S2, E10 | A One Way Ticket to Staining the Seats Red

​Season 2 Finale

= Disclaimer: Seattle Noir is a fictional series depicting historical events that entirely DID NOT HAPPEN. None of the events of this story should be considered factual or of ill-intent. Every aspect of Seattle Noir- including both fictional and non-fictional characters- is entirely fabricated and does not resemble any historically-accurate aspect of the real world. In the event that historical people are referenced in this story, the way they are depicted in this narrative should NOT be considered an accurate, historical depiction of who they are. Finally, the fictional events of this story are influenced exclusively through the creative direction of the series’ creator, Zachary Serra. Outside influence, such as the input of experts or other sources, is not present in this story. Reader’s discretion is advised. =

\ Seattle - 1930 /
\ Saturday, 29th November 1930 /

“Why bother? He’ll be former-president-in-waiting two years from now” Wilbur responds, venturing through the spacious walls of the Mercer Arena, his cane carried in tow as they venture toward the front of the building. “And until then, we might be able to get stronger connections to DC through him” Norman butts back, speaking with his hands as their stroll takes them through the concourse, surrounded by modest architecture fit for a spectacle, “getting some congressmen and senators on our side this early can’t hurt anyone.”

“You say that as if the public will send most of them back to their chairs” Wilbur retorts, passing a glance toward his friend as the man’s head bobs from one side to the other. “We’ve made a grand step forward in hosting the president- as poor as he’ll be remembered in history for- this early into our run” the showman doubles down, tipping his tophat to his partner in crime with a smile, “the start of a true forging of our Seattle empire is a cause worth celebrating, is it not?”

Not needing to reply, Norman continues onward in silence as the raucous crowd outside grows louder the longer that they inch closer, parting the front doors to an ovation to find multiple parked vehicles outside the premises. Without a top, the car at the direct end of the silver carpet rolled out pops its doors open, freeing a gentleman in the backseat to descend toward ground level and approach the savvy businessmen that walk to greet him.

“President Hoover, it’s an honour to have you here” Wilber introduces, extending a hand that the commander in chief takes before repeating the gesture with Norman, “I’m Wilbur Ritter, this is my much better half Norman Mountebank.” Rowdy like boys being cut off the restraints shackled onto them by parents unwilling to relent to the boundaries of fun, the wealthy crowd and public admissions proclaim their eagerness to get the show underway through chants and applause, held back by gates to ensure the president’s safe entry.

“I’ve been hearing a lot of you two through the grapevines. The economy has been moving better in Seattle than it is anywhere else. It’s quite impressive” Hoover comments, flattering the pair that spark grins. “From what the governor’s told me, you’ve set forward plans to redevelop your home base. Mixed use development is what I’m told. It’s a great use of land” the presidential guest continues, shaking his head with a surprising disappointment, “it’s just a shame that I can’t appreciate it when it comes from the mind of two criminals.”

Suddenly finding their jubilation and pleasure to fade rather quickly, the businessmen carry confused squints through their eyes at the man’s regards, their silence freeing him the opportunity to carry on speaking. “You’ve bought the docs, you’ve bought the local government, you’re selling liquor and employing the smugglers in the process” Hoover advances onward, exposing to the pair that he knows more than what they let on, “I appreciate the economic relief, but I don’t condone or stand for it being done through unlawful means.”

“Well it’s unfortunate that you’re so shit at your job in that case” Wilbur retaliates without much of a second thought, provoking a defence that Norman immediately side-eyes him over, aware of how poor of a decision that would normally be. Smirking, Hoover lowers his face for a moment whilst his apparent political-adversary continues, taking the president’s silence as a welcoming for his own continued speech.

“They name them after you, you know? Hoovervilles? You placed them there” Wilbur responds, doubling down on his offensive remarks toward the leader of the free world, who holds his cap in his hands at his waist whilst he’s scolded by the legally far-inferior gentleman. “People like us aren’t criminals. We’re people who know how to run things that aren’t allowed to be incompetent scrubs like yourself, Mr. President. You’re the kind of people that get in our way.”

