sockets and sent what they saw to his brain by radio waves. It was the weirdest vibe I’d ever gotten off anybody, and I’d been in Desert Storm and had seen my share of crazy vibes.My stomach was twitching. My breakfast, which had been nice and peaceful for three or four hours already, was threatening to come back for a visit. I closed my eyes and focused and opened them again. I looked over at Thumper.He was taking his furry outfit out of his duffel bag and tossing it into his locker. His back was to me. Without those eyes he seemed like just another guy. Maybe the eye thing had been some sort of psych-out. Getting in my head so he could get me distracted and...Except why would he want to psych me out? I wasn’t going to wrestle him, and even if I was, he would for sure beat me. I was a jobber, he was on his way to superstardom. There was no psych needed. If I ever wrestled him, it’d go pretty much as it always did when I was the bad guy. Thumper would fight clean for a couple of minutes, until I did something like poke him in the eye like I did Olaf. Then he’d beat the crap out of me for a couple of minutes, then thumpme. And that would be all she wrote.Some of the guys were weird, sure. Some had their superstitions and crazy routines and, yeah, mind games they liked to play. But my interaction with Thumper was the creepiest minute I’d ever had since I started in pro wrestling. “How you doing?”I looked up, and there was Lou Boone. He had on one of those crazy checked jackets he always wore, and a tie with the biggest knot I’d ever seen.I stood up. I always stood up around Lou. I gave him a bad smile and tried to look him in the eye. Best I could do was the top of his bald head, where three drops of sweat sat. “Hey, Lou.”“You meet Thumper?”
“Uh, yeah.”“What’d you think?”“Big guy.”“Anything else?”What was I going to say? That the guy’s eyes made me want to run and hide? “No. Not really. I haven’t seen him wrestle, except on TV.”“He’s the best thing that’s come by in a long time.”“Glad to hear it, Lou.”“You got one more match, right?”“Yeah.”“Throw in a little more stuff. I told Tino to let you. I want to see some more of your moves.”“Got it.”“Good.”He turned away and went over to Thumper. I didn’t hear a word of what they said, but Thumper nodded a lot.The next match came and went, and then it was Thumper’s turn. He was against Farley Reilly, a nice kid from Arkansas. Farley had a build on him, but he was real stiff in the ring, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t be around long. The whole time I’d been back in the dressing room, he’d been over in a corner reading a Bible.He put down his Bible and checked his boots. He ran a finger inside the waist of his trunks, making sure they weren’t bunched up anywhere. Wrestlers don’t like to have to un-bunch their trunks during a match.He pounded his fists on his chest a few times and headed for the ring. I found myself following him. I took a spot away from any of the camera angles and let myself soak in some of the stuff that always got by me when I was actually in a match – the hum of the crowd, the yells from the vendors hawking peanuts and pop, the squeaks from the PA system.I watched Farley walk up to the ring, acting real confident. This place didn’t have the metal stairs they sometimes used to climb into the ring, so he reached up and grabbed the ropes and hauled himself in. He looked around to wave at the fans, but he couldn’t find a single one looking at him. So he did a couple of deep knee bends and waited.Not for long. The curtain opened again and out came Thumper. He had on his furry trunks and tights and boots and his rabbit ears. The second the crowd spotted him, they came to life. They yelled and howled and clapped. Thumper jumped straight up in the air, and then he ran to the ring. Then he jumped right up onto the ring apron, and stepped over the top rope, and there they were.“In this corner,” said the announcer, some skinny guy in a tuxedo. “Weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds, from Reed River, Arkansas, Farley Reilly!”Farley may have been built, but he was short, and I didn’t think he’d ever come close to 240 in his life. Maybe 220, soaking wet. But they always blew up the weights. Farley tried to act like he had 240 to throw around, but it just looked stupid. Maybe five people clapped for him, maybe three times each. He went back to his corner.“And from Green Meadow, Nebraska, weighing in at three hundred and eighty pounds...Thumper!”The crowd got into it again, twice as loud as when Thumper came out in the first place, making Farley’s lousy welcome look even worse. Most guys had paid their dues like Farley, but I wasn’t sure Thumper had. I just couldn’t see him ever coming to the ring without the fans going crazy.The ref called them into the center of the ring. Thumper was looking at Farley with those space alien eyes. Farley tried to stare back, but his eyes ended up somewhere around Thumper’s collarbone.The ref went into his routine. It was always something like, “I want a clean match, no teeth, no eye gouging, nothing like that. When I tell you to break, break. You got it?”“Sure,” Farley said. Thumper just nodded, then turned and handed his ears to…Lou? Was that really Lou? Lou never appeared at ringside.The ref pointed at the timekeeper and the guy hit the bell.Collar-and-elbow tie-up. Farley tried to hip-toss Thumper. That got nowhere. Thumper hip-tossed Farley. Cheers from the crowd.Thumper put Farley into a headlock. Farley pushed him off, and they went into a crisscross, bouncing off ropes at right angles to each other and somehow never colliding, until finally they met in the middle and again.Thumper hip-tossed Farley again. There are hip-tosses and there are hip-tosses, and this one put Farley all the way across the ring. He kneeled down in the corner, waiting for Thumper to come for him, and when Thumper reached for him, Farley punched him in the stomach. Then, just like I’d done to Ted earlier on, he poked him in the eyes.Only Thumper didn’t sell it like Ted did. Thumper acted as if he hadn’t even felt it. But now Farley had done something illegal, which mad him fair game for a babyface like Thumper.First Thumper smashed into him. Just ran at him from across the ring and squashed him into the ropes. Then, before Farley had a chance to react, Thumper picked him up over his head and threw him out of the ring. Sort of clean-and-jerkedhim and held him over his head and tossed him over the ring ropes like he was a sack of potatoes.Over the top rope. Flying through the air. Smashing into the floor.This made the crowd very happy. A lot of them were on their feet, and some of them were smashing the seats of their chairs up and down, and people were yelling, “Thump him! Thump him!”Farley may have been musclebound, but he still knew how to fall. When he was lying there on the concrete floor, he was selling the throw. I could see he wasn’t really hurt.There was a kid in front of him, yelling, “Get up, you loser! Get up!” No more than eight, with a really scary look on his face.Then Thumper was on the apron outside the ring, and then he was jumping to the floor, and then he was striding over to Farley. He grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up. He threw him onto his shoulder. He marched back to the ring and hoisted him straight up over his head and tossed him over the top rope.Inside me, a voice said, holy maloney! It was my Uncle Charlie’s voice, and that was what he said whenever somebody did something amazing in one of the matches.Up, then down. Usually, you lift a guy and throw him, he’s pretty much going straight out, then down. Farley went up first. Jesus, Thumper was strong.
Farley hadn’t handled this new fall all that well. Maybe he was busy being amazed by the flight he’d just had. He stumbled to his feet, looking like he was ready to call it a day.Then he looked over at Thumper. The big man was climbing back over the top rope.And Farley must have realized how things were going for him. Not in the match – that was all set in cement beforehand – but in his wrestling career. He must have known if he was ever going to show Lou and the other people who ran things anything, it was going to have to be right then. So, he waited until Thumper was near enough, and then he bounced off the ropes and launched a flying dropkick. It was a damn good one, and coming from a lunk like Farley, it was a hell of a surprise.He bounced off the ropes and launched his feet off the floor and swiveled his middle and everything looked perfect. Thumper was turning toward him in just the right way, like he was going to take it and sell it and let Farley get in a shot. It would be a damn good shot, and Lou and the others would like it and Farley would be on his…Thumper swatted Farley out of the air.I’d never seen anything like it. One second Farley’s feet were headed right toward Thumper’s pecs, and the next Thumper had raised his arm up under Farley’s lower legs and shoved up, and those legs shot straight up. Which meant his head shot straight down. It hit the canvas maybe a foot from Thumper’s furry boot. Then his shoulder hit, and it looked to me like it got dislocated.Holy maloney!Thumper walked away. For just a little fraction of a second, I thought something weird had happened. Like maybe the ref had disqualified Thumper. That was the only way a jobber ever beat a star, and it did happen sometimes. They’d decided to change the ending and…“Is it Thumpin’ Time?” howled Thumper.Right. This was how Thumper ended his matches. While his opponent was lying on the canvas, beat all to crap, he’d go to a corner and climb up so his feet were on the second rope and ask the crowd if it was Thumpin’ Time. There’d be a big pop from the crowd, and then he’d get down and go to another corner and ask the same thing. This time the pop would be louder. He’d go to the third corner, and then the last one, and each time there’d be more of a pop until on the last corner you couldn’t hear yourself think.Thumper was somewhere between the second and third corners when Farley started trying to crawl out of the ring. He wasn’t trying to sell anything. He really just wanted to get the hell out of there. I’d seen it before. Some kid all excited about the glory of wrestling realizing, even if you did make it, your body took an awful load of punishment, and you’d never get free of the pain. A dislocated shoulder can do a lot of convincing.He’d almost reached the ropes when Thumper finished his routine. Then there was a hand on Farley’s ankle dragging him back to the center of the ring, and then it was Thumpin’ Time.Thumper hauled him up, more or less into a fireman’s carry. He went over to one corner, like he was going to power slam the kid. But there was more to it.Thumper ran forward, and then Farley was being turned around on Thumper’s shoulder. Then Thumper left his feet, and Farley was flying, flying like a bird, headed face first for the canvas.He hit it.He didn’t move.There’s not moving and there’s not moving. One is kayfabe and the other’s real.This was real.I ran to the ring and up onto the canvas, and even while the announcer was announcing Thumper’s latest victory I was kneeling by Farley. But only for a second. Because now I was sure, and I jumped up and grabbed the mic from the announcer, and I hollered, “Is there a doctor in the house?”Every single person in the arena thought it was part of the act.I finally got through to the ref that I was serious. Then a doctor did come out of the stands. And before you could say Bruno Sammartino they had a stretcher out. Then Farley was on it, and they were headed to the parking lot.I didn’t know if Thumper knew that this time he’d really hurt the guy. But he did like he always did. He walked along with the stretcher and acted real sorry. Then, just like he always did, he turned back before they went through the curtain and ran back to the ring. Lou handed him his damned rabbit ears. Thumper put them on, and he got a huge pop from the crowd.I didn’t see any of this. The noise told me what was happening.Then the ambulance came.I was going to go to the hospital with Farley. But suddenly Lou was right there by my shoulder. He said, “You still got a match left.”I should at least have thought about it harder. Instead, I gave him a little nod, and headed back inside.
ROUND 2
Most of the time, if they hung out together at all, the stars hung with the stars and the jobbers with the jobbers. Tino Terranova and I broke that rule. There was a time right near when I started when Sue came to see me and Tino’s wife Diana came to see him, and somehow we ended up going out to dinner together after. Tino had started out as a jobber, and we compared notes on how things were now with how they were eleven or twelve years back, just before he got his push and started winning matches and making some money.Tino said the main difference was there weren’t so many gimmicks. Wrestlers would have fake names, just like they always did – I mean, nobody was really ever named Gorilla Monsoon – but they mostly wore something that more or less looked like wrestling tights. Except for the ones who were supposed to be hillbillies, like Haystacks Calhoun, who wore overalls.One thing led to another, and before I knew it Sue and Diana were trading phone numbers, and afterward, every couple of months if we were anywhere near each other, we’d get together. Tino won and lost the tag team championship with Rick Finnegan twice. I never managed more than a one-count.But Tino was looking out for me. He couldn’t break kayfabe, of course, but he’d talk me up to people on the inside who understood how good a wrestler someone was didn’t have much to do with how often they won. It never did any good, because the only opinion which mattered was Lou’s, and Lou never listened to anyone.
Still, the couple of times I’d wrestled Tino, he tried to make me look good. Which I really appreciated, because when you’re a jobber you don’t get to look good very often.But that night in Baker City, my match against Tino was a drag. My heart wasn’t in it, and I took a couple of really poor bumps. I’d been getting the crap knocked out of me for three or four minutes when Tino threw me into the corner, then ran at me and squished me into the turnbuckles. You know how that works. If the guy in the corner is a star, sometimes he moves, and the guy who’s running at him crashes his chest into the turnbuckles. This is always played as if it hurts like hell, so the guy who smacks himself in the corner loses the upper hand to the one who moved out of the way.But when it’s a jobber like me in the corner, he always takes the hit. So Tino smashed me and backed off a step and I fell face-first to the canvas, and then he went to pick me up and said, real low, “Lou said you were supposed to get something going.”“Right. I forgot.”“Might be time to start.”So I punched him in the stomach. Then again, and a third time. He sold it really well, and I was able to stand up and give him one to the jaw. And down went Tino.The crowd started to wake up. They do anytime a face jobber starts to get some shots in on a heel star.That woke me up too. I looked at the crowd, and I nodded slowly, as if asking, you want to see some more? They did, judging from the cheers, so I waited until Tino got to his feet and I gave him one of the kicks Stephan taught me when I was a teenager. Stand on one foot, point your side at the guy, shoot the leg up and then out, and pow. Tino went down again. I went for the pin.It scared the crap out of me. Tino let the ref get to two before he kicked out, and for a second I thought he’d go to three and both Tino and I would be in big trouble. But Tino kicked out in time, and then when I went to dish out more punishment, he pulled my legs out from under me, and gave me his signature Senor Suplex move, and that was that.***“It’s not so bad,” I told Sue.“How bad is it?”It was a couple of hours later. I was on a pay phone at the arena, and Sue was at home. She was my girlfriend. I figured she’d be my wife someday, if we ever got around to it. I’d headed to the hospital right after the match with Tino. Just threw my street clothes over my wrestling duds. I’d made a nuisance of myself until I was sure Farley was going to be okay, then came back to shower and stuff. “They popped his shoulder back in,” I said. “It hurts like hell, but no permanent damage. The concussion is the main thing. They’re keeping him overnight.”“Does he have anybody there with him?”“Yeah, his wife and kids. He’s just a kid himself, but he’s got three of his own.”The operator came on, asking for more money. I found a bunch of change and shoved it in.“How’d you do today?” Sue said.“Not good. My timing was off or something. And you know what? Lou asked me to show my stuff during the last match, and I was so shook about Farley that I nearly forgot. Tino had to remind me.”“How is Tino?”“Good. Diana had another kid. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. She didn’t look pregnant last time we saw them. Jeez, everybody’s having kids.”Which led to a real nice silence. Because it was about the only thing Sue and I disagreed on. She was older than me, almost thirty-seven, and she wanted a couple. Kept saying her safe baby-making years were almost over, which she heard in a play at the community theater, where she liked to work on the sets sometimes.As for me, let’s just say I wasn’t crazy about the world, and didn’t know how I felt about bringing kids into it. Blame Desert Storm, if you want. Sue’s mother did.Finally, Sue said, “So you didn’t get to get in any moves?”“One of my kicks. It went over really well. I got a two-count out of it.”
“Really? Your first two-count. How exciting! I’m going to tell Charlie.”You’re probably thinking Sue was making fun of me. But she wasn’t. She understood where I stood as a jobber, and how my dream was to get a push and wrestle during all the house shows.Charlie’s my uncle. A wrestler himself, a while back, and the guy who did most of my upbringing. Sometimes, he came with me to my matches, but this time around they were having a big sale at his Ford dealership and he couldn’t get away. He used his wrestling in a lot of his ads. He’d come on TV wearing one of those singlets like Andre the Giant and say stuff like, “Wrestle down some big savings.”“One away from the big time,” I said. “Hey, Sue? You mind if I hang here and come home in the morning?”“You meet one of those front-row chicks with the big boobs?”“Yours are plenty big enough for me. No, it’s late and I’m tired and I don’t know that I want to drive five hours in the dark. I’m gonna see if I can get another night in the motel.”“Okay. I’ll keep your side of the bed warm.”“You better. I’ll call you in the morning before I leave.”I went back to the locker room. Most everyone had cleared out a long time ago. Just Barry Silver was there. He was watching basketball on the monitor. He didn’t have much of a life.What he did have was a gimmick, and he was one of the only jobbers who did. They didn’t play it up a lot, but he was known as the Jewish wrestler. He had a Jewish star on his robe. He was working his way up to jobber-to-the-stars. The guy who won a match once in a while, so when some new guy came along and they were giving him a push, he could beat Barry and it was a little more impressive than beating someone like Farley…or me.And Barry was one of the first guys who Thumper had wrestled.I went over, sat down on a bench. Said, “Who’s winning?”He looked up at the screen. Then over at me. “You care?”“Not really.”“So, what’s up?”“I wanted to ask you about Thumper.”“What’s about him?”“You were up against him once, right?”“Twice. Springfield and, I think, Arlington.”“What do you think of him?”“Gonna go places.”“Why do you say that?”“He’s just got it, is all.”“Yeah.” I let a few seconds go by. “I know what you mean.”“Son of a bitch is strong as hell. You see how he threw Farley over the top rope from the floor?”“Yeah. Is he a good worker? He know how to sell stuff?”“He doesn’t have to sell stuff. The guy against him has to sell stuff.”“Did he hurt you any?”“No more than anybody else. What’s this about?”“You ever look in his eyes?”He held back just a whit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”“I think you know.”Barry didn’t want to answer. Too bad.“Come on, tell me.”A shrug, and then he said, “Guy’s eyes are spooky.” I waited for more. There wasn’t any. I said, “See you,” and picked up my gear, and got the hell out of there.
===============
Want to see how it plays out? Pick up Push today on Amazon HERE.
And if you like outstanding fight stories, then ZBFbooks.com has some picks for you. Pick up your copy of the 'Pit Fighters' series today in paperback or kindle. Follow the adventures of the fighters in the south Texas fight stable, San Uvalde International, in 'Baptism by Fire' and 'Double Cross'. Get them HERE. The stories feature a Scottish boxer trying to make a name for himself again. Check out the trailers and the book covers for both books below.
TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - BAPTISM BY FIRE
BOOK TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - DOUBLE CROSS
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the acclaimed 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. He earned a BFA in Acting and a MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. His latest titles explore superhero themes, including 'Codename: La Lechusa', 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul', and 'Tejano Star and the Vengeance of Chaplain Skull'. Network with Bowie at his official website, ZBFbooks.com, the leader in Tex-Mexploitation literature.
Our Fight Card entry this month comes from Nathan Walpow, author of the popular Joe Portugal mystery series (www.walpow.com). Fight Card: Push takes us behind the scenes and behind the hoopla of the world of professional wrestling.FIGHT CARD: PUSHYou’re a ‘jobber’. You make your living by losing in the wrestling ring. You’re a good wrestler, but promoters don’t think you have what it takes to become a superstar. Then Thumper shows up. Big and strong, with a bunny-rabbit gimmick and fans eating out of his hand. His finishing move is called The Thump, and most guys don’t get up from it on their own.One night, Thumper puts his opponent in the hospital. Not a big deal. Sure, the outcome of a wrestling match is fake. But the ‘bumps’ in the ring can be all too real. Sometimes you get hurt. Part of the territory.Then it happens again. Only this time, the guy who got ‘thumped’ is tossed into a car like a sack of potatoes. Lou Boone, the promoter who runs Central States Wrestling with an iron fist, knows you saw something and offers you a ‘push’ if you keep your mouth shut.A push. Every jobber’s dream. To get to win some matches, to get to be on the big cards in the big arenas. You want it more than anything. You begin thinking you imagined the sack-of-potatoes guy – until it happens again.Now, you have to choose between wrestling fame and doing the right thing. Before this is over, someone else will be dead. And you don’t want it to be you…Based on the short story “Push Comes to Shove,” selected by Lawrence Block for the Best American Mystery Stories series.
