I'm a boxer by trade -- or I should say, I was. Someone retired me who wasn't exactly sportin' leather gloves but English Leather musk. In fact, he usually chomped a cigar, was half my size and wore bifocals.
In the ring, they called me Eddie "Eagle Eye" Rockport because I saw those haymakers coming from the next round. That skill was learned compliments of Uncle Sam who trained me as an Army marksman.
How good was I in the ring? I never bled, always beat the count and never kissed the canvas.
So why wasn't I studying 'The Sweet Science' anymore? Like I said, 'I never bled, always beat the count and never kissed the canvas.' You see, there's no drama in a guy who always wins. Sure, at first it's fun to see some palooka lead with his chin and eat some leather, but tell that to the gate. So I was prematurely retired.
Some of the luckier boxers would start their second life by coaching or maybe settling down with whatever wits they had left. Me? I did what came natural. Turned to the gun.
* * *
The main event was starting in about an hour and I wanted to get locked and loaded. The rifle, not me. That would come later. With her.
Shelly, tonight's featured ring girl, asked me if I was as good a shooter as a pugilist? I smiled and winked. "Sweetheart, on a moonlit night I could spot the wet glare of a rat's fanny as he trolled through the damp gutter."
"That good?" she toyed, as she took a drag of her Chesterfield.
I nodded and paid her for the information I needed. I told her that if all went well, I'd meet her after the fight. I knew it would go well, I just wasn't sure if wanted to see her again. A guy can only take so much Elizabeth Arden.
At the arena, I thought about Bifocals and the tomato can who's currently wearing those belts. He couldn't see a teddy bear coming. Even if I was punchdrunk, the bum's eye would look like a plum inside 30 seconds flat. It was time to focus.
I reminded myself that while I may have hung up the gloves, I'm still very much in the Fight Game -- just in a different capacity. I'm cleaning it. I'm famous now in a different way. Some newspapers call me a crusader.
Eddie 'Eagle Eye' Rockport now kills gangsters from the rafters. They never know I'm coming. The press say I strike fear into the heart of crooked boxing promoters nationwide. I know I will again tonight. Right through his bifocals.
MUSIC: Miles Davis, 'I Fall in Love Too Easily,' courtesy of the Internet Archive.
ART: Mort Kunstler, 'Nine to Go,' - Men's Adventure, magazine cover, 1968
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Cool beans, Ant. I don't know why but it put me in mind of Requiem For A Heavyweight.I mean the Jack Palance take on Mountain McClintock, not the second one -- though that ws pretty good -- nobody touches Palance in the role. I think your story reminded me of the Palance version of requiem because both share the hero journey aspect. Mountain went out coaching the little kid he met on the train thus carrying on the honor of the hero's job. Your hero took a different turn, but he is still trying to maintain the integrity of the sport he loves.
ReplyDeleteSmooth, clean and sharp. I love this pieces of yours.
ReplyDeleteI like this one. You keep gettin' better, Anthony, and this one packs a wallop. Love that closing line, too. Good stuff.
ReplyDeleteGlad to see you've maintained your sense of voice for this period and sort of world, Anthony.
ReplyDeleteThis was smooth like a good whiskey, it went down well and burned in all the right places ^_^ What can I say Anthony you're a master at this genre.
ReplyDeleteNice site. I've heard of Miles Davis, but never took the time to listen. It definitely helps set the mood of a time period long since gone, but not forgotten. I will continue to explore this world you created. I also like the artist work you chose. It fits just right. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteThanks for poppin' by, Tony ...
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