Earl's heart was pounding before the signal to start the fight went off; after hearing it, it nearly exploded. His throat went dry, he breathed in great gulps of air, he glanced at Vicky and headed to the center of the ring.
     Scott was advancing the same as he was. When they met in the center Scott took a wild first swing that sailed a foot or so in front of Earl and that met nothing but his breath.
     This encouraged Earl, who so far had never known Scott to miss. Earl circled to the right, his hands up in front of his face, and his eyes locked on Scott's face. Scott took another swing, this one connecting on Earl's shoulder, and Earl shrugged off the blow. He was panting already, but Earl didn't feel as if he were out of breath. He was pumped, he was wired off his ass, and he hoped that he could give a lesson or two to Scott.
     Earl jabbed lightly with his right fist, measuring the distance to Scott and keeping him a little ways back. He hit Scott on the fists, and Scott backed up a bit and moved to his own right.
     The two of them watched each other warily for the next minute, neither one landing a good punch nor putting themselves in a position to get hit by the other. A few plastic cups rained in on the fighters, thrown by unhappy fans, but neither fighter paid them any attention. The light cups didn't hurt, and Earl felt they were much better than getting hit by another of Scott's hard punches.
     Near the end of the first round, Scott managed to get inside of Earl's defense and he hit Earl across the face. It wasn't much of a hit, and Earl didn't notice it much, but it opened his lip back up and blood began flowing down his face and into his beard. The crowd loved it, and began chanting Scott's named and hurling both insults and more cups at Earl. When Scott landed a stiff blow to Earl's chest, which straightened him up but didn't move him back, the crowd again cheered and Earl began getting angry.
     As he was preparing to swing at Scott, the horn blew and Perris stepped in between the two fighters, telling them to return to their corners for a minute's rest.
     Earl found Vicky waiting for him back in his corner, along with a tall, sandy-haired youth who called himself Piker. He was dressed in a Pittsburgh Pirates jersey and had a bucket that he set at Earl's feet. Vicky washed Earl off with a cool towel while Piker gave him a bottle of water to rinse his mouth. The same treatment was being given to Scott, sitting in the corner diagonal from Earl.
     "Your lip is bleeding," Vicky said, and Earl nodded.
     "I know," he said. "I shouldn't have let him get me again."
     "Maybe you should quit," Vicky said. She'd stopped dabbing at Earl's face and the towel was dangling uselessly from her right hand.
     "It's too soon for that," Piker said and Earl agreed.
     "I'm okay," Earl said. He turned to Piker. "Can you get me some whiskey next round?"
     Piker said that he'd see what he could do and as Vicky bent over to touch Earl on his lips and begin her bizarre healing ritual, the horn sounded the beginning of round two.
     Earl flew into the ring to start the round, displaying none of the caution or timidity of the first. Scott, too, seemed energized, but it was Earl who swung first and landed the first telling blow. He connected with Scott's face straight on, and the crowd erupted in cheers of "fat man" and "butterball." Earl felt good having the crowd on his side, even if it was partially due to his weight.
     Scott was rocked by the blow, and Earl considered it a redemption. He hadn't touched Scott yesterday in the parking lot, and now maybe Scott would see what he was up against.
     The two men circled some more, trading light blows that glanced off each other's arms. Earl was working on getting through Scott's defense, was feigning some punches and trying to figure out how he could build on his earlier hit. He wasn't a great fighter, Earl knew, but he felt that he could handle himself better than Scott knew.
     Earl swung hard, and his blow was deflected to the top of Scott's head. He punched again, with the left arm this time, and managed to hit Scott hard uin his side. Scott returned a few wild swings, but this was Earl's round and he was hoping that he was giving Scott a little lesson.
     By the time the round ended, Scott had been hit a couple more times, once seriously on his chin, and the best he'd been able to do back to Earl was a series of shots that had landed on the larger man's shoulders.
     Earl returned to his corner feeling more confident than he had in the last day or so. He felt as if he would be able to pull this one off, to maybe even get Scott to beg for mercy or to cowardly resign from any more fighting. It occurred to Earl, that if Scott surrendered, that he may be able to get him to vacate the tower room, and maybe Earl could both achieve his desire and win back his respect at the same time.
     "Ya looked great out there!" Piker shouted. He handed Earl a bottle of water while Vicky began wiping his face with a towel. The towel stung some when the rough fabric scraped against his bloodied mouth, but it wasn't too bad and Earl didn't pull back. He poured some of the water in his mouth and spat it back out and poured the rest of it over his head.
