Bloodlines by P.F. Hughes

Author:P.F. Hughes [Hughes, P.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Punch Publishing

"Come on, Jimmy!"

"Have him, Sully!"

They were baying for blood. The two fighters were limbering up, staring each other out, getting motivated to fuck their opponent up by various hangers on and friends. Both had their tops off. No shorts, just jeans or tracksuit bottoms. Joyce was easily the fitter of the two, his torso ripped. Sullivan was slightly bigger, less trim, and flabby in all the wrong places. It was clear who took this shit seriously and who didn't. I didn't think Seamus was wrong when he said he thought Joyce would win by knockout in the third. That would be my bet too, if I actually gambled. I didn't know what the odds were, but you didn't need odds to see who was going to come out on top.

"Who are all these people, Seamus?"

"Hangers on, friends, family. Doesn't take much for word to get around."

"What, and they want to see them batter lumps of shit out of each other?"

"It takes all sorts, Jim. You'd be surprised. Here we go."

The guy standing between them, short and overweight and making a piss poor attempt at being some kind of referee, told them the rules. I wondered how long it would take for them to be broken. No kicking, no head butting, no biting, no gouging. No hidden weapons. Just good old-fashioned fists and nothing else. He rang a bell, one of those old things you'd see in a church or a schoolyard, and bounced out of the way. Several meatheads circled the crowd, facing away from the fight, presumably to act as some kind of security for the 'boxers'. Now that all the squaring up and bravado was done with, it was simply down to who could punch the hardest.

Joyce landed the first blow, catching Sullivan by surprise with a quick jab. The crowd erupted. Seamus shifted enthusiastically in his seat. Sullivan landed one back, a clumsy right hook on Joyce's cheekbone.

"How long are the rounds?"

"Two minutes. Ten rounds. If it lasts that long."

I spotted a few people filming the action on their smartphones, perhaps to be uploaded onto some dark corner of the Internet. Thought it all a bit too much, but then it all was, the whole thing. Not for the first time, I had to question my sanity. What the hell was I doing here and what the hell was I doing working for the Connollys? As if by extra sensory perception, I glanced at Kian standing over near the edge of the baying circle. He was looking right at me, grinning. Was that a wink? I couldn't be sure because the flab of Paul Sullivan obstructed my view when he was put on his arse with an uppercut.

"Fuck me, did you see that punch!?"

It was Seamus, excited, nudging my shoulder. Sullivan was being helped up by a few hangers on. Blood leaked from his nose and he was forming a lump above his left eye.

"He caught him all right," I said, cringing. I realised I was out of my depth.

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