that.’
She looks at him doubtfully, and then makes her decision. ‘All right, I’ll just take less than a minute.’
She gives him five twenty pound notes and he passes it to another young man standing behind him, and writes something in his tatty notebook.
He turns to me. ‘What about you, young lady?’
‘Me? I’m not…’ I pause. Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I bet like Ria? It’s just for fun. ‘What would give me a really good payout?’
He grins. ‘The Bat to lose.’
‘Other than that?’
‘That The Devil’s Hammer lands a swing on The Bat’s face.’
I frown. ‘Why’s that?’
‘Because except for his fight with Jake Eden, The Bat has never been hit in the face.’
‘How much will I get for my hundred?’
‘Two grand.’
‘Wow! That’s huge.’
‘Yeah, right. The payout’s so damn good, because it’s never gonna happen. Don’t do it, Layla. You might as well burn your money,’ Ria advises with a frown.
‘I like to live dangerously,’ I say with a grin and hold out my money. The bookie secretes it away in single hand movement. Like oil pouring from a drum. A smooth, effortless miracle of nature.
He jots my bet down in his little book and we move away towards the bar. The bar is a collection of huge metal drums filled with beer bottles, ice, and water. We each order a bottle of beer, drinking straight from the bottle since there are no glasses available. I am strangely excited. The mood of the crowd has affected me. There is anticipation in the air.
We go right to the front of the pit, a small area cordoned off with bales of hay, and find ourselves a spot where we have a good view of the fight. In minutes the first fight starts. Two young men, who seem evenly matched to me, start walking towards the pit. One of them takes a step into the pit and establishes his jab straight away. Moving his head from side to side and jogging around. Suddenly, without warning, his clenched fist shoots out. Bang, a body shot that leaves his opponent reeling backwards into the hay. The fight is over in seconds as the aggressor then lunges forwards and knocks him out in one punch.
‘Wow,’ I say to Ria. ‘He’s brutal.’
‘Wait ‘til you see BJ.’
The next fight lasts a lot longer and is astonishingly violent.
I see it then for what it truly is, a festival of physical abuse. Men going for it, egged on by a baying crowd. There is no holding back. It’s in their blood. To decide who is the hardest of them all. The sport of legend, guts, honor, and heart.
Both men are bloodied and in bad shape when one of them spits out his mouth guard and falls to his knees. His friends have to carry him away. My heart is pounding hard. That had been too brutal. I hadn’t enjoyed it, but all around me the crowd has woken up. A thrill runs through them. An air expectancy hovers over us like that crackle in the air before a thunderstorm.
‘BJ is next,’ Ria says.
‘Now for the fight you have all been waiting for,’ the MC announces excitedly. ‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley versus Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’
The crowd cheers and whistles.
‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley,’ the announcer screams over the whistles and calls. Queen’s We Are the Champions fills the air and BJ’s opponent, a huge, bearded man appears. He lifts his hands high over his head in acknowledgement and runs energetically towards the pit.
‘And now for the undefeated champion, Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’
Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell blares out and BJ walks out to the pit. The crowd goes absolutely crazy, clapping and cheering, banging their bottles on the wooden surfaces in the barn. There is no doubting the crowd’s favorite.
He is wearing a plain black t-shirt and khaki trousers. As he walks into the pit, I notice that everything about him is different. His eyebrows are drawn straight, his eyes are pitiless, chips of black ice, and his face is devoid of any