Amazon Link: http://tinyurl.com/lbn2mrxHere's a preview of the first two chapters of the title
FIGHT CARD:PUSH
ANOTHER TWO-FISTEDFIGHT CARD TALE
JACK TUNNEY
FIGHT CARD: PUSHe-Book Edition – First Published August 2014Copyright © 2014 Nathan WalpowCover by David Foster © 2014
This is a work of fiction. Characters, corporations, institutions and organizations mentioned in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously without any intent to describe actual conduct.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission from the publisher.
Fight Card, Fight Card Now, Fight Card MMA, Fight Card Romance, Fight Card Luchadores, Fight Card Sherlock Holmes, and the Fight Card logo © 2010 Paul Bishop and Mel Odom
FIGHT CARD: PUSH
ROUND ONE
BAKER CITY, OREGON, 1993
I was lying on the canvas in a run-down ring in a run-down auditorium in Baker City. Though maybe lying isn’t the best word for it. I was plastered face first, right in front of one of the ring posts, with my butt up in the air. The crowd of a couple of hundred was yelling at Olaf Olafsen, the Swedish Strongman, to pick me up and hurt me.
He came over and grabbed me by the hair and hauled me up. When a guy grabs you by the hair, you have to match how fast you get up with how fast he’s pulling on you, so it doesn’t hurt as much as you’re trying to make it look like it does. I didn’t do a real good job, so it felt as if Olaf was yanking my scalp off.He got me to my feet and delivered a forearm smash. That one we pulled off just fine. Olaf stomped his foot when he hit me. You’d think the fans would understand the foot stomp that always goes with a forearm smash doesn’t do anything, it’s just to make noise so the smash sounds like it has some force behind it. Maybe they did understand, but if they did, they didn’t mind.I sold it really well, falling backward into the ring post, and sliding down onto my butt. Olaf hauled me up again, again by my hair, and this time I got it right. He pulled me to him and whispered, “Time for some shots,” and I twisted around and made a V with my fingers and poked him in the eyes.Of all the dirty tricks a heel can do to a babyface, that’s one of the worst. It just makes you seem, well, evil. It’s as much against the rules as anything can be, but no ref in wrestling history has ever disqualified anyone for an eye poke. I hated to do the poke, because there’s always the chance one of the fingers is actually going to do some damage.But I did it anyway, because it’s what the fans expect from the heel. One finger hit just below his eye and the other never touched anything. But Olaf sold it really well. He stumbled around, holding his arm in the air, palm forward, just like the fans expect. Of course, all the damage he’d done to me immediately stopped hurting. I rushed over to him and kicked him in the leg, once, twice, three times, until he went down to one knee.I went around back and clamped on something that was supposed to look like a choke hold. I’d never figured out exactly how that was supposed to go, but I knew it had something to do with putting one forearm under the other guy’s chin and grabbing it with the other hand, so I put it on and shook and howled and yelled, “Who’s tough now?”At which point Olaf stood straight up, and I ended up riding on his back. Any normal person in that situation would just let go. But wrestlers never do, especially dumb heel jobbers like I was in this match. So I hung on, feet hanging in mid-air, and then Olaf reached back and tossed me over his head. I flew through the air and made that ring post’s acquaintance again.Everyone was stamping their feet, and yelling “Moose!” The name for Olaf’s finishing move. He picked me up again and held me upside down and climbed to the bottom rope, facing into the ring, and as he jumped off he tossed me forward, so I took another swan dive toward the canvas and head-first. I went limp, like I’d had all the fight taken out of me. Olaf came over and turned me over and hooked the leg and one, two, three, it was over.The ref came and held Olaf’s hand up and the announcer told the crowd what they’d just seen, and I magically recovered enough to roll out of the ring and make my way back to the dressing room.There were thirteen matches that day, enough to supply the local TV stations for a couple of weeks. I was in three of them. In the first, I was up against Man Mountain Beazel, which made me the good guy. Which meant the white trunks. Then there was Olaf, who was a babyface, so I got moosed in the black trunks, with matching tights. Now, Olaf wasn’t any more Swedish than I was. His name was really Ted Perkins, and he was from Ohio. But he was a superstar, and it was 1993, the time when they were starting to give all of the superstars’ gimmicks, so Ted became Olaf and talked on camera with about the worst Swedish accent you’ll ever hear.I had one more match to go, against Tino Terranova, who the company had flipped from being a face to being a heel at the last pay-per-view by having him attack his tag team partner, Rick The Trick Finnegan, during an interview. So, back to the white. But there were a couple of matches in between, so I grabbed a Coke and sat down to watch on a monitor.I was about the only jobber they’d let be a good guy sometimes and a bad guy sometimes. There were guys like Tyrone Banks, who always played the heel, and ones like Sam Masterson, who was always the babyface. But there was something about me that, even though they always announced me by my real name, the fans were fine with me being the always-play-fair innocent victim of Man Mountain and an hour later be evil enough to poke Olaf in the eye.
Ted – outside the ring, I was able to ditch the kayfabe names and think of them with their real ones – came into the dressing room with Harvey Higgins, one of the refs. Harvey was really good at always seeing when a face did something a teeny bit illegal and always missing bad guys hitting people over the head with chairs. The two of them were laughing about some girl in the first row. I’d seen her too, with her boobs hanging out all over the place. There was one in every town, hot to hook up with one of the superstars, though only Silky Morgan ever owned up to having gotten together with one of them. However, if he was to be believed, he’d gotten together with all of them.I was standing there with my Coke, when Ted came over and said, “Good job out there.”“Thanks. Means a lot when you say that.”“I mean it. You sold that moose really good.”“Thanks again.”“Really, I think…” He looked around. Dropped his voice. “Some of these other jobbers, that’s all they’ll ever be. But you, you got something. I think they ought to give you a push.”“I wish Lou thought so.” I said. Lou Boone was the promoter and just about everything else that counted in the Central States Wrestling Federation.“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll put a bug in his ear. Not that he ever listens to me. Or anyone else.”“Appreciate it.”He clapped me on the shoulder and headed for the showers. I drained my Coke and tossed it and sat down to watch the next match on the monitor. Then Thumper came into the dressing room.I’d heard about him, of course. He was the next big thing. His gimmick was about the stupidest I’d ever seen, but the fans loved it, and they loved him.He dressed up like a giant rabbit. He had furry tights and furry boots and furry trunks. He had a pair of rabbit ears he attached to his head before matches. He had this finishing move called The Thump. It started out like a power slam, but then he would twirl the other guy around so he’d go face-first into the mat. Then the poor guy would just lie there and they'd get a stretcher and carry him off.
Thumper would act real sorry and walk halfway back to the dressing room beside the stretcher, and then suddenly run back to the ring, put his rabbit ears on, and get a big pop from the crowd.I’d seen him on TV, from a taping I’d missed because Sue’s cousin was getting married and we had to go to Akron. But in person, holy maloney. He must've been six foot six. Real buff, not bodybuilder buff, but enough to know he hit the gym regular and lifted a lot. He was nowhere near the 380 pounds they announced him at, but a solid 300 at least. His face didn’t look like it belonged with the rest of him. It was real pink, one of those faces that looked like he never had to shave.I’m a pretty friendly guy. I used to be shy until I joined the Toastmasters Junior in high school, and now I can talk to anyone. And there’s a certain amount of, I don’t know, call it team spirit, going on in the dressing room. There are guys who hate each other, sure, but in general we’re just workers on a job together. The guy you were up against wasn’t your enemy. He was just someone you were supposed to entertain the fans with.So, after Thumper stopped in front of a locker and opened it and dropped his Army green duffel bag, I walked up to him and told him my name and held out my hand.Thumper looked at it. But he didn’t shake it. It wasn’t like he thought he was too good for me. It was more like he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.Then he looked in my general direction and said, “I’m Thumper.”“I get it,” I said. “But what do your friends call you?” “Name’s Thumper.”“Right, but…”“Got no friends.”“Okay, but...” He turned my way. I looked at his face. Then I thought better about the whole thing, and backed away to where I’d been sitting by the monitor.The look on Thumper’s face...it wasn’t like he was mean. Not a tough guy. Not a jerk. It was like he was like some kind of space alien or something. Like his eyes weren’t attached to the rest of his face, but just sat there in the sockets and sent what they saw to his brain by radio waves. It was the weirdest vibe I’d ever gotten off anybody, and I’d been in Desert Storm and had seen my share of crazy vibes.My stomach was twitching. My breakfast, which had been nice and peaceful for three or four hours already, was threatening to come back for a visit. I closed my eyes and focused and opened them again. I looked over at Thumper.He was taking his furry outfit out of his duffel bag and tossing it into his locker. His back was to me. Without those eyes he seemed like just another guy. Maybe the eye thing had been some sort of psych-out. Getting in my head so he could get me distracted and...Except why would he want to psych me out? I wasn’t going to wrestle him, and even if I was, he would for sure beat me. I was a jobber, he was on his way to superstardom. There was no psych needed. If I ever wrestled him, it’d go pretty much as it always did when I was the bad guy. Thumper would fight clean for a couple of minutes, until I did something like poke him in the eye like I did Olaf. Then he’d beat the crap out of me for a couple of minutes, then thumpme. And that would be all she wrote.Some of the guys were weird, sure. Some had their superstitions and crazy routines and, yeah, mind games they liked to play. But my interaction with Thumper was the creepiest minute I’d ever had since I started in pro wrestling. “How you doing?”I looked up, and there was Lou Boone. He had on one of those crazy checked jackets he always wore, and a tie with the biggest knot I’d ever seen.I stood up. I always stood up around Lou. I gave him a bad smile and tried to look him in the eye. Best I could do was the top of his bald head, where three drops of sweat sat. “Hey, Lou.”“You meet Thumper?”
“Uh, yeah.”“What’d you think?”“Big guy.”“Anything else?”What was I going to say? That the guy’s eyes made me want to run and hide? “No. Not really. I haven’t seen him wrestle, except on TV.”“He’s the best thing that’s come by in a long time.”“Glad to hear it, Lou.”“You got one more match, right?”“Yeah.”“Throw in a little more stuff. I told Tino to let you. I want to see some more of your moves.”“Got it.”“Good.”He turned away and went over to Thumper. I didn’t hear a word of what they said, but Thumper nodded a lot.The next match came and went, and then it was Thumper’s turn. He was against Farley Reilly, a nice kid from Arkansas. Farley had a build on him, but he was real stiff in the ring, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t be around long. The whole time I’d been back in the dressing room, he’d been over in a corner reading a Bible.He put down his Bible and checked his boots. He ran a finger inside the waist of his trunks, making sure they weren’t bunched up anywhere. Wrestlers don’t like to have to un-bunch their trunks during a match.He pounded his fists on his chest a few times and headed for the ring. I found myself following him. I took a spot away from any of the camera angles and let myself soak in some of the stuff that always got by me when I was actually in a match – the hum of the crowd, the yells from the vendors hawking peanuts and pop, the squeaks from the PA system.I watched Farley walk up to the ring, acting real confident. This place didn’t have the metal stairs they sometimes used to climb into the ring, so he reached up and grabbed the ropes and hauled himself in. He looked around to wave at the fans, but he couldn’t find a single one looking at him. So he did a couple of deep knee bends and waited.Not for long. The curtain opened again and out came Thumper. He had on his furry trunks and tights and boots and his rabbit ears. The second the crowd spotted him, they came to life. They yelled and howled and clapped. Thumper jumped straight up in the air, and then he ran to the ring. Then he jumped right up onto the ring apron, and stepped over the top rope, and there they were.“In this corner,” said the announcer, some skinny guy in a tuxedo. “Weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds, from Reed River, Arkansas, Farley Reilly!”Farley may have been built, but he was short, and I didn’t think he’d ever come close to 240 in his life. Maybe 220, soaking wet. But they always blew up the weights. Farley tried to act like he had 240 to throw around, but it just looked stupid. Maybe five people clapped for him, maybe three times each. He went back to his corner.“And from Green Meadow, Nebraska, weighing in at three hundred and eighty pounds...Thumper!”The crowd got into it again, twice as loud as when Thumper came out in the first place, making Farley’s lousy welcome look even worse. Most guys had paid their dues like Farley, but I wasn’t sure Thumper had. I just couldn’t see him ever coming to the ring without the fans going crazy.The ref called them into the center of the ring. Thumper was looking at Farley with those space alien eyes. Farley tried to stare back, but his eyes ended up somewhere around Thumper’s collarbone.The ref went into his routine. It was always something like, “I want a clean match, no teeth, no eye gouging, nothing like that. When I tell you to break, break. You got it?”“Sure,” Farley said. Thumper just nodded, then turned and handed his ears to…Lou? Was that really Lou? Lou never appeared at ringside.The ref pointed at the timekeeper and the guy hit the bell.Collar-and-elbow tie-up. Farley tried to hip-toss Thumper. That got nowhere. Thumper hip-tossed Farley. Cheers from the crowd.Thumper put Farley into a headlock. Farley pushed him off, and they went into a crisscross, bouncing off ropes at right angles to each other and somehow never colliding, until finally they met in the middle and again.Thumper hip-tossed Farley again. There are hip-tosses and there are hip-tosses, and this one put Farley all the way across the ring. He kneeled down in the corner, waiting for Thumper to come for him, and when Thumper reached for him, Farley punched him in the stomach. Then, just like I’d done to Ted earlier on, he poked him in the eyes.Only Thumper didn’t sell it like Ted did. Thumper acted as if he hadn’t even felt it. But now Farley had done something illegal, which mad him fair game for a babyface like Thumper.First Thumper smashed into him. Just ran at him from across the ring and squashed him into the ropes. Then, before Farley had a chance to react, Thumper picked him up over his head and threw him out of the ring. Sort of clean-and-jerkedhim and held him over his head and tossed him over the ring ropes like he was a sack of potatoes.Over the top rope. Flying through the air. Smashing into the floor.This made the crowd very happy. A lot of them were on their feet, and some of them were smashing the seats of their chairs up and down, and people were yelling, “Thump him! Thump him!”Farley may have been musclebound, but he still knew how to fall. When he was lying there on the concrete floor, he was selling the throw. I could see he wasn’t really hurt.There was a kid in front of him, yelling, “Get up, you loser! Get up!” No more than eight, with a really scary look on his face.Then Thumper was on the apron outside the ring, and then he was jumping to the floor, and then he was striding over to Farley. He grabbed him by the hair and pulled him up. He threw him onto his shoulder. He marched back to the ring and hoisted him straight up over his head and tossed him over the top rope.Inside me, a voice said, holy maloney! It was my Uncle Charlie’s voice, and that was what he said whenever somebody did something amazing in one of the matches.Up, then down. Usually, you lift a guy and throw him, he’s pretty much going straight out, then down. Farley went up first. Jesus, Thumper was strong.
Farley hadn’t handled this new fall all that well. Maybe he was busy being amazed by the flight he’d just had. He stumbled to his feet, looking like he was ready to call it a day.Then he looked over at Thumper. The big man was climbing back over the top rope.And Farley must have realized how things were going for him. Not in the match – that was all set in cement beforehand – but in his wrestling career. He must have known if he was ever going to show Lou and the other people who ran things anything, it was going to have to be right then. So, he waited until Thumper was near enough, and then he bounced off the ropes and launched a flying dropkick. It was a damn good one, and coming from a lunk like Farley, it was a hell of a surprise.He bounced off the ropes and launched his feet off the floor and swiveled his middle and everything looked perfect. Thumper was turning toward him in just the right way, like he was going to take it and sell it and let Farley get in a shot. It would be a damn good shot, and Lou and the others would like it and Farley would be on his…Thumper swatted Farley out of the air.I’d never seen anything like it. One second Farley’s feet were headed right toward Thumper’s pecs, and the next Thumper had raised his arm up under Farley’s lower legs and shoved up, and those legs shot straight up. Which meant his head shot straight down. It hit the canvas maybe a foot from Thumper’s furry boot. Then his shoulder hit, and it looked to me like it got dislocated.Holy maloney!Thumper walked away. For just a little fraction of a second, I thought something weird had happened. Like maybe the ref had disqualified Thumper. That was the only way a jobber ever beat a star, and it did happen sometimes. They’d decided to change the ending and…“Is it Thumpin’ Time?” howled Thumper.Right. This was how Thumper ended his matches. While his opponent was lying on the canvas, beat all to crap, he’d go to a corner and climb up so his feet were on the second rope and ask the crowd if it was Thumpin’ Time. There’d be a big pop from the crowd, and then he’d get down and go to another corner and ask the same thing. This time the pop would be louder. He’d go to the third corner, and then the last one, and each time there’d be more of a pop until on the last corner you couldn’t hear yourself think.Thumper was somewhere between the second and third corners when Farley started trying to crawl out of the ring. He wasn’t trying to sell anything. He really just wanted to get the hell out of there. I’d seen it before. Some kid all excited about the glory of wrestling realizing, even if you did make it, your body took an awful load of punishment, and you’d never get free of the pain. A dislocated shoulder can do a lot of convincing.He’d almost reached the ropes when Thumper finished his routine. Then there was a hand on Farley’s ankle dragging him back to the center of the ring, and then it was Thumpin’ Time.Thumper hauled him up, more or less into a fireman’s carry. He went over to one corner, like he was going to power slam the kid. But there was more to it.Thumper ran forward, and then Farley was being turned around on Thumper’s shoulder. Then Thumper left his feet, and Farley was flying, flying like a bird, headed face first for the canvas.He hit it.He didn’t move.There’s not moving and there’s not moving. One is kayfabe and the other’s real.This was real.I ran to the ring and up onto the canvas, and even while the announcer was announcing Thumper’s latest victory I was kneeling by Farley. But only for a second. Because now I was sure, and I jumped up and grabbed the mic from the announcer, and I hollered, “Is there a doctor in the house?”Every single person in the arena thought it was part of the act.I finally got through to the ref that I was serious. Then a doctor did come out of the stands. And before you could say Bruno Sammartino they had a stretcher out. Then Farley was on it, and they were headed to the parking lot.I didn’t know if Thumper knew that this time he’d really hurt the guy. But he did like he always did. He walked along with the stretcher and acted real sorry. Then, just like he always did, he turned back before they went through the curtain and ran back to the ring. Lou handed him his damned rabbit ears. Thumper put them on, and he got a huge pop from the crowd.I didn’t see any of this. The noise told me what was happening.Then the ambulance came.I was going to go to the hospital with Farley. But suddenly Lou was right there by my shoulder. He said, “You still got a match left.”I should at least have thought about it harder. Instead, I gave him a little nod, and headed back inside.
