Ike up-ended the trash can in the back corner of the bathroom and told Randy to sit on it. Ike then turned ominously and looked over to Dentin’s corner men. “Y’ all wanz ta uze London Prize Ring rulz, Gypzy rulz, Pancraze oh original Pride rulz?”

The two had a brief conclave as Dentin began unlimbering his layered get up, which included a vest and a .44 magnum, and began handing it to Joan. Cousin Greg was now coming in with his cup of ice as the two broke huddle, had a word with Dentin, and nodded. “We wan’ LPR rules with a savate stipulation: kicks permitted. Da man here was a All Asia Military kick-boxin’ Champion. Be unfare not ta led him kick…”

That sucks for you Whiteman.

Ike cut him off, “But yo young greedy azzez ztill wanz ‘im ta be able ta trow my man down to da flo hugh? I goz yo whipperznapperz figured. En I tell yah diz”—Ike produced a long butcher knife and began using it as a pointer as he talked—“we’ll give up da avantage ‘cauze he ‘The Man’ en yo boy nuffin’ bud a boy. But iffin yooze fink you gonna innafear I goz some zhit fo you. Only da MC heear can help a man up off da flo. I ain’t gonna have you hopperz mezzin’ with ma man—gotz it!”

The youths nodded in agreement, and shock even, and the MC finalized it, “Dis shit up in hea is gonna be conjested accordin’ to LPR wit kicks en no draggin’ of a man back to ‘is corna unless I can haul his ass—which pretty much fucks ole Corn-fed hear if he go down—so keep yo big ass off da flo boy cause I jus’ give up eight-ta-one on yo ass ta diz drive-true bitch dare.”

Just then Dentin finally peeled off his shirt and all of those present, which now included two of the four kitchen girls, sucked in their breath in amazement at the man’s hulk-like physique, for there was not a ripple of fat to be seen. Coltrane whistled through broken teeth and drawled, “Good-goog-a-moog. We gotz us a plantation-bred Mandingo fightin’ nigga up in heear. He make Argyll Zwarzennigga loog like a albino Ethiopian.”

Odds were then quickly adjusted to favor Dentin by ten-two-one. Ike then slapped him on the thighs and said, “Ged up dare en ztrip down zon. Zhow dem you ain’t afraid to be given up two-hundred pound.”

Randy stepped up and pulled off his scrub top to display his lean wiry body covered in White Power and Nazi tattoos. He particularly relished the response of Mud People when they saw his ARYAN INJECTOR solar-plexus tattoo and the syringe pointed down to his groin. The usual howls of protest and prejudice accompanied this display. Then Ike stepped up to him and put a fatherly arm across his shoulder and said with pride, “The Man might be evil, but he gotz hizzelf zome character. Ya’ll whipperznapperz take note ‘cauze dat da zecret ta White zuccezz iz dey belief in dey zuperarity. I take diz hundred-en-zeventy pound a whoop-azz ova dat tree-hundred-en-zeventy pound a kizz-azz any day. A fact”—and Ike now reached down beneath his dirty slacks and into his unwashed sock to retrieve a huge wad of ones and fives that were literally pasted together with body oil and handed it to the stakes holder—“dare two-zixty-tree dare boy. En I bettin’ it all ztraight-up, no oddz et’all on The Man heear.”

Ike then took Randy’s fanny-pack—shit, there goes the gun, I’m in the wolf-pit now—and handed it to Cousin Greg.

As the youth attempted to peel some bills apart but decided against it as the girl next to him wrinkled her nose in disgust, Ike actually picked Randy up by his hips and sat him down on the up-ended trash can-come-corner stool, and began his harangue, with the butcher knife bobbing before Randy’s face all the while, with Cousin Greg right there nodding to his every word as if he were Ike Coltrane’s loyal assistant, “Okay, boy, you might be The Man out dare, but in diz corna I own yo azz. I juz bought en paid good money fo yo zkinny behine en I meanz fo you ta fight attelligently if I not gonna loze ma money en den have ta come affer yo azz en collect.”

Randy just breathed in deep and said nothing and Ike slapped him, a slap that was like being punched by one of Jay’s left hooks, “I needz ta have my nod a respect zon, givz it.”

Through his now dazed mind Randy nodded to the three Ike’s in his field of vision and attempted to right his mind, although he was now being hypnotized by the drawl of his self-appointed master, “Okay zon, we allowed ta kick, en you problay zome zmartazz white-boy Hong Kong theater board-breaka—God knowz by yo face yo ain’t no boxa. But I tell yah diz boy—as the knife point nearly rested on the end of his nose—I don’ wanna see no hurricane kick, no tornado kick, no blizzard kick, not even a winta-weatha-avizory kick? You juz zlap da zhit outa diz boy en ztay out a da clinch. Cloze fizt ta da body, zlap ta da head. Don’ go punchin dat big zquare coconut! Yo goz dat zon!”

Randy nodded ‘Yes’, and Ike stood him up and patted him on the back, “Rememba zon, you is The Man en yo ridin’ the Cotrane!”

Son? He’s calling me son.