“And if you think I have any intention of changing that fact, you’d be very wrong” Hoover replies, making it clear which side of the conversation that he stands upon, “I merely come here with the intent of watching what you do before I go through the legal recourse of crushing it with a stern fist.”

Wearing a grimace that the president has no trouble whatsoever in noticing, Wilbur lets his business partner take him by the hand and cautiously guide him toward stepping aside, allowing the president to continue forward, being the first patron of the evening to enter the chambers that seemingly make the mastermind’s careers in the same breath that it ends them with.

“That certainly could’ve gone better” Norman mutters to himself, letting a few seconds pass before addressing the elephant in the room. “You don’t say?” Wilbur queries, passing a judgemental scowl toward his fellow promoter, passing a second expression of disgust toward the departing president before returning his eyes toward the man beside him, “do you still think we should be shooting for those connections in DC or have we settled that issue?”

= 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 =

“Is this just a free-for-all?” Jesse questions aloud, standing beside his much taller friend as they stare across the wooden platform from the men who’d acted as the thorn in their side, each edge of the stage surrounded by as much rope as the promoters could wrangle together. “Leave the pit and you lose. One of you goes down for ten and you lose. Try to help your partner get up before ten and you lose” the referee replies, stepping between the pairs with his hands held out, “everything else is fair game.”

Zoning in on the bout at hand, the four brawlers try their best to drown out the audience’s fever pitch, having waited far too long for the moment that’s finally within their reach. Readying their taped fists with eyes locked upon those they’d already picked out from the get-go, the teammates watch as the referee retreats from the centre of the platform with one arm thrown forward, yelling the magic word.

“Fight!” he proclaims, watching Jesse leap across the stage and fly into Arthur before the man can get out of the starting gates, taking him into the ropes whilst raining punches down. Unable to intervene, Willard sets his attention on the newly-healed man, who runs into him with an arm over his face, shielding himself from any return blow that can be made as their scurry takes them into the corner.

Trying his best to shove the shorter of his adversaries away, Arthur earns a moment of separation that he takes to increase the distance, standing the length of the makeshift ring apart with fists gently swaying behind and in front of the other. Eating a shot on the opposite side of the stage, Stan eats the blow well and steps back, allowing the similarly-imposing frame of his opposition to gain ground.

Throwing a fist forward, Arthur misses and leaps back, expecting a retaliation blow to the body that he predicts well enough to avoid, opening an opportunity to catch Jesse slipping up. Unguarded, the bachelor of Jimmy’s group eats a strike to the side of his head and wobbles over a few steps, regaining his bearings with little issue before readying himself once more.

Staring down Jesse with an ear presented to the impacts on the ring’s surface behind himself, Arthur instinctively throws himself backward a step and slams his back into Stanley’s own, sending the taller adversary flying into a closed fist and jarring him immediately. Looking to keep his friend from being the victim of another cheapshot, the eligible speakeasy frequenter runs into trouble, dodging and eating whatever strikes he can to keep the rival’s attention away from his friend.

Going in on the somewhat rusty brawler, Willard lays in a few good shots to the man’s side and face before finding the mark on the man’s jaw, violently thrusting Stan’s head to the side as the man hits the ground. As if suddenly put into the mission of running a marathon, the reinforcement of Kenny’s group follows through on their original plan and switches focus onto Jesse, who Arthur pushes into the corner the second he’s given the signal.

Dazed and with his mouth wide as he adjusts his jaw, Stan stammers on the ground as he shakes off the cobwebs, assuming he’d have a brief moment to compose himself. Hitting the ring’s post, Jesse attempts to step back into the brawl before immediately taking notice of his outnumbered predicament, seeing the pair of bodies close in on him without anywhere to go.

