CHAPTER 13---'P' IS FOR PAIN
Russell Marks was fast, but Angelo Styx was faster.
Styx backpedalled the perimeter of the ring, peppering jabs and hooks onto Marks' face, doing a little shuffle, showing off for the crowd. The arena was filled to its capacity to watch the 1995 Washington State Golden Gloves Finals, and Styx was the type to milk the exposure for all it was worth. It wasn't that Marks was a bad fighter, it's just that Styx was better, and had what his trainers called the "instinct for the science". That sweet science, although Marks might've claimed not-so-sweet as another ten pound glove slammed against the side of his head. Styx smiled through his mouthguard as a combustion of flash photography exploded behind him.
But then Marks started to do something that he wasn't supposed to. Marks started to turn the tide. All of the sudden, Styx's jabs weren't as fast, and his hooks couldn't connect. The shuffle was gone from his step and Marks began to capitalize. Styx felt himself backpedalling again, but now in retreat instead of showmanship. Marks advanced with a tenacity that seemed to come from nowhere, unleashing a flurry upon Styx. Styx's mind was reeling. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, he thought, you're supposed to go down in the fifth round, when I knock you out with an overhand right. Then you're gonna sucker punch me two days later in a bar scuffle that will eventually end my career.
The hits kept on coming, and Styx could feel his arms drop their defense. Marks pushed Styx into the the corner of the ring and unloaded on him. Through already swelling eyes, Styx could see the crowd, but failed to register their sound, even though they were visably cheering and booing. All Styx could hear was the sound of a leaky pipe dripping water into a growing pool of water. He looked up and saw Marks raising his glove for the haymaker blow, now he the one who was smiling, as he released and connected, sending Styx into the vertigo...
---
Styx's head snapped back as the heavy handed Russian thug retracted his fist, and then clobbered him again. Styx's face had the look of a Canadian sunrise, an assortment of blues, oranges, and reds the prominent colors. His eyes rolled back into the back of his head before he caught a glimpse of where he was: A dark, stone room that smelled of mold and grime, the sound of water dripping prominent, along with techno music playing through the wall somewhere in the distance. Several instruments of torture were lined up against the wall as Styx rolled his neck back to face the man standing in front of him. The Russian thug wore only a wife beater and a pair of slacks, his white button up dress shirt and sportcoat were neatly hung on the iron door behind him. Styx spit up a mouthful of blood and groaned, as the thug started to smoke a Clove.
"That feel good, Minor? Yeah?" he laughed through a cloud of smoke. "The fun be just beginning too."
Styx groaned again and coughed.
"What was that? Didn't quite catch it." The thug said, leaning in a little closer.
"My name isn't Minor," Styx breathed through a mouth full of cotton, "it's Styx. Angelo Styx."
The thug backhanded Styx, a ring on his finger opening yet another gash on Styx's face, then stuck a finger in front of Styx's eyes.
"Don't feed me that. We know who you are. We know who you work for. We just want to know what you planned to do."
Styx spat about come more blood and coughed. Styx wondered where he was but he had a good idea. The Red Star, that club that Makar had owned, and which Styx had been to once or thrice was the likeable answer. Styx had never seen this part of the club, a room that looked like it was located far underground, next to a mess of plumbing maybe
"Yeah? And who am I?"
"Heh. Oh, you are a person who I am glad I am not."
The door behind him opened and the bitch from the apartment sashayed in. She exchanged a few words with the burly Russian and the smile on his face grew until it seemed that it would crack his face. He gathered his clothes and exited the room. Katrina faced Styx and stood before him.
"How do you feel, Vegas? Did Markus treat you well?"
"fck you."
Katrina's wrist flared out and cuffed Styx across his cheek.
"That's not nice. You can be nice, can you not? Let's be nice."
Katrina walked over to the wall of instruments and picked up a nasty looking blade.
"Listen, lady. My name is not Vegas. Angelo Styx. That's me. Styx. Are you fcking retarded? Why do you think I'm Vegas?
"Shhhh now, we can talk later."
And Katrina went to work.