ROUND 2
Most of the time, if they hung out together at all, the stars hung with the stars and the jobbers with the jobbers. Tino Terranova and I broke that rule. There was a time right near when I started when Sue came to see me and Tino’s wife Diana came to see him, and somehow we ended up going out to dinner together after. Tino had started out as a jobber, and we compared notes on how things were now with how they were eleven or twelve years back, just before he got his push and started winning matches and making some money.Tino said the main difference was there weren’t so many gimmicks. Wrestlers would have fake names, just like they always did – I mean, nobody was really ever named Gorilla Monsoon – but they mostly wore something that more or less looked like wrestling tights. Except for the ones who were supposed to be hillbillies, like Haystacks Calhoun, who wore overalls.One thing led to another, and before I knew it Sue and Diana were trading phone numbers, and afterward, every couple of months if we were anywhere near each other, we’d get together. Tino won and lost the tag team championship with Rick Finnegan twice. I never managed more than a one-count.But Tino was looking out for me. He couldn’t break kayfabe, of course, but he’d talk me up to people on the inside who understood how good a wrestler someone was didn’t have much to do with how often they won. It never did any good, because the only opinion which mattered was Lou’s, and Lou never listened to anyone.
Still, the couple of times I’d wrestled Tino, he tried to make me look good. Which I really appreciated, because when you’re a jobber you don’t get to look good very often.But that night in Baker City, my match against Tino was a drag. My heart wasn’t in it, and I took a couple of really poor bumps. I’d been getting the crap knocked out of me for three or four minutes when Tino threw me into the corner, then ran at me and squished me into the turnbuckles. You know how that works. If the guy in the corner is a star, sometimes he moves, and the guy who’s running at him crashes his chest into the turnbuckles. This is always played as if it hurts like hell, so the guy who smacks himself in the corner loses the upper hand to the one who moved out of the way.But when it’s a jobber like me in the corner, he always takes the hit. So Tino smashed me and backed off a step and I fell face-first to the canvas, and then he went to pick me up and said, real low, “Lou said you were supposed to get something going.”“Right. I forgot.”“Might be time to start.”So I punched him in the stomach. Then again, and a third time. He sold it really well, and I was able to stand up and give him one to the jaw. And down went Tino.The crowd started to wake up. They do anytime a face jobber starts to get some shots in on a heel star.That woke me up too. I looked at the crowd, and I nodded slowly, as if asking, you want to see some more? They did, judging from the cheers, so I waited until Tino got to his feet and I gave him one of the kicks Stephan taught me when I was a teenager. Stand on one foot, point your side at the guy, shoot the leg up and then out, and pow. Tino went down again. I went for the pin.It scared the crap out of me. Tino let the ref get to two before he kicked out, and for a second I thought he’d go to three and both Tino and I would be in big trouble. But Tino kicked out in time, and then when I went to dish out more punishment, he pulled my legs out from under me, and gave me his signature Senor Suplex move, and that was that.***“It’s not so bad,” I told Sue.“How bad is it?”It was a couple of hours later. I was on a pay phone at the arena, and Sue was at home. She was my girlfriend. I figured she’d be my wife someday, if we ever got around to it. I’d headed to the hospital right after the match with Tino. Just threw my street clothes over my wrestling duds. I’d made a nuisance of myself until I was sure Farley was going to be okay, then came back to shower and stuff. “They popped his shoulder back in,” I said. “It hurts like hell, but no permanent damage. The concussion is the main thing. They’re keeping him overnight.”“Does he have anybody there with him?”“Yeah, his wife and kids. He’s just a kid himself, but he’s got three of his own.”The operator came on, asking for more money. I found a bunch of change and shoved it in.“How’d you do today?” Sue said.“Not good. My timing was off or something. And you know what? Lou asked me to show my stuff during the last match, and I was so shook about Farley that I nearly forgot. Tino had to remind me.”“How is Tino?”“Good. Diana had another kid. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. She didn’t look pregnant last time we saw them. Jeez, everybody’s having kids.”Which led to a real nice silence. Because it was about the only thing Sue and I disagreed on. She was older than me, almost thirty-seven, and she wanted a couple. Kept saying her safe baby-making years were almost over, which she heard in a play at the community theater, where she liked to work on the sets sometimes.As for me, let’s just say I wasn’t crazy about the world, and didn’t know how I felt about bringing kids into it. Blame Desert Storm, if you want. Sue’s mother did.Finally, Sue said, “So you didn’t get to get in any moves?”“One of my kicks. It went over really well. I got a two-count out of it.”
“Really? Your first two-count. How exciting! I’m going to tell Charlie.”You’re probably thinking Sue was making fun of me. But she wasn’t. She understood where I stood as a jobber, and how my dream was to get a push and wrestle during all the house shows.Charlie’s my uncle. A wrestler himself, a while back, and the guy who did most of my upbringing. Sometimes, he came with me to my matches, but this time around they were having a big sale at his Ford dealership and he couldn’t get away. He used his wrestling in a lot of his ads. He’d come on TV wearing one of those singlets like Andre the Giant and say stuff like, “Wrestle down some big savings.”“One away from the big time,” I said. “Hey, Sue? You mind if I hang here and come home in the morning?”“You meet one of those front-row chicks with the big boobs?”“Yours are plenty big enough for me. No, it’s late and I’m tired and I don’t know that I want to drive five hours in the dark. I’m gonna see if I can get another night in the motel.”“Okay. I’ll keep your side of the bed warm.”“You better. I’ll call you in the morning before I leave.”I went back to the locker room. Most everyone had cleared out a long time ago. Just Barry Silver was there. He was watching basketball on the monitor. He didn’t have much of a life.What he did have was a gimmick, and he was one of the only jobbers who did. They didn’t play it up a lot, but he was known as the Jewish wrestler. He had a Jewish star on his robe. He was working his way up to jobber-to-the-stars. The guy who won a match once in a while, so when some new guy came along and they were giving him a push, he could beat Barry and it was a little more impressive than beating someone like Farley…or me.And Barry was one of the first guys who Thumper had wrestled.I went over, sat down on a bench. Said, “Who’s winning?”He looked up at the screen. Then over at me. “You care?”“Not really.”“So, what’s up?”“I wanted to ask you about Thumper.”“What’s about him?”“You were up against him once, right?”“Twice. Springfield and, I think, Arlington.”“What do you think of him?”“Gonna go places.”“Why do you say that?”“He’s just got it, is all.”“Yeah.” I let a few seconds go by. “I know what you mean.”“Son of a bitch is strong as hell. You see how he threw Farley over the top rope from the floor?”“Yeah. Is he a good worker? He know how to sell stuff?”“He doesn’t have to sell stuff. The guy against him has to sell stuff.”“Did he hurt you any?”“No more than anybody else. What’s this about?”“You ever look in his eyes?”He held back just a whit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”“I think you know.”Barry didn’t want to answer. Too bad.“Come on, tell me.”A shrug, and then he said, “Guy’s eyes are spooky.” I waited for more. There wasn’t any. I said, “See you,” and picked up my gear, and got the hell out of there.
===============
Want to see how it plays out? Pick up Push today on Amazon HERE.
And if you like outstanding fight stories, then ZBFbooks.com has some picks for you. Pick up your copy of the 'Pit Fighters' series today in paperback or kindle. Follow the adventures of the fighters in the south Texas fight stable, San Uvalde International, in 'Baptism by Fire' and 'Double Cross'. Get them HERE. The stories feature a Scottish boxer trying to make a name for himself again. Check out the trailers and the book covers for both books below.
TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - BAPTISM BY FIRE
BOOK TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - DOUBLE CROSS
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the acclaimed 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. He earned a BFA in Acting and a MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. His latest titles explore superhero themes, including 'Codename: La Lechusa', 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul', and 'Tejano Star and the Vengeance of Chaplain Skull'. Network with Bowie at his official website, ZBFbooks.com, the leader in Tex-Mexploitation literature.
August 6, 2014
BLOOD: This week in Permuted Press 8/2/14
Permuted Press is firing on all cylinders yet again.
Check out the latest news from their weekly newsletter.
This Week's Permuted Press New ReleasesView this email in your browser
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
CONTACT: Permuted Press
Gabrielle Faust - Marketing Director
gabrielle@permutedpress.comFROM SHARK WEEK TO VAMPIRES, WE HAVE TITLES WITH BITE YOU CAN SINK YOUR TEETH INTO!July was a phenomenal month here at Permuted Press! From Emily Goodwin's novel "Contagious" sweeping the Contagious Horror Reading Awards to the continued success of all of our incredible new titles, the future is looking as bright as a supernova! And we're just getting warmed up! Check out the latest news below and stay tuned for more exciting announcements as we head into the Fall months...
Still Alive
by AC Thorne
Light bends around the edges of a cloaked elliptical sphere as it glides down unnoticed and attaches to a freeway overpass during rush hour. It begins spraying a green mist that wafts down across all lanes of traffic. A few begin to notice the mist but even they are oblivious to what’s about to happen. Ceres is a recently unemployed and recently single twenty-something. Already burned out on the pursuit of love and money she decides to move away from the city at just the right time. Burnout, she would learn, is the mother of intuition.
STILL ALIVE is a genre-crossing thrill ride that takes the reader through the perils of a running-zombie infested world while learning that the plague is just the pre-cursor to something even larger and much more sinister.
eBook ISBN: 9781618681294
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618681287
Purchase the eBook Edition.
AVAILABLE NOW
Contagious
by Emily Goodwin
During the Second Great Depression, Orissa doesn’t think things can get any worse until a virus breaks out, leaving the infected crazed, aggressive, and very hungry. Used to only being responsible for herself, she finds herself a reluctant leader of a group of survivors and must make a choice: set aside her issues and help the others or go off alone in search of her own family and friends.
"A gory, action packed plot with lots of close encounters of the undead kind a totally recommendation for any zombie lover!"
— Shandy, Mama Knows Books blog eBook ISBN: 9781618683175
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683168
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Little Birdsby Tony Monchinski
People start to explode. Literally. Inexplicably. A wave of spontaneous self-combustion sweeps the globe, quickly reducing the world's population and leaving the survivors wary of one another as anyone can go at any time--with devastating consequences to those in their vicinity. Amidst this madness, roommates Michael and Jimmy Boy stand together against the end of the world as they journey from North Carolina to Philadelphia. eBook ISBN: 9781618683212
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683205 Purchase the eBook Edition.
What else is new at Permuted Press this week?
As we have mentioned before, there are a lot of exciting developments occurring at Permuted Press this year. We have begun updating the official website regularly throughout each week with new content including interviews with our authors, guest posts about the horror industry, book trailers, and promotions surrounding the release of our 2014 titles. Be sure to visit our News section at www.permutedpress.com!
Interviews With Permuted Press Authors:
Bowie Ibarrahttp://tinyurl.com/mfgsoxy
MIkhail Lermahttp://tinyurl.com/nead77x
2nd Gamers' Guide to Permuted Press:
As we mentioned in our previous newsletter, we have begun developing a series of guides specifically tailored to gamers with an affinity for the horror genre. If you're looking to extend your gaming experience check out these titles hand-picked by our staff and paired with the most anticipated new games of 2014! The second installment of the Gamers' Guide to Permuted Press is now live!
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/2nd-installment-of-the-gamers-guide-to-permuted-press
Suggested Reading List for Zombie Enthusiasts:
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/permuted-press-reading-list-for-zombie-enthusiasts
Free Short Fiction by Permuted Press Authors:
"Birds of Prey" by Jason Bovberg
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/short-story-birds-of-prey-by-jason-bovberg
"The Last Time the Snow Fell" by Paul Mannering
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/new-flash-fiction-by-permuted-press-author-paul-mannering
Contests!
Ever wonder what kind of vampire heroine you would make? From now until August 5thfind out the answer and win a chance to receive a free autographed copy of Tentyrian Legacy by Elise Walters (this summer's hottest vampire read!). Just take the quiz and post who you are most like on the "Tentyrian Legacy" Facebook fanpage or tweet your answer to @tentyrian!
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tentyrian-Legacy/687156554667336
The Killing Kind - A Short Horror Film Contest
https://www.facebook.com/events/798695686821292/
Search For The ETERNAL VIGILANCE Them Song Contest
https://www.facebook.com/events/781842918513165/
Permuted Press is in the process of developing its very own film division entitledPermuted Pictures! We will be revealing further details on our initial project, which is based on the story "The Apocalypse Shift" by Derek Goodman, in the weeks to come as we lead up to the relaunch of the Permuted Press website on Halloween. The first film entitled "The One-Stop Apocalypse Shop" will be screened at the 2015 Texas Frightmare Convention in Dallas, Texas, in conjunction to The Killing Kindshort horror film competition co-sponsored by Popcorn Horror.
SHARK WEEK!!!
Like millions of you around the world, we too are getting very excited about the return of the Discovery Channel's SHARK WEEK in August! In celebration of this terrifying and educational week exploring the world of the oceans' great predators we will be bringing your the latest SHARK WEEK news on the Permuted Press website, as well as videos, facts, and, of course, which books in the Permuted Press library you should have on your nightstand to supplement your underwater terrors obsession such asDavid Salkin's Deep Black Sea , Briar Lee Mitchell's Big Ass Shark , andWarren Fielding's Great Bitten: Outbreak !
What is your favorite horror movie involving sharks? Tweet to us@PermutedPress with hashtag#SharkWeek.
Be sure to tell your friends about our new incentives program for new Permuted Press Newsletter subscribers!
Check out the latest news from their weekly newsletter.
This Week's Permuted Press New ReleasesView this email in your browser
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASECONTACT: Permuted Press
Gabrielle Faust - Marketing Director
gabrielle@permutedpress.comFROM SHARK WEEK TO VAMPIRES, WE HAVE TITLES WITH BITE YOU CAN SINK YOUR TEETH INTO!July was a phenomenal month here at Permuted Press! From Emily Goodwin's novel "Contagious" sweeping the Contagious Horror Reading Awards to the continued success of all of our incredible new titles, the future is looking as bright as a supernova! And we're just getting warmed up! Check out the latest news below and stay tuned for more exciting announcements as we head into the Fall months...
Still Aliveby AC Thorne
Light bends around the edges of a cloaked elliptical sphere as it glides down unnoticed and attaches to a freeway overpass during rush hour. It begins spraying a green mist that wafts down across all lanes of traffic. A few begin to notice the mist but even they are oblivious to what’s about to happen. Ceres is a recently unemployed and recently single twenty-something. Already burned out on the pursuit of love and money she decides to move away from the city at just the right time. Burnout, she would learn, is the mother of intuition.
STILL ALIVE is a genre-crossing thrill ride that takes the reader through the perils of a running-zombie infested world while learning that the plague is just the pre-cursor to something even larger and much more sinister.
eBook ISBN: 9781618681294
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618681287
Purchase the eBook Edition.
AVAILABLE NOW
Contagiousby Emily Goodwin
During the Second Great Depression, Orissa doesn’t think things can get any worse until a virus breaks out, leaving the infected crazed, aggressive, and very hungry. Used to only being responsible for herself, she finds herself a reluctant leader of a group of survivors and must make a choice: set aside her issues and help the others or go off alone in search of her own family and friends.
"A gory, action packed plot with lots of close encounters of the undead kind a totally recommendation for any zombie lover!"
— Shandy, Mama Knows Books blog eBook ISBN: 9781618683175
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683168
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Little Birdsby Tony MonchinskiPeople start to explode. Literally. Inexplicably. A wave of spontaneous self-combustion sweeps the globe, quickly reducing the world's population and leaving the survivors wary of one another as anyone can go at any time--with devastating consequences to those in their vicinity. Amidst this madness, roommates Michael and Jimmy Boy stand together against the end of the world as they journey from North Carolina to Philadelphia. eBook ISBN: 9781618683212
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683205 Purchase the eBook Edition.
What else is new at Permuted Press this week?
As we have mentioned before, there are a lot of exciting developments occurring at Permuted Press this year. We have begun updating the official website regularly throughout each week with new content including interviews with our authors, guest posts about the horror industry, book trailers, and promotions surrounding the release of our 2014 titles. Be sure to visit our News section at www.permutedpress.com!
Interviews With Permuted Press Authors:
Bowie Ibarrahttp://tinyurl.com/mfgsoxy
MIkhail Lermahttp://tinyurl.com/nead77x
2nd Gamers' Guide to Permuted Press:
As we mentioned in our previous newsletter, we have begun developing a series of guides specifically tailored to gamers with an affinity for the horror genre. If you're looking to extend your gaming experience check out these titles hand-picked by our staff and paired with the most anticipated new games of 2014! The second installment of the Gamers' Guide to Permuted Press is now live!
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/2nd-installment-of-the-gamers-guide-to-permuted-press
Suggested Reading List for Zombie Enthusiasts:
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/permuted-press-reading-list-for-zombie-enthusiasts
Free Short Fiction by Permuted Press Authors:
"Birds of Prey" by Jason Bovberg
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/short-story-birds-of-prey-by-jason-bovberg
"The Last Time the Snow Fell" by Paul Mannering
http://permutedpress.com/blogs/new-flash-fiction-by-permuted-press-author-paul-mannering
Contests!
Ever wonder what kind of vampire heroine you would make? From now until August 5thfind out the answer and win a chance to receive a free autographed copy of Tentyrian Legacy by Elise Walters (this summer's hottest vampire read!). Just take the quiz and post who you are most like on the "Tentyrian Legacy" Facebook fanpage or tweet your answer to @tentyrian!
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tentyrian-Legacy/687156554667336
The Killing Kind - A Short Horror Film Contest
https://www.facebook.com/events/798695686821292/
Search For The ETERNAL VIGILANCE Them Song Contest
https://www.facebook.com/events/781842918513165/
Permuted Press is in the process of developing its very own film division entitledPermuted Pictures! We will be revealing further details on our initial project, which is based on the story "The Apocalypse Shift" by Derek Goodman, in the weeks to come as we lead up to the relaunch of the Permuted Press website on Halloween. The first film entitled "The One-Stop Apocalypse Shop" will be screened at the 2015 Texas Frightmare Convention in Dallas, Texas, in conjunction to The Killing Kindshort horror film competition co-sponsored by Popcorn Horror.
SHARK WEEK!!!Like millions of you around the world, we too are getting very excited about the return of the Discovery Channel's SHARK WEEK in August! In celebration of this terrifying and educational week exploring the world of the oceans' great predators we will be bringing your the latest SHARK WEEK news on the Permuted Press website, as well as videos, facts, and, of course, which books in the Permuted Press library you should have on your nightstand to supplement your underwater terrors obsession such asDavid Salkin's Deep Black Sea , Briar Lee Mitchell's Big Ass Shark , andWarren Fielding's Great Bitten: Outbreak !
What is your favorite horror movie involving sharks? Tweet to us@PermutedPress with hashtag#SharkWeek.
Be sure to tell your friends about our new incentives program for new Permuted Press Newsletter subscribers!
