And walked back to the centre of the ring. Getting ready to usher them both forward. Leaving Mickey to ponder just what the fuck he’d got himself into. Mickey Bale, ex-copper, current geezer. Moderately respected around his own manor. Yes, he was a copper - because once a copper always a copper. But he was always straight, innit? Which was what Mickey liked to think was the consensus of opinion. Knowing he was probably being optimistic. Recently returned from abroad, a few months away to get over the events that had made him an ex twice over. Ex-copper and ex-husband. Fit as fuck from all the recreation he’d indulged in, true enough. But in fight terms as ring rusty as a fifty-year-old Lancia.

The bell rang, and Grizzler pointed to the centre of the ring. And Mickey walked out to take his twenty-year-deferred spanking.

The first ten seconds confirmed the likely degree of punishment. And took Mickey straight to full-on red alert. Kid came in fast and hard. Throwing combinations from the get-go. And nothing trivial. Inside the first minute he’d landed a dozen tidy body shots. The professional boxer’s go-to blow of choice for the early stages of any encounter, unless an opponent left their chin hanging out. Only so much punishment a man can take before it starts to hurt. And Mickey, with a proper six-pack and the full muscle jacket to match rode the blows easily enough. But knew he was taking damage. Imagining his health bar starting to dwindle. Tried an experimental jab, leaning in to get the shot away. Missed, the little bastard’s lightning reflexes taking him around the punch like trying to hit smoke. Then paid for the pleasure of watching his gloved fist go nowhere that mattered. Took a short right to the face that staggered him back blinking. Had the kid’s dad, manager and hangers on roaring approval. Kill the filth, nail the prick, yadda yadda yadda.

Taking strength from their hatred Mickey raised his gloved fists and went back to basics. No way he was going to last if he stood up and tried to box with the kid for the remainder of the three rounds. Fell back on the two most simple defensive tools he had to hand. Taking the beating on his hands and running away. Blocked and shuffled backwards in a circle, feeling no shame and giving no shits for the abuse he was taking from the audience. Made it to the end of the round intact and went back to his corner with an inward sigh of relief. Rinsed his mouth out and spat in the bucket Grizzler offer him. No blood. Yet.

‘He’s got you pinned, Mickey son. Got any ideas?’