NEXT:
CHAPTER 14---BACK IN EFFECT
Russell Marks was fast, but Angelo Styx was faster.
Styx backpedalled the perimeter of the ring, peppering jabs and hooks onto Marks' face, doing a little shuffle, showing off for the crowd. The arena was filled to its capacity to watch the 1995 Washington State Golden Gloves Finals, and Styx was the type to milk the exposure for all it was worth. It wasn't that Marks was a bad fighter, it's just that Styx was better, and had what his trainers called the "instinct for the science". That sweet science, although Marks might've claimed not-so-sweet as another ten pound glove slammed against the side of his head. Styx smiled through his mouthguard as a combustion of flash photography exploded behind him.
But then Marks started to do something that he wasn't supposed to. Marks started to turn the tide. All of the sudden, Styx's jabs weren't as fast, and his hooks couldn't connect. The shuffle was gone from his step and Marks began to capitalize. Styx felt himself backpedalling again, but now in retreat instead of showmanship. Marks advanced with a tenacity that seemed to come from nowhere, unleashing a flurry upon Styx. Styx's mind was reeling. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, he thought, you're supposed to go down in the fifth round, when I knock you out with an overhand right. Then you're gonna sucker punch me two days later in a bar scuffle that will eventually end my career.
The hits kept on coming, and Styx could feel his arms drop their defense. Marks pushed Styx into the the corner of the ring and unloaded on him. Through already swelling eyes, Styx could see the crowd, but failed to register their sound, even though they were visably cheering and booing. All Styx could hear was the sound of a leaky pipe dripping water into a growing pool of water. He looked up and saw Marks raising his glove for the haymaker blow, now he the one who was smiling, as he released and connected, sending Styx into the vertigo...
---
Styx's head snapped back as the heavy handed Russian thug retracted his fist, and then clobbered him again. Styx's face had the look of a Canadian sunrise, an assortment of blues, oranges, and reds the prominent colors. His eyes rolled back into the back of his head before he caught a glimpse of where he was: A dark, stone room that smelled of mold and grime, the sound of water dripping prominent, along with techno music playing through the wall somewhere in the distance. Several instruments of torture were lined up against the wall as Styx rolled his neck back to face the man standing in front of him. The Russian thug wore only a wife beater and a pair of slacks, his white button up dress shirt and sportcoat were neatly hung on the iron door behind him. Styx spit up a mouthful of blood and groaned, as the thug started to smoke a Clove.
"That feel good, Minor? Yeah?" he laughed through a cloud of smoke. "The fun be just beginning too."
Styx groaned again and coughed.
"What was that? Didn't quite catch it." The thug said, leaning in a little closer.
"My name isn't Minor," Styx breathed through a mouth full of cotton, "it's Styx. Angelo Styx."
The thug backhanded Styx, a ring on his finger opening yet another gash on Styx's face, then stuck a finger in front of Styx's eyes.
"Don't feed me that. We know who you are. We know who you work for. We just want to know what you planned to do."
Styx spat about come more blood and coughed. Styx wondered where he was but he had a good idea. The Red Star, that club that Makar had owned, and which Styx had been to once or thrice was the likeable answer. Styx had never seen this part of the club, a room that looked like it was located far underground, next to a mess of plumbing maybe
"Yeah? And who am I?"
"Heh. Oh, you are a person who I am glad I am not."
The door behind him opened and the bitch from the apartment sashayed in. She exchanged a few words with the burly Russian and the smile on his face grew until it seemed that it would crack his face. He gathered his clothes and exited the room. Katrina faced Styx and stood before him.
"How do you feel, Vegas? Did Markus treat you well?"
"fck you."
Katrina's wrist flared out and cuffed Styx across his cheek.
"That's not nice. You can be nice, can you not? Let's be nice."
Katrina walked over to the wall of instruments and picked up a nasty looking blade.
"Listen, lady. My name is not Vegas. Angelo Styx. That's me. Styx. Are you fcking retarded? Why do you think I'm Vegas?
"Shhhh now, we can talk later."
And Katrina went to work.
NEXT:
CHAPTER 14---BACK IN EFFECT