S1, E10 | A One Way Ticket to the Next Fight

Season 1 Finale

\ Seattle - 1930 /

Hitting the ground as loudly as the crowd is boisterous, Jimmy scrambles to his feet and shakes his head, trying to rid of the daze yet another well-placed strike has left him with. Wasting little time, Arthur steps forward with his hands readied, trying to capitalise on the stir of his opponent by taking another three swings forward, each shot nearing close to its target, but evaded nonetheless.

Growing agitated with his missed strikes, a bloody lip-wearing Arthur throws himself forward and shoves his rival back, tossing him off the platform and into the lowest tier of rowdy fans in frustration. Seemingly rooting for the downfall of the brawler that had toppled into their laps, the three spectators shove Jimmy off of them and push him back onto the platform with force, hurling slurs and insults at him as they do so.

“Hands to yourselves or you’re out of here!” the official exclaims, his finger aimed at the group of men too worked up to hold much care over the threat, their only intention being to walk out of the warehouse for the evening with winnings in tow. Given a reprieve to climb back to his feet, Jimmy juts his fists through the air and reclaims his composure whilst stepping forward, meeting his opposition in the platform’s centre.

Dodging Arthur’s first strike before using his forearm to block the second that comes at him in the form of a body blow, Jimmy thrusts his fist into the wrist his foe uses to block the first strike before sweeping his foot across the ground, taking his opponent to the platform alongside him. “Yes, Jim!” Stanley exclaims from the barside whilst the man’s wife quietly applauds, Jesse’s hunched-forward demeanour remaining unchanged from the fight’s opening bell.

Lunging toward the ground, Jimmy delivers a massive strike to his adversary’s jaw, rocking the man that quickly crawls his way free and returns to his feet, clearly groggy from the shot he’d just eaten. “To hell with you, killer!” a member of the audience, whose voice is loud enough to just barely shatter the unintelligible screaming of his peers, screams aloud, earning a passing glance by the taped-fist prodigal son of the event’s promoter.

Stepping forward once more, Arthur keeps his non-dominant hand higher than he’d held it throughout the fight, shielding the side of his face he knows has taken more damage than the rest of himself. Noticing this, Jimmy goes on the offensive, drawing closer to the man before taking a quick leap back, dodging a right hook before throwing his leg forward, delivering a kick to his competitor’s calf that brings him to his knee for just a moment.

“You fuckin’ crumb!” Arthur exclaims as he hits the mat, quickly bouncing back to both feet as he tries to shake off the pain in his limb. Keeping the momentum in his favour, Jimmy reads his opponent’s body language for a moment before stepping forward once more, seeing the hesitation in his adversary’s approach and opting to see how far he’s burrowed into the man’s psyche.

“Ope!” Arthur blurts out as he throws his hand forward, attempting to block his foe’s next strike before taking notice of the second kick that sets forth on its path, feeling the weight of the blow on the inside of his thigh before hitting the ground once more. “Quit going for the f-!” the man exclaims as he hops back to his feet, clearly hobbled before yet another kick strikes him in the lower extremities, this time slamming into the back of his thigh and putting him onto the ground.

Both rows of his teeth peering through his lips as he grimaces in pain, Arthur remains on his back for a moment before feeling the weight of his opponent kneel upon him, taking the opportunity to end the fight. “How’s this for a fucking crumb!?” Jimmy exclaims, punching at his rival’s jaw three times before the thrust of the official’s arms push him back, freeing the downed competitor for the chance to make it back to his feet.

“Those punches might’ve done it” Norman remarks from above, his words passed off to the wealthy man standing beside him, who shakes his head in refusal. “No, the kicks are going to do it before the punches will” Andrew replies, squinting as he tries to get a better look at Arthur’s exposed visage, “why would one bother trying to knock their opponent out when they can just keep them from standing back up instead?”

“One! Two! Three! Four!” the referee calls out, able to see the laid-out competitor’s responsive expression, though refusing to stop the count until he can stand back up. “Five! Six!” the next numbers are bellowed out, prompting Arthur to turn over onto his stomach and try to muster the strength to stand, feeling the vibrating soreness within the leg that sooner or later could prove to be his downfall.

