The Marx Brothers

Chapter Thirty Six - 'Defeat'

For the first, and hopefully for the last time, I saw Gonzales as he entered with two men by his side.

Time stood still and the eerie similarities between him and his brother, hit me in the face like a cold hard slap against my cheek. They had the same eyes, the same skin, the same face shape, but at the same time, were two completely different people.
Gonzales was build like a truck, the muscle on his bare chest and arms brooding and defined. His black hair was swooped back with large amounts of hair gel to keep the length from interrupting his view.

As support growled for him, my stomach rolled. He reveled in it, throwing his arms up, egging them on. He smiled a perfect set of teeth that looked as though they hadn't taken a single punch while he circled the square space in the middle of the warehouse.

Suddenly, I was the one wishing I had a pistol, or a knife. One single round, or stab, would end him, end this, put him in the one place he really belonged. I grit my teeth as I watched on, wishing there was something I could do to pay this man back for the misery he had caused so many.

Rummaging through my livid thoughts, I was yanked away by the sound of Phoenix's introduction.

"Fighting runs in the blood of our challenged fighter, and he has not disappointed! This man is always the one to watch, young, experienced and the darkest of horses in the stallion pack, you better watch your girls tonight guys, give a shout, give a cheer for the one and only Phox Marx!"

In a surprising reaction, the crowd of onlookers cheered just as loudly as they had for Gonzales. They seemed to be at an even popularity, supporters unsure of who to follow, or simply there to watch them both kill one another.

I winced at the presenters characteristic description. It was the furthest thing from what I knew Phoenix to be in the last few weeks I'd known him.

Appearing from the mass group Phoenix squeezed through to the ring, Jett and Rocco in follow. The second I saw him, my heart jumped out of my chest, my breathing becoming unstable and shallow. What I was about to witness could never be forgotten or erased from my memory, it would remained there, etched out in detail, haunting me for the rest of my life.

Instead of running around the ring like Gonzales had, Phoenix raised his hands, subtly thanking those who were genuinely supporting his safety and prevail.
I hadn't seen Phoenix in this stance in a long time, and it brought back a lot of unwanted memories. His hands were bound in thick protective bandage, his teeth covered by a clear mouth guard. He wore nothing but a pair of knee length baggy shorts and sneakers, just like Gonzales did. There was no protection for his organs, his heart, or his brain. He was unguarded and vulnerable for serious damage.

Phoenix and Gonzales were pulled together in the very center of the fighting ring. The man in the cheap suit that had introduced them stood between them playing the referee as well as the presenter. I could see the look in both their eyes, their lips moving as they spoke inaudible words to one another.
Whatever they said, it set them both on edge. I hadn't ever seen Phoenix's gaze so wild before, he looked terrifying, and I couldn't help but be worried for Gonzales.

With the two nose to nose, I noticed the differences in them. Phoenix was taller, but Gonzales was bigger. Gonzales was calmer than Phoenix, smiling at the anger he pulled from Phoenix. There was no way I could even guess who would win and who would lose. But I was about to have an idea.

When the referee slash presenter stepped backwards, removing himself from the pair, it began.

Cheers exploded, instructions and demands from the crowd being thrown out in a desperate attempt to win a probable bet.