Chapter 17: Hot and Cold
"So, lemme get this straight... You're expectin' me to fight Johnny Vincent?"
What was written on Larry's face wasn't fear or even anger. It was a simple doubtful "You can't be serious". Clint cackled at him as he slammed the elevator control buttons, which had the tendency of not registering commands.
"Hayyyyup", he responded.
"What's in it for me?" Larry growled.
"We're gonna whip up twenty bucks fer ya if ya win", said Omar.
"If I win? Look, I haven't managed to hold my own against him in a play fight in a long time, I ain't gonna win in a real one!" Larry barked.
"Don't be so modest! Just use the super moves I taught ya!" Clint chuckled.
"Makin' me a test dummy for your crazy wrestlin' moves ain't the same as teachin' them to me, Clint."
"Oh don't be such a girl, shorty!"
Larry pouted. Although he knew he wasn't that short, in fact his height was very average, it was a touchy subject for him. Especially when standing between two taller guys like Omar and Clint.
"Okay okay, look: ten bucks if ya knock him squarely off his feet, another ten if you beat him. Sound good, ye fuckin' wimp? You gotta fight in any case: we told the guys to hold them back for us. We'll look like idiots if we did that for nuthin'", Omar grumbled.
"Okay then, it's a deal", Larry snapped.
"Just like I told ya, just show him he ain't the boss of you no more!" Clint encouraged, grinning.
Larry frowned. As the old elevator of the chem plant struggled to go upwards, he wondered why he had even agreed to come. He wasn't mad at Johnny or anything and this could very well make the greaser king hate him. But maybe, just maybe, a small part of Larry was bitter about how helpless he had been at the Hole and wanted a rematch. The ex-greaser knew he was nothing phenomenal in any kinds of physical pursuits, except maybe baseball, but he still had some pride.
As the creaky metal cage came to a halt and the doors opened with rough scraping noises, Larry gulped. Just a short walk away, the roof of the chem plant awaited. When he was escorted there, he felt like he was taken to slaughter. He felt like he had swallowed a bucket of ice cubes.
"Hey, finally. What the hell took ya so long?" Gurney, a tall bearded townie, complained as he laid his eyes on the three men.
Holy shit it's cold were Larry's first thoughts. The moist, freezing wind was very vicious high up. The boy shuddered and sniveled as he stepped forward, towards the crowd. Some older workers were there, but he was greeted mostly by the dropouts and their doubtful glares. They made way for him, letting him to the front of the crowd to face off with a different one. He was suddenly face to face with Johnny, whose dark eyes pierced through the night.
Larry didn't want to let himself be flustered so he glanced at Johnny and the rest of the greasers, then looked around like they weren't there at all. It was nostalgic – he remembered several times when he himself had come to this place with the guys, tagging the place and having a merry time. The graffiti were still there, even.
"So it's true. You're with the dropout losers now", Johnny said sourly, his face twisting into one of anger and disappointment.
The ex-greaser cocked his brow at Johnny's emotion-laden tone – Larry's feigned nonchalance seemed to be working its magic. Then he looked at his friends: Hal stared at him questioningly, as if to demand answers from him, Norton seemed worried like always, and Vance, Ricky, Lucky, and Lefty expressed various shades of uncertainty and disapproval. He was delighted to notice that Lola wasn't present, she would enjoy something like this just a bit too much.
Larry decided that it was time to chill out a bit, for himself and his friends' sake as well. He took a deep, calming breath and let his shoulders slump a bit. His face smoothed out as he moistened his lips and shifted most of his weight on his right leg. Now he was more relaxed.
"Each to their own, Johnny", he finally responded with an almost friendly tone.
Suddenly, Larry felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking behind him, he saw a dark-skinned guy with a scar over his left eye. It was Edgar Munsen, the townie kid boss.
"Well, how about it, Vincent? If the new kid beats ya, you and your grease monkeys retreat, nice 'n' easy", he said with a smirk.
Johnny looked at him, then at Larry. He chuckled ominously.
"Like hell I'm gonna lose to him. You're next in line, Munsen!" he snarled, pointing his leather glove-clad finger at the orange-clad young man.