“Seven! Eight!” the official continues, throwing his hands out in refusal the moment he watches the now-standing fighter’s second foot centre itself upon the platform, allowing the fight to continue. Having prepared himself for the event that he’d yet to get the job done, Jimmy hurries back onto offence, side-stepping the referee as he hurries back toward his wounded foe, a punch pulled and ready to launch before the wind escapes his sails in an instant.

“Oh damnit!” Stanley exclaims as his wife covers her mouth with both hands, watching Arthur strike their friend with a surprise hook that instantly drops him where he stands. Screaming in both horror and glee, the crowd react according to the names printed on their wager tickets as Jimmy hits the ground, eyes wide as his vision grows blurry, feeling the same platform he lays upon be met with a similar impact.

The crowd suddenly turned into the sound of united defeat, all the laid-out Jimmy can do from his place on the ground is listen to the curious tone of the audience, which prompts him to use whatever whereabouts he has to direct his face toward the official. Confused as he passes glances between both fighters, the referee appears uncertain over what to do next, visibly lost as he shakily throws his hand up.

“One!” the man exclaims, passing a look at Jimmy before redirecting his sights to the same thing that the downed fighter does, watching a pain-ridden Arthur writhe on the ground with his hands wrapped around his damaged leg. “Two!” the official proceeds, unsure of whether or not he legally can, but prepared to count both men out to a draw in the event he reaches ten without a single response.

“Stupid fucking crumb!” Arthur exclaims as he presses his forehead against the platform, trying to massage the pain out of his thigh as he struggles to propel himself back to his feet. “Get up, Jim!” Josie shouts from within the crowd, which now becomes quiet as uncertainty continues to loom overhead, all sides now prepared for the possibility that they may collectively end the evening with a loss.

“Three!” the referee proceeds again, his count clearly understood by the man levelled behind the weight of a surprising punch, though a reaction has yet to arrive. “Four!” the bowtie-sporting man exclaims, throwing his hands out with four digits held outward on one and a closed fist on the other.

Shaking his head and wiping his face, Jimmy turns over onto his side and uses his adrenaline to push himself off the ground, sending his friends and the half of the audience rooting for him into a pleased uproar. “Five!” the official barks aloud, nodding his head in the first fighter’s direction to acknowledge his answer, sights now fully dedicated to the same man the rest of the crowd eagerly await a response from.

“He’s fucked up my leg!” Arthur shouts back, turning onto his opposite side to stare directly into the referee’s face, only to be met with the dismissive count the official is mandated to reply with, “Six!” Slamming his fist against the mat, the one-legged brawler pushes himself onto one foot whilst the other remains lifted, incapable of touching the ground to support his weight. 

“I need to see both legs down, Small!” the referee barks, his declaration immediately met with vigour from both the injured brawler and the crowd in support of him. “I answer your damn count! Keep it going!” Arthur shouts, spit flying from his lip as he hops on one foot, centring his eyes on the uncertain fighter hand-picked by the promoter himself, “let’s do this, crumb!”

Visibly disinterested in continuing the fight, Jimmy stands across the platform from the opponent he’s now more sorry for than angry at, both hands placed upon his hips. “Come on, fight me!” Arthur exclaims, unwilling to allow his night to end because of his inability to stand, instead choosing to go out swinging rather than to be remembered as a helpless duck waiting to be put down.

“This one’s over” Wilbur remarks, standing beside Kenny a few feet away from the pit’s entrance, watching his prized-fight alongside the undisturbed, older fighter. Remaining silent, the grey-haired brawler crosses his arms and dismisses his employer’s words, keeping his eyes glued to the fight that’s quickly threatened to get ugly amidst its unfortunate circumstances.

Hopping forward on one leg, Arthur draws closer toward his opponent and lunges forward, only for his hands to slip across Jimmy’s sweat-covered body as the relatively-healthy man simply steps to the side, evading his adversary’s attempted attack with ease. “Come on you fucking bastard!” the hobbled man shouts, angrily pushing himself off the ground whilst spitting vigour in any way he can, simply trying to either dig down deep to win or accept being put out of his misery.

