When boxer Liam was approached by a promoter, he had a decision to make.

————

For Liam Brodie, boxing was life. There was nothing better than the sport. When he wasn’t training at the boxing gym, he was watching the sport on television or at his local sports hall. 

When Liam was young, his Irish grandmother had introduced Liam to boxing on television. Whenever his grandma would baby-sit, she would let Liam stay up late to watch what she called the fights. Liam had been hooked ever since. 

For his seventh birthday, he had asked for a children’s punch bag. The following year, with Liam’s obsession still going strong, his father had taken him along to the local boxing gym.

Over a decade later, Liam was still training at the same gym. The place felt like home and Barry Shacklady, his trainer, was like a member of the family. Barry was now in his late-fifties with greying hair, but he could still deliver a punch. His skills were still sharp despite the passing of the years. The gym would regularly put on fight nights, the audience mostly made up of family and friends and local fight fans. 

The boxing events Barry would hold would earn Liam a hundred pounds here or there. He was often top of the card, and would regularly fight challengers from other boxing gyms. The money Liam earned helped supplement the wages he earned from driving a fork lift truck in a warehouse. 

At the next fight night event, Liam won his bout in the third round, the referee deciding his opponent had taken enough punishment and stopping the fight. While his opponent was tended to by his corner, Liam punched the air in delight. He pointed his gloved fist at his family and friends, who were cheering him on and chanting his name. Barry, his trainer, rushed across the ring to hug him. Liam grinned as Barry grabbed his wrist and raised him arm in a victory salute.

‘You did it, Liam.’ Barry said.

‘We did it, mate.’ Liam insisted. 

He was in the bar afterwards, having a well-earned beer and catching up with his friends and family. They congratulated him on another victory. 

His parents patted him on the back. His mother had tears in her eyes, while his father handed him a double whiskey. 

‘An amazing fight, son. Your grandmother would have loved that.’ He said.

Liam nodded and raised his glass. His father clicked his glass, cheers. 

Later that evening, as the night was coming to an end, a man approached him. He was wearing an expensive suit, and a dark overcoat draped over his shoulders. His gold watch jangled as he shook Liam by the hand.

‘You did great out there, lad. I think you’ve got real potential. You could be a big deal.’ He said.

Liam thanked him.

‘My name is Warren Hayes. I run the W.H.O. promotion and think you’d do well in my stable.’

He handed Liam his business card with the flourish of a magician handling a pack of cards for his next trick. 

‘Have a think about it, and give me a call.’ Warren said. 

Liam studied the card as the promoter headed for the door. 

His trainer, Barry Shacklady, came over, a look of concern on his face.

‘That was a guy called-’ Liam started.

‘I know exactly who it was, son.’

‘He wants me to join him. He says I have potential.’ Liam said.

‘I agree you have potential, but getting involved with a man like that wouldn’t be wise.’

‘How’s that?’ 

‘He calls himself a boxing promoter, but he’s a thug, a villain. He’s not interested in the art, the craft of boxing. He is a businessman, and a shady one at that.’ Barry said. 

For the next week or so, Liam mulled over the offer from the promoter. Barry knew what he was talking about regarding boxing, but perhaps Warren knew more about the business side of things. Maybe it was all about perspective. In order to become the success he could be, maybe he would need somebody like Warren Hayes. Barry was great for the ducking and weaving and ring technique, but for Liam to fulfil his potential as a boxer, maybe he needed something more than that. Hopefully Barry’s reservations were based on his having a different mind-set.

On his break one rainy Wednesday morning, Liam stepped outside into the carpark. He grabbed his mobile phone and took out the business card Warren had given him. He had made his decision. He had to give it a shot. Having discussed the matter with his parents, and his friends, most were in agreement. It was a gamble moving to Warren’s promotion, but it just might pay off. His father, a life-long Manchester United fan, said going with Warren could be like signing for a top flight football club, rather than staying in the lower leagues where he was comfortable. 

Having stared at the print on the business card for a long moment, Liam finally dialled the number. 

‘Hello, this is Warren.’

Liam explained who he was, and how Warren had told him to get in touch.

‘Liam, yes. Good to hear from you, amigo. Thanks for getting in touch. That was a hell of a fight the other night.’