Just as they’d done weeks prior, Kenny’s mercenaries use their advantage adequately, running in on Jesse and dealing whatever strikes they can get away with. Seeing this before long, Stan throws himself back to his feet and rushes into the backs of their adversaries, laying in repeated blows to the back of Willard’s head before taking a shot at the side of Arthur’s face, freeing his pained partner from any further battery.

Re-earning Willard’s focus, Stan fights him off enough to spare Jesse from his wrath any further, having slipped up and watched it cost them. Fought into the opposite side of the ring, the taller men leave the opposite half to their smaller-statured acquaintances, who shake off the effects of their unexpected beatings and return to taking swings at each other.

“This is going to be a beautiful disaster” Norman mutters aloud, sitting at the very top of the highest row of seats alongside his less-pleasant associate. Having cleared a handful of seats beside them and in front, the pair watch on from the heavens through the aid of binoculars, though the foul-faced showman doesn’t use his.

With his arms crossed and the top of one foot sitting atop the back of a seat in front of himself, Wilbur nods to his friend’s claim whilst pressing the tip of his tongue against the bottom of his teeth. Surveying the scene, the man- who still wears his trenchcoat and presses the base of his cane against the ground- thinks quietly to himself whilst squinting.

“It’s too bad I can’t enjoy it with our presidential company present” he responds, shaking his head with displeasure as Norman shrugs, unable to do anything other than try and enjoy himself through the evening. Unable to find such an optimistic line of thought, Wilbur hears the variety of howling from his gambling audience and uses it as background noise, aiding himself in pondering what he’s left to consider.

“I’m going to make a call to our drivers. Let them know that they might want to shut down service” Wilbur comments, climbing out of his seat whilst his friend pulls away from his viewfinders. “The president might be about to shut us down, and you don’t even want to try to enjoy our finest achievement?” Norman queries, watching his pal turn back once he reaches the end of the row, swiping at the sides of his jacket as if to iron out the creases.

“I’ll be back for the main event” Wilbur replies with a sigh, offering nothing further before climbing down the stairs to his intended destination, earning a disheartened frown from his fellow mastermind. Not wanting to remain as sour as his Californian accomplice, Norman takes his eyes back toward the binoculars to spectate the chaos unfolding below, watching multiple minutes pass with Kenny’s side repeatedly following through on the same outnumbering tactic.

Spent and wearing incredibly visible wounds in the form of bruises and welts on his face and torso, Jesse shields whatever parts of himself that the duo target, Stan having been downed so many times throughout the fight that he’s now lost count. Fighting off of his impulse at this rate, the bloodied and battered soldier of a loyal companion throws a shot at Willard before the opening affords Arthur a free shot at his jaw, rocking the bachelor and sending him to the mat for more than just a brief spell.

In various moods, the audience roars as a still relatively-fresh pair of mercenaries set their sights on the stumbling Stanley, who kicks Arthur at the knee to stunt him for a moment before running into the torso of the man’s much bigger teammate. “This isn’t lega-!” Willard shouts, catching a brief glimpse of the referee as he’s taken to the mat before being silenced by a shot to the jaw from his outnumbered foe.

Dazed for a moment, Willard’s hands fall away from his own face and afford his rival further shots at himself for free, strikes that his nemesis is willing to take, but is left without the choice of. “Fucking crumb!” Arthur shouts, swinging an uppercut at Stan’s face just as he hurls his expletive toward him, nearly knocking him unconscious entirely.

Taking offence to the shot the man had taken at his knee, Arthur forgoes finishing the deal on Stan in favour of taking his woozy, much-larger frame by the neck and shoulder, and throwing him through the ropes. In a frenzy of applause, the audience loses their minds at the sight of Jesse’s partner flying out of the ring and falling limp to the ground outside, believing themselves to have just witnessed their gamble against Jimmy’s crew pay out dramatically.

