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Please review your cart. You can remove the unavailable item s now or we'll automatically remove it at Checkout. Remove FREE. Unavailable for download. Continue shopping Checkout Continue shopping. Chi ama i libri sceglie Kobo e inMondadori. download the eBook Price: Slide dresses like a street pimp and has served time for murder. Nino is a mid-level meth importer who served time for trafficking. Johnny has no criminal record yet and owns half of the fighter Tadeo will face tonight.
Denardo drops hints of Mafia ties, but I doubt his criminal activity is that well organized. He aspires to promote MMA events and longs to live in Vegas. Frankie is the old guy, a local fixture in the fight scene for decades. So these are my boys. We go down the card and start the betting. Three thousand, and no takers.
I chide them, cuss them, ridicule them, but they know Tadeo is on a roll.
We cover the card with all manner of wagers, and Frankie, the scribe, records it all. The fights begin and I roam around the arena, killing time. I know that by now Tadeo is laid out on a table, motionless, covered by a thick quilt, saying his prayers to the Virgin Mary and listening to filthy Latin rap.
There is nothing I can do to help, so I find a spot on an upper level, high above the ring, and take in the show. It is indeed a sellout, and the fans are as loud and crazed as ever. We want to see bleeding eyes, gashes across the forehead, choke holds, bone-ripping submissions, and brutal knockout punches that send the corners scrambling for the doctor.
Mix in a flood of cheap beer, and you have five thousand maniacs begging for blood. I eventually work my way back to the locker room, where things are coming to life.
The first two fights ended with early knockouts, so the evening is moving quickly. Norberto, Oscar, and Miguel put on their glowing yellow jackets, same as mine, and Team Zapate is ready for the long walk to the cage.
Oscar tends to the facial wounds, if any. From the moment we hit the floor, everything becomes a blur. Along the tunnel, drunk fans reach for Tadeo and scream his name. Cops shove people out of our way. They want more, another fight, preferably one to the death.
An announcer yells his name over the PA, and our man bounces into the cage in his bright yellow trunks and robe. He plays defense well and looks for a takedown. He wrapped his last opponent into a pretzel and made him scream for mercy. Right now I loathe the Jackal, but deep down I admire the hell out of him.
Any man who can climb into the cage has far more spine than the average guy. The bell rings for round 1, three minutes of fury. Tadeo the boxer bores in straight ahead and immediately has the Jackal backing up. They go down, land hard, and the Jackal has him in a scissors hold.
For a long minute, the action dies as Tadeo squirms and wiggles and we hold our breath. The Jackal lost the first round, so, like many fighters, he starts pressing in the second round.
He wants to get inside, to get his wiry arms fixed into some manner of vile death grip, but Tadeo reads him perfectly. Thirty seconds in, Tadeo does a classic left-right-left combo and knocks his opponent squarely onto his butt. Tadeo then makes a common mistake as he attempts to launch himself like an idiot onto the Jackal, much like a manic dive-bomber lunging for the kill.
The Jackal manages to kick with his right foot, a brutal blow that hits Tadeo just above the crotch. He stays on his feet as the Jackal scrambles to his, and for a second or two neither man pushes the action.
They finally shake it off and begin circling. He opens a cut above his right eye and widens it with a relentless barrage. The Jackal has the bad habit of throwing a wild fake left hook just before he ducks and comes in low at the knees, and he tries this one time too often.
Tadeo reads it, times it perfectly, and executes his finest trick, a blind elbow spin, a move that takes balls because for a split second his back is turned to his opponent. Lights out. The Jackal is out before he lands on the mat. The rules allow Tadeo to pounce on him for a few shots to the face, to properly finish him off, but why bother? Tadeo just stands in the center of the ring, hands raised, staring down, admiring his work as the Jackal lies as still as a corpse.
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