‘I’ve been giving your offer some thought. I think I’d like to take you up on it. Of course, I’d need more details before we go ahead.’ Liam said.

‘Absolutely. Come along and check out my operation. I think you’ll be impressed.’

Just after ten o’clock on the Saturday morning, Liam pulled into the carpark outside Warren’s training facility. Even the fact that the gym had a carpark was a step up from Barry’s gym. At Barry’s place you had to make sure you arrived to train early, to grab a parking space on the street outside. If you left it too late, you could end up having to park three or four streets away. 

Liam slung his training bag over his shoulder, and headed for the double doors. He reached a hand to push the doors open, but they slid open automatically as he approached. Automatic doors too? Warren wasn’t messing about.   

Liam found himself in a reception area. A reception, like you’d find in a hotel or health club. The woman behind the counter removed her reading glasses as he entered, and asked if she could help him. Liam explained how he was here to meet Warren Hayes. 

She picked up the phone.

‘Mr Hayes, I have a Liam Brodie here to see you.’

She hung up and said that Mr Hayes was on his way down.

‘Liam, glad you could make it.’ Warren Hayes beamed.

He wore a navy polo shirt with his initials embroidered, a gold chain glinted around his neck.

‘Come on, lad. I will show you around.’

The training camp that Warren was running certainly was impressive. There was state-of-the-art gym equipment, including treadmills and exercise bikes that played videos as you worked out. You could watch the screen and imagine you were running or riding across South America or Europe, rather than in a gym in rainy Manchester. The boxing ring, standing pride and place in the middle of the room looked like something from a Las Vegas fight, all gleaming and brand-new, and bore the W.H.O branding. 

Most of the equipment at Barry’s had seen better days, like Barry himself. The punch-bags at his current gym had bits of stuffing poking out, like a worn out sofa. Liam thought of Barry’s place as being a proper old-school authentic boxing gym compared to this hi-tech modern facility. 

The fighters training in the gym too, seemed to be of a different type. Everybody here seemed to be so toned and chiselled. At Barry’s it did not really matter about a fighter’s physique, the focus was more on getting their technique right, keeping their guard up and making sure they deliver a powerful punch. 

Barry’s set-up suddenly seemed very dated compared to Warren’s organisation. Liam felt like he was looking at the future of boxing. The promoter hovered by his side, studying Liam as he took it all in. As they wound their way back towards the reception, Warren detailed how he had big plans for his outfit, and he hoped Liam would be along for the exciting ride. 

‘We could end up fighting at the MGM in Vegas. I have big plans, but you have to dream, don’t you?’ Warren said. 

Liam said nothing. That was his dilemma. Should he leave Barry, a man he thought of as family, for a shot at the big-time? He was reminded of a film he’d seen about a female wrestler. She had left her home and family in the UK, for a shot at success in America. She had gone on to great success, but had pangs of homesickness about leaving her family behind. This was Liam’s quandary, on a smaller scale. 

When they reached the reception area, Warren turned to him.

‘What do you say, Liam? Will you join me? I think you and I could achieve great things, if you just give it a shot.’ 

Liam took another look around the grand reception area, the name of the organisation in large letters, the framed photos of fighters with belts around their waists and shoulders. He knew he was good enough. He was a talented boxer. He had worked hard to get where he was. Why shouldn’t he aim higher? What was wrong in that? He should be flattered that a man like Warren Hayes wanted to take him on. Maybe Warren was right, perhaps they could hit the big-time together. Even to be part of an outfit like this would be something, wouldn’t it? Why shouldn’t he want his framed picture behind this reception desk? There was nothing wrong with being ambitious.

‘Okay,’ Liam said. ‘let’s do this.’

‘Good man. I knew you’d make the right decision.’ Warren said. 

He clicked his fingers and pointed to the receptionist. Her smile never faltered as she handed Warren a form on a clipboard.

‘Here you go, Liam. Sign here and we can get cracking. It’s just the basic form, saying you’ll be part of my stable from now on.’

Liam scanned the contract. There did not seem to be anything sinister or untoward hidden in the small print. Liam would be committing to fighting for W.H.O until such a time as the contract was cancelled, or either party broke the trust of the other. It did all seem pretty standard, he wasn’t promising that his first born child would fight for Warren or anything ridiculous. 

