Chapter 1

Danny "Pretty Boy" Sanders sat quietly on a training table looking down at his tightly taped hands. The dressing room was quiet as he found himself totally alone with his thoughts. He was trying his hardest to concentrate, to think about what he would soon need to be doing.

Being 34 years old, Danny knew that he had to put up a good showing tonight, if he was to retain any hope of getting booked for any future fights. His last two performances had been less than stellar, losing a three round decision to that kid from Phoenix, and then getting knocked out in two, on the under card to a lousy State championship bout, one that had been part of a County Fair.

Danny flexed his hands, feeling the pain shoot through the knuckles and wrists. 'Christ, if they hurt this much now, how are they going to feel when I actually hit the guy?' For the ten thousandth time Danny thought back to his glory days, back to when he'd been a brash and cocky 20 year old kid, sporting his flashy undefeated record, convinced that he'd be the "Champ" before his next birthday.

He'd definitely had it all in those days, quickness, power, legs that never tired, and an almost magical ability to slip punches. He was possessed of a lightning counter for his opponent's every move. He was really something then, all right.

People had been falling all over themselves, trying their hardest to find ways to attach themselves to Danny's bright future. They wanted to be as close as they could be to all the promise he offered, the promise of an almost certain ride, straight to the top.

It had all come crashing down around him, the first time he'd ever tasted the bitterness of defeat. It had been amazing, watching as all the hangers on, and the freeloaders, hurriedly uncoupled themselves from his entourage.

His own trainers and advisors began slipping away too, leaving just as quietly as they could, all hoping to find another young up and comer, needing to attach themselves to someone with the prospects for a brilliant future.

The boxing game has forever been a tough one. Lose just one fight, and you are as valuable as yesterday's news.

After that first loss, he'd been 23-1, still a great record, but no longer unbeaten. The mantle of invincibility, once you've been beaten, is forever gone. He had slipped into that all too common category, the beatable fighter.

Within days of that first ring loss, the phones in his promoter's office were ringing off the hook. Now, suddenly, some ranked fighters, men who'd been ducking him before, were willing, even eager, to sign contracts for future bouts with Danny.

Some of those bouts had turned out well, and he'd won his next three fights, following that initial loss. Because he'd been beaten once before though, everyone now knew that he could be beaten again.

His second loss had been hard fought, and exceedingly brutal, ending after he'd been knocked out in the fifth round, by a tough Dominican kid. Knocked out cold too, not stopped because of a cut, or because of an accidental head butt, but pounded into a careless submission, then popped right on the button, and dropped for the count.

He really should have given it up then. Just quit the ring after that second loss. He couldn't bring himself to do it. He was still convinced that he had what it took to make it all the way to the top. He still believed that someday he would get himself squared away again, finding that intangible, little something extra, enough for him to become the champ.

Danny snapped back from his reverie, looking up as his trainer, and the guy from the boxing commissioner's office, came in to supervise the glove lacing and taping.

His trainer for this fight was just a guy from a local gym that Danny had given $10.00 to, and a free ticket to the fights, just to get him to put on his gloves, and work the water bottle in his corner.

He no longer had the fancy entourage, the luxury of traveling with his own trainer and personal cut man. Tonight, if he got cut, he'd just have to bleed.

With his laces tied and taped, and with the boxing commission's approval, Danny was ready to go. Tonight he was scheduled for six rounds against some kid who was a small town hero.

There was one advantage to taking these short notice fights, sometimes you could pick up a good purse, facing very little competition. Danny had signed on for a thousand dollars for tonight's fight, a lot more than the four hundred he'd gotten for his last one. He hoped it would be an easy win for him. He certainly could use one.

"Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Visalia Arena, and to our co-featured, main event attraction. Six rounds of light heavyweight action. Introducing, in the blue corner, wearing white trunks with the gold stripes, hailing from the great city of Los Angeles, California, he weighs in at 182 pounds, with a record of 66 wins, 21 losses, and 2 draws, with 23 of those wins coming by way of the knockout, the former number 3 IBF light heavyweight contender, Danny "Pretty Boy" Sanders."

The announcer paused, and there was a miniscule amount of polite clapping at the introduction of Danny. They are all here tonight to root for their hometown favorite.

"And, in the red corner, wearing the black trunks, from right here in Visalia, California, he weighs in at 185 lbs, with an undefeated record of 9 wins, no losses, no draws, with all 9 wins coming via the knockout, please welcome him, as he's making his 10th straight professional appearance, right here in the Visalia Arena, Felipe "The Visalia Dragon" Torres!! Torres!! "

The announcer paused to let the crowd stomp their feet and howl their support for the local favorite. The ring bell gongs twice before the announcer continues.

"Tonight's fight is scheduled for six rounds, and is sanctioned by the California State Athletic Commission, Jim Julian, representing the Commission, is here, in attendance, at ringside. Dr. David Cummins is also in attendance, acting as the ring physician. The referee for tonight's fight is Jack Grover. The judges are Sid Terrel and Rudy Cortez. At the bell, and counting for the knockdown's will be Sandra Cheney. The three knockdown rule is in effect, and the fighters cannot be saved by the bell."