BLOOD: ZBFbooks.com salutes Marilyn Burns
'TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE' SCREAM QUEEN DIES AT 65
by
Bowie V. Ibarra
The first time I watched 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' was at my friends house. Johnny and Jason Flores, two dudes who are like brothers to me, had rented it from Reno Rentals on Getty Street and took it back to watch it one afternoon.
So broad daylight outside, we're watching this movie and are absolutely terrified throughout. There was a level of intensity that never let up in the eyes of our junior high minds.
There reached a boiling point where Sally Hardesty, played by Maryilyn Burns, was captured and forced to break bread with the family of maniacs led by the horror icon Leatherface. The entire time she was at the table she was screaming in terror and mocked by the family.
That's when they brought out their grandfather, who seemed nothing but an exhumed corpse. Grandpa apparently was good at killing cows, and was given the honor to try and kill Sally at the dinner table.
Screaming the entire time and being laughed at by the family, Sally Hardesty endured some of the most grueling torture I had ever seen up to that point in my life.
Me and my friends couldn't take it anymore. We cashed out, as we saw no hope for her. We turned it off.
Years later I would finish the movie, I think with my ex-wife. Lo and behold, when I had turned off the movie years ago, it turns out there were only a few minutes left in the movie.
I don't think I have ever seen a truer and more intense performance in a horror movie than the atmosphere set up by Tobe Hooper and the performance of Marilyn Burns. I told her just that when I met her at the 2013 Texas Frightmare Weekend. I'll never forget how sweet she was, a stark contrast to the terrified Sally Hardesty I will always remember her for.
Thank you, Marilyn, for a performance I will never forget.
RIP
by
Bowie V. Ibarra
The first time I watched 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' was at my friends house. Johnny and Jason Flores, two dudes who are like brothers to me, had rented it from Reno Rentals on Getty Street and took it back to watch it one afternoon.
So broad daylight outside, we're watching this movie and are absolutely terrified throughout. There was a level of intensity that never let up in the eyes of our junior high minds.
There reached a boiling point where Sally Hardesty, played by Maryilyn Burns, was captured and forced to break bread with the family of maniacs led by the horror icon Leatherface. The entire time she was at the table she was screaming in terror and mocked by the family.
That's when they brought out their grandfather, who seemed nothing but an exhumed corpse. Grandpa apparently was good at killing cows, and was given the honor to try and kill Sally at the dinner table.
Screaming the entire time and being laughed at by the family, Sally Hardesty endured some of the most grueling torture I had ever seen up to that point in my life.
Me and my friends couldn't take it anymore. We cashed out, as we saw no hope for her. We turned it off.
Years later I would finish the movie, I think with my ex-wife. Lo and behold, when I had turned off the movie years ago, it turns out there were only a few minutes left in the movie.
I don't think I have ever seen a truer and more intense performance in a horror movie than the atmosphere set up by Tobe Hooper and the performance of Marilyn Burns. I told her just that when I met her at the 2013 Texas Frightmare Weekend. I'll never forget how sweet she was, a stark contrast to the terrified Sally Hardesty I will always remember her for.
Thank you, Marilyn, for a performance I will never forget.
RIP
August 4, 2014
BLOOD: #SATX Movie Hound Hatches Ambitions Outdoor Plan for the Alamo City
BLOODTHIRSTY THURSDAYS FOUNDER SEEKS FUNDS FOR OUTDOOR MOVIE SYSTEM
By
Bowie V. Ibarra
So, as many of you might already know, Kelly Warren Hammond is one of the movers and shakers of the SATX horror movie scene. He's been collaborating with Alamo Drafthouse Cinema for several years now with his 'Bloodthirsty Thursday' monthly movie program.
But now he's hoping to move out on his own, and he's hatched a plan to make it happen with your help.
Here's the lowdown from the man himself:
*** SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT !!! ***
as most of you know, I am trying to purchase a complete outdoor movie package for $3,200 that ALL OF US to enjoy here in San Antonio!!!
so I have come up with a Raffle Contest in association with MN Oil Paintings!!!
DONATE $20 or $25 to help me reach my goal of that $3,200 purchase price and YOU could win a FREE oil painting by local artist Mike Nesloney of MN OIL PAINTINGS!!!! how do you go about doing so, ya ask? it's easy! if you have a PayPal account send your $20 or $25 donation to my PayPal account: K3LLY1@ME.COM ! it's that simple.
this raffle contest will run starting August 1st until September 30th!!!
below is the original post with all the information and details:
this is whole package deal I am looking to purchase for the ultimate outdoor/backyard movie night for all of Us in San Antonio and surrounding areas!!!!
now, of course I can not afford this by myself so I am asking ALL YOU to help me achieve my goal !!!
with that said, I'm simply asking for donations to get this amazingly cool OUTDOOR MOVIE THEATER SYSTEM - Platinum Package for ALL OF US to enjoy not only movies from the horror genre, but flicks from the sci-fi/fantasy, animation, cult classic and many more!!!!
if you'd like to help me out on this, please send what ever you can afford to my PayPal account at: K3LLY1@ME.COM!!!
you may donate as little as $10, $25, or $50 BUT the more you donate (ie. $100-$500 if not more) you will get some really awesome perks for doing so!!!!
KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS IS ALL FOR YOU, San Antonio!!!! It's about time We move away from the corporate companies and take on something that is more personal to each and every one of Us each month, don't you agree?
you support and donations will be and always will be GREATLY APPRECIATED!
if you have any questions, please feel free to PM here on Facebook, email me at KellyWarrenHammond@yahoo.com or you may even call me at (210)639-9344
Thanks for taking to time read this and I hope you'll be able to help out.
Thank You ALL!!!
Kelly Warren Hammond
=========
It's a very ambitious undertaking. Here's hoping you can help him out, thus benefiting the SATX movie scene.
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press.Down the Road, Down the Road: On the Last Day, and Down the Road: The Fall of Austin. Pick them up in paperback or Kindle today.
BOWIE V. IBARRA earned his BFA in Acting and MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. Network with Bowie at his official website,ZombieBloodFights.com today.
By
Bowie V. Ibarra
So, as many of you might already know, Kelly Warren Hammond is one of the movers and shakers of the SATX horror movie scene. He's been collaborating with Alamo Drafthouse Cinema for several years now with his 'Bloodthirsty Thursday' monthly movie program.
But now he's hoping to move out on his own, and he's hatched a plan to make it happen with your help.
Here's the lowdown from the man himself:
*** SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT !!! ***
as most of you know, I am trying to purchase a complete outdoor movie package for $3,200 that ALL OF US to enjoy here in San Antonio!!!
so I have come up with a Raffle Contest in association with MN Oil Paintings!!!
DONATE $20 or $25 to help me reach my goal of that $3,200 purchase price and YOU could win a FREE oil painting by local artist Mike Nesloney of MN OIL PAINTINGS!!!! how do you go about doing so, ya ask? it's easy! if you have a PayPal account send your $20 or $25 donation to my PayPal account: K3LLY1@ME.COM ! it's that simple.
this raffle contest will run starting August 1st until September 30th!!!
below is the original post with all the information and details:
this is whole package deal I am looking to purchase for the ultimate outdoor/backyard movie night for all of Us in San Antonio and surrounding areas!!!!
now, of course I can not afford this by myself so I am asking ALL YOU to help me achieve my goal !!!
with that said, I'm simply asking for donations to get this amazingly cool OUTDOOR MOVIE THEATER SYSTEM - Platinum Package for ALL OF US to enjoy not only movies from the horror genre, but flicks from the sci-fi/fantasy, animation, cult classic and many more!!!!
if you'd like to help me out on this, please send what ever you can afford to my PayPal account at: K3LLY1@ME.COM!!!
you may donate as little as $10, $25, or $50 BUT the more you donate (ie. $100-$500 if not more) you will get some really awesome perks for doing so!!!!
KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS IS ALL FOR YOU, San Antonio!!!! It's about time We move away from the corporate companies and take on something that is more personal to each and every one of Us each month, don't you agree?
you support and donations will be and always will be GREATLY APPRECIATED!
if you have any questions, please feel free to PM here on Facebook, email me at KellyWarrenHammond@yahoo.com or you may even call me at (210)639-9344
Thanks for taking to time read this and I hope you'll be able to help out.
Thank You ALL!!!
Kelly Warren Hammond
=========
It's a very ambitious undertaking. Here's hoping you can help him out, thus benefiting the SATX movie scene.
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press.Down the Road, Down the Road: On the Last Day, and Down the Road: The Fall of Austin. Pick them up in paperback or Kindle today.
BOWIE V. IBARRA earned his BFA in Acting and MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. Network with Bowie at his official website,ZombieBloodFights.com today.
July 28, 2014
FIGHTS: Preview - Fight Card releases another Knockout Charity Anthology
BATTLING MAHONEY AND OTHER STORIES FEATURES AN ENTRY BY ZBFBOOKSbyBowie V. Ibarra
Fight Card books has released yet another charity anthology filled with fight stories in the tradition of the classic pulps.
Here's the report from their OFFICIAL FIGHT CARD WEBSITE:
Fight Card is excited to publish the collection you now hold in your hands – our second Fight Card charity anthology – Fight Card Presents: Battling Mahoney and Other Stories. This time we’ve upped the ante from ten rounds of two-fisted fight fiction to a full fifteen rounds – with 100% of the proceeds going to help the family of western writing legend, the late Jory Sherman – a mentor and friend to so many in the literary community.Writers helping writers as part of the Fight Card publishing collective.Battling Mahoney and Other Stories is filled with action delivered by many of Fight Card’s top contributors. Legendary pulp writer Len Levinson provides the title story – featuring characters from his popular The Sergeant series of WWII thrillers. Willis Gordon sets the mood with his extensive essay, On Boxing, andFight Card favorite James Hopwood (Fight Card: King of the Outback and Fight Card: Rumble in the Jungle) gives us aHollywood Hits tale featuring Abbott & Costello along with The Brown Bomber himself, Joe Louis.Robert E. Howard scholar Mark Finn (Fight Card: The Adventures of Sailor Tom Sharkey) gives us another top notch ‘weird boxing’ tale, featuring Sailor Tom Sharkey & the Electric Gorilla. Bowie V. Ibarra returns to the Fight Card team with his prose singing The Song of the Cornerman, while Michael Zimmerman gives us one of the hardest hitting stories in the collection, The Broken Man.New writers climbing into the ring with Fight Card include Nik Morton (Cowboy in the Ring), Marc Cameron (Rock, Paper, Scissors), Marcia Ward (Bloodied Leather), Clay More (Heat of Battle), and Chuck Tyrell (Fight Day in Diablo).We are also thrilled to include stories from Loren D. Estleman and James Reasoner, both writers who are held in the highest regard by their peers and readers.This new anthology also sports another beautiful cover fromFight Card’s resident artist/illustrator, the brilliant and talented Carl Yonder (Pirate Eye).It’s all happening in Fight Card Presents: Battling Mahoney and Other Stories…So, keep calm and keep your guard up…====
As mentioned, ZBFbooks.com kingpin Bowie V. Ibarra has provided yet another short story for the charity anthology. This one is entitled, 'Song of the Cornerman'. The story is about a cornerman who is taking his charge, a young, overconfident boxer, into his first title fight.
Below is a preview of the title. Check it out.
SONG OF
DEDICATIONS
To my father and tio Martin. Thanks for introducing me to boxing.To all boxing fans.To Teddy Atlas.To Jeremy LC Jones and Paul Bishop. Thank you for this opportunity.
Bradley Coburn is a good boxer. In fact, he’s real good.The problem is he knows it, and is too busy telling everyone how great he is instead of putting in time in the gym honing his skills. You don’t know how many times this little bastard has stood me up for gym time. Sure, he comes in during the week when we’re open, during his daily training. But then he says he wants to come in for some extra gym time on the weekend, when we’re closed. I say okay, right? I mean, what kind of trainer doesn’t make an effort to help out a student who doesn’t want to improve his skills, right? Am I right?And so there’s little old me, good old Octavio, getting his sleepy ass out of bed and going to open the gym at eight in the morning after a night of cards and bourbon with the old codgers I call my friends at the VFW. Me. Getting up in the morning. Saturday morning. I could ask Marty to do it for me, but that’s not Marty’s business. Marty’s business is to keep Bradley’s face from falling apart during a fight. So it’s me, it’s all me getting up early on a weekend, usually with a hangover, to open up.And where’s Bradley? Nowhere to be seen. Twice he’s showed up over an hour after I’ve been waiting for him as I’m about to lock up. That’s the kind of undisciplined little bastard I’m dealing with here. The guy’s good, but so good he thinks he doesn’t need to work for it.Which makes tonight’s problem even bigger. It’s Bradley’s first televised title fight, and he’s still got his head so far up his ass that the champ, this big Cuban named Oscar Vincent, is going to have to punch Bradley on his butt cheek and hope it hits his face.I swear to Christ, if Bradley doesn’t listen to me, he’s going to sleep in that ring in front of the world and lose this shot. And I don’t want that, you hear me? I don’t want that for him. He doesn’t deserve it, but he’s going to earn it if he doesn’t listen to me.“Would you relax, Octavio. I’m boxing’s next big thing. I got this, man.”“You’ll have this if you stick with what we trained for, Bradley.”I call him Bradley because he says he hates being called Brad. See? See? That’s the kind of challenge I’m dealing with.“He’s going to do fine, Octavio.”“Marty, I know you want to earn your keep, but I don’t want you having to put Bradley’s face back together when that Cuban starts picking him apart out there.”“I got it, Octavio. You’ll see. This Cuban has no chance.”“You better listen to me out there, Bradley. This is a title fight, kid.”“I will, I will. I always do, Octavio.”I swear to Christ, over the past thirty-five years I’ve been in this sport, after four years an amateur and around twenty years as a boxer, I’ve never had to deal with such a prima donna. I’ve also never dealt with somebody with so much talent, so much skill. The kid is a prodigy, but Jesus Christ is he stuck on himself.I don’t want to go off on this little bastard. He’s not ready for that. Marty’s always holding me back, and I can appreciate that. But I swear to Christ, if I have to, I will. This little bastard is like a son to me, and we’ve both come too far to not take home the winner’s purse and the belt. I’m just not going to put up with his garbage tonight. He earned his shot. Now I’m going to make him deserve taking home the big dollars and the title tonight, whether he likes it or not. Mainly, because I deserve my cut of that purse for putting up with him. So does Marty. But Marty’s not past due on his rent and about to be thrown out on the rails. I am.You’d think I’d do a better job with money management. But most of my money goes to the gym for the boys and on the poker tables at the VFW. I just want them to have the best. The boys, that is. Not my buddies at the VFW. But it’s one of the better gyms in San Antonio. It might even be better if I was dealt better hands. It’s a bad habit, I know.I could hear Bradley’s music start when this guy walked into our dressing room with a headset on.“We’re ready for you, Mr. Coburn,” he said.“Let’s go,” I said, waving them on.Bradley shouted, then said, “Let’s do this!” before he walked out the door.I leaned over to Marty and told him, “If he doesn’t take this fight seriously, Marty, I swear to Christ.”“We’re not there yet, Octavio. Let a few rounds play out first.”“Sure. Sure. Wait and see. Wait and see.”We stepped out from the curtain only moments after Marty had unfurled the Texas flag, and I could feel the energy in the arena. All these years, that’s still something that gives me a thrill, a real charge, you know? That energy. That fire from the crowd is just so addictive. Like a drug. Really, hearing those people cheering, ready to see the fighters slug it out, it’s just so… God, I don’t even have the words for it.We got to the ring, and I think the ring was to Bradley’s advantage. It was a few inches smaller than most rings he’s fought in, and the canvas was pristine. Well, apart from the fights earlier that night. I could tell when I looked at the canvas before the show that tonight was its first night to be used.We’re also the blue corner tonight, which I’d requested and we’d got. I’m kind of superstitious about the corners I work. Blue has always been good to me. I’ve only lost seven fights working the blue corner. I won 46 with my camp.The red’s a totally different story. 24 wins. 13 losses. Yeah, I hate that corner.The good thing, though, is that old Bradley here is 29 of those wins on blue. No losses here. He’s also 10 of those wins on red. But his two losses were on red, so this bodes well for all of us.I put my stuff down with Marty and called for Bradley, who was already dancing around the ring.“’Ey. Get over here, Bradley. Get your head straight.”“I’m ready, Octavio. Don’t sweat it,” he told me as I took off his robe.“You’ve got this tonight, Bradley.”“The title’s mine tonight, Octavio. You’ll see.”“You better show me tonight,” I told him. “Show all these people here.”Marty was checking to make sure he had enough Vasoline on Bradley’s face to help prevent cuts from the punches when the Cuban’s music started and the fans started cheering. How could I blame them? This guy, Oscar Vincent, was a real knockout artist. His hands were phenomenal, and his technique was sweet. And he had the fans in his corner that was for sure. I wouldn’t say Bradley was booed by any stretch of the imagination. Bradley’s arrogance certainly didn’t help endear him to fans. But the energy from the fans for the Cuban was much stronger than for Bradley. It didn’t seem to faze the kid, though. Didn’t faze me. I could give a rat’s ass what these fans think about Bradley. If he listens to me, these fans will be in our corner before it’s all over. If not, well, life’s best lessons are learned the hard way, you know? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d be out in the streets, either. I always have the gym. Hell, maybe Chris from the VFW would lend me a few bucks, tide over the landlord for a week or two.Ah, who the hell am I kidding?It’s this whole flag waving thing I can’t stand for right now. This Cuban thinks he can walk into the Frank Erwin here in Austin with that Cuban flag. That makes my blood boil. That’s why I made sure to tell Marty to wave the Lone Star State flag. I’m from San Antonio. Bradley’s from Houston. Marty is from Shreveport, but that’s okay. He knows what he’s doing, so I’ll forgive him for being born in Louisiana. I tell folks he’s from Beaumont.“Christ, he’s big,” whispered Bradley to me as Vincent stepped into the ring with his team.I heard Bradley and had to respond. “Now you relax, Bradley. You knew this already, and we’ve trained for it. So get your head straight. You can beat this big bastard, alright?”Bradley just nodded at me as we all moved back to our corner as the announcer began his intro. I’m not going to lie to you. I thought the same thing when Vincent entered the ring. The guy seemed much bigger in person. I’d studied some tape, but man, in person, the dude was huge. But the scales don’t lie. Bradley and Vincent are in the same weight class.As the announcer finished his spiel, I had one more thing to tell Bradley before the face off.“Listen to me, Bradley. You look this big bastard in the eye and you show him who’s going to win this fight, you hear me? Get your game face on, kid!”Bradley looked like a little puppy who had just got his ass whipped by a rolled up newspaper. His bravado had somehow faded since he laid eyes on the big commie. I thought he was about to start whimpering as we faced off in the middle of the ring.His trainers weren’t much to me. A couple of young chumps. They’re lucky they had this Cuban under their wing. Real gravy train. Bradley would show them.Ref gave the instructions, and they touched gloves. We got out of the ring, but before I got out, I told Bradley, “Get out there and stick to your training. You hear me?”Bradley nodded as I put his mouthpiece in his mouth and stepped out.“He’s going to be fine, Octavio,” Marty said to me.“He can beat this big bastard, Marty, if he listens to me.”The bell rang and Bradley’s test began. I hadn’t been this nervous in a while. This kid has a chance to become a big name in boxing with a good showing here. And he’s doing alright. Bradley’s working the jab like I needed him to do. Bradley’s got the reach advantage, and we need to keep Vincent from getting shots off on the inside.“Good jabs from Bradley.”“It’s early, Marty. It’s early.”“I just want you to see this kid is starting right.”“I can see it, Marty.”I’m usually not this grouchy. Marty didn’t deserve me snapping back at him like that. I’m just a bundle of nerves right now.Vincent fed Bradley one of his rights, and Bradley stumbled. “Oh, hell,” I muttered. Bradley recovered, thank Christ, and returned a combo of his own, getting Vincent off of him. And when Vincent tried to find another opening, Bradley responded with more combos, making a statement that he was not in any danger.“You think he slipped?”“I think he got clocked, Marty. But he’s recovered.”Things slowed down a bit with both men taking their time before the round ended. It was a Vincent round, for sure, though. Marty and I got in the ring and sat Bradley down.“Are you alright?” I asked Bradley, pulling out his mouthpiece.“Yeah.”“Okay. You’re doing good right now. Keep snapping that jab. You’re not going to one-punch this guy. You need to keep setting up these combos.”Bradley’s eyes were scanning the crowd.“’Ey. Bradley look at me. Are you listening?” I turned his face to me. This kid was not focused.“Yeah.”“Listen. Keep it up with the combos, but stop throwing the hook from the outside. He’s an experienced guy, he’s going to respond to it. Switch it up, and keep snapping that jab.”I swear, the only other person other than a corner man that knows how fast a minute can be is a boxer. We stepped out of the ring as the second round began.“No real swelling to report, boss.”“Great. As long as he listened to what I told him to do, he should be fine.”Bradley opened strong with a set of combos that was answered by Vincent. Good series of punches from both. I was hoping he was establishing the combo so he could switch it up. But the more the match went on, he wasn’t doing what I told him to do.“He’s throwing the same punches.”“I know it,” I told Marty.Same series of combos from Bradley. He was becoming predictable; what I needed him to avoid. They were connecting, sure. But that wasn’t going to last long.“He’s starting to get cocky.”“I swear to Christ.”Bradley was connecting pretty solid, and although Vincent had answers, Bradley was taking control.“He’s getting too cocky.”“I swear to Christ.”There’s a different feeling you get outside the ring when you know someone’s going to get knocked down. In the ring, a fighter can almost smell it. Well, I did. It’s like you connect on some sort of spirit level, like your body flows the way it should and it just happens. For me, when I’m watching it, you just… I can’t even put it into words, but you know it’s coming.Too bad it wasn’t the person I needed knocked down.“Aw, hell,” shouted Marty as Bradley fell to his hands and knees.“Get up, kid.”Bradley had dropped his fundamentals, thinking he was hurting Vincent. One, he’s just standing in front of the guy when he lands some combos. And two, his hands are down. Hands up, kid. Hands up.“I swear to Christ! Get up Bradley!”Thankfully, he didn’t look bad, and got up at 8.“Keep your hands up, kid,” I shouted.Vincent went in for the kill, but Bradley was able to keep the big Cuban from getting a good shot in. After a few flurries, the second round was over and Marty and I climbed in the ring.“Are you okay?”“Yeah.”“Listen to me, pull yourself together. The beginning of this match was all you, but you lost your focus and wanted to play around and you paid for it. You’d get your shots off and you posed after you punched. It was you. It was all you in the first part of that match. I tried to look into this kids eyes to see if he was listening. I don’t think he was, but I stayed on him.“Stop standing in front of this guy. He’s too good to make this kind of bush league mistake. And keep your hands up. You’re better than this. Now go back in there and fight a full round.”“Yeah.”We got out of the ring and the third began. And more of the same lack of discipline from Bradley.“What is wrong with him? He looks like crap.”“He’s giving up, Marty. He’s giving up already. I can’t believe this.”
