Free with You

Chapter 15: Tamalon

Vito POV

For the last five hours since my first encounter with the Yakuza boss, I’ve been wandering aimlessly around the ship. I was hoping for another run in again, but it seems my luck has run out.

I lean against the warm metal wall of a container as I look out into the darkness. I zone out to the gentle crashing sounds of the ocean and the light breeze.

Since we departed hours ago, the only thing visible for miles are the white tips of waves that are gleaming by the moon’s reflection — just like that woman’s black hair shining in the sun.

“Damn…” I smile to myself. I’m shaking my head. I can’t get the woman out of my f*****g mind.

I mean… how am I to set up our first intro without it being awkward? I guess we’re already past that point since I caught her…like that.

Should I just go in head first?

Or maybe crack a joke to make her laugh…? No, she might get offended.

I can feel her out, yeah — act like I don’t recognize her and see if she brings up the moment from earlier.

“Ay, a problem for another day,” I sigh.

Just then, my ears pick up distant sounds of footsteps getting closer. There’s a group of crewmen walking toward me…but the arrangement of how they’re huddled is off somehow.

I find it odd that there’s a couple shirtless men walking in the middle of the group. They’re wearing athletic shorts and their hands are covered in what seems like… tape? They’re angrily throwing jabs in the air, like they’re pumping themselves up for a fight. The other men are rallying around like little f*****g cheer leaders.

Wait, are they holding a fight on this ship? Just from a glance, they do look like a couple of well trained lightweights. I’m a light heavyweight in comparison so it wouldn’t be a fair fight.

Still…I can’t help that there’s an itch drawing me in.

They walk by me like I don’t exist — like I’m part of the container’s shadow. I try to stay unnoticed, until they’re several feet past me. I look up towards the group and see that they’re heading to the accommodations section of the ship. It must be on one of the levels from there.

Once they’ve disappeared from view, my curiosity gets the best of me. I find myself inching closer to the accommodations, and before I know it, I’m already inside the elevator on the upper deck level trying to figure out which floor to go to.

“f**k it,” I say before I swipe my fingers across all the buttons on the elevator panel.

*Elevator Levels*

Navigation Bridge Deck (TOP)

F Deck

E Deck

D Deck

C Deck

B Deck

A Deck

Upper Deck (BOTTOM)

As the doors open on each level, I pause for a moment to listen in on each floor. I pass deck levels A, B, C, D, but once I hit deck level E, there’s a loud rowdy shouting echoing off the walls. My hand shoots out, before the door can close, and I step out to look down the hall where the noise is coming from.

As I walk down the hallway, the sound gets more intense. At the end, there’s an open archway leading out to an outside patio deck. The entire floor is crowded with men from the ship crew. In the middle is a makeshift 20 x 20 ft boxing ring with a raised platform. At each corner are standing lights that illuminate the ring from the darkness outside. The smell of tobacco, pot, body odor, and tequila wafts into my nose, as I push through the crowd of shouting men.

“Dales su puta madre!”

“Muebe tus pies!”

“Sube tus manos!”

I continue my way, until I make it to the front row where I see two men fighting in the ring.

Then, my eyes are drawn toward the opposite corner, outside of the ring, where there’s a group of men fisting mounds of cash and placing bets on this fight. I can’t help the smile that makes it up to my face.

“Jackpot,” I say as I snake my way through the crowd toward the old man collecting paper.

“Cuanto cuesta?” (How much?) I ask the old man. He’s licking his fingers as he counts the cash in hand, bill by bill.

“500 pesos la puesta (500 pesos to start),” he says, “—eh, puedes generar 5 veces mas el que tiene la menor chansa de ganar (you can win 5 times more for the one with a lower chance of winning),” he adds. His eyes are cast down, but he points toward the fighters in the ring.

“Quiero pelear (I want to fight),” I say with a straight face. The old man finally looks up at me lifting his eyebrow.

“Quieres pelear? (You want to fight?),” he asks with his eyes studying my body more carefully this time. I nod.

“Entiendes inglés? (Do you understand english?)” I ask the old man.

“Más o menos, si (More or less, yeah),” he says nodding.

“OK, find a strong fighter for the first fight but put my money towards my win,” I tell the old man handing him 500 pesos, “For the second fight, find a weak fighter, but bet my money against me, entiendes?”

He looks into my eyes and there’s a subtle smirk at the corner of his lips, like he understands my strategy. He nods and turns away.

“Ve a la trastienda. Puedes prepararse allí (Go to the back room. You can prepare there),” he says, “cuál es tu nombre? (What is your name?)”

“Vito,” I yell back as I make my way to the back room. Once I’m inside, I notice it’s set up like a locker room. I take off my orange shirt and see a roll of tape and a mouthpiece on a steel bench and grab them.

As I’m wrapping my hands, I hear the shouting outside grow louder as the fight nears the last round. I don’t even bother warming up, as I lay with my back on the cold bench and stare into the flickering light bulb.

Suddenly the door opens. I pry open one of my eyes to look toward the disturbance.

Low and behold, it’s f*****g Tamalon. I shake my head chuckling to myself. The old man really wants to make this interesting doesn’t he? Tamalon is twice my size. I hardly think that’s a fair fight, but oh well. He just stands there by the door with no emotion.

“Estas peleando? (Are you fighting?),” Tamalon asks.

