The first time Ryan Kaspar knocked someone out an intense feeling of pleasure consumed him. His opponent laid flat on his back, the extended arms twitched, making him look like a crucifixion victim who suffered from epilepsy. In the midst of the unpleasantness, Kaspar tried to fight back a smile. It was the only fight he lost.
The official entered the ring with a black duffel bag overstuffed with credits. Enough credits to live on for the next month, to keep that cracked and yellow stained roof over Mother’s head, enough to endure more of her cooking. Kaspar took the bag from the official. He unzipped it and looked down into its contents, another smile. The official grabbed the victor’s right arm, extended it upward, and the crowd roared…
What would be the result tonight? He was summoned to fight the monster that went only by Razor. The behemoth stood at six foot four, weighed a solid two hundred sixty pounds, not an ounce of body fat to be found. He had brought his personal kill count up to six just last week, after he bludgeoned a poor, skinny father of four. The father, with no job and government welfare spent up, had nowhere else to go. He gave his life for the prize fighters and greedy bookies when, without mercy or an ounce of empathy, Razor killed him with one punch.
Kaspar breathed in and another river of vomit flowed through his mouth. Why couldn’t that spaghetti dinner taste as good coming out as going in? The citrus bile only added to a flavor that came straight from hell itself. He tried to catch his breath while his frozen blue eyes stared into the mixture of toilet water, half eaten noodles, and a reddish-orange sauce. The sight caused another wave to pour through. When would it end?
“Just enjoying mother’s cooking a second time around.” Kaspar replied. He stood and flushed the mixture. He wished the sound of the commode would drown out Danny’s voice.
“Never knew your mother’s cooking to be that good.”
Kaspar ignored it and grabbed the one hundred percent recycled tissue paper to his right. He used the sheet to wipe the remains from his stubbed chin. After throwing the tissue in the toilet, he opened the stall door and stared at his beloved trainer. Why did he take it from the old man all the time?
Danny stood a full half foot shorter than his fighter and gave up one hundred pounds with it. Kaspar estimated that he could knock the ornery old man out with half a punch, maybe even a third. At least his trainer cleaned himself up on fight night. No white T-Shirt with yellow stains under the arms. No baggy sweatpants or khaki moccasins, either. Instead, a nice, clean white T-Shirt, blue jeans, and black tennis shoes.
“Ready to go out there, or are you just going to blow chunks again?” Danny asked.
“How about I practice my knockout punch on you?” Kaspar replied.
“Jokes! He’s got jokes!”
“What if I wasn’t joking? Calm down.”
Danny shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Calm down? You expect me to calm down? I am about to enter the biggest fight of my career, but my fighter is jerking off in the toilet, enjoying his vomiting sessions.”
“I’m fine,” Kaspar said. He turned and walked to the row of sinks. “Nerves. Just nerves.”
“You really are turning pussy on me, aren’t ya? I can smell that stank from a mile away.”
“You want to step in the ring? Be my guest.”
“You don’t pay me to fight your battles for you. They don’t pay you to be a little chicken shit. You want to get evicted from that rank apartment you hide yourself in?”
Kaspar ignored Danny again, something he got better and better at each day. He turned on the faucet and splashed the ice cold water on his face. He kept telling himself to get a grip. The odds of a victory were slim enough without bringing doubts into the fight. Danny was right, after all. This was the biggest fight for Danny as a trainer, for Kaspar, it might turn out to be the fight of his life. Win, and get a huge pay day. Lose…and…
Don’t think about that.
It was hard not to think about it, though. He couldn’t help but envision Mother if he lost. She would be forced to make a way for herself out here. Away from the simple pleasures of knitting and watching old reruns of her favorite soap operas. The same soap operas she used to watch before everything changed in the blink of an eye.
Kaspar took a mouthful of the water and swished it around in his mouth, spitting out what remained of the vomit. He took another mouthful and swallowed. He felt the cold liquid run down his throat. It was now or never time. He took one last handful of water and rubbed it into his buzzed sandy blonde hair. Kaspar turned off the faucet and looked at his own expression in the mirror.
He thought about what must be done tonight, that strategy that he and Danny had gone over endlessly. The fight would all be over in a matter of minutes—maybe even seconds. No time to be nervous now. There was only time for getting his head in the game. His expression turned stone cold.