     Earl was sweating profusely, and he knew that the speed in his system was responsible for a lot of it. He'd taken a good shot, and he knew that he could break out in a sweat sitting on his bed with the amount of speed he'd taken. When you added to that the exertion of a fight, well, Earl knew that he was hot and dripping.
     "What happened to that whisky?" he asked Piker, his voice muffled by the towel and hampered by his swollen lip. Piker smiled, and hurriedly produced a cup with an ounce or two of the brown liquid and a rapidly melting ice cube.
     "Got it right here," Piker answered. He handed the cup to Earl, who downed it in a swallow. As it ran down his gullet, Earl exhaled quickly and gave an involuntary shudder.
     "Can you feel my fingers?" Vicky was saying and Earl nodded that he could. He was momentarily unable to talk, but didn't know if that was because of the whisky, the speed, or was because of a loss of breath caused by his exertions in the fight.
     The horn sounded, beginning round three, and Earl again hurried into the center of the ring, hoping to lay Scott out with one solid blow. Scott must have had a similar idea, and as the quicker of the two, was able to dictate his will. While Earl was halfway through his swing, Scott connected with his stomach.
     Once again, Earl began doubling over, his wind bursting out of him in a huge gust. Scott reached out to grab the back of Earl's head to slam it against his knee, but Earl had learned that trick and this time he moved his head to the side. Scott missed the big guy's head and his hands, instead, landed on Earl's shoulders and this time Earl stumbled forward and fell on his face.
     Scott took a step back and began kicking Earl in the face and neck. As Earl turned one way, Scott would use that foot to lash out at the big man's face; when he turned the other way, the other foot would land.
     Earl whimpered, but no one could hear it over the cheers of the crowd. He brought his arms up to cover and protect his head and face, and one of Scott's kicks caught him on hand and busted one of his fingers back. Earl screamed, and this time the crowd heard him and cheered even louder.
     Earl rolled to his side, away from Scott and was trying to get back on his feet when Scott kneed him hard in his side. Earl stumbled across the makeshift ring, falling forward but never quite hitting the ground before he got his feet back under him. He was now on the far side of the ring, bleeding profusely from his mouth and nose and was struggling to catch his breath and regain his senses. He didn't have much time to do that, though, as Scott was already in front of him and swinging madly at Earl's chest and face.
     Earl's breath was coming in huge, labored heaves and when he exhaled droplets of blood sprayed foward and landed on Scott's face and clothes. He ducked one of Scott's swings, but a second one caught him on a cheek and Earl's head swung around in response to the blow.
     Scott followed that up by kicking Earl in the balls, and the big man doubled over again. This time he forgot about Scott's trick, and again Scott's hands were on the back of his head forcing his face into contact with Scott's upcoming knee.
     Earl nearly blacked out from the pain as his broken nose was broken again and Scott's knee loosened two of his teeth. Scott lifted Earl's head up by yanking hard on his hair with his left hand and finished off the assault by punching Earl with his right hand as hard as he could straight in the face.
     The damage started by Scott's knee was finished by his fist and Earl's features dissolved in a flood of red blood. His beard acted like a sponge for the first few seconds, but was soon overwhelmed by the amount of blood issuing from Earl's nose and mouth. The only thing holding Earl up was Scott's left hand that still had a tortured grip on his hair. Scott swung again with his right, connected again, and Earl was no more than a punching dummy for the next four blows.
     The crowd, which was already on its feet, was forcing itself around to the side of the ring where Earl was being pummeled. With each blow Scott landed, a collective groan rose from the onlookers and cigars could be seen being pumped in the air. Another punch by Scott, another shout from the crowd, as each of the two fed off the other and urged each other on to greater effort.
     Earl's left eye was closed, swollen shut by a large blue mouse. His right eye was closed by his volition and his arms flapped at his side, swaying with each punch that Scott landed. Mercifully the round ended and when Scott let go of Earl's hair he collapsed where he was.
     Piker squirmed through the caution tape in an effort to reach the big man, but Perris beat him through the barrier and stood between Piker and Earl.
     "You can't help him," Perris yelled, making himself heard over the roars of the crowd. "He has to get to his corner first."
     "Jesus Christ, look at him!" Piker yelled. Earl was now in a fetal position, flooding the earth with blood and moving his legs in slow, tortured spasms. Vicky had worked her way around the outskirts of the ring and was able to touch him through the tapes, which brought Perris over.