Punching the air in celebration, Arthur howls a victorious scream before kneeling beside Willard, who still struggles to gather his bearings. “What the hell are you doing!?” the referee shouts, shoving the hot head back before throwing his hands outward at either side. “He’s out! We won!” Kenny’s right hand man proclaims, throwing his taped face toward Stan’s slumped-over body beyond the pit, “he left the pit!”

“He didn’t leave the pit! You threw him out of the pit!” the official shouts back, waving his hands outward in refusal of the result, clarifying the rules before stepping back having served his purpose, “the fight continues!” Turning onto his side, Willard continues to make an attempt at regaining his bearings whilst Arthur steps over him, refusing to allow the official an unsatisfactory conclusion without hassle.

“Call for the bell, you fucking crumb!” the hot head shouts, throwing his hands into the referee’s chest and shoving him back, earning a wide-eyed, shocked expression from the official. Immediately seeing this display and putting on his deepest scowl, Norman pulls his eyes from the binoculars and sprints out of his seat, racing down the staircase as the referee’s hand throws itself forward to the main at ringside.

“There you go! Good man!” Arthur shouts, applauding himself as the referee waves off the match, leaning through the ropes whilst shouting toward the well-dressed gentleman with the microphone at the pit’s side. Stirring on the outside with the faintest pain in his rehabilitated collarbone, Stan turns onto his back before sitting upright, barely able to see Jesse over the top of the slightly-elevated platform he’d been discarded from.

Unable to lift his head from the pain that now settles into his neck, the groaning bachelor still in the pit falls to a seat in the corner of the ring, aware of the sudden calmness that comes over the match to be an indicator of its conclusion. “Ladies and gentlemen, the referee has declared that this match is over” the announcer remarks whilst the official retreats to the centre of the pit, standing by the decision that a joyful Arthur and Willard prepare to celebrate.

“The victors of this contest via way of disqualification...” the well-dressed gentleman at ringside proclaims, the utterance of his final word bringing a momentary confusion over Arthur that deepens as his declaration is concluded, “...Stan O’Malley and Jesse Hickman!”

Going wide, Arthur’s mouth and eyes stare at the man with the microphone for a brief moment before inevitably falling upon the official, his hands slowly releasing Willard from their possession as they’d attempted to help him up. With hands hanging by each side, the referee stares down the hot head angrily whilst shaking his head, “hands on the official is a no-go. Stan and Jesse win” he proclaims, watching the irate brawler step past his hefty pal as the man falls back to the canvas.

As if only able to see the colour of red, Arthur clenches his fists and takes in heavy breaths, slowly approaching the referee that now prepares himself for the brawl he expects to be forced into. Fueled by his anger, the hot head steps forward and easily sends a punch into the official’s face, bypassing the attempted block he’d set out to make before watching the bout’s judge tumble to the mat.

Having barely missed his opportunity to intervene, Norman dashes through the audience and climbs into the ring, his sudden arrival being noticed in the platform’s vibration, offering Arthur a chance to turn around and watch the business barrel into him. Barely crawling out of the way in the nick of time, Jesse avoids being caught in trouble and slides beneath the ropes, watching Wilbur’s partner in crime throw the hot head into the corner and begin raining one strike after another.

Trying to dodge the attack, Arthur is forced to a seat against the post as Norman’s hands keep finding their target, rocking him in the jaw and catching him over the eye multiple times. Feeling the quake of his hated employee’s partner jostling the platform, the savvy businessman turns away from the hot head and watches Willard approach, pulling his hand back to swing without any chance of following through.

With fast hands, Norman’s fist gives off a loud crunch as it catches Willard in the chin, immediately prompting the tower of a man’s eyes to roll into the back of his head as his consciousness is snuffed out. Letting off a resounding thud, the giant’s frame hits the mat and takes the businessman’s attention for just long enough so Arthur can escape danger, hurrying up the way he’d entered the building to avoid any further shots that leave him dazed and with a headache.