==============
Will Octavio coach his charge to the win? Or will Bradley's lack of confidence prove his undoing?
Check it out in Battling Mahoney and Other Stories. Pick it up today HERE.
And if you like outstanding fight stories, then ZBFbooks.com has some picks for you. Pick up your copy of the 'Pit Fighters' series today in paperback or kindle. Follow the adventures of the fighters in the south Texas fight stable, San Uvalde International, in 'Baptism by Fire' and 'Double Cross'. Get them HERE. The stories feature a Scottish boxer trying to make a name for himself again. Check out the trailers and the book covers for both books below.
TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - BAPTISM BY FIRE
BOOK TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - DOUBLE CROSS
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the acclaimed 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. He earned a BFA in Acting and a MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. His latest titles explore superhero themes, including 'Codename: La Lechusa', 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul', and 'Tejano Star and the Vengeance of Chaplain Skull'. Network with Bowie at his official website, ZBFbooks.com, the leader in Tex-Mexploitation literature.
Fight Card books has released yet another charity anthology filled with fight stories in the tradition of the classic pulps.
Here's the report from their OFFICIAL FIGHT CARD WEBSITE:
Fight Card is excited to publish the collection you now hold in your hands – our second Fight Card charity anthology – Fight Card Presents: Battling Mahoney and Other Stories. This time we’ve upped the ante from ten rounds of two-fisted fight fiction to a full fifteen rounds – with 100% of the proceeds going to help the family of western writing legend, the late Jory Sherman – a mentor and friend to so many in the literary community.Writers helping writers as part of the Fight Card publishing collective.Battling Mahoney and Other Stories is filled with action delivered by many of Fight Card’s top contributors. Legendary pulp writer Len Levinson provides the title story – featuring characters from his popular The Sergeant series of WWII thrillers. Willis Gordon sets the mood with his extensive essay, On Boxing, andFight Card favorite James Hopwood (Fight Card: King of the Outback and Fight Card: Rumble in the Jungle) gives us aHollywood Hits tale featuring Abbott & Costello along with The Brown Bomber himself, Joe Louis.Robert E. Howard scholar Mark Finn (Fight Card: The Adventures of Sailor Tom Sharkey) gives us another top notch ‘weird boxing’ tale, featuring Sailor Tom Sharkey & the Electric Gorilla. Bowie V. Ibarra returns to the Fight Card team with his prose singing The Song of the Cornerman, while Michael Zimmerman gives us one of the hardest hitting stories in the collection, The Broken Man.New writers climbing into the ring with Fight Card include Nik Morton (Cowboy in the Ring), Marc Cameron (Rock, Paper, Scissors), Marcia Ward (Bloodied Leather), Clay More (Heat of Battle), and Chuck Tyrell (Fight Day in Diablo).We are also thrilled to include stories from Loren D. Estleman and James Reasoner, both writers who are held in the highest regard by their peers and readers.This new anthology also sports another beautiful cover fromFight Card’s resident artist/illustrator, the brilliant and talented Carl Yonder (Pirate Eye).It’s all happening in Fight Card Presents: Battling Mahoney and Other Stories…So, keep calm and keep your guard up…====
As mentioned, ZBFbooks.com kingpin Bowie V. Ibarra has provided yet another short story for the charity anthology. This one is entitled, 'Song of the Cornerman'. The story is about a cornerman who is taking his charge, a young, overconfident boxer, into his first title fight.
Below is a preview of the title. Check it out.
SONG OF
DEDICATIONS
To my father and tio Martin. Thanks for introducing me to boxing.To all boxing fans.To Teddy Atlas.To Jeremy LC Jones and Paul Bishop. Thank you for this opportunity.
Bradley Coburn is a good boxer. In fact, he’s real good.The problem is he knows it, and is too busy telling everyone how great he is instead of putting in time in the gym honing his skills. You don’t know how many times this little bastard has stood me up for gym time. Sure, he comes in during the week when we’re open, during his daily training. But then he says he wants to come in for some extra gym time on the weekend, when we’re closed. I say okay, right? I mean, what kind of trainer doesn’t make an effort to help out a student who doesn’t want to improve his skills, right? Am I right?And so there’s little old me, good old Octavio, getting his sleepy ass out of bed and going to open the gym at eight in the morning after a night of cards and bourbon with the old codgers I call my friends at the VFW. Me. Getting up in the morning. Saturday morning. I could ask Marty to do it for me, but that’s not Marty’s business. Marty’s business is to keep Bradley’s face from falling apart during a fight. So it’s me, it’s all me getting up early on a weekend, usually with a hangover, to open up.And where’s Bradley? Nowhere to be seen. Twice he’s showed up over an hour after I’ve been waiting for him as I’m about to lock up. That’s the kind of undisciplined little bastard I’m dealing with here. The guy’s good, but so good he thinks he doesn’t need to work for it.Which makes tonight’s problem even bigger. It’s Bradley’s first televised title fight, and he’s still got his head so far up his ass that the champ, this big Cuban named Oscar Vincent, is going to have to punch Bradley on his butt cheek and hope it hits his face.I swear to Christ, if Bradley doesn’t listen to me, he’s going to sleep in that ring in front of the world and lose this shot. And I don’t want that, you hear me? I don’t want that for him. He doesn’t deserve it, but he’s going to earn it if he doesn’t listen to me.“Would you relax, Octavio. I’m boxing’s next big thing. I got this, man.”“You’ll have this if you stick with what we trained for, Bradley.”I call him Bradley because he says he hates being called Brad. See? See? That’s the kind of challenge I’m dealing with.“He’s going to do fine, Octavio.”“Marty, I know you want to earn your keep, but I don’t want you having to put Bradley’s face back together when that Cuban starts picking him apart out there.”“I got it, Octavio. You’ll see. This Cuban has no chance.”“You better listen to me out there, Bradley. This is a title fight, kid.”“I will, I will. I always do, Octavio.”I swear to Christ, over the past thirty-five years I’ve been in this sport, after four years an amateur and around twenty years as a boxer, I’ve never had to deal with such a prima donna. I’ve also never dealt with somebody with so much talent, so much skill. The kid is a prodigy, but Jesus Christ is he stuck on himself.I don’t want to go off on this little bastard. He’s not ready for that. Marty’s always holding me back, and I can appreciate that. But I swear to Christ, if I have to, I will. This little bastard is like a son to me, and we’ve both come too far to not take home the winner’s purse and the belt. I’m just not going to put up with his garbage tonight. He earned his shot. Now I’m going to make him deserve taking home the big dollars and the title tonight, whether he likes it or not. Mainly, because I deserve my cut of that purse for putting up with him. So does Marty. But Marty’s not past due on his rent and about to be thrown out on the rails. I am.You’d think I’d do a better job with money management. But most of my money goes to the gym for the boys and on the poker tables at the VFW. I just want them to have the best. The boys, that is. Not my buddies at the VFW. But it’s one of the better gyms in San Antonio. It might even be better if I was dealt better hands. It’s a bad habit, I know.I could hear Bradley’s music start when this guy walked into our dressing room with a headset on.“We’re ready for you, Mr. Coburn,” he said.“Let’s go,” I said, waving them on.Bradley shouted, then said, “Let’s do this!” before he walked out the door.I leaned over to Marty and told him, “If he doesn’t take this fight seriously, Marty, I swear to Christ.”“We’re not there yet, Octavio. Let a few rounds play out first.”“Sure. Sure. Wait and see. Wait and see.”We stepped out from the curtain only moments after Marty had unfurled the Texas flag, and I could feel the energy in the arena. All these years, that’s still something that gives me a thrill, a real charge, you know? That energy. That fire from the crowd is just so addictive. Like a drug. Really, hearing those people cheering, ready to see the fighters slug it out, it’s just so… God, I don’t even have the words for it.We got to the ring, and I think the ring was to Bradley’s advantage. It was a few inches smaller than most rings he’s fought in, and the canvas was pristine. Well, apart from the fights earlier that night. I could tell when I looked at the canvas before the show that tonight was its first night to be used.We’re also the blue corner tonight, which I’d requested and we’d got. I’m kind of superstitious about the corners I work. Blue has always been good to me. I’ve only lost seven fights working the blue corner. I won 46 with my camp.The red’s a totally different story. 24 wins. 13 losses. Yeah, I hate that corner.The good thing, though, is that old Bradley here is 29 of those wins on blue. No losses here. He’s also 10 of those wins on red. But his two losses were on red, so this bodes well for all of us.I put my stuff down with Marty and called for Bradley, who was already dancing around the ring.“’Ey. Get over here, Bradley. Get your head straight.”“I’m ready, Octavio. Don’t sweat it,” he told me as I took off his robe.“You’ve got this tonight, Bradley.”“The title’s mine tonight, Octavio. You’ll see.”“You better show me tonight,” I told him. “Show all these people here.”Marty was checking to make sure he had enough Vasoline on Bradley’s face to help prevent cuts from the punches when the Cuban’s music started and the fans started cheering. How could I blame them? This guy, Oscar Vincent, was a real knockout artist. His hands were phenomenal, and his technique was sweet. And he had the fans in his corner that was for sure. I wouldn’t say Bradley was booed by any stretch of the imagination. Bradley’s arrogance certainly didn’t help endear him to fans. But the energy from the fans for the Cuban was much stronger than for Bradley. It didn’t seem to faze the kid, though. Didn’t faze me. I could give a rat’s ass what these fans think about Bradley. If he listens to me, these fans will be in our corner before it’s all over. If not, well, life’s best lessons are learned the hard way, you know? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d be out in the streets, either. I always have the gym. Hell, maybe Chris from the VFW would lend me a few bucks, tide over the landlord for a week or two.Ah, who the hell am I kidding?It’s this whole flag waving thing I can’t stand for right now. This Cuban thinks he can walk into the Frank Erwin here in Austin with that Cuban flag. That makes my blood boil. That’s why I made sure to tell Marty to wave the Lone Star State flag. I’m from San Antonio. Bradley’s from Houston. Marty is from Shreveport, but that’s okay. He knows what he’s doing, so I’ll forgive him for being born in Louisiana. I tell folks he’s from Beaumont.“Christ, he’s big,” whispered Bradley to me as Vincent stepped into the ring with his team.I heard Bradley and had to respond. “Now you relax, Bradley. You knew this already, and we’ve trained for it. So get your head straight. You can beat this big bastard, alright?”Bradley just nodded at me as we all moved back to our corner as the announcer began his intro. I’m not going to lie to you. I thought the same thing when Vincent entered the ring. The guy seemed much bigger in person. I’d studied some tape, but man, in person, the dude was huge. But the scales don’t lie. Bradley and Vincent are in the same weight class.As the announcer finished his spiel, I had one more thing to tell Bradley before the face off.“Listen to me, Bradley. You look this big bastard in the eye and you show him who’s going to win this fight, you hear me? Get your game face on, kid!”Bradley looked like a little puppy who had just got his ass whipped by a rolled up newspaper. His bravado had somehow faded since he laid eyes on the big commie. I thought he was about to start whimpering as we faced off in the middle of the ring.His trainers weren’t much to me. A couple of young chumps. They’re lucky they had this Cuban under their wing. Real gravy train. Bradley would show them.Ref gave the instructions, and they touched gloves. We got out of the ring, but before I got out, I told Bradley, “Get out there and stick to your training. You hear me?”Bradley nodded as I put his mouthpiece in his mouth and stepped out.“He’s going to be fine, Octavio,” Marty said to me.“He can beat this big bastard, Marty, if he listens to me.”The bell rang and Bradley’s test began. I hadn’t been this nervous in a while. This kid has a chance to become a big name in boxing with a good showing here. And he’s doing alright. Bradley’s working the jab like I needed him to do. Bradley’s got the reach advantage, and we need to keep Vincent from getting shots off on the inside.“Good jabs from Bradley.”“It’s early, Marty. It’s early.”“I just want you to see this kid is starting right.”“I can see it, Marty.”I’m usually not this grouchy. Marty didn’t deserve me snapping back at him like that. I’m just a bundle of nerves right now.Vincent fed Bradley one of his rights, and Bradley stumbled. “Oh, hell,” I muttered. Bradley recovered, thank Christ, and returned a combo of his own, getting Vincent off of him. And when Vincent tried to find another opening, Bradley responded with more combos, making a statement that he was not in any danger.“You think he slipped?”“I think he got clocked, Marty. But he’s recovered.”Things slowed down a bit with both men taking their time before the round ended. It was a Vincent round, for sure, though. Marty and I got in the ring and sat Bradley down.“Are you alright?” I asked Bradley, pulling out his mouthpiece.“Yeah.”“Okay. You’re doing good right now. Keep snapping that jab. You’re not going to one-punch this guy. You need to keep setting up these combos.”Bradley’s eyes were scanning the crowd.“’Ey. Bradley look at me. Are you listening?” I turned his face to me. This kid was not focused.“Yeah.”“Listen. Keep it up with the combos, but stop throwing the hook from the outside. He’s an experienced guy, he’s going to respond to it. Switch it up, and keep snapping that jab.”I swear, the only other person other than a corner man that knows how fast a minute can be is a boxer. We stepped out of the ring as the second round began.“No real swelling to report, boss.”“Great. As long as he listened to what I told him to do, he should be fine.”Bradley opened strong with a set of combos that was answered by Vincent. Good series of punches from both. I was hoping he was establishing the combo so he could switch it up. But the more the match went on, he wasn’t doing what I told him to do.“He’s throwing the same punches.”“I know it,” I told Marty.Same series of combos from Bradley. He was becoming predictable; what I needed him to avoid. They were connecting, sure. But that wasn’t going to last long.“He’s starting to get cocky.”“I swear to Christ.”Bradley was connecting pretty solid, and although Vincent had answers, Bradley was taking control.“He’s getting too cocky.”“I swear to Christ.”There’s a different feeling you get outside the ring when you know someone’s going to get knocked down. In the ring, a fighter can almost smell it. Well, I did. It’s like you connect on some sort of spirit level, like your body flows the way it should and it just happens. For me, when I’m watching it, you just… I can’t even put it into words, but you know it’s coming.Too bad it wasn’t the person I needed knocked down.“Aw, hell,” shouted Marty as Bradley fell to his hands and knees.“Get up, kid.”Bradley had dropped his fundamentals, thinking he was hurting Vincent. One, he’s just standing in front of the guy when he lands some combos. And two, his hands are down. Hands up, kid. Hands up.“I swear to Christ! Get up Bradley!”Thankfully, he didn’t look bad, and got up at 8.“Keep your hands up, kid,” I shouted.Vincent went in for the kill, but Bradley was able to keep the big Cuban from getting a good shot in. After a few flurries, the second round was over and Marty and I climbed in the ring.“Are you okay?”“Yeah.”“Listen to me, pull yourself together. The beginning of this match was all you, but you lost your focus and wanted to play around and you paid for it. You’d get your shots off and you posed after you punched. It was you. It was all you in the first part of that match. I tried to look into this kids eyes to see if he was listening. I don’t think he was, but I stayed on him.“Stop standing in front of this guy. He’s too good to make this kind of bush league mistake. And keep your hands up. You’re better than this. Now go back in there and fight a full round.”“Yeah.”We got out of the ring and the third began. And more of the same lack of discipline from Bradley.“What is wrong with him? He looks like crap.”“He’s giving up, Marty. He’s giving up already. I can’t believe this.”