     "You have to leave him until he gets in his corner!" Perris yelled and Vicky flinched, drawing backward at the rebuke. Her cold stare was replaced by hatred, by a venomous disgust, and she began calling Earl's name.
     Earl struggled to his hands and knees, and Piker began calling him over to his corner. Earl followed, either by desire or suggestion, and once near his corner Piker dumped water over Earl's head and Vicky began wiping him off. Piker had buckets of water, and by the time the third had been emptied on Earl's head, both Piker and Vicky were as drenched as Earl was. Her thin dress clung to her and dripped pink rivers of blood and water, and Piker's Pirate shirt did the same. Earl roused, shook his head, and like a collie divesting itself of a river, he sprayed those nearest him with blood and water.
     "Atta boy!" Piker yelled, and he dumped another bucket on the big man.
     "Gimme some whisky!" Earl demanded and grabbed the bottle from Piker's hand while he was attempting to pour some in a glass. Earl took two swallows, shook his head again, and grabbed a nearby bottle of water.
     Earl was either quite drunk by now or revived. In either case, he took the towel from Vicky's hands, wiped his face wildly with it, and then leaned over and kissed her.
     It may not have been the best kiss that Earl ever got, but it drew the biggest reaction. The crowd cheered, Vicky leaned over him and kissed him again, and the horn blared the start of the third round.
     Earl began charging to the center of the ring and veered sharply off to the left. He wasn't sure if he was drunk or had just lost use of his legs, but Earl wasn't able to go where he wanted and Scott was able to begin this round where he left off.
     Earl felt a strong punch in his kidney and had no idea how Scott managed to get behind him and punch him there. Earl began a swing as he turned to face his opponent and caught Scott with a wicked roundhouse punch to the right side of his face. Scott stumbled back two or three feet, momentarily dazed, and Earl lumbered after him.
     Instead of heading toward Scott, though, Earl fell over to his right and lost his balance. He crashed against the post cemented into the coffee can that served as a corner post and fell over it, knocking it over and pulling down the rest of the ring markers. Perris leaped into the ring, moved Scott to a safe distance, and bent over Earl who still laid on the ground.
     "C'mon, get up!" he shouted, and Earl moaned a bit. Two or three of the frat brothers came over and helped Earl regain his feet and a violent tear could be seen in the front of Earl's shirt and beneath it an ugly cut.
     Earl looked down, his embarrassment at having his belly and chest exposed to the crowd mediated by the deep gash caused by the coffee can. Now blood flowed onto his jeans and Earl felt weak, weak and worthless.
     The frat brothers got the corner posts back up and the tape more or less in order, and Perris called for a restart of the fight.
     Scott, long-since recovered from Earl's punch and seeing his foe in a severely weakend state, must have known that this fight was over. Earl was swaying, his hands down at his waist, as Scott approached him to finish him off.
     Earl offered no resistance to the straight punch that Scott delivered to Earl's exposed belly. As Earl began to double over, Scott began to execute his trick and reached forward to grab Earl's head and force it down, once more, onto his knee.
     Earl was nowhere near as drunk as he looked. In fact, his thinking was lucid, his pain wasn't yet in his conciousness, and he knew what he had to do.
     As Scott began to grab the back of Earl's head and to lift his knee, Earl clasped his hands together between his knees. When Earl felt Scott's hands on the back of his head, but before Scott could pull his head down, Earl struck up with his interlocked fingers and his two-armed fist, the size of softball, caught Scott directly under the jaw.
     It was a perfect uppercut, and an incredibly strong one as Earl was pushing with his legs as he struck with his hands. Scott was literally lifted off his feet, and the crowd cheered as he flew backwards through the air.
     Scott hit the ground with a resounding crash atop another of the corner posts, and the force of his flight ripped the post from the fragile plastic streamers. Scott landed on the post, and the crowd could hear the solid four by four snap as his back snapped it in two. They could see his legs flail upwards, jerk spasmodically, and as their shouts quieted the air was filled with Scott's mournful wail.
     In a moment, even that subsided, and everything was quiet. Earl was in the center of the ring, collapsed to his knees with his head bent over and lying on his legs. Vicky was kneeling next to him, throwing Earl's thin jacket over his massive frame that was still heaving with labored breathing. Piker stood nearby holding a bottle of water in one hand and a nearly empty half pint in the other.
     "It's awful quiet," Earl whispered. "Is everything all right?"