© Jojo B 2018
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Snakes and Splinters
5
On the Sunday, we all slept in until after midday. I didn't realise how fast the time had gone until I checked my phone. I had a text from Ario asking if I was still up for coming round.
"Walter," I turned over to face him.
He had his dark haired head buried in his pillows and he slowly stretched his body and lifted his head when he heard me call him.
"I said I'd go and see the Santiagos this afternoon," I told him.
Walter's face soured, "That's really not the first thing I want to hear when I wake up in the morning."
I laughed lightly and kissed his scarred cheek. He reached over with his hand and stroked mine. I placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart thump steadily. I liked doing that.
Walter had a boxing bout this evening and I wasn't sure if he was up to his full performance. The fights could be quite demanding and Walter's bruises from the gang battle were only just fading.
"Are you feeling okay for tonight?" I asked him.
He nodded, "I'm good. I'm going to win."
"Good," I smiled. "I'll meet the boys there. Who's coming to watch?"
"Phoenix is busy," Walter said. "Landon will come, he usually does. Eli might be with Hayley, but the triplets will make it. They have nothing better to do."
I chuckled, "True. I doubt they'd spend their Sunday evening doing homework."
Walter half-smiled and shook his head.
I laughed and pointed a finger at him, "Don't act as if you weren't the same when you were still in school."
Walter grinned, "That's true."
"Good luck for tonight," I leaned down and pecked him on the lips.
"Thank you, seaweed," he smiled back at me.
***
It was a lazy day in the home of the Santiagos, although Carlos however was working in his office. Ario and I lounged in the sofas watching a movie as it had started to rain outside and we couldn't go to the shopping complex like we'd wanted to. I'd managed to meet him around 2pm and he'd already gone to football and been back. They started early most weekends, he told me.
Paulo was in the living room also, cleaning all of his knives even though they already seemed pretty spotless. He was slow and meticulous the way he wiped them down and I could tell that he just liked to clean them. His older brother Miguel was sitting beside him, watching the TV with a vacant expression. He looked like he was about to fall asleep. To be honest, Diego was the only one who seemed to be enjoying the action.
All of the boys sported bruises and grazes from the last fight. They were just starting to fade away, not that the injuries bothered them in the slightest.
"What are you watching?" Manuel asked in English as he walked into the living room without a shirt on.
Ario made a sound as if he was just waking up and I kicked his leg.
"Don't act like you're bored," I said to him. "You suggested this. I wanted to watch something else."
"You did?" Ario grinned at me as if he had no idea what I was talking about and I had to smile.
"You know full well I prefer comedy to a violent action movie," I said.
Manuel looked at the screen as guns were blazing in the movie and he shrugged, sitting down in the sofa next to Diego.
"We've watched this before," he said.
I noticed a scratch on Manuel's chest that looked quite fresh. It must have been caused in the fight earlier this week.
"Are you okay?" I asked him and Paulo and Diego turned their attention to me.
Manuel looked at me in confusion, "Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"
I pointed to his chest, "That looks painful."
He looked down at himself, "Oh. That was Eli."
"That's nothing," Diego scoffed.
"I know," Ario said, pulling up his own top.
He pointed to a bullet wound in his side, right under his tattoo, "That was Walter when I was sixteen. It was the first time I'd ever been shot and it hurt so bad. I don't even remember much, I lost a lot of blood."
I widened my eyes, feeling a whole lot of mixed emotions. I knew the Santiagos had injuries from the Simpsons, but to hear it from their mouths made it so real. I felt bad even though Walter had suffered similar serious injuries from Ario.
Ario ran his finger along a faint white scar down the middle of his toned stomach, "That one was Phoenix. I'm pretty sure he tried to cut me open. It was after I put Walter in hospital one time."
"Shit," I breathed.
"This one here," Ario pointed to a stab wound near his hip, "Walter again. That time I was seventeen." Then he pointed to more. "Walter. Landon. Eli. Walter. Walter. Phoenix. Walter."
They looked bad. I knew Ario had a lot of scars but being told who had given each one of them to him, made it feel a lot more personal. It was scary. He'd been close to death so many times. Mostly because of Walter.
"Diego, show her the one Phoenix gave you," Ario said to him.
Diego stood up and lifted his top. I had to look closely because he had a lot of hair on his chest, but I noticed a raised mark which ran across it. I rounded my eyes. It was a pretty big wound.
"How many stitches did that need?" I asked in a quiet voice.
"A lot," Diego simply replied. "That one almost killed me. I was in hospital. They had to give me blood."
He pointed to another raised mark, smaller and circular this time. I recognised it as another bullet wound. It was next to his left shoulder.
"This one was Walter," he said. "It hurt like a bitch when Carlos had to dig it out with his fingers."
"Show Coral the scar on your head," Diego nodded to Paulo who was still cleaning his weapons.