Unified in their chaotic rebuttal though not sharing the same reason for it, the audience watches this sudden change in events take shape from their highly-priced seats, cheering on the hellacious scene as Norman stares down the retreating foe, bad-mouthing him along the journey.

|

“What is this that I’m hearing about you making a mess?” Wilbur wonders aloud, approaching the curtain that separates the backstage from the centre stage, where he finds his fellow businessman watching the events from far. “Arthur got himself disqualified and then attacked our referee. I ran down, ran him off and laid Willard out” Norman answers with a calm, unbothered tone, shrugging at the idea that anything went wrong.

“I hear we’re paying out the people who put money on Stan and Jesse even though they were getting their asses kicked?” Wilbur proceeds to inquire, prompting his partner to step away from the veil separating them from the audience’s focus. “Arthur dropped the ref... That means Arthur dropped the ball. He lost it for his team. Anyone who lost the bet can blame him” Norman assures, nodding with confidence as his wealthy friend approaches the drape-like accessory responsible for closing off the backstage.

“What mess did you go off and make while you were gone?” the right-handed businessman inquires, having gone most of the last half hour without seeing his grandeur-planning fellow. “No messes being made...” Wilbur replies in a near-whisper, clearly focusing on the scene unfolding in the centre of Mercer more intently than he does on answering the question, “...just messes being cleaned up.”

Just as the rest of the crowd does, the wealthy entrepreneurs listen to their headlining fight begin, the audience’s collective bloodthirst producing volumes so loud that they’re capable of causing concern over the roof’s structural integrity. Wasting no time, Jimmy and Kenny cut into the middle of the platform and proceed to swing, connecting with each other multiple times with little effect, both men running on instincts strong enough to eat multiple shots in a row with little effect.

Taking one headshot for every one that he deals, Jimmy is forced to take a brief retreat, pulling back two steps to cause separation as he spits on the ground, passing off the damage dealt as child’s play unfit for the adult’s table. “You’ll have to swing harder than...” Kenny attempts to chatter, ducking another swing before throwing one forward himself, failing to connect any better in his counter, “...than that, kid.”

Stepping forward whilst seemingly looking for a punch, Jimmy pulls back at the last minute, adjusting his stance to swipe his leg forward, looking to catch his elder by surprise. Seeing this coming, Kenny leaps off the ground and throws the sole of his foot into his younger adversary’s shin, taking him off balance before connecting with a punch directly to the nose.

Flailing as he looks to fight against gravity, Jimmy’s arms eventually slam against the mat with the rest of his body, taken down momentarily before bouncing up nearly as fast. With a wide smirk, Kenny shakes his head disapprovingly at the man he’s already ahead of in spirit, bouncing off the canvas from one side to the other as he watches his former coworker reposition himself for the bout’s continuation.

“I told you I wanted a clean fight, kid. You told me you wanted to destroy me” Kenny remarks, seeing the noticeable shift in his opponent’s strategy take shape, a more conservative approach presented. “I wanted to remind you of that before we got out here, but I couldn’t find you” the Silver Wolf continues, stepping forward as if he were going to swipe at the young man’s leg, only to present it as a bluff, trying to figure out how deep in Jimmy’s head that he is, “whatever happens to you tonight... You brought it upon yourself, kid.”

Immediately lunging forward with a strike thrown out, Jimmy watches his hated foe pull to the side and avoid it, allowing him to accidentally bounce off the ropes. On the rebound, Kenny catches the younger man on the chin before shoving him backward, allowing him to ricochet off the thick binds before catching him with another crack to the jaw.

Sent for a whirl this second time around, Jimmy plummets to the ground with wide eyes, his head still held off the mat as he tries to collect himself. Laughing with pleasure, Kenny shakes his head and turns away, retreating a few paces to give the younger man a chance to compose himself, not feeling satisfied with the bout just yet.

With a growl, the foundation which this pit had been built off the back of springs back to his feet as if nothing had happened, closing in on Kenny as the older man now drops back- allowing him to close in. Still wearing his grin, the Silver Wolf dives to the ground and bounces off his knee, wrapping both arms around the younger fighter’s hips before lifting him into the air.