The bell rings six more times, then the two fighters, along and their trainers, walk out to the center of the ring. They meet there, to get their instructions, and to have their mouthpieces, kidney and cup protection inspected by the ref.

Danny touches gloves with his opponent, and then walks purposely back to his corner. The opponent looks big and strong to Danny, but he also notices a small ring of flab circling around his middle. If there's any softness in the kid, Danny will find and exploit it.

Finally, the bell rings and Danny turns to face his opponent, who is charging out of his own corner, anxious to do battle.

The kid is strong and confident, willing, even anxious, to trade blows with Danny right away. Danny keeps him at bay though, with strong left jabs and some good footwork.

It is easy for Danny to see, this kid knows only a single speed, fast and furious. He knows he is going to have to withstand a furious attack from the kid early in the fight. As the kid keeps moving forward, he is letting both hands go constantly. With both hands being so active, he is making up for any lack of training and technique.

The kid is relying solely on his youth, his great strength, and on his ability to take a punch.

All his punches are being blocked, caught, and parried, but still they strike Danny's arms and his gloves, sending painful shocks into his sore hands and up through his shoulders.

This kid has the kick of a mule, but lacks any finesse. Danny counters with a quick left hook and a right cross that stops the kid right in his tracks, but only for a short second or two, before he comes rushing forward for more.

The pain in his hands is worrying Danny, and he decides to move more, using the whole ring, slipping and sliding away from punches, just letting the kid tire himself out.

For the remainder of the round he glides around the ring, giving the kid a real lesson in boxing footwork. He pitty pats at the kid's head, throwing a series of soft combinations, trying to earn points with the judges, and to keep the referee from warning him about this being a fight, and not a dance.

The crowd was starting to get restless, by the time the bell sounded, ending the first round. Back in his own corner, sitting on the stool, Danny felt sure that he'd done just enough to steal the round.

By the end of the third round, Danny had the kid very frustrated. He was angry, embarrassed, and getting tired. He'd been chasing Danny for nine minutes, and still didn't have anything to show for all his efforts.

The crowd had been booing and yelling, ever since midway through the second round. They kept yelling at Danny to quit dancing, wanting him to make a real fight of it. The referee had come to Danny's corner, at the end of the third, warning him to pick up the pace a little.

Danny knew he was going to have to go after the kid, hard, during this next round. He just hoped the kid was tired enough, and that he could be had.

If he wasn't tired enough, Danny knew he'd be the one that would have to endure a terrible beating. He gathered himself, preparing his mind and body to make that one, sustained, all out effort at attacking the opponent.

When the bell sounded, it was Danny who came out first, who rushed across the ring, catching the kid unawares. He started his own, furious barrage, pounding away, to the head and to the stomach.

His strategy nearly worked, it was almost enough. Somehow though, the kid managed to stay on his feet, and to keep his composure. Halfway through the round, it was obvious, to everyone, that the kid had managed to weather Danny's assault.

Danny did manage to put the kid onto the canvas for an eight count, later, near the end of the round, but, by then, the kid somehow knew that all Danny's energy had been spent, and he got up with a determined look on his bruised and swollen face.

He still had lots of fight left in him. As the round drew to a close, the kid landed his first solid shots of the night. The crowd, having remained silent throughout Danny's fierce barrage, sensed a shift in the fight's momentum. They rose quickly to their feet, shouting out their encouragement to the kid.

By the middle of the fifth, Danny was just trying to clinch and hold on. All his thoughts of offense were now cast aside. He was just trying to survive the next round and a half.

The kid was swarming him, punching and pushing, trying to land that one solid punch that would assure him of the win. He had to know that Danny was way ahead on all the judge's scorecards, so he needed a knock out, to secure himself the win.

When Danny finally reached that point where he just didn't care anymore, he lowered his left hand, and steeled himself for the punch he knew would end the bout. It was a pragmatic decision he made, to take one punch, to keep himself from having to absorb any more of this kid's terrible punishment. By now, he realized he couldn't make it to the end of the fight, not standing on his feet.

He saw the punch coming, and he could have possibly moved his head out of reach. Instead, he stayed right there, taking the powerful shot, right on the button. He almost didn't feel a thing, except for the sound the punch made as it connected with his jaw, his consciousness just disappeared from the sheer force of the blow.

One second he was tired, in pain, and gasping desperately for air. In the next second, all his switches had been turned off, and he was gone.

He didn't feel his legs give way, or know it when his body dropped to the canvas, his head snapping up once, before flopping back down again with great force.

Sometime, between the instant that punch landed, and his head flopping back to the canvas, Danny "Pretty Boy" Sanders was dead.

The referee didn't even bother counting. He kneeled down, reaching in quickly, to pull out Danny's mouthpiece. Then, he signaled immediately for the Doctor to enter the ring.

The crowd had erupted with excitement and cheering when Danny went down, but now, they had quieted, seeing that Danny wasn't moving. They watched, in horrible fascination, as the Doctor was rushed into the ring, helped as he made his way through the ropes.

The physician quickly examined Danny, looking first for signs of consciousness, then, checking for any vital signs, wanting to see whether Danny still lived. Not finding any pulse, he looked inside Danny's mouth, and checked both his pupils, before turning his head, shaking it side to side at the referee.