"We'll see. Okay new guy, here's your chance to show what yer made of", Edgar cheerily hummed and gave Larry a pat in the back.
"Guys, clear the way!" he ordered as he turned to the crowd, gesturing them to step back a bit. Johnny simply glanced over his shoulder and the greasers moved away.
"Alright kids, go for it!" Gurney yelled.
"Ready to lose, Larry?" Johnny murmured as he raised his fists.
This was the moment of truth, Larry realized as he looked deep into his opponent's eyes. Although it had mostly been traumatic and very unproductive, Clint, a brawl junkie as he was, had insisted on having "friendly" play fights with Larry ever so frequently and it had taught the ex-greaser some basic things that he should have already known.
Firstly, Larry had learned that equal size didn't mean equal power and that the same amount of experience didn't always come with the same results. Although they were of almost the same size, Johnny being only slightly taller and leaner, the two minds and bodies worked very differently. Johnny was a more natural fighter: although he hadn't ever really practiced, he had great stamina and good reach. Larry didn't have that luxury even though he had about the same amount of experience in fighting.
Most importantly, Larry had learned that he should not try to fight like Johnny. To the greaser king, frustration and anger were assets. They were his fuel: when Johnny Vincent was truly enraged, he was a beast. To Larry, however, those feelings were paralyzing, crippling poison. It was hard for him to harvest the heat of wrath without getting burned. He couldn't let himself get lost in the moment, he only made bad decisions when that happened. Therefore, when Larry Romano raised his fists, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He concentrated on the beating of his heart, trying to flush away the sound of blood and adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Heat in the heart, cold in the head was his mantra as he prepared for battle. When the boy opened his eyes, they were piercing like Johnny's, but cool and still.
"What's the matter, Larry? Too scared to take on the king?" Johnny sneered as he observed the stiff and tense-looking youngster.
It was true that he was stiff and tense. But, for an entirely different reason than the greaser king thought. One thing that he didn't know about this situation was that he was just where his opponent wanted him: holding his head high, waiting for him to strike. He was expecting the first hits to be of little consequence. Larry, however, knew that in this fight, the first exchange of hits would either save him or sign his doom.
So, he struck. Quickly and unceremoniously.
Larry's swift right punch was blocked with little effort, but that was okay: his movement switched from the punch into a sharp knee kick, flying straight at his adversary's chest and chin. Johnny's arms were up protecting his face and his elbows obstructed the trajectory the kick, but the damage was done. The kick not only hurt despite not being a clean hit, it distracted Johnny from what Larry was preparing to do with his arms. With his hands clutched firmly together and raised over his head, he swung his arms downwards as if holding an ax, his fists connecting with the back of Johnny's head.
Cha-ching! Larry had just earned his ten bucks.
The greaser king lay in the trampled snow, face down. The townies were cheering wildly around the two boys, but neither noticed it – they were both dazed. Despite his best efforts, Larry had mistakenly given himself leeway: now was the time to attack, not gawk at your opponent while he was down! He inhaled sharply and swung his leg hastily, aiming the tip of his shoe at Johnny's ribs.
To his surprise, only a fraction of the momentum was transferred to its intended target. The kick connected, but poorly: most of its power went to waste and only managed to scatter some snow around. Johnny had rolled away from harm's way and was now getting up.
The greaser king wedged a knee between him and the ground, then pushed his torso up from the snow with his arms. Upon looking up, he saw Larry, lunging towards him, but luckily for him, he was able to mobilize himself. He propelled himself forward, finding his legs on the fly, and staggered away flimsily as another one of Larry's kicks missed by a hair's breadth.
Both boys halted for a moment, Larry knowing that he had messed up and trying to come up with a plan B and Johnny processing what he had just witnessed. When the ex-greaser looked at his old friend, he acknowledged that his worst fears were coming to be.
The king was pissed off and about to open a can of whoop-ass.
Author's Notes: Johnny's fight in the game was pretty pathetic if you ask me, but then again, Jimmy Hopkins is some kind of superhuman whose only kryptonite factor is the plot. Anyway, I assume Johnny's a legitimate threat to most other characters in the game.