The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

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Caesar
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by Caesar » 25 Feb 2020, 16:57

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Abel hissed between his teeth as he dabbed a piece of coarse paper towel against his lip. The big white guy he’d just fought wasn’t anything close to a boxer, but he packed more than a punch with the shots that he did manage. Abel was surprised that he’d somehow managed to not get knocked out – especially at the end of the fight.

He needed to get whatever money they were going to give him and head back to the border before night fell. It wouldn’t help him that he didn’t know how to catch a cab or the bus schedule and his Spanish was too bad to ask for help.

Kique Buemeros and a group of raucous men burst into the small room Abel had been upgraded to from the bathroom.

The man glared at Abel for a tense moment before a smile spread across his face. Laughing, he grabbed Abel’s face and yelled.

“El negro furioso!” he shouted. “I thought that gringo was going to drop you a few times.” Buemeros stepped back and threw a couple punches. “But not negro furioso! You box like a Mexican. Tat, tat, tat and move. Are you sure you weren’t born south of the border?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Abel said, putting the napkin back to his lip.

Buemeros turned to one of the men, a rather large and imposing man. He beckoned with his hand. “Oso, la feria”

The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tightly rolled bundle of bills and placed it in his boss’s hand.

Kique Buemeros held it up and smiled. “You made me a lot of money today, amigo. A lot of fucking money.” Grabbing Abel’s hand and turning it up, he dropped the roll. “It’s a good thing you won because I would’ve had to given you something to take back to Texas with you to get my money back.”

He laughed but Abel just gave an obligatory chuckle in return to not piss the man who was quite clearly in some cartel a reason to give him an acid bath.

“Can you guys get me a way back to the border? I can manage once I’m back on the other side.” Abel put the wad of cash in his back. He wanted to know how much it was but felt that it would be a bit of an insult to start counting money in front of them.

“Back to the border? You have to hang out with us a bit, no? I have a business proposition for you. One that will make us both a lot better off tomorrow than we are today.”

Abel shrugged and gestured to them, all dressed nicely albeit with a bit of a high incidence of cowboy boots and hats. “Well, I would look out of place with y’all. I don’t want to ruin your image or something like that wearing a ratty hoodie and some jeans.”

Buemeros pointed to his head. “You want a hat? We’ll get you a hat.” He glanced back. “Ir a conseguirle un sombrero.”

Abel wanted to say that wasn’t necessary, just a trip back to the border, but it didn’t seem like he was going to get out of hearing this business proposition without hearing it.

---

“Here, drink up.”

Abel looked at the glass of tequila. “I’m not old enough to drink.”

“Not old enough to drink?” Buemeros laughed. He looked at a woman sitting next to him. “Te dije que es gracioso. El dice que es demasiado joven para beber.”

The woman looked at Abel and smiled, laughter in her eyes. She was beautiful, but Abel was sticking to his tactic of not angering anyone and only glanced at her.

“This is not Donald’s America, amigo. You can drink. We’ll just keep it between us.”

Abel sighed and knocked back the shot. He cringed a little at the aftertaste. He waved off the bartender who rushed over to refill the glass of one of Señor Buemeros’ guests. The bartender persisted at Buemeros’ urging and Abel let him refill the glass, but he didn’t drink it this time.

“So, Abel,” he sipped from a tumbler in his hand. “Let’s get down to business so that we can enjoy the rest of the day.”

“Okay.” Abel tried not to show his apprehension about the whole situation, but it was hard not to when sitting in a bar full of cartel members and other hangers on.

“You clearly know how to box. Much better than these guys that I’ve seen you fight. Even that motherfucker Beto who people keep saying is the next big thing but couldn’t beat some random guy that we found in a Texas backwater. No offense.”

“None taken.”

The man held up a finger and downed the rest of his alcohol before beckoning the bartender to refill the glass. This time he made him leave the bottle.

“You work at a casino, right? Security?”

Abel nodded.

“How much do you make? Minimum wage? A little more maybe?”

“Something like that.”

Buemeros nodded and rubbed his chin. “These little off the track matches? They are very easy to set up. Mexicans love boxing. We are good at it. We like watching it. Here’s my proposal. I set up some fights for you and you win them. I’ll give you five grand for every fight you win and…” He paused for effect. “I’ll let you bet on yourself with that money so you can double or triple that pretty easily.”

“And if I lose a fight? How much?”

