The bar was packed. The drinks were flowing, bets were laid. And in the room below the Star and Chain, chaos reigned. There was yelling and cheering. A few punches thrown on the sidelines. But every eye was glued to the man in the center.
He had always been the one to beat. Extra winnings and the best bragging rights went to the ones who managed to take him down. It didn't happen often and it never happened twice. But there were always those who had slung back a little more than was good for them, a stranger who didn't know better, or someone from across town who had heard the rumors and had something to prove. He had always taken them on with a confident swagger and a gleam in his eye.
But tonight there was something different. Tonight he didn't just take them down. He ploughed through them. They went down as fast as the drinks that were put in front of him by his flock of admirers. Tonight he didn't just walk away with a swagger to collect his winnings. Tonight he yelled after them, as they limped away, that this was no place for a fucking fairy and if they couldn't fight like a man, they deserved what they got.
Above, at the tables and along the bar, between the drinks and the jokes and the bets, the gossip came in low voices. Theories came as fast as the drinks as to why their prize fighter was in a foul mood. The stories started to trickle in. The women had been talking, and somebody's wife knew a neighbor. It was his son, the neighbor said. He'd taken off without a backward glance. Wouldn't even tell his parents where he was going. Well, no wonder he was on a rampage, they said, with knowing nods all around. The funds had been set aside for the lad's schooling. That was common knowledge. The man had bragged on his son often enough. Got top marks at school, he'd said.
There were some who had known the lad. Worked with him down on the docks. And a polite and respectful lad he was. Smart as a whip. Well, it just goes to show that you never can tell which kids were going to up and break your heart. Ungrateful they could be. Kids that age just don't understand the sacrifices made on their behalf.
Then the older men broke in to say that the lad would be back. They always think they know better, but they always learn. It's best to let them find out for themselves. Get a couple of lessons from the school of hard knocks. Then they come back, asking for advice. Happens all the time.
All this was said in low voices, far away from the man who was taking his frustrations out on the rapidly dwindling line of men foolish enough to try their luck. It was more than their life's worth to offer sage advice tonight. Tonight there was a desperate, dangerous edge to his fighting. Something in his eyes and his body as he curled back for another swing. Something that went beyond the betrayal of an errant teenager.
Tonight Rory Adams fought as if he were trying to claw his way out of hell. No one was fool enough to stand in his way.