Liam smiled, sensing he was doing the right thing. He had a good feeling about this. Before he could rummage in his pockets for a pen, Warren handed him a silver ballpoint. 

Liam squiggled his signature on the dotted line at the bottom of the contract.

‘Wonderful.’ Warren said. ‘Shall we say Monday evening to start your training?’ 

‘That sounds great. I’m looking forward to it.’ Liam said.

As he crossed the carpark, he felt excited to see what the future held. This felt like a new chapter in his life, and in his journey as a boxer. 

When he arrived home, he made himself a cup of tea and called his parents. He told them he’d done it, that he was now a part of the W.H.O stable. They were delighted for him, saying it was the step-up he deserved, and that they were sure he would smash it. 

Having told all his family and friends and finished his cup of tea, he headed back out to his car. There was something else he had to do, someone else he had to tell the news to.

Barry’s gym was busy with fighters training. Barry himself was in the ring holding the pads for a young fighter. Barry swung the pad and the lad ducked, before responding with a left hook. Liam moved across the room, stepping around the boxers busily training. 

He approached the ring slowly, wanting to delay this moment as long as possible. Barry noticed Liam, hovering, staring in his direction. He told the young boxer to take a break, before sliding out of the ring. Barry tugged the pads from his hands as he walked over to Liam.

‘Alright, Liam? Everything okay?’ Barry asked.

Liam sighed, they both knew why he was here. Barry clearly wanted Liam to spell it out in full. 

‘I’ve decided to go with that promoter. I’ll be part of his stable from now on.’ Liam said. 

‘So you won’t be training here?’ Barry asked. 

‘No, he has this training camp in the city centre.’

‘I’m sure he does.’ Barry said, sadly. 

‘I just wanted to say, thanks for-’ Liam started.

Before he could explain how grateful he was for all Barry’s help over the years, the trainer turned and headed back to the ring, calling out to his fighter that the break was over. Liam hung on for a moment, while Barry returned to pad-training in the ring. Liam did not want to end things like this. He had hoped to end things with Barry amicably, and leave on a good note. He was sure Barry thought he was selling out, throwing away their years training together, for the hope of money and fame. Liam shook his head and stormed from the gym. He slammed the door shut behind him.

Six weeks later, having been training in the luxury of the W.H.O camp, Liam was taking the first foray into the ring as part of Warren’s stable. The training regime had been more strict and regimented than Barry’s set-up. Barry got you there, fighting fit, ready to go, but he would adapt and change things to suit the individual fighter. 

With this new outfit, you had to do as you were told. The trainers were thorough, and while they were no doubt technically perfect, there was not the warmth or familiarity of training with Barry. Liam came away thinking that, like him, the trainers were there because they were being paid to do so. If Barry’s gym had felt like family, then Warren’s set-up felt like work. They were polite enough but there was nothing there after he’d said good morning. 

His first fight for Warren would be in the swanky suites at the Salford rugby stadium. The rugby club had deluxe suites and would often hold events, from wedding receptions to science fiction conventions. This was a step up for Liam, whose last fight had been in a draughty church hall. As with all his fights, Liam’s family and friends would be in the audience tonight. 

Liam arrived with his bag over his shoulder and was shown through to the dressing-room. Warren was parading around, the smuggest of grins on his face. He patted Liam on the back, telling him to put on a good show tonight, as it was a sell-out crowd. Liam nodded, trying to ignore the hint of threat and menace in Warren’s tone. The friendly, jovial demeanour had slipped since Liam had signed, revealing the stern businessman underneath. Liam told himself that if Warren delivered on the promises of the big-time, then it would be worth getting a bit of attitude. Warren did run the operation, after all. Wasn’t he entitled to be a little full of himself?

Finally it was time for Liam’s bout. He made his way to the ring, weaving between the ropes and taking his position on the red corner. The ring announcer waved a dramatic hand in his direction as he introduced him to the crowd.  

‘In the red corner stands a boxer making his debut for W.H.O, Liam Brodie.’ 