“Lose?” Buemeros laughed. He said to the woman, “Cree que puede perder.”

As if she knew she was only supposed to laugh and smile and not speak, she smiled and gave a little laugh.

“So, I’m guessing the offer is only good if I win.”

“Of course.”

“And how long does this deal run?”

The man waved his hand back and forth. “Let’s say we review it every other month. But I think you’ll be happy with the outcome.”

Abel sipped some of the tequila from the shot glass in front of him. “Then how can I say no?”

“Right?” Kique Buemeros laughed, slapping the table for emphasis.
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djp73
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by djp73 » 25 Feb 2020, 17:00

I was gonna ask for an update
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Captain Canada
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by Captain Canada » 25 Feb 2020, 18:23

This man is going to end up in a ditch. Goddamnit.

Soapy
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by Soapy » 28 Feb 2020, 10:06

yall aint told me about this
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by Caesar » 01 Mar 2020, 17:21

Soapy wrote:
28 Feb 2020, 10:06
yall aint told me about this
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by Caesar » 01 Mar 2020, 18:29

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“Abel, we need you to come down to the floor and deal with this guy. He’s been grabbing at the dealers a little too much.”

The walkie talkie’s crackle died to silence, but Abel didn’t move to respond or do what he was asked. Because he sat asleep in his chair before the bank of CCTV monitors. His undershirt was pulled over his nose and his head hung precariously on his hand.

Gus walked out of the little bathroom that was attached to the security room. He zipped up his pants and wiped his hands on his shirt before sitting down next to Abel.

The older man smacked Abel on the back a couple times.

Abel jolted awake and threw his hands up, ready to fight but sighed when he realized he was at work and it was the only aged security guard bothering him.

“Better git your ass down to the floor and deal with that call. I don’t know what wetbacks you been up all night with but it ain’t gonna have me doin’ no extra work now,” Gus said.

“What call?” Abel rubbed at his eyes.

“Just git your ass down to the floor and you’ll find out. That’s the problem with you millennials, always sleepin’ on the job expectin’ things to be handed out to you. This is Texas, not California. You’d do well to remember we don’t do that here.”

Abel stood up, ignoring Gus’s rants about dirty libs ruining the country. He affixed the walkie talkie to his belt and headed down the stairs to the casino floor.

He moved in autopilot. Kique Buemeros had kept him Mexico until the wee hours of the morning before getting someone to bring him back stateside. It was a wonder that he was able to walk without his head exploding because he’d drank more than he’d ever done in his life.

And he’d almost forgotten that he’d come to an agreement to fight in some Mexican underground boxing circuit.

It didn’t take him long to find the issue as a man wearing a red hat, talking loudly and snatching cards from the middle of a poker table. The dealer looked exasperated as she tried to put the cards back where they were supposed to be.

“Hey, buddy. Why don’t you calm down a bit, huh?” Abel asked, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder when he was close enough.

“I’m not your buddy.” He brushed Abel’s hand away. “Why don’t you run along and leave me the hell alone?”

“Sure, if you calm down and stop grabbing at the cards.”

The man turned his head to look at Abel. “I’ll do what I want, thanks.”

He shoved Abel for emphasis.

Not in the mood for any guff, Abel drew his hand back and smacked the soul out of the man, sending the red hat flying across the aisle. The man tipped over in his stool and tried to scramble to his feet, but Abel already had a hold of his shirt.

Abel dragged the man, swinging and flailing, through the casino. He kicked open the door and tossed him on the pavement outside.

“Now, fuck off before I kick your ass,” Abel said, brushing his hands off on his pants.

The man got up and put his hands up as if he was going to fight, but a fairly sizeable Mexican man wearing sunglasses and a gun on his hip walked up behind him.

The Mexican gentleman tapped the man on the shoulder. When he shook his head when the man turned around and nodded to the gun.

The man’s eyes tripled in size and he ran off to his car.

“El jefe has been calling you,” the Mexican man said to Abel. His voice was gruff and his accent thick.

Abel nodded to the casino. “I’ve been at work.”

“Quit. You don’t need to work here anymore.”

“Y’all ain’t paying me a salary so yes, I do.”

He reached into his back pocket. Abel tried to hide the fact that he thought he was about to get shot right there on the casino’s steps. Instead, the man pulled an old iPhone out of his pocket and held it out to Abel.