Pacing around the platform to a chorus of boos with his hands on his hips, Jimmy hangs his head and does the little that’s necessary to maintain the distance between himself and his helpless foe. “Fucking fight me, goddamnit!” Arthur exclaims, cutting across the centre of the mat to draw closer to his opponent, who sweeps the man’s healthy leg out from beneath him in a spiteful display of refusal whilst wearing the displeasure of hearing that familiar insult once more.

“If you’d finish off your old man, why won’t you finish off me!?” Arthur barks aloud, again throwing himself back to his feet as the referee tries to step in front of him, finding the scene too sorry to greenlight any further. The anger written across his face as he stands at the opposite end of the platform from his rival, Jimmy keeps his hands on his hips and head toward the ground as the insults are levied toward him.

Pushing the official off to the side, Arthur hops across the ring to close the distance between himself and his foe once more, only to eat a half-hearted jab from the man that simply takes pity at the man’s conquered stature.

Falling back once more beneath a strike nowhere near powerful enough to finish him off, Arthur climbs back to his feet again before immediately collapsing once more, unable to regain his balance as he’s brought back down to one knee. “Small, that’s enough! Stand up or I’m ending this fight!” the referee exclaims, stepping in front of the man no longer mobile enough to move from the kneeling position he takes in the centre of the pit, trying to keep from the night ending any uglier.

Hanging his head before pressing it into the platform once more, Arthur simmers with his anger whilst Jimmy watches on, focusing more on the boos that surround him than the cheers that support him. “What is he doing!? Why won’t he end it!?” Cathy inquires to her group of friends, none of whom truly know of a valid answer to provide her with, though she’s far from the only soul to ponder such a wonder.

“He could get this over with right now. What’s taking him so long?” Kenny asks in an annoyed tone, arms still crossed whilst the first noise to catch his ear is the tip of his acquaintance’s cane colliding with the cement ground. “It seems the man is one of strong principles” Wilbur replies, a squint in his eyes and an intrigued smirk barely noticeable in the shape of his lips, “this isn’t a fight to him anymore- it’s wounded duck that’d be too easy and pathetic to waste a good bullet on.”

Seething, Arthur’s teeth press together as his hands pull at the hair atop his head, face lifting from the ground to allow his eyes to stare daggers at the man across from him. “Is this the revenge you wanted, crumb!? To watch me limp around and just wait for the thing to be over, huh!?” the man barks, looking past the referee that suspends his order over the fight for the moment, allowing the man knelt before him to beg for a real end to the fight.

“I wanted revenge, and now I’ve gotten it” Jimmy responds, wiping the sweat from his face as he turns fully toward his conquered foe, “just lie down and let this be over with.” Refusing to reply with words, Arthur pushes himself off the ground and places his feet against the platform, though the lean in his stance makes it obvious only one of them can support his frame.

“I’ll stand here for the rest of the goddamn night until you make me stay down!” Arthur shouts back, collecting enough saliva in his mouth to spit at the man that refuses him a dignified defeat. “I’m not laying down for anybody, crumb!” the stiffened, immobile brawler proclaims, both hands hung by his sides as he waits for the man across from him to accept the terms laid out, “-I’m too proud.”

“I need the two of you to move” the referee interrupts, aware of the strategy that Arthur’s employing and refusing him the ability to get away with it, knowing what the result of this fight will ultimately be. On command, Jimmy takes one step backward and another step forward, a shrug paid to the official as if to say he’d offered the man what was asked for, though his eyes immediately return to his adversary.

“This is not why I brought them here” Kenny quips, a set of words that immediately spark more interest in his employer than the fight’s outcome does. “What exactly did you expect them to do then?” Wilbur inquires, turning to look at the older man from over his shoulders before meeting his eyes, their focus centred upon each other’s, “I know it wasn’t just to prove how valuable of a commodity you could be to me. There must’ve been something for you to gain out of all of this.”

