Twelve Thousand Reasons

The lights in Las Vegas sparkled and crowds surged along the Strip drinking and laughing at cartoon characters shilling for five bucks a picture. Mickey Mouse chatted up Marilyn Monroe, Superman had his big arms around a pair of pretty girls, and Batman looked jealous.

A video board rose fifty feet over their heads announcing the fight between Wells and Neverfend, billed as The Thrilla' agin' Godzilla, with an undercard including Bobo Wenless versus...,and the imagery on the video board shifted to an Elvis Presley review.

Bobo'd lost his last two fights. He'd only taken this fight because he was broke. Still, it made Tiffany happy, and had its attractions too. He'd be the legit first fighter who put to rest one of the greatest questions of all time...could a man fight...and Tiffany walked into Bobo's room.

“Bobo, how are you?” Tiffany Spikes was gorgeous, talented, and a party girl, which negated the talented part due to miscues, mishaps, and downright chicanery on her part.

“I've been better,” Bobo replied.

“What's wrong sweetie? This fight's gonna be huge.”

“Yeah but, really, how do you fight something like...” and Tiffany's phone rang.

“Yes,” she said into the phone, “He's ready. Look, you'll get an interview after the fight.”

“I don't feel good,” Bobo said, “Like, I've got a premonition.”

“No premonitions allowed! It's all in your head...which is as solid as any man's I've ever known,” and they finished her joke together, “And I've/you've known plenty.” Tiffany laughed her horsey bray, “Hee haw, hee haw.” It startled everyone who looked at her, and fell in love, and heard her laugh, and fell over. “Stop worrying!” she said.

“It's dumb,” Bobo said, “To agree to fight a goddamn...”

“It's done,” Tiffany interrupted, “And the light's gonna shine.”

Tiffany loved the spotlight. With long legs, slinky dresses, cascading hair, a movie star face, and an awesome string of bad relationships, she fit the part. “This'll make us, Bobo. No more hamburgers and skanky motels. We'll hit the big time, and I'll...” and she dropped her head, curled a blonde lock around an elegant finger, and said, “...trail in your glory. Now relax, and I'll be back in an hour.”

“The fight's in three hours, and you're leaving?”

“Yes! Don't worry, everything's gonna come up ka-ching! Check?”

“Check,” Bobo sighed and when she'd left he said, “Mate.”

Manny Pinodor, the promoter of the undercard, said, “When your boy falls, doll, it'll be the funniest thing since Sonny beat Cassius. The fans'll love it, and win or lose, I'll make a killin'.”

“Manny,” Tiffany replied, “He's gonna win.”

“Wanna bet,” Manny said quickly.

“I don't trust you.”

“I'll give you two to one on your fee, he loses.”

Tiffany stared at Manny. That was twenty-four thousand dollars! “Make it four to one,” she said.

Manny laughed. “Three to one is the best you're gonna get.”

Thirty six grand! “Done!” Tiffany said. Bobo would be angry...if he lost. “I want it in writing.”

“You don't trust me, sweetheart?” Manny smirked. “Now, how about a kiss?”

“That'll be the day, Manny.”

“Your boy ain't gonna be happy you lost his fee. Probably boot you out. Then you'll come to Manny.” His pudgy face turned mean. “This fight'll humiliate him. No one'll touch him after this. You know that. The street's backing your opponent,” and Manny brayed, “Big time on this one.”

“What trick've you got going Manny?”

“Who, me?”

“You're going to lose,” Tiffany said. “If anybody can fight his...” and a knock sounded on the door.

“Room service,” Manny said. “Be right back, doll.”

Bobo examined his old gloves. “Not so good,” he murmured. After this fight, he'd get new ones. He checked himself in the mirror. Yup, he was in great shape, as strong as he'd ever been for an up and down middleweight. A bit battered, nose crooked, eyebrows scarred, one ear slightly cauliflowered, and piercing hazel eyes, but healthy! Sure he'd lost a few, but he'd won some too; he'd just had a rough spell.

Tiffany walked into Bobo's room. Bobo inhaled a breath of her beauty. God she was wonderful. She poured herself a drink. He reminded himself not to make her laugh. “Hey handsome,” she said, and kissed his cheek. “I've got something for you.” She held out a pair of boxing boots.

“Wow,” Bobo said, “I didn't expect these.” He looked them over. “Nice! Light, strong, but...” and he rubbed the boot's soles. “This is rough.” He slid his hand along the soles. “Ouch! What the hell? How am I supposed to slide with these?”

“Don't worry about that sweetie, Tiffany's got it covered. Now,” Tiffany continued, “When the bell goes, don't give it too much, we want the crowd to have their fun, but about three-quarters through the round, you use these boots to...” and the fire alarm went off.

Tiffany gulped down her scotch and water and checked herself in the mirror.

“Hey!” Bobo yelled as he held the door open. Tiffany gave him a look. They ran into the corridor.

A man in orange hotel livery stood at the elevator. “Sorry folks,” he said, “False alarm.”

“I'll meet you at the venue in an hour,” Tiffany said, and made Bobo's day by kissing his cheek again. Twice in one day was a record. Bobo wondered what was up. “Gotta run!”

“Hey,” he called, “What were you telling me about the boots?”

“Listen! You gotta do your shuffle when...” Tiffany called back, but the elevator doors closed.

Bobo entered the venue, showed his pass to the backstage guards, and found his tiny dressing room. He was nervous, but cool, ready. Every fight was different. You never knew what might happen. Someone could die. Well, not him, for sure. The fight was crazy, but he had twelve thousand reasons to do it. He would fight anything for that kind of score. Hell, he couldn't even afford a ring man. He finished tugging his gloves on and tying the laces with his teeth. Damn! They were loose. Where was Tiffany! Bing! The five-minutes-to-showtime bell sounded.