With a grunt, the brawling veteran thrusts his hands into his adversary’s hips and pushes him away, allowing him to fall with the will of gravity into the canvas with a vicious crash. Bouncing at the sensation of the mat’s hefty reverberation, Kenny chuckles to himself and retreats once more, affording his foe the chance to get up once more.

“Come on, dear” Cathy whispers to herself, having joined Wilbur and Norman at the curtain alongside Josie, their friends already having done the same after tending to their wounds. Instinctively reaching to the back of his head, Jimmy remains laid upon the ground as he stares into the distance, looking into the crowd with a haze in his eyes. Stepping into the corner directly opposite the platform from himself, Kenny waits for his rival to make it back to his feet, playing with the fight as if his foe were prey and not an equal.

Forcing himself to wince through the pain, Jimmy climbs back to his feet and pats himself off, bowing his head and he steadies his hands, a doughy glare held in his way that the adversary recognises all too well. Stepping forward, the younger fighter approaches his elder, not phasing the man in the slightest as he advances, throwing a punch that he immediately dodges, only to lift his head directly into a second shot from the grey haired stalker.

Still on his feet, Jimmy stumbles back before eating a second shot to the head and three consecutive blows to the abdomen, prompting him to hunch forward and play right into Kenny’s hand. Pulling his hand back for a quick moment, the Silver Wolf thinks better of it immediately and simply pushes his younger foe back, letting him fall limp to the ground to tune of a mostly-dissatisfied crowd’s melody.

Swiping his fists in the air, Kenny retreats once more and offers his opponent the freedom to get back up, smiling as he shakes his head and allows the suffering to continue. “What the hell is Jimmy doing?” Jesse asks aloud, wincing in pain at the aches that roll over his body, the question one that the showman takes great dissatisfaction in answering. “Losing” Wilbur replies, looking on in disappointment as his prize fighter struggles to make sense of his surroundings, “Kenny’s just toying with him.”

Refusing to stay down so long as he can feel his arms, Jimmy rolls onto his knees and presses his knuckles against the hardwood platform, keeping the bets placed upon him alive to a little over half of the crowd’s joy. “Just stay down, kid” Kenny remarks, his strands of hair wet from just the water that he’d doused them in, the bout’s duration having failed to earn the break of his sweat, “I’m being charitable at this rate. I shouldn’t be as kind to you as I am, so take me up on my offer and stay the hell down.”

“Fuck you, old man” Jimmy grunts as he climbs up, spinning toward the older bruiserweight and readying his fists, watching the displeasure roll over his former coworker’s face. Following suit, Kenny remains in his pocket of the mat, watching as his opponent steps forward, ready to swing for the fences without necessarily being sure where they’re located, throwing one punch before avoiding another and losing his balance and stumbling back, advanced upon by his elder and rocked in the jaw once more.

Hitting the mat to a louder chorus of booing than the last time, Jimmy feels his body take on the soreness of the unrelenting platform, his upper body slamming into it with the force of a car accident each time he refuses to say die. “Go back home to your wife in one piece. Continuing to fight with me is only going to make this worse, kid!” Kenny proclaims, knowing what kind of number he’s doing on the younger man whilst also being aware enough to see the sense in the kid’s eyes, confident that his words are being received by the subject of his beating.

Through either great will or foolish stubbornness, Jimmy finds a way to keep climbing back to his feet, doing so just a second or two faster than each time prior much to the crowd’s shock. Throwing himself into the fight each time, the younger man continues to hit the platform’s base time after time again, rocked with a jab to the jaw but never one strong enough to make sure he cannot get back up.

Talking a big game but wishing to do anything other than back it up, Kenny proceeds to continue with his charity, allowing Jimmy to be the one to decide when this bout ends with decreasing patience, feeling less like he’s offering charity and more so being taken advantage of. “Kid, I can lay you out with one uppercut. To my count, I’ve had the opportunity to put you down three times” the Silver Wolf comments, watching his foe climb back toward both feet, “just let this be over with.”