Watching Arthur step forward before crumbling back to his knees from their backstage position, the men remain quiet for a moment as their eyes return to the fight, inevitably ending back up on each other. Shifting his tongue around his mouth as he ponders quietly, Kenny ultimately ends up keeping his thoughts to himself, eyes wandering back to the fight for a moment before his body turns away, walking further into the backstage area as Wilbur watches on with a grin.

Gasping for breath, Arthur’s chin presses against his collarbone as he mumbles just loudly enough for his opponent to overhear, though the words he utters are unclear. “Just stay down” Jimmy commands, crossing his arms again before turning his head to the side, waiting for the referee to call for the bell. “You’ll never be more than the bastard” the conquered foe blurts out, this time with an increased pitch in his voice, the words managing to strike his rival’s ears just right.

As if frozen, Jimmy’s eyes remain glued upon an unimportant section of the crowd and widen, his fingers tensing as they slowly crawl their way together, forming a fist. Lowering his head just slightly and shifting it gradually toward his knelt opposition’s direction, the victory-ready fighter parts his lips to ask one simply question with a heavy and intense groan, “what did you say?”

Spitting a mixture of saliva and blood onto the wooden platform he kneels upon, Arthur’s right eye squints as he stares upward, a smirk in the corner of his mouth. “You heard me” the injured brawler sighs back, taking a few deep breaths before lifting his voice into a shout, making certain every word catches his challenger’s ear, “you’ll never be more than the ba-!”

Cut off before he can finish, Arthur loses consciousness and hits the floor as Jimmy follows through on the heavy strike laid into the fighter’s jaw, arms spread out at each side as he lays flat on his back. Hearing the crowd’s thunderous reaction varying in both directions, the man that ends the night standing tall peers at the referee and nods, shaking his fist to temporarily rid of the ache within it from the blow he’d delivered.

“One! Two! Three!” the referee calls out, beginning the count that Arthur had begged for as the opponent- whose victory was already guaranteed at this point- steps over his opponent’s prone body and steps off the platform, walking for the back as the count continues. “Four! Five! Six!” the official continues, watching Jimmy round the corner of the pit’s entrance and disappear into the back, already aware that the downed brawler will not answer his count.

“Seven! Eight! Nine!” the referee continues, his voice gradually being drowned out the further the victorious fighter ventures into the adjacent hallway, paying no mind to the promoter that smiles at him on his way through. Wiping his face of the sweat that falls down his face, Jimmy makes his way for the locker room as he listens to the deafening crowd drown out the final number, only able to certify his triumph in the form of the bell, whose sound violently echoes through the building.

*ding*

= Seattle Noir is created by Zachary Serra, all rights to the series belong to Zachary Serra and his entity of Pacer1 from the start of Season 1 onward =

Sitting in silence, Jimmy leans forward in his chair with a towel wrapped around his hips, the sweat that had damped his hair now replaced by the warm waters of the post-match shower he’d recently stepped out of. “You did great tonight” Cathy mutters aloud, sitting in the corner with her hands in her lap, only able to see her husband respond in the form of a nod.

“Seriously, you-” Stanley doubles down from the other side of the room, nodding to himself amidst the pause before settling for the first compliment that lingers on his tongue, “-you were unstoppable.” Watching the droplets of water fall from the soaked strands of his hair, Jimmy turns to look over his shoulder at the compliment-offering gentleman and nods back, visibly appreciative.

The third wheel and the most walled-off man within the cramped room, Jesse becomes the entire group’s focus, all eyes other than his own falling upon him. Taking notice of this, the man sits quietly with his thoughts for a few moments as he waits for someone to break the ice first, inevitably finding none willing to do so. “What do you want me to say?” the visibly-irritated pal inquires, leaning back in his seat with hands resting on each thigh, “great fight, I can’t wait to see the next one.”

“You’ve got every reason to be mad” Jimmy quickly retorts, silencing Jesse before running his hand through his hair to best free his face for his company to see, “you all do.” Satisfied enough that his attitude is understood, Jesse remains content enough to stay quiet and hear his apparent friend out, keeping to himself to allow the victorious fighter his chance to speak.