The announcer pumped the crowd. Girls in skimpy bikinis paraded around the ring and looked sexy. Booze was available, and the fans partook. Bets flew at a furious pace. Everyone wanted to see if a man could...and the crowd began to vibrate as the announcer hollered, “LLLLLLAAAAADDDIIES AAAANNNNDDDD GENNNNNTLEMMMMMEN, welcome to the Thrillaaaa' agin' Godzillaaaa!!! Tonight's first fight features BOWWW BOWWW WENNNNLESSSS against...” and the crowd screamed so loud the announcer was drowned out as Bobo entered the ring in gold trunks and a long, faded red cape. Tiffany rushed to Bobo's corner.

“Where've you been?” Bobo asked. “My gloves are loose!”

Tiffany cinched them up and said, “Don't worry, and remember, do as I told you.”

“You never told me nothin'!” Bobo cried.

Six lovely women in Barely-There swimsuits entered the ring with a suspicious package wrapped in brown paper. They opened it, and pulled out a giant bag. They held it high.

“What's going on?” Bobo said as he studied the bag. "That's not...”

“TOOOONIGHT,” the announcer blared, “We're going to find out if a man...CAN FIGHHHHT HHHHHISS WAAAY out of a WEEETTTT PAAAAAPPPER BAAAGGG!!!”

The crowd roared with laughter. Bobo looked at Tiffany.

“Just remember to...” Tiffany said...and the referee tugged Bobo away.

“C'mon,” the ref said. “Let's get 'er goin'.” He checked Bobo's gloves. “Now let's have a fair fight,” he smirked. “Bobo, get in the bag!”

Bobo looked at Tiffany, who was making the money motion with her fingers. Bobo glared at her and looked at the bag Where he read the word Tyvek. He stalked to Tiffany.

“This is wrong,” he said, “I'm a fighter, and pretty soon, I'll be a joke.”

“Sweetie, we got thousands of reasons this is not a joke.”

“Something's rotten here! That's not...”

“Hush! You'll be the first man to ever fight his way out of a wet paper bag. Get in there!”

“It's not paper, Tiffany! That's bloody Tyvek! It's tough stuff. What can I do with these?” He held up his soft, round boxing gloves, “Against that?”

Tiffany stared at the bag. “It's not paper?”

“No!”

“Cardboard?”

“No! It's polyethylene! You wrap houses with it!”

“I knew that rat would pull something,” Tiffany muttered. “How tough?”

“House tough!”

“Jeez, Bobo, I was figuring some kind of cardboard tough!” She looked at his boots. “Never mind. Joke's gonna be on him! Don't worry, Bobo, we got this. Now when...”

The referee pulled at Bobo's arm and said, “Let's get this going Bobo.”

Tiffany yelled at Bobo, but the audience was in bedlam and drowned her out. With angry looks at the crowd, at Tiffany and at the bag, Bobo stepped in, the zippers were zipped, the Velcro shut, and the bell rung to begin the fight.

Girls in bikinis and itsy bitsy teensy weensy boxing gloves over their hands closed in and began to rain blows on Bobo. The crowd went wild at all the jiggling flesh. A man in a tiny bathing suit turned a hose on the bag so it was drenched, yet no water got through. Tyvek was breathable...to molecules. Christ, this was real! Bobo began to swing. It was dark.

Bobo gave the bag a left, then a right, an uppercut, and a huge overhand. Nothing hurt the bag. The air was stale. Bobo slowed at the stupidity of it, and finally, stood still. The referee began to count, “One...two...three...” Bobo faced a standing eight count! The crowd went wild. Peanuts in suddenly sinister paper bags rained on the ring.

Tiffany yelled at Bobo, “Use your...” but he couldn't hear, except, “...really hard!” The girls outside were laughing. A soaked blonde said, “This guy's a shoe in for idiot of the year.”

“Just keep swinging,” a drenched brunette advised.

Shoe-in...shoe! Of course, use your shoes...really hard. That's what Tiffany was saying.

Bobo began to slide and shuffle. The surface of the ring was soft, but the soles of his shoes were rough and sharp. The crowd went hysterical. Bobo slid a left, and a right, gave the bag a goosestep, then a shuffle. The white bag shifted, as if it knew it had a fight on its stitches. Bobo kept the bag pinned. He slid, swiped, stomped, and tapped. He could see light down there. He gave the zipper a mighty wallop. It had to be a weak point. The zippers refused to go down! And a left, and a right and a mighty uppercut! No good! He worked his feet on the earlier spot. Yes! Keep going. Girls outside the bag went flying as Bobo hit their gloves. Three of them lay on the mat. Three more got mad and gave it all they had. Shots were getting through. Bobo shuffled for all he was worth. The girls were windmills in their fury. The air was almost gone.

"Twenty seconds," Tiffany screamed.

He couldn't do it! And a right, and an overhand, and a slide, and a shuffle, and a goosestep, and...the bottom ripped out, and Bobo tore the bag away.

“You don't trust me?” Manny said, as Tiffany counted thirty-six thousand dollars.

“That wasn't paper,” Tiffany replied.

“It was construction paper.”

“It was construction wrap.”

“Wrap, paper, what's the difference, you won.”

Back at the skanky motel, Tiffany handed Bobo the money. He handed it back. “You've got faith,” he said.

Tiffany stepped into Bobo's willing arms and kissed him on the mouth. “You,” she said, “I like.”

“Alright,” Bobo whispered, wondering how to keep her happy without making her laugh, too much. Ah hell, he told himself, let her laugh.