His nose bloody, lip busted and demeanour appearing groggy, Jimmy continues to open himself up for the assault whilst his friends watch on from afar, growing increasingly more disturbed with how little of a chance he seems to have in finishing the job. As if he were drunk, the betting favourite steps toward his assailant and readies himself as per usual, stepping forward with a strike thrown and failing to connect, preparing for a right hand that he fails to see up until he’s hit with the left.

Popping back, Jimmy’s head takes the rest of his body down to the mat as the crowd grows increasingly quiet, feeling like each new hit is just the cherry on top of an entirely depressing sundae. Coughing as he pulls his body upward once more, the prize fighter begins trying to get back to his feet once more before feeling the base of Kenny’s boot press against his chest, lightly remaining there in an effort to hold his foe at bay for just a moment.

“This is your last chance, kid” Kenny remarks, pointing at the man as the referee tries to convince him to let the fighter up, receiving little mind as his warning is paid, “stay down now or I’m putting you out with what’s coming next.” Saying his peace, the elder brawler steps away, freeing the young man to make his call with hopes that this night can be done away with.

“I’m surprised you’re not more bothered by seeing this” Norman calmly remarks, watching the fight from afar as he addresses his business partner, passing a glance toward the man before realising that his eyes aren’t even residing on the fight. “I’ve got more important matters to focus on right about now, Normie” Wilbur responds, looking into the crowd as opposed to his big night, the event seemingly being the farthest thing from his priority at the moment.

Calming his breath as he stares into the rafters at the bright lights raining down on him, Jimmy sits up and rests on his left elbow, pressing it into the mat as his ears take toward the official, who kneels beside him and presents six fingers to his face. Watching as a seventh digit is raised, the scrappy fighter turns onto a knee and presses the sole of his opposite boot onto the platform’s surface, staring down Kenny whilst he knows the referee’s count continues.

Shaking his head in disapproval, Kenny sits against the corner and rests his forearms on the tops of the rope at each of his sides, watching as the young man contemplates what’s been offered. “Eight...” the judge’s call furthers along, catching Jimmy’s ear and prompting him to make his decision.

Throwing his weight into the dominant leg, Jimmy climbs back up just as the count of nine is to be sounded off, earning the dreadful look of woe that consumes the elder’s visage. Letting a slow sigh escape, Kenny deepens his dissatisfied glare and calmly steps away from the corner, returning his fists to a ready position as he’s called to follow through on his promise.

Staring just past the subject of his interest, Wilbur watches a man emerge from the building’s entrance, wearing a proper suit and shedding his hat as he makes his way to the base of the second level’s seating. “What are you looking for, Willy?” Norman wonders aloud, watching the man in question spark a grin that widens as deeply upon his face as a gash in one’s stomach would have to stretch in order to be deemed fatal.

Taking his moment to advance instead, Kenny closes in on Jimmy before pulling away from a punch, attempting to throw a second one before feeling his adversary’s hand push into his fist, redirecting it and opening his defence for a counterstrike. Dealing a blow into the elder’s face, the scrappy young man decks the Silver Wolf to the man’s surprise, the crowd’s energy immediately firing back up as the audience’s tension begins to lift.

Feeling insulted by the younger gentleman’s defiance, Kenny shakes off the hit and steps forward once more, forced to step back suddenly at the swipe of his enemy’s leg, ensuring that his head remains closer to the fighter for a more efficient attack. With two right hands, a duck and a left-handed shot to the jaw, Jimmy fights his nemesis back and forces him to stumble, dazed by the whiplash-inducing shot.

Stepping forward once more under the assumption that he still has the momentum, Kenny ducks a right-handed strike before eating a subdued, left-handed jab, popping back to a full stand-up before his face flies to the right with a sick shot. Feeling the control slipping from his hand, the Silver Wolf steadies his feet and rights himself at once, swinging away from a shot before missing with one of his own, looking to land a kick that fails to connect before doing much the same. 