Liam could hear cheers from the crowd, he glanced out but couldn’t make out any of his friends in the sea of faces watching the fight. He turned to the man standing in the bright glow of the ring light facing him. The referee gave the instructions to touch gloves and come out fighting. 

While Liam may have changed from a run-down boxing gym to a state of the art stable, he found that boxing was still the same craft. The actual pugilism was the same as under Barry’s tutelage.  And he was still a talented fighter.

By the fifth round, Liam was well-ahead on points. He barely had a mark on him, whereas his opponent, a well-spoken lad from leafy Cheshire, had a thick lip and the start of a black eye. His cheeks were also scuffed red from Liam’s jab. 

It was in the eighth round that everything came together. The Cheshire lad was breathing hard, clearly struggling. Liam started with a couple of head shots, and when the lad raised his arms, to guard his head, Liam dropped and pummelled his ribs. The guy crumpled to the canvas, almost folding in half. 

As the referee counted to ten, the crowd cheered, whooped and hollered. You’re out! The ref called out. Liam was delighted, punching the air. He turned to the trainers in his corner. Rather than rushing to congratulate him, the way Barry would have, they were simply packing their equipment away, now that the fight was over. Job done.

Liam ignored the pang of regret, and turned to wave to the crowd. The referee raised his hand, and Liam was announced as the winner. 

Back in the dressing room, as he was removing the tape from his fists, Warren entered. 

‘Well done, son.’ He said, a thick cigar dangling from his lips.

There was something cold, cool, about his praise. It felt like he was doing business with Warren, whereas with Barry, the two of them had been in it together. It had been like a brotherhood with his old trainer. 

Warren reached in his overcoat, and handed Liam an envelope.

‘That’s yours, and there’s more where that came from. Stick with me. I might even be able to get you on television. A few of the sports TV channels are interested in broadcasting my fights.’ 

Warren straightened his tie and left the dressing room. When he was on his own, Liam checked the envelope. He couldn’t help feeling disappointed with the amount of money he had been paid.

Two hundred and fifty pounds was more than he was making at the old gym, but for the upheaval, for leaving his old trainer and his friends behind, and considering the big promises Warren had made, it really did not seem all that much.

Two months later, Liam won his next fight by knock-out. As his opponent hit the canvas, the crowd went crazy, jumping to their feet, chanting his name over and over again.

Warren seemed happy with Liam’s performance but was again quite distant and cold. He always spoke of the boxing from a business, a revenue perspective. For Liam, boxing was an art, it was not about the money.

‘You put on quite the performance out there. They loved it.’ Warren said.

He handed Liam another envelope, before sauntering out of the room without another word. While the money was more than last time, it somehow felt cheap. He was putting everything on the line, and in return for what? An envelope of cash to be tossed at him. 

Before the next fight, at a large venue on the outskirts of Manchester city centre, Warren came in while the trainers were giving Liam a few last-minute pointers.

Warren spoke to the trainers.

‘Fellers, will you give me and Liam a minute?’ Warren said.

The trainers nodded and scuttled out of the room. When they were alone, Warren pointed to Liam.

‘I want you to go down in the sixth.’ Warren said.

‘How’s that?’ Liam said, hoping he had misheard.

‘You heard me. He knocks you down in round six. There will be a few quid in it for you. Call it a bonus.’

Liam nodded.

‘Good lad.’ Warren said, patting him on the shoulder.

He left the room, leaving Liam reeling. He was being asked to throw the fight. Liam had heard rumours that this type of thing went on, but had always taken it with a pinch of salt.

Why should he throw the fight? Because Warren told him to? For the promise of an extra few quid? No doubt Warren and his cronies would be making a serious amount of cash from this. Liam was the favourite to win the bout so Warren stood to make a lot of money on betting on him losing.

Liam paced the dressing room, going over everything. He knew that if he did as he was told, if he threw the fight, that he would be in Warren’s pocket for the rest of his fighting career. There would be no going back, no undoing taking the dive. He would be a dodgy fighter. It was a line that once you crossed it, it was done.

There would be other fights but even if he won his next fight, how would he know that Warren hadn’t rigged it? And in future, he would be expected to throw a fight when Warren gave the word.  He would be on the promoter’s payroll.

