Dirty goat

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
Some of us can't handle loss or failure. Some of us see it as a chance for emotional growth, while others use it as a way to seek revenge.

Submitted: June 05, 2017

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Submitted: June 05, 2017

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The name is Tom Bryscoh, yeah that Tom Bryscoh. I'm doin time in the joint for a bum rap. I know you're probably thinkin, "what's a guy like me doin in a place like this"? Well like I told ya before I got pinched on a bum rap. I shouldn't even be here, I was once the world champ, yeah a real big shot. Dames would flock to me like a mouse to cheese, they'd kiss the ground that I walked on as well as my feet. I had around the clock stick-up men, didn't really need em, I could sock a guy and lay em flat. Fancy cars, real cigars, none of that cigar store Indian stuff either. And suits, talk about some real swanky duds, I had it all. Right up until that day I met the doctor, or professor was it? It'll come back to me , maybe. But I suppose if I'm gonna talk to ya, I might as well start from the begining. I had just reached my goal of seven knock-outs, I was in my dressing room trying to clear out the peanut gallery, when somebody knocked on my door. I told em' to beat it, then there was another knock. I wasn't in the mood for talkin, so I went to tell em to scram. When I opened the door it was some schmuck in gray trench coat. In my experience when someone shows up unannounced in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt, there's gonna be trouble. So grabbed the guy by his collar pulled him into my room and got ready to give em the business, but he told me he was there as one of my fans, ya know, just wanted to talk and all that jazz. I told em he had ten minutes, if he hadn't taken a powder by then, he'd be the first guy in a suit to see stars in the middle of the day. He started goin about all this science mumbo-jumbo, it didn't send me. But when he talked about me becoming a guaranteed boxing legend, he had my interest. It sounded too good, these things usually are. I asked em what he needed from me, nothin. That's what threw me off, the doc didn't want anything in return. All I had to do was let em take notes, and take some sort of purple pill once a day. The doc said all I had to do was keep this deal between us and I would be a star, he even sweetened  the deal by giving me extra dough. I thought to myself, "it's a sure thing" I get dough in my pocket even if I lose and I was on my way to being a boxing star. I was young and full of energy, there wasn't much a guy like me could be at that time. I was hard-boiled, and it didn't take much for me too drop a guy. So I took the deal, but if I was gonna be some doctor's lab rat, I needed a test. So the next week, I had a match, some slant-eyed guy, he might've been from china, one of those countries. He told he that he would be watching me from the chump seats, I didn't know why, it was plain as white bread he wasn't flat, so I bushed it off, took the pill, and hopped in the ring. The first thirty seconds of that round I felt like I was making a big mistake, I felt loopy, like my whole body had a parade of elephants dancin on it. And like magic, I felt like a super-hero, it's like I had taken a B-12 shot. I was focused, he couldn't touch me. I dodged every jab and hook, I felt like I was boxin with a baby. Before I knew it, the ref was countin to ten and the match was done, match by TKO. Now I've knocked out a guy or twelve, but at that time in my life not that way, a first round knock-out. The doc's stuff had worked. I hadn't heard a crowd cheer so loud before, with one punch I became a star, or in the doc's case with one pill I became a star. After the match the doc came back to my dressin room trying to tell me something about side effects, but all I knew was that there was crowd of dames waitin outside for me, you can imagine how the night went. Ten matches goin in strong, I felt great, I felt like I was on top of the world. This went on for a few years, knock out after knock out, I can't tell ya how great it felt to be a big shot. The only thing is, the doc kept trying to bring stuff about the pill and possible side effects, but as always somethin else caught my eye. That's until one night, the doc came to my house before a match, I wasn't feelin the greatest. He just kept goin on and on about the pill, everything was fine until he said I should stop, I don't remember much, all I know is that I woke up and the doc was floatin around in my pool. As soon as I saw that I panicked, I couldn't call the coppers and I couldn't just tell some mook that would hang around the parties I hosted. I had a match that night so I figured I could just box it off, ya know? Let off some steam in the ring, so I took the pill as usual and headed to the stadium. I was shook the whole way there, I thought guys were watchin me, I really thought somebody had it in for me. This was the worst time for all the malarkey. This was gonna be my biggest match yet, I was goin up against "The Hurricane". Some British gum chewin bum, I heard a lot about em watched some of his matches. That guy was undefeated, if I beat him, I would've had the kinda dough to retire with. So I shook off the jitters and made my way to the ring, it was in the bag, I was gonna murderlize "The Hurricane". As soon as I put my gloves on, that's when things got loopy, I felt sick, the room started to spin, and everything just went black. I woke up in a hospital bed. The nurse told me I had heart problems and I shouldn't box anymore, apparently I passed out. For moment I thought about throwing in the towel, I had forty victories and a ton of dough. I even thought about what the doc was sayin before he went for a swim. So I just sat in that bed and thought about a few things, I dozed off. When I woke up there was a press meeting on the tube, "The Hurricane" was talkin about how I fainted from the stress of being in his presence, how I turned yellow in my boxing trunks. I blew my top after I heard that gobbledygook. I jumped out of that bed threw on my clothes and sprinted downtown, he was still in the city, he did that press release because he knew that'd fire me up, and it worked. But I had an ace up my sleeve, I had one pill left, I was gonna drop that clown in one punch in the middle of the city, my city, just so my people would see who's really the champ. I caught "The Hurricane just as he was walkin out of a local bar, he stood his ground as I was walkin up to em. He knew what I came for, so he took his stance and I took mine, before I knew it the fist were flyin, we were clobberin each other. Suddenly my body got ice cold, and my arms felt like they had cinder blocks hangin from them, then my chest started to ache, I started coughin up blood, and I lost vision in my right eye. But I wasn't about to let a cough drag me down, no sir. So I stuck it out, I gave it one last swing, my right hook connected. But nothin, I mean " The Hurricane took my best punch and shook it off. After that he rushed me, three hits: a jab, a cross, and an uppercut. That was his knock out, I was laid out on the concrete, he walked up to me and crouched down, I thought he was gonna spit on me or somethin, but he just tossed a towel on my chest and whispered" the doctor came and saw me first." I blacked out again. When I woke up that time I was sittin in an interrogation room, the dicks were askin me about the fight downtown, just a whole bunch trash I wasn't interested in. But then they started askin about the doc, somebody let the coppers in my house and they searched everything. The coppers found the doc's expired body in my pool. I knew it was it for me then. I never found out who squealed on me either. I was a big shot, I was the champ, I was a star. So what am I now? Just good ol' Tom Bryscoh. 


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