Thomas Bolleke Vs Anthony Falcone II PREVIEW

Fighter profile of Thomas Bolleke by Alika Webb

The vaulted doors open with an ominous creak. I walk in.

“Get rid of the body.” A voice booms through the vast living room filled with priceless Italian art.

Two evil-grinned guards drag the body away, leaving a river of blood in their trail.

“Don.” I say, kissing his ring. “Anyone give you any trouble?”

“Not much.” Mentor says, sitting at the end of the table. “Just one rat. He won’t bother us anymore.”

“He’ll be sleeping with the fishes.” Someone interrupts. He stands with his back towards me, wiping his hands with a blood-soaked towel.

“Take a seat.” Mentor says.

The other man turns around, revealing his face.

“Falcone.” I say, taking my seat across from him.

“Bolleke.” He says, clearly not impressed.

“What’s he doing here?” I ask.

“Eating.” Mentor states, grabbing a handful of spaghetti from the bowl and laying it on his plate.

A loud crash outside. Metal twists and turns, screaming like a man trapped in a torture rack, trust me I know. Cars racing through the destroyed fence. Sirens and blue flashing lights revealing their identity.

Someone shouts something outside. A gunshot fires, a man’s haunted death scream quickly follows.

Slurp.

“The spaghetti is excellent, Don.” I say. “Compliments to the chef!”

A stray bullet bursts through the window behind Falcone, shattered glass rains down all over on the table.

Slurp.

Crunch.

“I don’t know.” Falcone says, crunching some glass shards between his teeth. “The pasta seems a bit undercooked.”

“Nonsense.” Mentor says, carefully picking out some glass from between his teeth. “It’s molto al dente.”

“He’s my next opponent?” I ask, pointing my fork at Falcone.

“He is.” Mentor says matter-of-factly.

Falcone grins, his teeth swimming in blood.

The vaulted doors swing open.

“Hands up!” A cop shouts with his gun raised. More of his colleagues stream in like a school of piranhas.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Mentor says, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “It seems we have some urgent business to attend to.”

I laugh. “How about we make this interesting?”

“I’m listening.” Falcone says.

“Most kills gets the first strike in our fight.”

“Deal!”

A cop rushes towards Mentor, grabbing him by the wrist with handcuffs at the ready.

“Gentlemen.” Mentor says with an evil smile. “Race start!”

Mentor raises the gun he had hidden in his lap.

The cop gasps.

Bang!

Blood sprays all over the living room like a scarlet fountain.

I leap over the table, raising my fist.

A cop stares at me like he just pissed himself.

Whack!

The cop falls down like sack of potatoes.

Another cop rushes me.

I confidently grab his gun with my left hand, swiftly guide my right arm under his armpit and smile.

The cop tries to wrestle out of my grip, a futile attempt.

I twist my hips like I’m doing the mambo.

The judo throw launches the cop over Mentor to the moon and back again.

The cop crashes through the table just as Mentor is trying to grab some more pasta. The pasta bowl gets catapulted into the air. Mentor tries to reach for some more pasta in mid-air but he’s just a split-second too late.

A deafening crash. The pasta bowl lands hard on the cop’s head, the contents showering his unconscious body like grated cheese.

“Not the pasta!” Mentor shouts. “Oh well. At least I still got the vino” He says, grabbing the bottle of wine from the ground.

“Thank you!” Falcone says, grabbing the bottle out of his hands and smashing a cop over the head with it.

Red wine and glass showers the cop as he falls down like a puppet who just had its strings cut off.

Mentor stares at the remnants of the broken bottle like someone just spit on his pizza.

“Don’t worry, Don.” I say, clenching my fists. “I’ll make him pay for that vino.”

Want to find out what happens when these two collide? Don’t miss Thomas Bolleke Vs Anthony "The Law" Falcone II at GAMMA#834.

Article views: 63
» Donate to this author