(IX)
It was the normally unimaginative Hammond who came up with the answer,
though, as usual, he had a financial rationale. Local promoters were
planning a Tough Broad Brawl at Ralph's Arena downtown. They were looking
for girls who could fight, or who at least were good looking enough to get
the crowd excited.
The Foundling clearly wasn't tough. At one time, she could take a lot of
punishment, even if she couldn't dish it out. Now, she probably wouldn't
last 10 seconds with some of the over-muscled dykes attracted to this
competition. But she was still very beautiful, far more beautiful, he felt
sure, than any other woman who would be entered in the competition. The
promoters would pay for that. And in the unlikely event that she won, there
was a $15,000 prize for the evening's champion.
His plan, endorsed by the committee, was to offer the Foundling as a
competitor on the condition that the promoters schedule her in the last
bout, after all but one other fighter had been eliminated. The Foundling
would fight the toughest of the tough, not because she had earned her way
through earlier rounds but because she was too spectacularly good looking to
be entered in any but the championship bout.
The chief promoter, Sam Marx, reluctantly agreed to come to the Center and
listen to Hammond's proposal. He was skeptical at first. Fight crowds like
those at Ralph's loved mayhem, but they believed in fair play. They wanted
fighters to advance only over the bodies of fallen competitors. What these
medical guys were suggesting would cause a riot.
But when SG was brought into the conference room, wearing only her leather
collar and a string bikini, Marx instantly reconsidered.
Sure, the crowd would be pissed at first. But when they saw this slender,
lovely girl bounced around the ring by whatever tough broad made it to the
finals, they'd go wild. Here was a chance to see Beauty battered, to see an
aristocrat, unfairly elevated to the championship, destroyed by a good,
solid, working-class woman with real muscles and a real work ethic.
"You've got a deal," he told Hammond, then reached into his coat pocket and
drew out a handful of cigars.
*****
Fight night started early, at 5:30. Hammond, Tickler and Bowles arrived to
watch the preliminary bouts, but soon found them boring. Most of the women
were big and ugly and slow. They wore boxing gloves and headgear, but mostly
the fights degenerated into wrestling matches. It was surprising how quickly
some of the fighters called it quits after getting hit. Of course, the docs
had become spoiled after watching the Foundling, that paragon of punishment.
One fighter did impress them, though. She was compact and muscular, and she
went about her work like a pro, knocking down much bigger women with savage
punches, then, in clear violation of the rules, kicking them when they were
down. She was repeatedly warned; each time, she apologized, then promptly
forgot the warning.
There was no danger, however, that Stars - for that's who it was, of course
-would be disqualified. She was a local favorite, and she was clearly a
superior fighter.
"I think we may be looking at our Foundling's nemesis," said Hammond, as
they watched Stars knock the teeth protector out of the mouth of an
especially fat broad, then put her away with a devastating blow to the ample
belly.
SG, meanwhile, was in a van in the parking lot, handcuffed on the floor.
Cutler, Distruggio and an orderly were with her, trading office gossip and
occasionally directing a discouraging word to their captive.
It was a lovely night out. The sky was clear and the stars seemed to hover
just out of reach, like fireflies. SG looked through the rear window and
remembered how much she loved to fly on an evening like this. Why had she
given up her powers? Why was she now so hated and reviled? What had gone
wrong?
Her reverie was interrupted by a sharp kick from Cutler. "You're on, bitch,"
she said.