“What I said yesterday- about being Jimmy Elliott- it was all true. It’s how I feel word-for-word” Jimmy explains, passing his gaze between his friends as his wife climbs out of her seat, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Who I was before I left New Hampshire isn’t the person I was when the two of you met me. By then, I was somebody else entirely” the man continues, speaking to ears that are at least willing to hear him out, “the only person you’ve ever known me to be is Jimmy Elliott.”

“Why couldn’t you tell us that you weren’t always Jimmy Elliott?” Stanley inquires, curious toward the reasons he can’t wrap his mind around, “for god’s sake, if you had no choice but to do- what you did- we would’ve understood.”

“And I would’ve told the two of you if I thought it mattered by that point” Jimmy rebukes, taking his left hand and crossing it over his chest to place it over that of his wife’s, “but by then, we’d known each other for so long that it didn’t seem like you needed to. I mean for god’s sake, I still don’t know where either of you two moved here from! The only thing I knew about your pasts was that you weren’t born in Seattle. I know about Stan and Josie’s story, but that’s it.”

“It’s not really that you didn’t tell us as much as it is the-” Jesse begins, starting a thought that he can’t bring himself to finish, the words evading him right as they try to voice themselves. “The what?” Jimmy inquires after a few seconds of silence, seeing his friend’s face pull off to the side and break the contact of their eyes, “it’s not really that I didn’t tell you as much as it is the what?”

Letting free a sigh as he looks back at the fighter that shares a victory on the night, Jesse’s shoulders fall as he speaks amidst it, “as it is that it just feels like we never truly knew who you were.”

The words his friend speaks bring a visible disappointment over him, Jimmy’s eyes fall for a moment before a knock emerges at the room’s door, provoking a group-wide stare to centre itself upon the entrance. “Pardon me for breaking up your little group therapy session, but I believe I have a bargain to fulfil my end of” Wilbur remarks, stepping into the room uninvited with a set of envelopes in hand.

“I’ve decided that- after the impressive performance- it’d be best if I stayed on the good side of my two little prize fighters” the promoter remarks, handing the first check to Jimmy and the second to Jesse before spinning around to offer Stanley a third one, “I doubt there are better ways of accomplishing that than making sure their friend with the bum wheel- or axle rather- had a way to put food on the table in lieu of his injury.”

Obviously eager to see the check contained within his letter cover, Jimmy takes a moment out of his time to look back at the man responsible for talking him into this moment with appreciation. “Thank you, Wilbur” the fighter responds, looking the man in the eyes and earning a respectful nod of approval in return, both men’s attention soon beckoned for by the astonished voice in the back of the room.

“Twenty-five hundred dollars!?” Jesse exclaims, his eyes widened as he holds the check in front of his face, “that’s almost two and a half years of pay we would’ve made on the bridge!”

“Yes, well the strife the two of you had with your less-triumphant adversaries tonight drew a massive crowd. The people in that crowd have a lot of money” Wilbur replies, watching Jimmy follow suit with opening his equally-large check with equally-wide eyes whilst his wife covers her mouth in awe. “Stanley’s pay is just one hundred dollars in comparison, but he’ll be getting a check from me every week until he’s healed” the entrepreneur remarks, “the two of you get paid per fight.”

“We get paid twenty-five hundred dollars a week!?” Jesse shouts in astonishment, his roll cautiously guided to a stop by the open hands of Wilbur. “Well, here’s the thing- a lot of people have signed up to fight in the last few weeks” the affluent gentleman replies, “that’s a good thing for your health in the grand scheme of things. Instead of fighting every week, you’ll be fighting four or five times a year. But as long as you win and your fights make people want to come out and bet- yes.”

His mouth incapable of closing, Jesse stares down at the check and remains silent as his friend turns back to continue the conversation. “How do we make people come out and watch?” Jimmy wonders aloud, finally challenging the man’s understanding of marketability, “we don’t have any issues with the other guys you’re bringing in like we did with Arthur and Willard.”