Finally connecting with a jab, Kenny’s jaw gets rocked with an unexpected left hand, his upright posture freeing the opponent to continue the offensive. Landing a right-handed jab, Jimmy eats a backhanded slap from the foe that proceeds to duck another shot, looking to connect with one of his own before the space between them grows wider.

Briefly getting back to a neutral field, the pair listen to the screams of the audience root them on from either side as the distance between them proceeds to die, just as it seems the fight will at any moment. In the twilight moments of the bout, Jimmy misses a shot before dodging one thrown at him, repeating the process before finally landing a left hand, staggering Kenny before connecting with yet another one.

Steadying himself on his back foot, Kenny jabs at the man’s torso and prompts him to duck, looking for a hook that Jimmy pulls away from and counters with a kick to the abdomen. “Ah, you-!” the Silver Wolf proclaims, hunched forward with his hand wrapping around his stomach, giving his opponent all the leverage that’s needed to convince the prize fighter that a victory is in sight.

Missing a shot before eating one to the side, Jimmy hunches forward once more before instinctively throwing his torso back, whipping his spin as far as it can bend backward as time begins to slow, affording him the chance to watch Kenny’s attempted uppercut fire through the air and barely fail to connect with its target, thrusting with every last ounce of power the man had left in the reserves.

With three heavy blows to the side of Kenny’s face, the defiant vengeance-seeker watches his opponent stumble backward before misplacing his planting foot, accidentally sending himself tripping forward without any line of defence for what’s coming. Smelling blood in the water, Jimmy’s eyes widen as if he were eyeing his dinner just between razor sharp teeth, his arm pulling back as his foe topples forward, chin within the line of his fist’s sight to put an end to the night.

*POP, POP, POP*

Slamming his head into his opponent’s torso, Kenny falls to a knee as Jimmy’s hand remains locked and loaded, missing its opportunity to deal the death blow as his eyes look into the audience to the sound of horrified screams. “Oh, Jesus!” Jesse shouts from being the curtain, looking into the crowd as it hurries away from the scene of chaos before leaping into action, sprinting down the modest walkway and hitting the ring.

Astonished, Norman lunges back as the bachelor fires past him, soon followed by Stan as they dash into action, his eyes wide and horror immediately noticed before it turns toward the man beside himself. “Jimmy! Get down! Get down!” Jesse proclaims, throwing himself through the ropes before tackling his friend to the ground, violently ripping him through the ropes as Stan follows a similar lead with Kenny, holding enough humanity within his heart to not leave the man for dead.

Groggy and brought down from the adrenaline rush, Jimmy catches his breath whilst his friend shoves his head as close to the cement ground as he can, their bodies shielded by only the pit’s platform as the pair of men and the interrupted fighters shield themselves from the gunshots. Dispersing as the gunman travels within them, the crowd hurries for the exit as the scene goes into a meltdown, panic and frenzy unfolding before every set of eyes aside from Norman’s own.

Looking instead to the oddly reserved and unmoved showman, the wealthy businessman speaks in a near-whisper, trying to catch his breath as he’s stricken with disbelief. “Willy...” Norman murmurs, watching his friend’s face remain glued to the scene unfolding beyond the curtain, aware that the grandeur-voicing spectacle maker can hear him, “...what did you do?”

Hearing Josie and Cathy race off just as Stan had pushed them to do before racing out to his friend’s aid, Wilbur squints into the distance and shrugs, unbothered by the scene that the venue hosts this evening. “What does it look like I did, Normie?...” he asks whilst watching the well-dressed politician fall into the cradling arms of servicemen that attempt to provide him aid, blood staining the dress shirt he wears as the showman turns to his pal with a smile, completely blunt in his delivery, “...I just killed the president.”

== Seattle Noir ==