Highway To Hell Read Free

what to do. Marcus didn’t know what to think as he walked out for what he knew would be the last few rounds of his career. He would go down swinging: win, lose or draw, the kraut would have to beat him. He told himself this, and believed it at that moment, he believed it in the aftermath of it all, and deep down he believed it to his dying day.
    His wife never told him what they had whispered to her. She simply said that he didn’t need to know, he had retired and it was all in the past. They had planned on moving away, to start a new life together away from the corrupt nature of the sport that no matter what length of retirement was put in the middle, Marcus would continue to love and miss. None of them ever spoke about it, but both knew that had he been single, Marcus would have carried on fighting, not because it was manly or because he wanted the fame and fortune it offered, but simply because he loved it.
    Marcy, whose real name was Michaela, had been the one who suggested to Marcus that he should try for the police. She was five years older the he was and had already been on the force for three years. Her father had been a cop and she had always wanted to follow in his footsteps, to make him proud of her. She had succeeded the moment she was accepted and he had told her exactly that every chance he got.
    Marcus applied, and was accepted before he had completed the application form. He passed the physical test with flying colors, breaking the course record in the sprint and number of pushups he completed in one minute. A ‘staggering seventy’, the instructor had dubbed it that night over drinks in the training center bar. The actual number had been closer to eighty but the name sounded good and so stuck.
    Marcus loved the force. Even on the hot summer days. Yet he could never fully forget the thrill of the fight either; it was part of him, and he knew it would haunt his dreams for the rest of his days. For years Marcus was plagued by a recurring dream; he was back in the ring, back fighting Papp. The German’s face was broken open and bleeding, his nose shattered, left cheek swollen so badly his left eye looked as if it had simply been erased from his features. They were in the last round, and he was pummeling the German who would (always) raise his hands up to cover his face, leaving his body open. Marcus had him trapped in the ropes and he was about to fall. Marcus would glance over that the clock and see he still had just under a minute to knock the guy out. He knew he wouldn’t get up, and so planned on taking his time. Then out of nowhere the bell began to sound: it rang and rang. Marcus stopped punching and looked around and that was when the German unleashed his lucky shot, and just as the punch hit Marcus would wake, his heart racing. The ringside bell would melt away and become the howling impatient cry of a baby woken from sleep. His blood would be pumping, his whole body tense. He would jump out of bed in a state of confusion each time, his mind lost until it all slotted back into place one piece at a time.
    He hadn’t realized how deep he had been in the daydream, not until the ear-piercing cry of a young baby finally pushed its way through the image. It sounded like someone scraping their fingers down a blackboard it was so shrill.
    Marcus turned around; a small crowd had gathered inside the covered promenade – predominantly elderly couples, sitting hand in hand on the various benches that were scattered at random intervals. He scanned the center, his brow once again plastered with sweat. His eyes stung and he felt his pulse increase without warning. His stomach lightened, butterflies spread their wings inside his organs and began to take flight. He felt his stance change; he came up onto the balls of his feet, ready to move, ready to rumble. It was instinctive; he hadn’t even thought about it. Marcus could sense it; his instincts as a fighter able to evolve from sensing where a punch was coming