Paulo came up to me and sat down on the carpet so I was looking down at his head. He cleared some of his hair away and showed me the back of his head. His scalp was a lot paler than the rest of his body and there was a large scar there that looked like it had been incredibly painful indeed.
"Oh damn," I opened my mouth.
"That was Severn," Paulo said, turning to face me.
My eyebrows shot up. I was speechless.
Paulo smiled at my shocked expression, "Yeah, he hit me with a bat. He actually cracked my head open."
"Shit," I gaped at him. I couldn't believe it. Was Severn really that strong?
The boys laughed at me and I shook my head in disbelief. The fact that they were all still standing was amazing. The same to the Simpson boys. The stuff they did to each other was brutal.
***
After dinner with the Santiagos, I took the tube to the boxing club where I met Landon, Giovanni, Gomez and Severn.
"'Sup homie?" Severn threw me a gang sign when he saw me.
"What even is that?" I grinned back at him when I reached them.
"I don't even know," he laughed. "I just made it up."
"We don't have an official gang sign," Gio thought out loud.
"Yeah and we don't need one," Landon said with a shudder. "There's really no need."
"Yeah, says the person who wanted to get a snake tattooed onto his pe – "
"Hey," Landon cried, cutting him off. "I clearly wasn't serious."
I had widened my eyes and dropped my gaze, "Let's just go inside."
The boys chuckled and we entered the club where a few others were already seated and talking. We were pretty early, so we could get a front view. There were small fences put up around the ring so that we couldn't get too close to the ring itself, in case one of the boxers was to fall out of it. Within the fence was a small table and three chairs. The only people sitting up close to the ring were the judges, who weren't present yet.
Amateur boxing was different to professional boxing. For one, the boxers had to wear head-guards in amateur boxing and not in professional boxing. The main distinction between the two types was that in amateur boxing, winning was based on points gained by landing the most correct scoring blows on the opponent's target area. Knockouts did not mean extra points. Knockouts were usually accidental, and not an objective. But for Walter, that wasn't really the case and he strove to knockout every opponent he faced. It was like he saw himself fighting professionally.
Amateur boxing had three rounds which were three minutes each and a referee monitored the bout to make sure that the competitors only used legal blows, which were blows landed over a belt worn on the torso. Boxers who repeatedly kept landing low blows were disqualified. Referees also ensured that the boxers didn't use holding tactics to prevent the opponent from swinging, and would separate the opponents if they did so. Again, repetitive use of holding tactics resulted in warnings and ultimately disqualification.
In amateur boxing, referees would stop the bout if a boxer was seriously injured, or if one boxer was considerably dominating the other. This was often the case when Walter was getting too angry. To be honest, the majority of spectators loved to see blood and enjoyed it when the bouts got out of hand. That was why whenever Walter was fighting, the club was packed. Even now, about an hour to the first fight, people were already coming in.
The boys and I sat in the front row, right up at the fence line and I looked around for a glance of Walter. He was probably getting last minute words from his head coach in one of the back rooms. Walter would be fighting someone of a similar weight to him, to make sure it was fair. His bout was the first of several this evening, but we'd only stay to watch his.
"It's getting hot in here already," Severn was pulling on the neck of his jumper.
I nodded in agreement. As time had passed, more people had entered and now all the chairs up close to the fence around the ring were taken. People started filling up behind us and I heard a few of younger people complaining that they couldn't see over the boys' heads.
"Move on then," Giovanni turned round and practically growled at them.
They were silent after that and a little while later, the judges made their way through the growing audience and past the fence to sit at the table which was ringside. I kept my eyes open for Walter and smiled when I saw him coming out from the back wearing red shorts and a matching vest. He had his boxing gloves on and the head coach was holding Walter's head-guard in one of his hands.
He stepped into the ring with a serious expression. Walter rarely smiled when he was boxing, not even when he won. I noticed him spot me and his brothers at the front and he sent me a tiny half smile before looking away. Walter's opponent was a blond guy with a similar build. He wasn't a member of the club we attended, but another club in a borough nearby.
Walter went to the red corner of the ring where the referee, in a white shirt, checked that his gloves were on securely as well as his head-guard and made sure his gumshield in place. The ref did the same to the boxer in the blue corner and then they were both introduced. The blue corner was introduced first and there was a cheer from the audience. A lot had come to support him and many others were regulars from this club and were likely routing for Walter to win.
"...and the red corner we have Walter Simpson."
The round of applause was even greater, courtesy of the triplets and Landon hollering loudly. Walter and his opponent met in the middle, on either side of the referee and exchanged polite nods. The bell was sounded and round one began. Both boxers were light on their feet and bounced on their toes, keeping their stances at all times. Walter gained the upper hand first, throwing a flurry of punches that his opponent struggled to block. Walter dropped back, keeping his guard up and looking for another opening for him to land some more points. Walter's coaches called out to him, words of encouragement and words of advice. People from the audience shouted out too, some cheering for Walter and others for his opponent. More blows were exchanged as the two boxers circled each other, light and fast on their feet.