==============
Will Octavio coach his charge to the win? Or will Bradley's lack of confidence prove his undoing?
Check it out in Battling Mahoney and Other Stories. Pick it up today HERE.
And if you like outstanding fight stories, then ZBFbooks.com has some picks for you. Pick up your copy of the 'Pit Fighters' series today in paperback or kindle. Follow the adventures of the fighters in the south Texas fight stable, San Uvalde International, in 'Baptism by Fire' and 'Double Cross'. Get them HERE. The stories feature a Scottish boxer trying to make a name for himself again. Check out the trailers and the book covers for both books below.
TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - BAPTISM BY FIRE
BOOK TRAILER: PIT FIGHTERS - DOUBLE CROSS
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the acclaimed 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. He earned a BFA in Acting and a MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. His latest titles explore superhero themes, including 'Codename: La Lechusa', 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul', and 'Tejano Star and the Vengeance of Chaplain Skull'. Network with Bowie at his official website, ZBFbooks.com, the leader in Tex-Mexploitation literature.
July 27, 2014
FIGHTS: 'Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy' is ridiculous, offensive, fun
MASTER OF BIZARRO SPILLS ABSURDITY ON THE PAGEBYBowie V. Ibarra
'Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy' is filled with bite-size bits of the most ridiculously fun stories you will ever read.
Imagine for a moment you were hopped up on goofballs and totally tripping out. Then you passed out and started dreaming. That's pretty much the experience you get when reading the title.
Each of the short stories are made from the Mad Hatter's teapot. Each of them gets crazier and absurd as one story ends and bleeds into the next one. Each new story jarring the reader into yet another nightmarish and funny world. Sands doesn't just stretch the boundaries of decency and reality with each story, he completely ignores them with joyful delight.
The only thing that works against it is how exhausting each of the stories makes the reader. Story by story, my brain got fried. I found the best way to enjoy the story was to take in as many shorts as I could before putting it down to pick it up again later after I was able to shake the absurd buzz and was ready for more.
Completely absurd, sometimes offensive, but always ridiculous and hilarious, 'Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy' is an acid trip in book form. It's completely ZBFbooks.com approved for all the laughs and the most absurd fights contained within its pages.
You can pick up 'Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy' in paperback or kindle ebook HERE.
If you enjoyed the review, support the blogger by getting a book for yourself at ZBFbooks.com.
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press.Down the Road, Down the Road: On the Last Day, and Down the Road: The Fall of Austin. Pick them up in paperback or Kindle today.
BOWIE V. IBARRA earned his BFA in Acting and MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. Network with Bowie at his official website,ZombieBloodFights.com today.
'Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy' is filled with bite-size bits of the most ridiculously fun stories you will ever read.
Imagine for a moment you were hopped up on goofballs and totally tripping out. Then you passed out and started dreaming. That's pretty much the experience you get when reading the title.
Each of the short stories are made from the Mad Hatter's teapot. Each of them gets crazier and absurd as one story ends and bleeds into the next one. Each new story jarring the reader into yet another nightmarish and funny world. Sands doesn't just stretch the boundaries of decency and reality with each story, he completely ignores them with joyful delight.
The only thing that works against it is how exhausting each of the stories makes the reader. Story by story, my brain got fried. I found the best way to enjoy the story was to take in as many shorts as I could before putting it down to pick it up again later after I was able to shake the absurd buzz and was ready for more.
Completely absurd, sometimes offensive, but always ridiculous and hilarious, 'Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy' is an acid trip in book form. It's completely ZBFbooks.com approved for all the laughs and the most absurd fights contained within its pages.
You can pick up 'Sorry I Ruined Your Orgy' in paperback or kindle ebook HERE.
If you enjoyed the review, support the blogger by getting a book for yourself at ZBFbooks.com.
BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press.Down the Road, Down the Road: On the Last Day, and Down the Road: The Fall of Austin. Pick them up in paperback or Kindle today.
BOWIE V. IBARRA earned his BFA in Acting and MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. Network with Bowie at his official website,ZombieBloodFights.com today.
July 26, 2014
ZOMBIES: Repost - This Week in Permuted Press Horror releases
THIS WEEK'S TERRIFYING NEW TITLES!One of the best ways to escape the brutal summer heat is to curl up inside with a good, scary book! Luckily, we are releasing incredible new titles constantly to indulge your darkest nightmares! This week we are celebrating seven new novels that are guaranteed to take you straight through the apocalypse and to hell and back. Why? Because that’s what we do best at Permuted Press!AVAILABLE NOW
The Creepers: Born In Winter
by Norman Dixon
Bobby's whole life has been about surviving in the aftermath of the First War. The Folks taught him about the Creepers. Ol' Randy taught him how to kill them, how to hide from them, and how to protect himself from their bite. But Ol' Randy never told Bobby the truth of his existence. After sneaking beyond the Settlement's razor wire fence, both Bobby and his brother Ryan are bitten. Life as they know it should be over, they should be dead. They should be Creepers. But they're not, and before they can find out why, their world comes crashing down around them.
“Dixon weaves a magical world that isn't richly drawn, but rather bleakly realized. There's not a lot of light in this world, but the gritty realism it showcases grabs the reader and shoves them into this new world - instead of gently taking them by the hand and leading them."
— The Macomb Daily
eBook ISBN: 9781618681218
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618681201
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Purchase the Print Edition.
In The End
by Breanna Bright
The house on Drunk Horse road has everything, a good price, Victorian charm, a secret passage, and a rich history. But it also has a secret. Something watches from the shadows, and it is more than a ghostly haunting. The young owners, Alice and Thursday, struggle to defeat the creature, but victory comes with sacrifice, especially when Death itself intervenes. eBook ISBN: 9781618683076
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683069
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Purchase the Print Edition.
Hungry Independentsby Ted Hill
Grasshoppers have invaded Independents, and the crops are under attack. Hunter seeks out help from the kids in Cozad, but finds them served up like cold cuts at a deli to the emaciated horseman of the apocalypse known as Famine. After Hunter meets the eye-appealing Barbara, who prefers to be called Barbie, he has to constantly remind her that he has a girlfriend. Sometimes he reminds himself. The distraction is only temporary as he risks his life to protect the children from Famine’s hunger. With Barbie fighting at his side to free the Cozad kids, Hunter discovers he is immune to physical harm, even though the pain from his brother’s death remains heavy on his shoulders. He knows everything will be all right if he holds himself together long enough to make it back home to Molly, unless Famine and his swarm of insects arrive there ahead of him.
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Z Plan: Blood On The Sand
by Mikhail Lerma
Cale, a U.S. Army Soldier, is in the middle of one conflict, just as another more terrifying one has begun. The insurgents are the least of his worries now. Instead, the undead have become the new enemy. Fighting for his life at every turn, and losing friends along the way, he must trek across the globe just in the hopes that he will hold his wife and daughter in his arms again.
"Z Plan is an adventure indeed, and I recommend this book to any zombie apocalypse lover; you won't be disappointed. — Bookie-Monster.com
eBook ISBN: 9781618683250
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683243
Purchase the eBook Edition.
SHARK WEEK!!!
Like millions of you around the world, we too are getting very excited about the return of the Discovery Channel's SHARK WEEK in August! In celebration of this terrifying and educational week exploring the world of the oceans' great predators we will be bringing your the latest SHARK WEEK news, as well as videos, facts, and, of course, which books in the Permuted Press library you should have on your nightstand to supplement your underwater terrors obsession such asDavid Salkin's Deep Black Sea , Briar Lee Mitchell's Big Ass Shark , andWarren Fielding's Great Bitten: Outbreak !
What is your favorite horror movie involving sharks? Tweet to us@PermutedPress with hashtag#SharkWeek.
The Creepers: Born In Winterby Norman Dixon
Bobby's whole life has been about surviving in the aftermath of the First War. The Folks taught him about the Creepers. Ol' Randy taught him how to kill them, how to hide from them, and how to protect himself from their bite. But Ol' Randy never told Bobby the truth of his existence. After sneaking beyond the Settlement's razor wire fence, both Bobby and his brother Ryan are bitten. Life as they know it should be over, they should be dead. They should be Creepers. But they're not, and before they can find out why, their world comes crashing down around them.
“Dixon weaves a magical world that isn't richly drawn, but rather bleakly realized. There's not a lot of light in this world, but the gritty realism it showcases grabs the reader and shoves them into this new world - instead of gently taking them by the hand and leading them."
— The Macomb Daily
eBook ISBN: 9781618681218
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618681201
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Purchase the Print Edition.
In The Endby Breanna Bright
The house on Drunk Horse road has everything, a good price, Victorian charm, a secret passage, and a rich history. But it also has a secret. Something watches from the shadows, and it is more than a ghostly haunting. The young owners, Alice and Thursday, struggle to defeat the creature, but victory comes with sacrifice, especially when Death itself intervenes. eBook ISBN: 9781618683076
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683069
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Purchase the Print Edition.
Hungry Independentsby Ted HillGrasshoppers have invaded Independents, and the crops are under attack. Hunter seeks out help from the kids in Cozad, but finds them served up like cold cuts at a deli to the emaciated horseman of the apocalypse known as Famine. After Hunter meets the eye-appealing Barbara, who prefers to be called Barbie, he has to constantly remind her that he has a girlfriend. Sometimes he reminds himself. The distraction is only temporary as he risks his life to protect the children from Famine’s hunger. With Barbie fighting at his side to free the Cozad kids, Hunter discovers he is immune to physical harm, even though the pain from his brother’s death remains heavy on his shoulders. He knows everything will be all right if he holds himself together long enough to make it back home to Molly, unless Famine and his swarm of insects arrive there ahead of him.
Purchase the eBook Edition.
Z Plan: Blood On The Sandby Mikhail Lerma
Cale, a U.S. Army Soldier, is in the middle of one conflict, just as another more terrifying one has begun. The insurgents are the least of his worries now. Instead, the undead have become the new enemy. Fighting for his life at every turn, and losing friends along the way, he must trek across the globe just in the hopes that he will hold his wife and daughter in his arms again.
"Z Plan is an adventure indeed, and I recommend this book to any zombie apocalypse lover; you won't be disappointed. — Bookie-Monster.com
eBook ISBN: 9781618683250
Trade Paperback ISBN: 9781618683243
Purchase the eBook Edition.
SHARK WEEK!!!Like millions of you around the world, we too are getting very excited about the return of the Discovery Channel's SHARK WEEK in August! In celebration of this terrifying and educational week exploring the world of the oceans' great predators we will be bringing your the latest SHARK WEEK news, as well as videos, facts, and, of course, which books in the Permuted Press library you should have on your nightstand to supplement your underwater terrors obsession such asDavid Salkin's Deep Black Sea , Briar Lee Mitchell's Big Ass Shark , andWarren Fielding's Great Bitten: Outbreak !
What is your favorite horror movie involving sharks? Tweet to us@PermutedPress with hashtag#SharkWeek.
FIGHTS: PREVIEW - The 'Bridgeport Brawler' strikes for Fight Card
LATEST FIGHT CARD TITLE BRINGS THE FUN OF FIGHTSrepost from Fight Card byBowie V. Ibarra
Our latest Fight Card entry has just hit the virtual bookshelves…Bridgeport Brawler is from Dave White writing as Jack Tunney. The cover is by our man down under, David Foster, and the ad banners are generously provided by Bobby Nash…FIGHT CARD: BRIDGEPORT BRAWLERChicago, 1953…Patrick ‘The Hammer’ White – the Bridgeport Brawler – is on top of the world. He is the current heavyweight champion confidently getting ready to defend his crown. All the training from father Tim at St Vincent’s orphanage has come full circle, and Pat isn’t figuring on being toppled from the championship mountain anytime soon.
Having seen his shares of ups-and-downs, Pat believes the ‘downs’ are behind him. However, he has forgotten boxing’s dark side. When mob boss Carmen Amello squeezes Pat’s trainer into forcing the champ to take a dive, the ‘downs’ come back with a vengeance.
In the aftermath of disaster, with only bad choices in front of him, the Bridgeport Brawler is going to have to dig deep if he is ever going to hammer his way back to the top…
Bridgeport Brawler is another two-fisted Fight Card tale …
AMAZON LINK: http://tinyurl.com/outb2d5
Here's a preview of the title:
FIGHT CARD: BRIDGEPORT BRAWLERe-Book Edition – First Published July 2014Copyright © 2014 Dave White Cover by David Foster © 2014
FIGHT CARD:BRIDGEPORT BRAWLERROUND 1CHICAGO, AUGUST 26, 1953The Stadium, or the Madhouse on Madison as it had been dubbed, was sure living up to its nickname. I sat in the locker room getting taped up and ready for another title defense. The door was closed, and the lockers lined a long hall of brick and concrete beneath the stands. The noise and banging of feet from the fans made it seem as if I was standing directly under them, as the place actually shook and vibrated like an earthquake. The sound echoing through the place like a fierce thunder storm. Homer Slade, my trainer, manager, and best friend since growing up at St. Vincent’s Orphanage for Boys was quiet. He was a lot tenser than I had ever seen him before. It was almost eerie, because for as long as I had known Homer, quiet, was not a word you normally associated with him. I had been the heavyweight champ for a little over a year, and tonight marked the third title defense I was making. I felt great, on top of the world really, but I knew something had been off with Homer for a while now. I tried to tell myself it was just the daily pressures of the fight game, but I was kidding myself. Homer was using again, heroin, opium, it didn’t really matter. I suspected he had been since I first won the crown.I was one of the youngest to do so – a feat, I was proud of. Me, Patrick, The Hammer, White. The Hammer of course was not chosen by my mother. Father Tim always told me I was something special. Six foot two and two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle by the time I was eighteen.
I had been gifted with size and strength, and a natural agility you couldn’t teach. Father Tim always shook his head in disbelief. The nickname came from the large paws I sported. At least that was what I thought. Homer always said it was because I hit like a twenty pound sledge. He would know. Homer came to the orphanage, all 4 foot of him, when I was ten. Truth be told, he hadn’t grown much since then. He would barely top five-two. It didn’t matter though, Homer had size where it counted…his heart. At least he used to. When Homer came to the orphanage I was easily the biggest kid there, having been large even at an early age. Homer introduced himself by attempting to cold cock me. I remember the look on his face after he came off the ground and hit me with everything he had, only to see me smile at him. Homer learned about my fist first hand that day. Homer looked like an alien when he finally came out of it, half his face swollen and purple. It was the beginning of a binding friendship, even though Father Tim made me run till I puked for hitting Homer.I was only five when I graced Father Tim’s doorstep. The sad part of it was I caused myself to be an orphan. The memories always stayed with me, haunted me at times. My father had left us that year. I guess six kids and a battle with the bottle had been too much for him. I never minded him leaving. He was an ass, with a capitol A. Mom was the best though, always doing whatever it took in order to give us whatever she could. We got by. Luckily the place on Parnel, in Bridgeport, a vastly integrated neighborhood in Chicago, had two separate apartments to rent to provide us a small amount of income. Mom couldn’t work, having four young kids in the house to take care of, but she took in washing and mending when she could.I was a twin, as well as my two other sisters, Eleanor and Elaine, who were three years my senior. My twin was my sister Patricia. So mom was stuck with four kids under the age of ten. We also had two older brothers, Ray and Don, also twins, but fifteen years older. Ray was an alcoholic, and Don had been killed in a motorcycle accident. I still had his old Indian. I had restored it to its showroom appearance. It was the only thing, other than me and Ray, which survived the fire. I remember it clearly. I was terrorizing my sister Patricia as she lay in the pull out bed where we slept. She yelled for me to go to sleep, but I wanted to read the new comic book I had.I sat there with a lighter I had managed to swipe from my brother Ray, the low flame barely bright enough to see under the covers, let alone wake my mom. Patricia kept threatening to get up and tell. I told her to stuff it, I was almost done. I called her a brat and that’s when she slapped me, knocking the lighter from my grasp. I threw back the covers, trying desperately to get the flames out, but it was too late. I was so focused on trying to put it out, I never noticed Patricia hung up in the sheets. The bed went up like an inferno, engulfed Patricia and quickly the curtains and couch. The house being small and cramped, was a trap for my mom and my sisters. I panicked and ran through the kitchen and out the back door before I ever realized my family was trapped. The screams brought me to my senses, but by then it was too late. I tried to race back in, but was grabbed firmly in a set of strong arms, which pulled me away from the place, and out into the alley. I watched in horror as the house quickly became a funeral pyre, never noticing it had been Ray who dragged my away. I had thought he was in bed sleeping, but it turned out he was out getting stoned somewhere. I guess I should have been happy to have one less death on my conscious, but truth be told, Ray was already dead. He just didn’t know it. Years of drug and alcohol abuse had taken their toll.I remember Ray dropping me off at the orphanage. I didn’t understand at the time why he couldn’t take care of me? Didn’t he love me? I was his brother. I hated him for a long time, but eventually realized it was because he loved me that he gave me the best opportunity to survive. Father Tim and the orphanage did the rest. It was father Tim who eventually convinced me to go see Ray when he was dying from the big ‘C’. I made peace with Ray, and with myself. Homer brought me out of my thoughts by pressing roughly on a shoulder nerve. I barked at him. “What are ya’ trying to do, take me out of the fight before it even starts?” Homer was sweating profusely, almost shaken like the grim reaper was hanging over his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you Homer? You strung out again?” Homer’s eyes bulged as he started nervously rubbing his hands together so hard I thought the skin was gonna come off.“Listen, Pat. I got myself into some trouble. I need your help, you’re the only one who can help me right now.” It was then the anvil dropped on me. A punch so hard to the gut I wasn’t sure I would breathe again.I knew Homer was using. What I didn’t know was he was in deep with the mob. A guy by the name of Carmen Amello. They didn’t come any more mean and ruthless…well not that I had ever known. I managed to coax the rest of the story out of Homer, but wished I hadn’t. Homer had promised Carmen a lay down, a dive! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, even as he was spilling it.“Please, Pat. Just this once, and then we can start over, get ya right back in contention and take the crown back. I didn’t know what else to do.” Homer started crying. I felt like joining him, but my tears were tears of anger. I tagged him with a slap to the face sending him over the training table and crashing to the floor. His eyes lit up with fear as I advanced on him, grabbing his collar and yanking him off the grown and staring eye to eye.“I won’t do it! You hear me? I worked too hard for this, Homer, I earned it. I deserve it!” I flung Homer away with all my might, sending him crashing into the wall, semi-consciousness. I was fuming as I stood over him, spitting words rather than saying them. It didn’t matter, Homer was oblivious. I sat on the table and tried to think. How could he do this to me? I thought we were the best friends in the world. I moved to the sink and filled a glass with water. I tossed it on his face bringing him around. I helped him up and sat him on the training table. A couple slaps to the face brought him completely out of it. The fear was still in his eyes as I stared in to them and spoke.“Homer, this is the last straw, you understand? I will do this to save your miserable life, but afterward, you’re on your own.” Homer’s head sagged, as he meekly nodded. “Now, tape me up, I guess I’m gonna learn how to take a dive!”
