The Final Knockout

The Final Knockout

"Come on son, get up! Listen to me. Now get up on your knees, one at a
time. Yes, that's right. Now stand up? slow and easy. That'a boy! Now
your ready."
Daniel worked his subconscious to obey his corner man, Bob Wiley. He
always obeyed his voice. It might as well have been the voice of God.
When God say's to do something, you do it. Even if you're flat on your
back and the whole world is black
At the ninth count, Daniel was back on his feet and getting the third
degree by the ref. "Ya ok kid? What's your name? Who's the president of
the United States? Ok, kid, You're ready to go."
Daniel's glazed eyes danced in his head while he got some quick pep
from Bob. "Shake it off now, son. Get through this round and another
and it's over. And keep your chin down for heaven's sake."
Daniel met his hungry foe in the center of the ring and tried to keep
his balance. He was still trying to clear his head when another hook
caught his chin and sent Daniel's face half way to the other side of
his head. Blood and spit whipped down on a line of spectators and there
was a loud gasp. Daniel crashed backwards to the canvass, bouncing
once.
At ringside, two barrel-chested thugs with fedora's and expensive suits
puffed on Cuban cigars. They swallowed hard with consternation. Daniel
was supposed to go the whole fight before taking the plunge. That's
what they all agreed on. They agreed on a fee of twenty-five grand.
Daniel said it would be no problem. But maybe he didn't count on
meeting such a brawler. "Maybe," the two thugs thought as they chewed
their cigars with worry, "They should have bought off the opponent as
well, for added insurance."
The thugs knew their boss wouldn't take the news well. He stood to win
a lot of money if the kid took a dive in the last round like he agreed
to. They knew the kid was a true to his word, but they didn't count on
his getting mauled by an upstart contender.
The two thugs squirmed in their seat as the ref began the "ten count".
Bob Wiley could be heard shouting authoritatively at his man to get up.
The crowd was wild and the opponent was already raising his arms in
victory.
Then suddenly, the limp sinews of Daniel all twitched at once, like he
was wired to electricity. The twitching undulated through his legs and
torso and then through his arms. His neck craned out toward the ceiling
in an attempt to extricate himself off the canvas. His eyes opened
wide, then narrowed in anger at his predicament. Like an overhauled
machine, he hopped to his feet at the ninth count.
The crowd's jaw went slack, and the two thugs leaned forward with
astonishment. Their cigars were turned to pulp. The opponent slumped
with frustration, and slogged back to his corner.
Daniel even surprised the fight-hardened ref and he seemed to go dumb
went he attempted to spout the same questions as to Daniels cognizance.
His corner man wasn't surprised at all. He knew Daniel could take just
about any punch a human being could offer.
The bell rang seconds later, ending the round. "How ya doin' son?"
asked Bob as Daniel sat in his corner, getting a quick rub. "That last
punch was a doozy. But I knew you'd pull through."
Daniel spoke in a numbed, dizzying drone. "Can't quit till the last
round. Got to fight till the last round. Then I can quit. No more
fightin' forever. One more round, then I can quit-forever."
"What are you sayin,' son?" said Bob. "Stop talkin' that quittin'
nonsense. Your gonna' win this fight and then some. Now go and finish
him."
The bell rang. Daniel tried to stay away from his opponent's haymakers.
"Last round," thought Daniel, "then I can quit and start my own
restaurant. Twenty-five grand will be more than enough. I can even pay
off my debts. No more fighting forever. No more getting my head bashed
in. One more round-one more round is all."
Daniel stayed clear from his opponent. He'd dance and play it safe,
staying away from the devastating hook that almost landed him for good.
He needed the money. His love for the crap tables had left him
penniless. The horse races had him in the red for five-thousand
smackers. He promised himself he'd quit gambling. He knew he'd go down
to the mat soon when the nod came from the thugs at ringside. But his
opponent was relentless. He perused Daniel like a lion pursues a
wounded deer.
Then, before the signaling nod came from the two thugs, Daniel was
caught with a hammer blow to the temple. It was too much even for
Daniel. His eyes folded up into his sockets like a runaway window
shade; his last vision the flash of a scorching blade that tore through
his brain.
Daniel missed the nod that would have come just a few seconds later,
while the frantic commands of his corner man fell on deaf ears. Daniel
did keep his word; he went down in the last round, and would never
fight again-forever.