Johnny's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Johnny wanted the brawling crown, and he had no idea where to find it. He stood on his new porch and rubbed his scarred knuckles. His house looked proud behind him, big and freshly painted, every window clean. He had built it with ironworker wages and ironworker fists. But the one thing he wanted most, the thing no money bought, stayed out of reach. Somewhere in this territory, the toughest ironworker alive held the bare-knuckle crown. Johnny meant to take it. He just couldn't find the ring. Everyone in the yards knew the fights happened. Nobody told him where. He had asked three men that week. Each one looked away and changed the subject. The underground brawlers kept their gathering spot secret. No address, no sign, no map. A man had to be told. And nobody trusted a fresh face with that. Johnny walked down his polished steps and headed for the eatery where the ironworkers ate after shift. He ordered coffee and sat near the counter. He listened. Two men in the corner spoke low about a fight coming that night. One rubbed his thumb against two fingers. A bet. Johnny leaned closer. "You want in?" one of them asked. He had grease under his nails and a hard stare. "Costs you. Nobody comes free." Johnny set a folded bill on the table. "I don't want to watch," he said. "I want to fight." The man studied Johnny's hands. He saw the thick wrists, the healed cuts, the burns from the forge. He nodded slow. "You're an ironworker. All right. The ring's behind the old warehouse down by the river. After dark. They start when the whistle can't be heard no more." He pushed the bill back. "First night, you watch. You don't fight till they know your name." "They'll know it tonight," Johnny said. The man laughed and warned him. "The one who holds the crown put two men in the hospital last month. Big fella. Hits like a drop hammer. You walk in green, he'll end you." Johnny stood and dropped coins for the coffee. He had what he came for. He finally knew where the fighting men gathered. The secret spot behind the warehouse, after dark, by the river. The door he couldn't find all week had just cracked open. He walked home in the fading light. His grand house waited, clean and quiet. He went to the garage and wrapped his hands in old rags, the way he had taught himself. He threw slow punches at a hanging crate until his shoulders burned. Tonight he would go to the ring. But the man with the crown had already broken two bodies. Johnny had found the fight. Now he had to survive it long enough to earn a name.