ROUND 2
The noise was deafening as we walked down the hall toward the ring. I was a hometown boy made good, and the fans loved it. The previous fights had all been brawls, which had also whipped them into a frenzy. Amazing how the sight of two guys beating each other bloody could stir people up. The bombshell of what Homer had laid on me had almost made me forget about my opponent. I wasn’t surprised the mob wanted this guy to take me down. He was a fellow Dago named Rocko. Not very original, but the mob was never known for originality, just brutality. I made my way down the aisle as the announcer finished introducing Rocko to a loud chorus of boos. I was just climbing into the ring when he announced me. “In this corner, wearing green shorts…Patrick The Hammer White!” He drew out my name loudly and the crowd, which was already raising the roof, erupted in an ear shattering roar – stomping their feet and whooping it up at the top of their lungs. I half expected pieces of the stadium to come raining down from all the thunderous foot stamps. I raised my hands and moved around in my corner stirring the crowd up even further. I looked across the ring at my opponent. He was as tall as me, but a little thicker around the waist. Too much pasta. I chuckled to myself.
His hair was dark and greasy looking, and the unibrow he sported threatened to overtake the protruding cro-magnum forehead. He looked like he needed a shave, but maybe his five o’clock shadow was just thicker than most. I noticed the slight curl of his lips as I looked into the black like orbs, which somehow pierced the shadows of his eye sockets. His nose was thick and bent to the right a bit, obviously pushed in a few times. I smiled as the ref called us to the center of the ring. I was smiling at my opponent the whole time, I barely heard the ref’s words. In truth they weren’t much different than all the other refs I had listened to in countless other fights. It was strange, I was almost giddy…slap-happy maybe. I should have been angry at the world, but somehow something inside just pushed forward and I was okay with everything. Maybe it was my way of coping with the fact that in order to save Homer, I needed to take a dive to this mook across from me. I couldn’t let it bother me. Homer and I were more like brothers than friends. If taking a dive meant getting him out of trouble, and hopefully off the drugs…well I guessed I was okay with it.The bell sounded and Rocko and I moved to the center of the ring. Rocko charged ahead throwing some wild arcing jabs I swatted away as I danced around him. He continued the assault, as I avoided all the blows without so much as a glancing shot. I decided to give the crowd a bit of their money’s worth. I was gonna dive, but Rocko was gonna get some pain inflicted upon him before that happened.I started hammering his forearms and shoulders every time he threw a jab. I watched the shock on his face as the pain registered, the numbing effect was always fun to watch when you pounded an opponent’s arms and shoulders into submission. Rocko backed off a little, his arms sagging to his sides as he danced around and tried to shake the feeling back into them. I spent the rest of the first round just dancing around him and throwing some meaningless jabs until the bell rang and we headed to our corners. Homer jumped in the ring with the stool, some water, and a bucket. I took a quick swig and swirled it around my mouth, before purposely missing the bucket and spitting it on Homer’s shirt. I smiled at him, but he didn’t return the favor. I could tell by the sweat on his forehead and the nervous twitching of the mustache that bounced on his upper lip as he spoke.“Pat, are you sure you’re gonna throw the fight. I mean if not, I will get out of Dodge now.” I stood and jokingly jabbed him in the gut.“Don’t worry, Homer. I’ll take the dive, but not until I’ve have a bit of fun, and my Neanderthal friend over there has taken a little punishment.” Homer shook his head. “Hey! I’m doing this because of your screw-up, Homer, not mine. Doing it my way, the crowd gets their money’s worth, and I don’t look like so much of a chump!” I shoved him away as the bell rang for round two and headed out to the middle.Rocko was a bit more cautious this time around, he tried to dance around and shoot jabs at me, but he was moving in slow motion. I danced around him like he was standing still, tossing a few half-hearted jabs at him then dancing away like I was avoiding him. He had little foot work and stumbled about like a Mack truck moving down an alley. It was then that something caught my eye in the audience. It was the mobster Carmen Amello and a few of his goon squad. I caught his eye and he shot me a smile, tipping what looked like a brand spanking new fedora at me. He accomplished all this without ever removing what looked like a fine Cuban from his mouth. I felt a sudden bit of rage forming in me…right up till I saw the large fist hurdling my way.It was too late to move completely out of the way, but I did manage to deflect a little of the blow, which still nearly took my head off. It was a funny feeling for me. I had never been knocked out before. I’d been sent to the mat once or twice, but this shot had nearly taken me out. It was a strange feeling, almost numbing in a way. Time seemed to stand still and a ringing bounced around in my head. The mat approached me in a sea of blurred vision, then I kissed it. I could hear the crowd oohing and gasping, but it was like an echo, a strange and distant echo. I heard the ref counting, “One…two…three…” He reached eight before I managed to get up. I shook my head, holding my hands out. The ref grabbed my head and looked into my eyes. “Son, you okay?” I nodded and he waved for the fight to continue. I spent the rest of the round dancing around trying to clear my head and keep it attached to my neck. I managed to escape any further damage as the round ended and I moved to my corner.Homer used the sponge to wipe water on my head, allowing it to roll down my body. It felt good, most of my senses had returned, but my head still throbbed. Homer stood in front of me and held up a few fingers as he spoke.“How many fingers you see, Pat?” I swatted them away. “Two you idiot, now get out of my way so I can get back in there.” Homer grabbed the stool, ducked under the ropes, and out of the ring. I stared across at Rocko who wore a huge grin on his face. I felt a twinge of anger welling up inside of me. I quickly suppressed it, deciding me and Rocko were going to have lots of fun before I took my swan dive. He was gonna beat the champ, but he was gonna feel it for months afterward – months. I pounded my gloves together and headed out to the center of the ring.Rocko almost ran at me, the bloodlust in his eyes as he sought to put me away. He threw jabs and hooks, I blocked, ducked, and danced around him. He grimaced and chased me around the ring, trying combinations and finally seeking to bull me in to the corner. I timed it perfectly, planting my foot while pivoting my hips and using his own momentum to toss him into the corner where he had sought to pin me. I stepped in and shot a few left handed jabs toward his face. He naturally brought his hands up to deflect, so I planted a firm right handed shot into his rib cage, causing his breath and his mouthpiece to fly from his mouth.I threw a few jabs into his face then stepped back allowing him come off the ropes. He wobbled toward me, his eyes almost rolling about in their sockets. I caught the look on Carmen’s face, the smile no longer glaring at me. The cigar had been removed, an animalistic snarl replacing it. I winked at him and shot him my flashiest smile. I then turned my attention to Rocko. He had shaken the cobwebs out of his head, but I could see he was holding an elbow against his ribs. I allowed him to come at me again, absorbed a few of his jabs, even allowed him to land a few glancing blows, which I made out to be far harder than they were.I danced around a bit again, moving away from Rocko like I was trying to clear my head. Truth was I was feeling sick to my stomach. Needing to take a dive to a piece of scum like Rocko was goading. He was worthless and had no business winning the title. I tried to push the thought from my head. We danced a little more, threw a few more meaningless jabs, and then the bell rang.I plopped on the stool as if exhausted, letting Homer worked on me while he vented. “What are you doing, Pat? I understand you not wanting to do this, but I don’t think my heart can take much more.” I turned toward Homer. I knew I must have looked scary. I always did when I felt the kind of rage coming over me like I felt at that moment. Homer knew as well and wisely backed away from me. “I get it Homer,” I said in a low growl. “I understand perfectly. You couldn’t keep your nose clean, and now I have to clean your mess up again. But it will be on my terms. You got it? My terms.”Round four was slow and methodical, we moved around the ring feeling each other out. Rocko thought I was gonna be a pussycat and lay down nicely for him, but that was proving to be a painful mistake. He had become uncertain as to how much I was willing to hurt him. On the other hand, I had come into this thinking I was still young and had plenty left in the tank to capture back the title and wreak some havoc along the way. If it meant saving Homer and hopefully straightening him out, it was a small price to payI decided this was the round. I would make it look good, but I would take the dive. I was tired of the charade. I just wanted to get it over and then drown my sorrows in a bottle of scotch and a few buxom brunettes – maybe a blond as well. I was almost cheerful as I waded in and threw a few half-hearted jabs at Rocko, which he easily ducked. This seemed to light a fire under him. He started throwing his own jabs as well as a few roundhouses and uppercuts. I allowed him to land a few. They actually stung a bit, but I still grinned at him, egging him on to finish the job.Rocko attacked me like a man possessed. He felt he had the momentum, and he did. I was gonna lay down and relinquish my title. I telegraphed a right hook, which Rocko easily blocked. He pounded a couple quick jabs into my face. I faked anger and launched a wild right. He deflected the blow and countered with a combo to my midsection. I wobbled and acted winded. Rocko stepped in, faked a left, and then unloaded a right-handed, straight-armed, shot that I allowed to find its mark. It hurt more than I expected, shooting jolts of electricity across my jaw and sending me to the canvas. I gathered my wits, rolled about a bit like I was dead to the world. I let the count go to seven this time, raised up a little and got on my feet. The ref was trying to make sure I was okay, when Rocko stepped in and gave me a sucker rabbit punch to the back of my head. It knocked me for a loop and caused me to hit the mat and bounce off it. Little glitters of light floated around my head like a thousand stars and the world whirled around me. I shook the cobwebs out as best I could and got to my feet. I was enraged by the sucker punch and all sense of the reality left me. I saw nothing but red like a charging bull. I pushed the ref out of the way and advanced on Rocko. He started jabbing at me, even trying to throw another straight-arm, but I was in a void. I deflected his jabs and the straight-arm with ease, then stepped in and landing an over-hand shot to his temple, which buckled his knees. I moved in and hammered a few jabs through his gloves as he sought to protect himself. I bent my knees and powered through my hips with a left-handed hook, which landed in his floating rib section.I felt Rocko’s rib give way and I quickly followed up with a straight right to his sternum. I backed away and began to pound on his forearms. When he could no longer hold them up, I moved in and pounded first his right and then his left shoulder, pretty much crippling himI smelt blood and stepped in with a left hook, snapping his head to the side. I followed it with an uppercut, with every bit of the two hundred and thirty pounds of my frame behind it. The blow connected solid, sounding like the big thump you hear when the punter kicks off in a football game. Rocko came off his feet a good six inches, before finally crumbling to the mat. I knew in that instance I had probably forfeited Homer’s life and possibly my own. It was a sick sensation as the world around me seemed to move into a vacuum, the sounds distant. I looked out into the audience and saw Carmen and his goons hurrying down the aisle away from the ring.The ref stood over Rocko giving him the ten count, even though we both knew he wasn’t getting up anytime soon. I turned toward my corner and saw Homer just hanging on the ropes, a dazed look on his face. Homer knew we were done for, and there was no fight left in him. The ref finished the count and the ring was swarmed by reporters as well as Rocko’s trainer and a medic. I didn’t even turn to see if they revived him with the smelling salts. I just waded through the reporters who jammed their pencils and pads of paper into my face. Each one trying to get a few words out of me. I brushed a few of them off and climbed down from the ring.Homer was already being escorted to the locker room, and two of the meat pies hired as bodyguards and bouncers helped hurry me through the crowd as well. I half expected to see Carmen and his goons in the hall as I was guided toward the locker room. Camera bulbs were flashing still, and loud questions were hurled my way until the entrance door to the back hallway closed and drowned them out. The hall was empty except for several maintenance people and a few reporters lucky enough to have backstage passes. They knew better than to ask me any questions until after I had been untaped, showered, and dressed. Then they would get first dibs at the conference Homer gave after every fight. I wasn’t sure they were gonna be happy with this conference, because I wasn’t sure if Homer would even give one. I pushed open the door of the locker room and Homer was just sitting on a bench staring at the floor. I found myself speechless for the first time since me and Homer became friends. Part of the reason we were such good friends was we never kept secrets from one another, no subject was taboo. Homer never hid the drug use from me. And as much as I hated the fact he did drugs, I didn’t condemn him for it. However, he had goofed up this time. Being the friend I was, I should have saved him, even though it meant taking a dive and losing the title. But that didn’t matter. The title wasn’t why I knocked out Rocko. My simple inability to control my temper caused it. Father Tim always warned me a fighter who couldn’t control his temper, could never stay on top, no matter how talented he was. I had controlled it though – at least up until tonight. I let it loose outside the ring once in a while, but once I stepped into the ring it was buried away in some deep recess of my mind. Father Tim’s words had stuck with me. I was always in control in the ring. So why, of all nights, was this the night I chose to let the temper out? I guess the fact that I needed to throw a fight cost me the strength I had always used to suppress it. It didn’t matter now. Now I needed to figure out a way to save my friend and get us the out of Chicago, maybe even the country. Homer looked up at and shot me a half-hearted smile.“Pat, I don’t blame you a bit. I did this to myself, I never should have expected you to take a dive, never should have asked.” “No, but you did.” I found myself at a loss for words. Nothing I could think of sounded right or would help the matter. “I just lost it.” I shook my head. “I should have been a better friend and controlled myself, taken the dive. I’m sorry, Homer. I truly am.” I stared at him for a minute and noticed for the first time how much he had aged over the last few years. Homer was five-foot-five on a good day, but was always built like a fireplug. I had watched him take out many guys who thought his shortness meant he was easy prey. They had learned the truth the hard way.Now, he was different – the dark curly hair showing some spots of grey, the bags under his eyes as well as the dark rings, and the paunch that now hung where once a washboard had existed. The drugs had really taken their toll on him, making him look ten years older than he was. I felt a deep sense of sorrow in my gut. Not just that I hadn’t taken the dive, because as his friend I hadn’t found a way to stop him from the drugs. If I had, maybe things would have worked out differently. I found myself thinking back to the days at the orphanage, but Father Tim always said to never dwell on the past. “What’s done is done,” he would say. “You can’t change it, only learn from it.” Homer broke me out of my thoughts.“Take a shower, Pat, and get changed. Let’s get the post-fight conference with the reporters out of the way. Afterward, I think we should go out and paint the town. There are a few bottles of scotch with our names on them somewhere.” “Homer, we need to get you out of here. Carmen will be looking for you – and it won’t be to pour you a few fingers of scotch, trust me.” “Forget it, Pat. It’s time I started taking care of my own problems. I’ll get things squared with Carmen. It might take a while, but I’ll figure out a way to pay him back.” I shook my head. “Not so sure that’s the best idea. Carmen isn’t known for his generosity.”“Don’t worry about it, champ. Tonight is about you keeping the title. Tonight we paint the town red.” He never knew how true those words would turn out to be.
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BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the acclaimed 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. He earned a BFA in Acting and a MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. His latest titles explore superhero themes, including 'Codename: La Lechusa', 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul', and 'Tejano Star and the Vengeance of Chaplain Skull'. Network with Bowie at his official website, ZBFbooks.com, the leader in Tex-Mexploitation literature.
Our latest Fight Card entry has just hit the virtual bookshelves…Bridgeport Brawler is from Dave White writing as Jack Tunney. The cover is by our man down under, David Foster, and the ad banners are generously provided by Bobby Nash…FIGHT CARD: BRIDGEPORT BRAWLERChicago, 1953…Patrick ‘The Hammer’ White – the Bridgeport Brawler – is on top of the world. He is the current heavyweight champion confidently getting ready to defend his crown. All the training from father Tim at St Vincent’s orphanage has come full circle, and Pat isn’t figuring on being toppled from the championship mountain anytime soon.Having seen his shares of ups-and-downs, Pat believes the ‘downs’ are behind him. However, he has forgotten boxing’s dark side. When mob boss Carmen Amello squeezes Pat’s trainer into forcing the champ to take a dive, the ‘downs’ come back with a vengeance.
In the aftermath of disaster, with only bad choices in front of him, the Bridgeport Brawler is going to have to dig deep if he is ever going to hammer his way back to the top…
Bridgeport Brawler is another two-fisted Fight Card tale …
AMAZON LINK: http://tinyurl.com/outb2d5
Here's a preview of the title:
FIGHT CARD: BRIDGEPORT BRAWLERe-Book Edition – First Published July 2014Copyright © 2014 Dave White Cover by David Foster © 2014
FIGHT CARD:BRIDGEPORT BRAWLERROUND 1CHICAGO, AUGUST 26, 1953The Stadium, or the Madhouse on Madison as it had been dubbed, was sure living up to its nickname. I sat in the locker room getting taped up and ready for another title defense. The door was closed, and the lockers lined a long hall of brick and concrete beneath the stands. The noise and banging of feet from the fans made it seem as if I was standing directly under them, as the place actually shook and vibrated like an earthquake. The sound echoing through the place like a fierce thunder storm. Homer Slade, my trainer, manager, and best friend since growing up at St. Vincent’s Orphanage for Boys was quiet. He was a lot tenser than I had ever seen him before. It was almost eerie, because for as long as I had known Homer, quiet, was not a word you normally associated with him. I had been the heavyweight champ for a little over a year, and tonight marked the third title defense I was making. I felt great, on top of the world really, but I knew something had been off with Homer for a while now. I tried to tell myself it was just the daily pressures of the fight game, but I was kidding myself. Homer was using again, heroin, opium, it didn’t really matter. I suspected he had been since I first won the crown.I was one of the youngest to do so – a feat, I was proud of. Me, Patrick, The Hammer, White. The Hammer of course was not chosen by my mother. Father Tim always told me I was something special. Six foot two and two hundred and thirty pounds of muscle by the time I was eighteen.