The judges watched on, counting points for the number of punches landed in the target area of the head and torso. They counted the scores for red corner and for the blue corner separately without conversing with each other. They would add up the total at the end and declare the winner of the bout.
The blue boxer attempted a few more punches at Walter, who blocked them with a duck and then retaliated with a couple right hooks. Walter's opponent stumbled back into the ropes and Walter kept hitting until the referee separated them. He was lucky he didn't get a foul called for that. I'm sure if the ref hadn't pulled him off sooner, Walter would have earned himself a warning. The audience 'oooo'ed when the blue boxer managed to hit Walter with some pretty hard punches to the face. Walter grunted in anger more than pain and he held his gloves up higher.
"Hit him Walter!" Gomez shouted along with others in the crowd.
Walter backed the other boxer into the ropes and punched him in quick succession in the head and chest. A hammer was hit on the wooden table to signify ten seconds remaining in the round and the other boxer had barely managed to block the onslaught when the bell was rung and the round ended.
Both boxers returned to their respective corners and Walter sat down. His head coach crouched down in front of him and took out his gumshield so Walter could drink the water that the assistant coach held to his lips. Walter kept his eyes on his head coach, listening to what he was telling him. In the other corner, the blue boxer's coach was also handing out advice whilst his cutman took a look at the mark on the boxer's face. The cutmen, one for each boxer, were the medics and could ask the referee to stop the bout if they felt that the boxer was too injured to continue.
Walter's face was wiped down with a towel and the minute rest was over. The gumshield was put back in his mouth and Walter stood up again. The bell rang once more and the second round began. I found myself balling my hands in my lap when Walter was hit multiple times in the face. He was bleeding but he didn't care. It wasn't bad enough for the referee or Walter's cutman to stop the bout. Walter probably would have gotten more frustrated if they'd had to stop, to be honest.
"Come on," Landon said as he bit on the skin of his knuckle.
Walter, fuelled by his anger, landed a few foul blows below the belt line. His opponent stumbled back and fell into the ropes. The referee pulled Walter off him again and this time he gave Walter a warning, deducting some of his points. Three warnings led to disqualification, but hopefully it wouldn't get that far. The other boxer was clearly a bit dizzy from Walter's punches as he wasn't able to block his next blows fast enough. He fell back into the ropes again and the audience got louder. Before Walter could get too carried away, the round was ended with a ring of the bell.
Both went to their corners for the break. Walter's coaches were telling him to calm down as his cutman looked at his bleeding nose. His chest was heaving and I could tell he wanted to fight dirty like he was used to.
"If he doesn't get any more warnings, I'm sure he's going to win," I said, turning to Landon and the triplets.
They nodded in agreement and I tried to catch Walter's eye. His hair was damp with sweat and stuck to his forehead underneath his head-guard. One of his coaches put the gumshield back in his mouth and doused his neck with some water before he got up again for the final round.
Both of the boxers now had minor injuries and were still bleeding a little from their faces, but it wasn't too bad. That being said, if it was me in the ring I'm sure just one punch to the face would have had me reeling. The last round started off evenly and people called out for both Walter and for his opponent. I watched Walter swiftly slip to the side to avoid a punch and then he came back up and landed a double punch to the other boxer's chest. He stumbled and Walter hit him more, in the face this time and harder. So hard, his opponent fell to the floor. Half of the spectators gasped and the other half cheered. The referee put a hand to Walter's chest to stop him progressing any further and he began to count for the boxer who was still down. He was conscious, but unable to get up.
"One...two...three...four..."
"Yes, this better be a knockout," Giovanni was nodding to himself.
"Eight seconds is a knockdown, ten is a knockout," Severn was saying.
"Yeah, we know that," I heard a deep familiar voice and looked up on my right to see Phoenix standing there in the aisle.
"Phoenix!" Giovanni squealed in excitement and his brothers gave him odd looks.
"Really?" I hear Gomez mutter.
Phoenix shook his head at his little brothers and was watched the ring. A small, proud smile appeared on his face as the referee counted to ten and declared a knockout. The audience erupted into clapping and hollering and I smiled as I clapped along. It didn't automatically mean that Walter had won, however. The other boxer was helped to his feet and both of them went to their corners where their coaches removed their head-guards and took off their gloves for them, leaving the hand wraps on. Whilst they were cooling off, the scores were being counted.
The person on the microphone asked for a big round of applause for both boxers and the crowd cheered. Walter went to stand in the centre of the ring on one side of the referee whilst the boxer in blue stood on the opposite side. The referee held both of their wrists, ready to lift up the arm of the winner.
"And the winner of the bout...with forty eight points....in the red corner...Walter Simpson!"
I jumped up to my feet and cheered as Walter's arm was lifted in the air. He had a reserved face on as he looked at the audience, but when he saw Phoenix standing there, he smiled wide. I grinned and looked up at Phoenix to see him smiling and nodding back at Walter.
It was beyond cute.
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