Wincing with his pearly-white teeth shown to the group, Wilbur’s head soon bows as it’s made obvious there’s information he’s refraining from sharing. “Alright, before I say what I’m about to, I’d like to remind you that- in addition to making sure your friend is paid until he’s healthy- I just paid the two of you a lot of money” the cane-wielding, tophat-sporting businessman explains, “so when you hear what I’m about to say, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t attack me.”

Pulling his head back slightly as the rest of his friends in the room turn their focus onto their guest, Jimmy presses his lips together and keeps the space free for his employer to speak. “On commencement night, where I invited everyone to the theatre to announce the fight club’s debut? Arthur and Willard weren’t supposed to be there” Wilbur confesses, both hands squeezing on his cane’s handle, “the only reason they showed up was because Kenny invited them.”

“Kenny? Kenny the old guy?” Jesse questions aloud, the amusement from the sight of his check mostly subsiding at the mention of the man’s name, “how did he know them?” Shaking his head, Wilbur shrugs off the notion of prior-knowledge and admits to what he’d been told. “From what I understand, he didn’t. He invited them because he’d heard around town that they had a problem with James and Stanley” the animatedly-dressed gentleman admits, “he figured it’d be an easy fight to market.”

“Kenny set us up to get jumped by those guys?” Stanley questions aloud, his voice breaking through the audible hush that comes over the room before quickly being talked down. “As far as I could tell, he didn’t seem like he’d anticipated a fight breaking out. He just wanted to make me aware that you all had issues with each other and I could use that to get people through the doors” Wilbur corrects, “I’ve got no reason to believe he wanted anyone hurt, but the truth is- that’s what happened.”

“So Stan’s in a sling because Kenny wanted to start something between the four of us” Jimmy concludes, staring at the ground to collect his thoughts before voicing them aloud, “why would he do that? Why would he want to help you?”

“Because he knew fighters were easily replaceable. If he proved he had an eye for what I could and couldn’t market, he figured- in his mind- that’d make him harder to replace than anyone else” Wilbur answers, shrugging as he leans his head to the side, “and if I’m being honest, he’s not wrong. None of the other fights- even the one Kenny won- got anywhere close to having the crowd as loud as they were for the final two fights. This night might not go as well if Kenny doesn’t get involved.”

“But Kenny getting involved got Stan hurt!” Jimmy exclaims as he bursts out of his seat, sending the chair flying backward as he does so, only to receive a calm demeanour in return to the man he screams at. “He did indeed, and that’s why I’m going to give you a chance to get even with him” Wilbur replies, his voice calm and collected in ways that nothing about Jimmy- whether it be his voice or his posture- is.

“I haven’t decided the date yet, but in a few months, your next fight is going to be against Kenny. I’m going to market it well, we’re going to hold multiple conferences, and you’re going to main event that show” Wilbur explains, trying his best to keep his prized fighter level headed for the remainder of the night, “so however many issues you have with him- table them. As much as I respect you, if I get any word about you and Kenny getting into a scuffle before then- you’re out of here.”

Seething, Jimmy’s balled fists tighten and loosen repeatedly, trying to calm himself from the rage that he’s worked himself into, though his composure is something that evades him at all corners. Having offered his peace, Wilbur turns to leave and steps through the room’s exit, only to stand in the doorway with a thought dawning upon his mind, one that prompts him to turn back and deliver a few parting words.

“As much as I’m trying to be on your good side, James- you should really take me up on the offer of getting on mine” Wilbur concludes, trying to ensure the man is aware of the surroundings he’s placed within, “if Kenny’s proving anything, it’s that someone else will if you don’t.”

Collecting himself, the triumphant fighter watches Wilbur step off into the corridor and return to his evening, vanishing as quickly as the group’s collective opinion of Kenny had turned. 

“Honey, settle down” Cathy whispers, pressing her forehead against the side of her husband’s face as she tries to lull him away from the boiling rage that fuels him, her voice accomplishing its intended purpose, though Jimmy’s face remains fixated on the exit, a tense stare held in the vengeance-filled visage he wears whilst his mind counts down the seconds between now and the fixed date and time his revenge lies at the end of, only one option afforded of getting to it- that being to wait.

== Seattle Noir ==