I had been gifted with size and strength, and a natural agility you couldn’t teach. Father Tim always shook his head in disbelief. The nickname came from the large paws I sported. At least that was what I thought. Homer always said it was because I hit like a twenty pound sledge. He would know. Homer came to the orphanage, all 4 foot of him, when I was ten. Truth be told, he hadn’t grown much since then. He would barely top five-two. It didn’t matter though, Homer had size where it counted…his heart. At least he used to. When Homer came to the orphanage I was easily the biggest kid there, having been large even at an early age. Homer introduced himself by attempting to cold cock me. I remember the look on his face after he came off the ground and hit me with everything he had, only to see me smile at him. Homer learned about my fist first hand that day. Homer looked like an alien when he finally came out of it, half his face swollen and purple. It was the beginning of a binding friendship, even though Father Tim made me run till I puked for hitting Homer.I was only five when I graced Father Tim’s doorstep. The sad part of it was I caused myself to be an orphan. The memories always stayed with me, haunted me at times. My father had left us that year. I guess six kids and a battle with the bottle had been too much for him. I never minded him leaving. He was an ass, with a capitol A. Mom was the best though, always doing whatever it took in order to give us whatever she could. We got by. Luckily the place on Parnel, in Bridgeport, a vastly integrated neighborhood in Chicago, had two separate apartments to rent to provide us a small amount of income. Mom couldn’t work, having four young kids in the house to take care of, but she took in washing and mending when she could.I was a twin, as well as my two other sisters, Eleanor and Elaine, who were three years my senior. My twin was my sister Patricia. So mom was stuck with four kids under the age of ten. We also had two older brothers, Ray and Don, also twins, but fifteen years older. Ray was an alcoholic, and Don had been killed in a motorcycle accident. I still had his old Indian. I had restored it to its showroom appearance. It was the only thing, other than me and Ray, which survived the fire. I remember it clearly. I was terrorizing my sister Patricia as she lay in the pull out bed where we slept. She yelled for me to go to sleep, but I wanted to read the new comic book I had.I sat there with a lighter I had managed to swipe from my brother Ray, the low flame barely bright enough to see under the covers, let alone wake my mom. Patricia kept threatening to get up and tell. I told her to stuff it, I was almost done. I called her a brat and that’s when she slapped me, knocking the lighter from my grasp. I threw back the covers, trying desperately to get the flames out, but it was too late. I was so focused on trying to put it out, I never noticed Patricia hung up in the sheets. The bed went up like an inferno, engulfed Patricia and quickly the curtains and couch. The house being small and cramped, was a trap for my mom and my sisters. I panicked and ran through the kitchen and out the back door before I ever realized my family was trapped. The screams brought me to my senses, but by then it was too late. I tried to race back in, but was grabbed firmly in a set of strong arms, which pulled me away from the place, and out into the alley. I watched in horror as the house quickly became a funeral pyre, never noticing it had been Ray who dragged my away. I had thought he was in bed sleeping, but it turned out he was out getting stoned somewhere. I guess I should have been happy to have one less death on my conscious, but truth be told, Ray was already dead. He just didn’t know it. Years of drug and alcohol abuse had taken their toll.I remember Ray dropping me off at the orphanage. I didn’t understand at the time why he couldn’t take care of me? Didn’t he love me? I was his brother. I hated him for a long time, but eventually realized it was because he loved me that he gave me the best opportunity to survive. Father Tim and the orphanage did the rest. It was father Tim who eventually convinced me to go see Ray when he was dying from the big ‘C’. I made peace with Ray, and with myself. Homer brought me out of my thoughts by pressing roughly on a shoulder nerve. I barked at him. “What are ya’ trying to do, take me out of the fight before it even starts?” Homer was sweating profusely, almost shaken like the grim reaper was hanging over his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you Homer? You strung out again?” Homer’s eyes bulged as he started nervously rubbing his hands together so hard I thought the skin was gonna come off.“Listen, Pat. I got myself into some trouble. I need your help, you’re the only one who can help me right now.” It was then the anvil dropped on me. A punch so hard to the gut I wasn’t sure I would breathe again.I knew Homer was using. What I didn’t know was he was in deep with the mob. A guy by the name of Carmen Amello. They didn’t come any more mean and ruthless…well not that I had ever known. I managed to coax the rest of the story out of Homer, but wished I hadn’t. Homer had promised Carmen a lay down, a dive! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, even as he was spilling it.“Please, Pat. Just this once, and then we can start over, get ya right back in contention and take the crown back. I didn’t know what else to do.” Homer started crying. I felt like joining him, but my tears were tears of anger. I tagged him with a slap to the face sending him over the training table and crashing to the floor. His eyes lit up with fear as I advanced on him, grabbing his collar and yanking him off the grown and staring eye to eye.“I won’t do it! You hear me? I worked too hard for this, Homer, I earned it. I deserve it!” I flung Homer away with all my might, sending him crashing into the wall, semi-consciousness. I was fuming as I stood over him, spitting words rather than saying them. It didn’t matter, Homer was oblivious. I sat on the table and tried to think. How could he do this to me? I thought we were the best friends in the world. I moved to the sink and filled a glass with water. I tossed it on his face bringing him around. I helped him up and sat him on the training table. A couple slaps to the face brought him completely out of it. The fear was still in his eyes as I stared in to them and spoke.“Homer, this is the last straw, you understand? I will do this to save your miserable life, but afterward, you’re on your own.” Homer’s head sagged, as he meekly nodded. “Now, tape me up, I guess I’m gonna learn how to take a dive!”
ROUND 2
The noise was deafening as we walked down the hall toward the ring. I was a hometown boy made good, and the fans loved it. The previous fights had all been brawls, which had also whipped them into a frenzy. Amazing how the sight of two guys beating each other bloody could stir people up. The bombshell of what Homer had laid on me had almost made me forget about my opponent. I wasn’t surprised the mob wanted this guy to take me down. He was a fellow Dago named Rocko. Not very original, but the mob was never known for originality, just brutality. I made my way down the aisle as the announcer finished introducing Rocko to a loud chorus of boos. I was just climbing into the ring when he announced me. “In this corner, wearing green shorts…Patrick The Hammer White!” He drew out my name loudly and the crowd, which was already raising the roof, erupted in an ear shattering roar – stomping their feet and whooping it up at the top of their lungs. I half expected pieces of the stadium to come raining down from all the thunderous foot stamps. I raised my hands and moved around in my corner stirring the crowd up even further. I looked across the ring at my opponent. He was as tall as me, but a little thicker around the waist. Too much pasta. I chuckled to myself.
His hair was dark and greasy looking, and the unibrow he sported threatened to overtake the protruding cro-magnum forehead. He looked like he needed a shave, but maybe his five o’clock shadow was just thicker than most. I noticed the slight curl of his lips as I looked into the black like orbs, which somehow pierced the shadows of his eye sockets. His nose was thick and bent to the right a bit, obviously pushed in a few times. I smiled as the ref called us to the center of the ring. I was smiling at my opponent the whole time, I barely heard the ref’s words. In truth they weren’t much different than all the other refs I had listened to in countless other fights. It was strange, I was almost giddy…slap-happy maybe. I should have been angry at the world, but somehow something inside just pushed forward and I was okay with everything. Maybe it was my way of coping with the fact that in order to save Homer, I needed to take a dive to this mook across from me. I couldn’t let it bother me. Homer and I were more like brothers than friends. If taking a dive meant getting him out of trouble, and hopefully off the drugs…well I guessed I was okay with it.The bell sounded and Rocko and I moved to the center of the ring. Rocko charged ahead throwing some wild arcing jabs I swatted away as I danced around him. He continued the assault, as I avoided all the blows without so much as a glancing shot. I decided to give the crowd a bit of their money’s worth. I was gonna dive, but Rocko was gonna get some pain inflicted upon him before that happened.I started hammering his forearms and shoulders every time he threw a jab. I watched the shock on his face as the pain registered, the numbing effect was always fun to watch when you pounded an opponent’s arms and shoulders into submission. Rocko backed off a little, his arms sagging to his sides as he danced around and tried to shake the feeling back into them. I spent the rest of the first round just dancing around him and throwing some meaningless jabs until the bell rang and we headed to our corners. Homer jumped in the ring with the stool, some water, and a bucket. I took a quick swig and swirled it around my mouth, before purposely missing the bucket and spitting it on Homer’s shirt. I smiled at him, but he didn’t return the favor. I could tell by the sweat on his forehead and the nervous twitching of the mustache that bounced on his upper lip as he spoke.“Pat, are you sure you’re gonna throw the fight. I mean if not, I will get out of Dodge now.” I stood and jokingly jabbed him in the gut.“Don’t worry, Homer. I’ll take the dive, but not until I’ve have a bit of fun, and my Neanderthal friend over there has taken a little punishment.” Homer shook his head. “Hey! I’m doing this because of your screw-up, Homer, not mine. Doing it my way, the crowd gets their money’s worth, and I don’t look like so much of a chump!” I shoved him away as the bell rang for round two and headed out to the middle.Rocko was a bit more cautious this time around, he tried to dance around and shoot jabs at me, but he was moving in slow motion. I danced around him like he was standing still, tossing a few half-hearted jabs at him then dancing away like I was avoiding him. He had little foot work and stumbled about like a Mack truck moving down an alley. It was then that something caught my eye in the audience. It was the mobster Carmen Amello and a few of his goon squad. I caught his eye and he shot me a smile, tipping what looked like a brand spanking new fedora at me. He accomplished all this without ever removing what looked like a fine Cuban from his mouth. I felt a sudden bit of rage forming in me…right up till I saw the large fist hurdling my way.It was too late to move completely out of the way, but I did manage to deflect a little of the blow, which still nearly took my head off. It was a funny feeling for me. I had never been knocked out before. I’d been sent to the mat once or twice, but this shot had nearly taken me out. It was a strange feeling, almost numbing in a way. Time seemed to stand still and a ringing bounced around in my head. The mat approached me in a sea of blurred vision, then I kissed it. I could hear the crowd oohing and gasping, but it was like an echo, a strange and distant echo. I heard the ref counting, “One…two…three…” He reached eight before I managed to get up. I shook my head, holding my hands out. The ref grabbed my head and looked into my eyes. “Son, you okay?” I nodded and he waved for the fight to continue. I spent the rest of the round dancing around trying to clear my head and keep it attached to my neck. I managed to escape any further damage as the round ended and I moved to my corner.Homer used the sponge to wipe water on my head, allowing it to roll down my body. It felt good, most of my senses had returned, but my head still throbbed. Homer stood in front of me and held up a few fingers as he spoke.“How many fingers you see, Pat?” I swatted them away. “Two you idiot, now get out of my way so I can get back in there.” Homer grabbed the stool, ducked under the ropes, and out of the ring. I stared across at Rocko who wore a huge grin on his face. I felt a twinge of anger welling up inside of me. I quickly suppressed it, deciding me and Rocko were going to have lots of fun before I took my swan dive. He was gonna beat the champ, but he was gonna feel it for months afterward – months. I pounded my gloves together and headed out to the center of the ring.Rocko almost ran at me, the bloodlust in his eyes as he sought to put me away. He threw jabs and hooks, I blocked, ducked, and danced around him. He grimaced and chased me around the ring, trying combinations and finally seeking to bull me in to the corner. I timed it perfectly, planting my foot while pivoting my hips and using his own momentum to toss him into the corner where he had sought to pin me. I stepped in and shot a few left handed jabs toward his face. He naturally brought his hands up to deflect, so I planted a firm right handed shot into his rib cage, causing his breath and his mouthpiece to fly from his mouth.I threw a few jabs into his face then stepped back allowing him come off the ropes. He wobbled toward me, his eyes almost rolling about in their sockets. I caught the look on Carmen’s face, the smile no longer glaring at me. The cigar had been removed, an animalistic snarl replacing it. I winked at him and shot him my flashiest smile. I then turned my attention to Rocko. He had shaken the cobwebs out of his head, but I could see he was holding an elbow against his ribs. I allowed him to come at me again, absorbed a few of his jabs, even allowed him to land a few glancing blows, which I made out to be far harder than they were.I danced around a bit again, moving away from Rocko like I was trying to clear my head. Truth was I was feeling sick to my stomach. Needing to take a dive to a piece of scum like Rocko was goading. He was worthless and had no business winning the title. I tried to push the thought from my head. We danced a little more, threw a few more meaningless jabs, and then the bell rang.I plopped on the stool as if exhausted, letting Homer worked on me while he vented. “What are you doing, Pat? I understand you not wanting to do this, but I don’t think my heart can take much more.” I turned toward Homer. I knew I must have looked scary. I always did when I felt the kind of rage coming over me like I felt at that moment. Homer knew as well and wisely backed away from me. “I get it Homer,” I said in a low growl. “I understand perfectly. You couldn’t keep your nose clean, and now I have to clean your mess up again. But it will be on my terms. You got it? My terms.”Round four was slow and methodical, we moved around the ring feeling each other out. Rocko thought I was gonna be a pussycat and lay down nicely for him, but that was proving to be a painful mistake. He had become uncertain as to how much I was willing to hurt him. On the other hand, I had come into this thinking I was still young and had plenty left in the tank to capture back the title and wreak some havoc along the way. If it meant saving Homer and hopefully straightening him out, it was a small price to payI decided this was the round. I would make it look good, but I would take the dive. I was tired of the charade. I just wanted to get it over and then drown my sorrows in a bottle of scotch and a few buxom brunettes – maybe a blond as well. I was almost cheerful as I waded in and threw a few half-hearted jabs at Rocko, which he easily ducked. This seemed to light a fire under him. He started throwing his own jabs as well as a few roundhouses and uppercuts. I allowed him to land a few. They actually stung a bit, but I still grinned at him, egging him on to finish the job.Rocko attacked me like a man possessed. He felt he had the momentum, and he did. I was gonna lay down and relinquish my title. I telegraphed a right hook, which Rocko easily blocked. He pounded a couple quick jabs into my face. I faked anger and launched a wild right. He deflected the blow and countered with a combo to my midsection. I wobbled and acted winded. Rocko stepped in, faked a left, and then unloaded a right-handed, straight-armed, shot that I allowed to find its mark. It hurt more than I expected, shooting jolts of electricity across my jaw and sending me to the canvas. I gathered my wits, rolled about a bit like I was dead to the world. I let the count go to seven this time, raised up a little and got on my feet. The ref was trying to make sure I was okay, when Rocko stepped in and gave me a sucker rabbit punch to the back of my head. It knocked me for a loop and caused me to hit the mat and bounce off it. Little glitters of light floated around my head like a thousand stars and the world whirled around me. I shook the cobwebs out as best I could and got to my feet. I was enraged by the sucker punch and all sense of the reality left me. I saw nothing but red like a charging bull. I pushed the ref out of the way and advanced on Rocko. He started jabbing at me, even trying to throw another straight-arm, but I was in a void. I deflected his jabs and the straight-arm with ease, then stepped in and landing an over-hand shot to his temple, which buckled his knees. I moved in and hammered a few jabs through his gloves as he sought to protect himself. I bent my knees and powered through my hips with a left-handed hook, which landed in his floating rib section.I felt Rocko’s rib give way and I quickly followed up with a straight right to his sternum. I backed away and began to pound on his forearms. When he could no longer hold them up, I moved in and pounded first his right and then his left shoulder, pretty much crippling himI smelt blood and stepped in with a left hook, snapping his head to the side. I followed it with an uppercut, with every bit of the two hundred and thirty pounds of my frame behind it. The blow connected solid, sounding like the big thump you hear when the punter kicks off in a football game. Rocko came off his feet a good six inches, before finally crumbling to the mat. I knew in that instance I had probably forfeited Homer’s life and possibly my own. It was a sick sensation as the world around me seemed to move into a vacuum, the sounds distant. I looked out into the audience and saw Carmen and his goons hurrying down the aisle away from the ring.The ref stood over Rocko giving him the ten count, even though we both knew he wasn’t getting up anytime soon. I turned toward my corner and saw Homer just hanging on the ropes, a dazed look on his face. Homer knew we were done for, and there was no fight left in him. The ref finished the count and the ring was swarmed by reporters as well as Rocko’s trainer and a medic. I didn’t even turn to see if they revived him with the smelling salts. I just waded through the reporters who jammed their pencils and pads of paper into my face. Each one trying to get a few words out of me. I brushed a few of them off and climbed down from the ring.Homer was already being escorted to the locker room, and two of the meat pies hired as bodyguards and bouncers helped hurry me through the crowd as well. I half expected to see Carmen and his goons in the hall as I was guided toward the locker room. Camera bulbs were flashing still, and loud questions were hurled my way until the entrance door to the back hallway closed and drowned them out. The hall was empty except for several maintenance people and a few reporters lucky enough to have backstage passes. They knew better than to ask me any questions until after I had been untaped, showered, and dressed. Then they would get first dibs at the conference Homer gave after every fight. I wasn’t sure they were gonna be happy with this conference, because I wasn’t sure if Homer would even give one. I pushed open the door of the locker room and Homer was just sitting on a bench staring at the floor. I found myself speechless for the first time since me and Homer became friends. Part of the reason we were such good friends was we never kept secrets from one another, no subject was taboo. Homer never hid the drug use from me. And as much as I hated the fact he did drugs, I didn’t condemn him for it. However, he had goofed up this time. Being the friend I was, I should have saved him, even though it meant taking a dive and losing the title. But that didn’t matter. The title wasn’t why I knocked out Rocko. My simple inability to control my temper caused it. Father Tim always warned me a fighter who couldn’t control his temper, could never stay on top, no matter how talented he was. I had controlled it though – at least up until tonight. I let it loose outside the ring once in a while, but once I stepped into the ring it was buried away in some deep recess of my mind. Father Tim’s words had stuck with me. I was always in control in the ring. So why, of all nights, was this the night I chose to let the temper out? I guess the fact that I needed to throw a fight cost me the strength I had always used to suppress it. It didn’t matter now. Now I needed to figure out a way to save my friend and get us the out of Chicago, maybe even the country. Homer looked up at and shot me a half-hearted smile.“Pat, I don’t blame you a bit. I did this to myself, I never should have expected you to take a dive, never should have asked.” “No, but you did.” I found myself at a loss for words. Nothing I could think of sounded right or would help the matter. “I just lost it.” I shook my head. “I should have been a better friend and controlled myself, taken the dive. I’m sorry, Homer. I truly am.” I stared at him for a minute and noticed for the first time how much he had aged over the last few years. Homer was five-foot-five on a good day, but was always built like a fireplug. I had watched him take out many guys who thought his shortness meant he was easy prey. They had learned the truth the hard way.Now, he was different – the dark curly hair showing some spots of grey, the bags under his eyes as well as the dark rings, and the paunch that now hung where once a washboard had existed. The drugs had really taken their toll on him, making him look ten years older than he was. I felt a deep sense of sorrow in my gut. Not just that I hadn’t taken the dive, because as his friend I hadn’t found a way to stop him from the drugs. If I had, maybe things would have worked out differently. I found myself thinking back to the days at the orphanage, but Father Tim always said to never dwell on the past. “What’s done is done,” he would say. “You can’t change it, only learn from it.” Homer broke me out of my thoughts.“Take a shower, Pat, and get changed. Let’s get the post-fight conference with the reporters out of the way. Afterward, I think we should go out and paint the town. There are a few bottles of scotch with our names on them somewhere.” “Homer, we need to get you out of here. Carmen will be looking for you – and it won’t be to pour you a few fingers of scotch, trust me.” “Forget it, Pat. It’s time I started taking care of my own problems. I’ll get things squared with Carmen. It might take a while, but I’ll figure out a way to pay him back.” I shook my head. “Not so sure that’s the best idea. Carmen isn’t known for his generosity.”“Don’t worry about it, champ. Tonight is about you keeping the title. Tonight we paint the town red.” He never knew how true those words would turn out to be.================
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BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the acclaimed 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press. He earned a BFA in Acting and a MA in Theatre History from Texas State University. His latest titles explore superhero themes, including 'Codename: La Lechusa', 'Room 26 and the Army of Xulhutdul', and 'Tejano Star and the Vengeance of Chaplain Skull'. Network with Bowie at his official website, ZBFbooks.com, the leader in Tex-Mexploitation literature.