“This is so el jefe has a good way to contact you.”

Abel took the phone and powered it up. Almost immediately a couple messages from WhatsApp popped up on the screen. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that they were from Buemeros.

I set up a fight for you next week.
It’s in TJ.

Abel sent back: I just fought twice in a week.

The response didn’t take very long.

You’ll be alright. The guy’s a bum. See you in a couple days.

Abel sighed and put the phone in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed Buemeros’ man still standing before him.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“Si,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small roll of cash and handed it to Abel. “It’s a couple hundred dollars so you can quit and make it to next week. El jefe will take it out of your cut of the winnings.”

Rubbing his forehead with one hand, he put the money in his pocket and turned to go back into the casino.

“Where are you going?”

“To quit, obviously. You don’t expect me to just disappear and them not wonder what happened to me, do you?”

The big Mexican man didn’t respond for a moment as he seemed to be pondering what Abel said. After a few moments, he nodded in agreement and turned toward a murdered out SUV that was parked on the opposite side of the road.

Abel shook his head, wondering if there was a way out of the situation that he’d gotten himself into.
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djp73
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by djp73 » 01 Mar 2020, 19:20

Only one way out.
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Captain Canada
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Post by Captain Canada » 02 Mar 2020, 00:18

This man gonna end up in a damn ditch.
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by Caesar » 08 Jun 2020, 15:58

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Abel awkwardly ran a damp towel over his head with a gloved hand and waited as the random guy who had been assigned as his cornerman haphazardly hacked at the tape on the other hand to free it from the glove.

His heart thundered in his chest after going six rounds with Pastor Felix. Either he was more out of fighting shape than he’d thought or the Mexican boxer reputation for being scrappy and speedy was bullshit. He’d almost been knocked out in all these back alley fights he’d been a part of, and it was only a matter of time before he did get slept.

A draw.

Buemeros hadn’t told him what would happen if he fought to a draw. He hadn’t expected there to be draws in these types of bouts. Surely, someone would grease someone’s pocket to force them decide a winner. That, or grease up someone’s kid to force them decide.

It was implied that he couldn’t lose that much he knew. Well, he didn’t. Surely, any bets would be forfeit and returned. That’s how it worked in a casino or in any other form of betting. That was in the legal world, though. He had a feeling that those rules didn’t apply here.

So, he sat and waited for whatever was coming for him.

Minutes seemed to stretch for hours as he heard an argument in Spanish nearby. He didn’t dare turn his head and look to see who was involved. Best to keep a low profile when things don’t go your way. Makes it easier to slip out through a backdoor if people weren’t paying attention to you.

Once his gloves had been removed, he grabbed his shirt from the floor and started to pull it over his head – mostly hoping that he’d be able to beat a hasty retreat and escape across the border before anyone was the wiser. Sure, criminals had reach all over the world, but the United States was a huge country and it would be easy to get lost somewhere other than Nueva Providencia.

His plan was scuttered moments later as Kique Buemeros walked over to him, wiping something from his hand with a towel.

“Oye, vuelva a poner los guante,” he said to the “cornerman,” pointing at the gloves and then to Abel. He turned to Abel and held his arms out. “Good fight, mi amigo!”

Abel raised his eyebrow. “I didn’t win, though?”

“No, you didn’t. This is true. What I should’ve said was, good first six round, mi amigo! You have him on the ropes, now to go out there and finish him off.” Buemeros feigned some punches then did a poor impression of weaving side to side and throwing an uppercut.

“I thought the fight was only six rounds?”

“Now, it’s 12. What’s wrong? Do you not think you can win? I can go out there and tell them that you forfeit, and I’ll lose my money.” He pointed over his shoulder. “Is that what you want me to do?”

“Nah. I was just confused.”

“Bueno! I think I’ll go raise my bet. Double it? Triple it? No, quadruple it! And I’m going to put a kicker down on a knockout.”

Abel thought about pointing out that Felix didn’t seem like the type that would get knocked out, especially after getting a fifteen-minute rest.

“Alright,” Abel said instead.

“Good, good. Get your gloves back on and get back out there,” Buemeros started to leave but stopped. “And for both of our sake’s, don’t lose huh?”
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The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion

Post by djp73 » 08 Jun 2020, 16:24

didn't expect to see an update here. good fight, i was a little worried when he rocked you after the first knock down but you defended well and came back strong
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