Cousin Greg then began making “choo-choo” and whistle-stop sounds, and chanting “wooo-wooo” as Ike pushed Randy out toward the hulking figure of Dentin who was being back-slapped and encouraged by his fairly worshipful corner men. Joan had a look of fascinated horror on her face even as Randy was stricken by the horrible realization that he was fighting a massive ape-man in an eight by ten tile and block cage.

Doc is going to kill me if a blow out this shoulder.

Shit boy, King Kong here is going to kill you if you don’t!

Dentin then hefted a glacially slow front thrust kick with his hard shoes—oh that is going to hurt if he connects—as Randy skipped aside in his squeaking sneakers. Just as Randy began to grin at the ease of it and he heard Cousin Greg let go a “wooo-wooo” Dentin followed through with a spinning back-fist which Randy ducked, but which smashed the corner of the toilet stall with such force that the entire frame buckled and tilted. The assembled witnesses went wild with cheers of “Corn-fed, Corn-fed!”

As Randy circled the hulk in the echoing toilet chamber, Ike’s calm voice could be heard, “Tiar hiz big azz out zon.”

Son? Really?

It’s just a boxing term; doesn’t; mean a thing.

Dentin let fly a slow jab and Randy slapped it down and then flicked his fingertips into the big man’s right eye. Dentin immediately went down in pain, his hands covering his face. The corner men howled in anger as the MC coached Dentin over to his corner by the sink where his eye was checked. It was already swollen shut. Ike slapped him on the back, “Good job zon.”

He’s proud of you, likes you even.

He’s a mooke, The Enemy.

A metallic click was heard and he looked back to see Joan leveling her 9-mm at him, “Mister Bracken, if you poke Agent Dentin in the eye again I will ventilate your injector housing.”

I’m in love now.

He just nodded ‘Yes’ and stood for his shoulder and neck massage.

The MC soon called ‘time’ and they went to the center of the men’s room to begin again. Dentin was hesitant and half-blind and began throwing wild hooks. Randy stuck to slapping the man silly with resounding smacking impacts that echoed through the chamber and brought ‘oos’ and ‘ahs’ from the spectators. All the while Cousin Greg was chanting about being on ‘the Coltrane’ and making ‘choo-choo’ noises. This round lasted a very long time. Dentin tried a couple of bum-rushes, half-blind as he was, and Randy just glided out of the way, punishing the hulk with slaps to the ears and hard punches to the body that sunk in with a sickening meaty thud.

Eventually after a vicious liver punch, Dentin took a knee and, just as Randy thought about destroying his face with a knee, he looked over his shoulder and saw Joan drawing her weapon again as she drew down on him. She winked. Randy blew her a kiss and sauntered over to Ike, and Cousin Greg went wild, “You’re riding the Coltrane Cuz, beating that big ass!”

He still stood, not wanting to take his trash-can stool, as Dentin was encouraged and watered with ice tea by his handlers. Ike sounded proud, “You goz diz zon. Draw it out, make ‘im crawl—take no chanzes with hiz big azz.”

He chewed on the ice proffered by Cuz even as he noted the little crater-faced twerp bogarting one of his Warburg drops from his fanny pack and snickering, “We’ve got ‘im beat Cuz. He’s on the ropes!”

When Ike pushed him out and Dentin moped forward he decided to make a statement by slapping him across the face close to his own corner. He hit Dentin with such a huge left hook-of-a-slap that the man’s great head swiveled. Unfortunately Randy put all of his weight into it and Dentin shot right in to a waist-lock and then heaved him off the tile into a suplex. When he hit the tile with Dentin on top of him he felt the pectoral attachment in his left shoulder twang apart and a rib on the lower left snap.

Dentin was then crawling back to his corner and the MC dragged Randy over to the snarling Ike, “What iz yo malfluctuation zon? I tole you ta ztick en move. Do not ztep inta da wheel-houze wit dat monzta muthaflucka!

He was then being heaved onto the trash can while Cuz popped a drop in his mouth and gave him some ice water, “Swallow Cuz.”

Randy just nodded as Ike said, “Ztick en move” over and over again, until it was time for them to make scratch on the MC’s call. They both came to the center slowly and circled, Randy got on his toes and slapped lightly at the man’s ears for what seemed forever. This brought up the hands, which tired him out, and let Randy punch the slab-like torso. The girl that was serving as time keeper called out that the round had gone for seven minutes and then Ike’s voice came to him, “He’s zhellin’ up zon, workz dat boddday!”

He had no power in his left at all and had trouble pivoting. His straight right was clicking good, sinking into the pit of the giant abdomen, and then came a miracle; Dentin turned pale and hurled. As sounds of disgust echoed in the chamber the massive man vomited a huge stream of half-chewed burgers and still recognizable fries all over Randy’s feet. Suddenly enraged, Randy cranked a crocodile kick at the man’s lowered head and slipped in the pool of vomit, flat on his back, causing an extreme pain to radiate from the area of the broken rib. Just as he hit the deck under Dentin, the massive man belly flopped onto him. The avalanche of flesh and bone rocked Randy with a sensation of extreme whole-body pain and deep nausea.

Ike was then yelling, “Get yo azz up zon. He’z out! Crawl out from unda hiz dinozore azz!”