^{Inside a boxing gym in South Philly}

"You got this, boyo!”

Georgio had my back, as always. We grew up together in neighbouring houses. South Philly stocked a good mix of immigrants and somehow we had found each other early on. An Italian-American and an Irish-American. With that combination trouble not only found us, we went looking for it. Today was no different.

“Finish him ‘ere, else you be too tired come the next. Stop playin’ and set him down already. You got this. Now stop fuckin’ about or we don’t get paid.”

A fight was never just a fight when we were involved. Georgio had money on us to win with one of the locals. Not just to win though. He toyed with the idea the big guy would go down in three. It was a little ambitious, to tell you the truth. Sure I had the hands, yet this guy was bigger than the usual shit kicker I fought in my amateur bouts.

I hadn’t been fighting any proper circuit for a couple of years now but that didn’t stop me from getting in the gym from time to time. I needed it. It was like my sanctuary. No matter how fucked up shit got on the streets, I had my hands. I loved to fight but not as much as I hated not having money. So my boxing career took a backseat to filling my pockets. I had to survive, somehow, and I always wanted to be a gangster.

The bell rang and Georgio gave me a strong pat on the back. Showtime. As he stepped away from the ring I inched forward, hands at my chin. Always at my chin. A few more steps forward and I snapped out a jab to entice my target, hoping to make an opening.

He wasn’t just bigger than me, he was also a few years older. We ran into him, Georgio and me, as we worked our corner. We had this spot in South Philly we claimed as associates under South Philly Phoenix and we had a steadily growing reputation. We weren’t no punk ass thugs no more. We considered ourselves gangsters and started running things. Extortion. Drugs. A broad or two on the go. Things were improving and with that more problems seemed to pop up. This was me, setting one of those problems straight.

This guy had hit one of our girls and he needed to be taught a lesson in manners, and respect. We figured I’d show him how to really hit a bitch and get paid at the same time. We were a little cocky, sure, but why not. We had our sights set on really running shit and people like this needed to know who not to fuck with.

Another jab. Right uppercut and a left cross. Bobbing. Weaving. A sloppy right hook swung back at me so my left arm hugged my face. Cover up. Don’t let him in. It bounced off my arm. My mind completely on the task at hand. Clear. Serene. The reason I love this thing so much. The calm before the storm. I can sense it coming. There’s always an opening.

I bobbed and weaved as I inched closer trying to get on the inside. Then it showed itself. I saw it as if in slow motion. A left wide hook sped by my face as I slipped to my right and went to work on the body with heavy hooks. Right. Left. Right. Left. I liked to kill the engine before I put ‘em to bed, and his motor started slowing down.

Georgio started with the taunts. I heard him for a few seconds in the background telling the big guy he was done and dusted, right before his voice and mostly everything else faded. This happened at times. Instinct took over and the fury rushed to the surface. I never quite knew the exact details till it was all over. Man on the canvas. The scene slowly coming back to me. Blood boiled; now coming to a simmer.

“You fuckin’ champion! You did it! I knew you could! Ah those fuckin’ assholes, we showed ‘em! You showed ‘em!”

Georgio was in the ring and had picked me up as my wits completely re-joined us. The emotion was usually so intense I would be somewhere else. I loved the rush. The fury. The fire within. Yet sometimes it was a little more than my consciousness could handle. Or, that’s what I figured at least.

“Alright, now put me the fuck down, will you?”

“We won! You have the hands! Golden fuckin’ hands!”

Georgio lowered me and held my hand in the air for a moment as I bent forward, taking in some deep breaths; I was a little tanked to say the least. I hadn’t been in the gym for a good few months and it was showing.

“Get yourself sorted and I’ll see Patty. Payday, boyo!”

Patty was a friend of the brute that I had just knocked back to his childhood. More importantly he was holding the winnings. My opponent was still coming to when I walked over and leant against the ropes and spat toward the outside area of the gritty gym. I sucked in some deep breaths and wiped the sweat from my forehead. It was a tough fight, but never beyond me. I knew this before we made the bet. This wasn’t our first rodeo. We liked hustling for money and it seemed to find us more and more these days. And with it, so did trouble.

Georgio had exited the ring and was now speaking with Patty. I noticed things getting heated. Just like us. We never did get anything easy. Always something or someone had to shit on our parade. Georgio’s voice rose and I knew something wasn’t right.

“Just give me the fuckin’ money. We made the bet. You lost. It’s simple.”

“The fight was rigged! We ain’t payin’ shit! Fuck you and fuck Scarfo! That bitch deserved it!”

I’ll admit, I always got a little excited when things started to turn sour. A little fearful, sure, yet more so excited with anticipation for what could transpire. I loved to put people in their place and around this area people were a little out of control. No dominant crime family had taken position and that made things a little unstable in the district.

Georgio pushed at Patty. By the expression on his face he was obviously pissed off. In hindsight maybe not a good move. I began making my way out of the ring when the next thing I noticed was a revolver being pulled. The trigger squeezed and two shots were fired. Georgio dropped and Patty bolted out of the gym.

My heart sank. The next few moments were a blur as I rushed outside the ring and to Georgio’s aid. He lay there on the ground and the obvious first thoughts were to see if he was okay, and alive. He held his stomach and rolled onto his side.

“Fuck it! I’m good. I’ll be good. Go. Go, get that fucker.”

I knew he wasn’t, yet what could I do. Patty had to pay and I had to teach this fuck a lesson. A lesson in respect. A lesson in what not to fucking do or you’ll get yourself wacked. Class was in, and me, I was happy to be the fucking teacher. I put a hand on where I believed a wound to be and pressed down hard whilst I comforted Georgio.

“Sit tight, Georgio. You’ll be fine. It’s only a flesh wound.”

I didn’t know if this were true. In fact, I didn’t believe it myself. It just came out. Reassuring him seemed like the right thing to do.

“Somebody, get some help!”

By this point there were a few people around us in the gym and a few rushed off to get some assistance. I looked down at my long-time friend, partner in crime, laying there in pain. I pressed down harder with both hands and kept by his side until more people came to assist. Eventually medics attended to Georgio and got him on a stretcher. Just as police began questioning me I started to lose it.

The gym floor had patches of blood where Georgio had dropped, and I looked down at a pool of it as the environment started to fade around me. Thoughts entered my mind of getting even, and then some. Patty needed to pay. He would pay for this indiscretion and I would make sure his whole family lineage would feel my fucking wrath. Nobody fucks with my friends, my family. Nobody fucks with Scarfo.

My breath became short and sharp as rage filled my belly. I pushed at the police and made my way angrily through the crowd and out of the gym. Patty was going to pay and money wasn’t the currency. I was off again on a mission to set yet another problem straight; straight to the fucking morgue. But hey, this was the life when you always wanted to be a gangster.