“Mhm,” I say as I move to sit up and face him.

“No seré fácil contigo (I will not go easy on you),” he snarls as he cracks his knuckles and smiles like a starving rabid dog.

I mouth “OK” with a puppy dog pout. He gives me a look of disgust and scoffs on his way out. I hear the triple *ding* of the bell and the drowned out call for the winner.

“I guess it’s my time,” I say to no one before placing stuffing my mouthpiece in.

As I’m walking toward the ring, the crowds of men open up a path for me to get through. The hushed voices and s**t talk gossip assures me that everything is going according to plan.

No one believes I will win.

Most will bet in favor of the giant monster of a man who is waiting for me at the opposite corner of the ring. I just need to play my cards right.

As I pretend to notice Tamalon for the first time, I widen my eyes like I’m intimidated by his size. I squeeze between the ropes and usher toward the other corner where I throw slow punches in the air and hop around like an i***t.

I can see the crew gathering around the old man throwing in their bets against me. I do my best to control my smirk.

Thaaaat’s right, let the money pile up!

Suddenly I hear the bell *ding* three times. I turn around and see Tamalon charging towards me. He throws the first jab towards my right, but I don’t have enough time to dodge it. Instead, I sustain the full force hit on my left arm. He’s got me on the ropes, as I keep my fists up defending my face.

He then throws a rear hook to my left with full force. My arms are searing in pain, as I continue to take hits left and right. The crowd is going nuts thinking I’m about to get KO’d in the first round.

That’s when I notice that Tamalon is throwing punches in a pattern and I anticipate that the next lead hook is coming to my right. I dodge it in time and make swift footwork to get away.

Once there’s some distance, I see that Tamalon is flaring his nose and widening his mouth piece like he’s out of breath. His chest is pumping up and down and he’s sweatin’ balls.

Good — looks like I’ve tired him out. The bell *dings* for the end of the first round. I can tell Tamalon is getting impatient and wants to knock me out asap.

At the start of the second round, he runs straight for me again, pulling his right arm back like he’s about to give me a solid rear hook. I take this chance to duck and hit him with my full strength in his left side. I feel a crack reverberate when my knuckles meet his ribs.

The crowd goes wild. He doubles over, gripping his side and growling in pain. His eyes meet mine as he straightens up.

“Pinché culero! (f*****g asshole!)” he snarls.

As I expected, he lowers his left elbow to guard his injured side while he approaches me more cautiously. He closes the gap between us until I’m pushed up against the ropes again.

He starts throwing me 3-4s (lead and rear hooks) over and over again like before. My arms are burning but I’m looking for an opening. When I see it, I jab him right in the jaw with my full speed. He barely flinches and shakes his head smiling like he’s saying, “Nice try.”

Right then, I’m momentarily distracted by the sight of a familiar woman approaching the old man outside the ring. I watch as she hands something to him.

Is that who I think it is?

Is she betting?

Who is she betting on?

*WHAM!* My head goes flying backwards, as I realize Tamalon just landed an uppercut to my chin. I go falling down on my ass like a lug of timber and the crowd goes wild again. I hear the ref counting down, but my eyes are dizzy.

“Cuatro, tres, dos-“ counts the ref.

I stand up right before the ref gives up on me. Tamalon smiles like he’s figured me out. I slip past him before he’s able to hit me again and there ends the second round.

As I’m wiping the sweat off my brows in my corner, I take a good look at the crowd to see where this woman has gone to. An adrenaline rush flows through me knowing that she’s watching me from somewhere.

Time for me to wrap this up.

When the bell *dings* for the start of the third round, I charge toward Tamalon this time, catching him off guard when I throw a vicious rear hook to his bruised side. He hadn’t anticipated that I would try to weaken him, but now that he’s caught on, he goes back to shielding his left side.

I throw combos at him while he maintains distance and attempts to jab. But he’s wide open at this point. I move to corner him until he’s got nowhere else to go.

I take this opportunity to return the uppercut back to him with my full strength. I hear an “Uh!” grunt as my fist connects with his nose cracking it.

He goes flying backwards with a loud thud at the edge of the ring. The crowd is yelling at Tamalon to get up, but the ref starts counting down. Tamalon doesn’t get back up.

The bell *dings* for the end of the fight and everyone around is silent.

Shit — did I kill him?!

I saunter over as the ref holds his head up, patting his bloodied face, but Tamalon’s eyes look dazed.

As I’m about to lean down to help him up, someone runs into my shoulder forcefully. I look to see who this son of a b***h is, but quickly realize it’s his brother, Flaco.

I give him an apologetic look, but Flaco just smirks angrily and silently, as he puts Tamalon’s arm over his shoulder and drags him out of the ring. The ref holds up my hand.

“El campeón es Vito! (The champion is Vito!)” the ref shouts. The majority of the crowd grunts in disappointment from the loss of their bets.

I connect eyes with the old man outside the ring and he gives me a thumbs up signaling that I just won 2500 pesos.

I’m sitting at my corner strategizing for the next fight.

Start strong, sway the bets towards me, but lose on purpose.

This one will be easy.

I grab a towel and wipe the sweat off my face. I look toward the opposite corner where my opponent will enter. Then, I hear the ref say a name that makes my heart stop.

“Para la segunda pelea — Vito! — y Hana! (For the second fight, Vito and Hana!)”