No. There was just no way he could do it. Throwing a fight was cheating. He wanted no part of it. Barry had trained him well, and trained him to be a tough but honest fighter. 

In the moments before the fight, Warren entered the room once again. He gave Liam a firm stare.

‘You know what to do and when? Yeah?’

‘Yes,’ Liam said, ‘I do.’

‘Good lad.’  

At the start of the sixth round, he took a last gulp of water from his trainer and returned to the ring. His opponent, a guy from Bolton called Gary, had clearly, also had his instructions. He was to win in the sixth. He gave Liam a knowing nod as the bell rang for the start of the round. 

When Gary came over and aimed a flurry of blows at him, Liam simply shuffled out of the way. 

With a minute left to go in the round, Gary started roughing Liam up, preparing for the knock-out, pummelling him. Liam side-stepped, and danced away from him, moving to the centre of the ring. 

Gary stepped forward, dropping his guard, fists ready, eager to get the knock-out. Liam bounced forward to meet him. Gary threw a punch, aiming for Liam’s jaw.

Liam ducked, and caught him with a hard blow, his head snapping back. Gary dropped to the canvas, out cold. The referee counted to ten.

It was over. 

Liam dashed from the ring, heading to the dressing room. He had to get away. He had burned his bridges with Warren. There would be no coming back from this. He just hoped that there would be no repercussions. He quickly changed into his tracksuit and stuffed his boxing gear in the bag.

He pulled his hood over his head, and rushed to the exit, hoping to escape unnoticed. He made it to the darkness of the parking lot outside. 

‘And just where do you think you’re going?’ called a voice from behind.

Liam turned back to see Warren in the doorway with a group of his hoodlums. The heavies standing by his side were clearly there for dealing with trouble, and Liam suspected, causing it. 

 ‘I couldn’t do it.’ Liam said with a shrug.

‘You couldn’t go down then, but you will go down now. The lads will make sure of that.’ Warren growled.

His men charged at Liam. Liam managed to fend off a few of the blows heading his way, but he was eventually overpowered. He tried to avoid the punches, but he was completely outnumbered. He felt arms grab him, holding him, preventing him from striking back or defending himself. This was it. He was about to get the kicking of his life. If he was lucky, they would just put him in hospital. 

‘Warren, leave the boy alone.’ A familiar voice called out.

The attack stopped, Liam looked up to see Barry, his expression furious.

‘This is nothing to do with you. Liam is not your fighter.’ Warren said.

‘We may not have a contract but Liam is one of mine, always will be. You mess with him and you mess with me.’ Barry said. 

Warren turned to his goons and jerked a thumb at Barry.

‘Take care of the old-timer too, lads. I don’t think he’ll give you too much trouble.’ Warren said.

‘There’s not just me.’ Barry replied.

Barry pointed across the carpark. Liam, Warren and the others turned to see a huddle of lads. It was all the fighters from Barry’s gym, all his old stable mates. They were all gathered outside. There was loads of them, standing in the glow of the streetlight. They watch events unfolding, waiting for Barry to give the order. They looked mean and dangerous, and up for a fight. 

Barry marched up to Warren and his hoodlums.

‘Why don’t you and your minions crawl back inside and go back to sipping your champagne, yeah?’ Barry said. 

Warren pulled a cigar from his pocket and lit it with a gold lighter, in a slow deliberate gesture. Barry never moved, the old boxer focused on his opponent. Finally, Warren turned and headed back towards the sports hall, his henchmen following behind. 

‘How did you know what was happening?’ Liam asked.

‘I didn’t.’ Barry said. 

‘Then what were you doing here?’ 

‘We all came down to cheer you on.’ Barry shrugged, before walking away.

Barry crossed the road and joined his lads. They talked excitedly about the events of the evening, most of them disappointed that they had not come to blows with the promoter’s men. Liam loitered on the pavement. He was about to head for home, when Barry called out to him.

‘Are you coming or what?’ Barry asked.

‘Where are you going?’ Liam asked.

‘We’re going for a beer, all the fighters from the gym. That includes you again, doesn’t it?’ Barry said.

‘Yes,’ Liam laughed. ‘yes, it does.’

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom