Teeth wasn’t happy that some kid had spat on his patch. He reckoned Martin deserved a slap, but he didn’t want to see him get stomped by a grown man.
‘It’s my patch to defend,’ Teeth said, as the Führer finally settled down enough for the three bikers to let him go. ‘But I’m not fighting a little kid and neither are you.’
‘He can’t get away with that,’ the Führer answered. ‘He’s old enough to know what the patch means to us.’
‘Someone his own size,’ Teeth said, before looking down at Dante. ‘Hey Dante, you wanna defend the club’s honour?’
Dante had sloped off to the corner of the room with Joe and was startled to find everyone looking his way. ‘Eh?’ he gawped.
Teeth ducked down beside Dante and spoke in a whisper. ‘Martin’s a head taller than you, but he’s skin and bones. You can take him easy. Will you get up there and fight for the honour of my Brigands patch?’
Dante didn’t know how to answer. Teeth was one of his favourite grown-ups and he’d normally do anything Teeth asked, but it wasn’t exactly normal for an adult to ask you to jump into a ring and beat up another kid.
Dante’s dad, Scotty, crouched down opposite Teeth.
‘We’ve got to do something to satisfy the Führer,’ Scotty explained in a whisper. ‘You know what his temper’s like. If we let him deal with Martin, the boy’s gonna end up in hospital with his skull caved in.’
Dante looked warily at Teeth. ‘So you want me to go easy on him?’
Teeth shook his head. ‘The little prick spat on my patch. He deserves some pain. I just don’t want the Führer killing him.’
Dante looked left and right at the two men he admired most in the world. ‘OK, I’ll fight him.’
Ever since his outburst, Martin had hung back at the far side of the ring looking increasingly scared. He’d seen his dad dragged off the ropes, but had no idea what was coming next until Teeth dinged the bell at ringside. By this time there were nearly forty people in the room.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Teeth shouted. ‘Following the desecration of my beloved Brigands patch by the skinny young chap now cowering on the far side of the ring, I’m pleased to say that cool heads have prevailed. The honour of defending the Brigands Motorcycle Club will be taken up by someone his own size. Namely, young Dante Scott!’
Most of the crowd was drunk and cheered noisily as Teeth lifted Dante into the ring and his dad led a chant in his name. The ring felt huge and its height gave a strange sense of isolation.
‘Kill the geek, Dante,’ Sandra shouted. ‘Smash his brains out!’
‘Put your fists up, Martin,’ Joe shouted. ‘Stop being a pussy.’
Everyone was yelling something, except poor Martin who stood on the far side of the ring with his arms at his side. Dante’s brain ran at full pelt. Two things occurred to him. First, he wasn’t wearing gloves, gumshield, or any other safety equipment and nobody had laid out any rules. Second, he thought about school and how his teacher made kids shake hands and sit together for the whole of the following lesson if they got in a fight.
Dante felt like he lived in two different worlds. The world of his mum and his teachers, where you weren’t supposed to swear or fight and always had to be nice to everyone. Then there was the Brigands’ world, where men sold drugs, stabbed snitches, got drunk, stole cars and found it perfectly acceptable to stick you in a boxing ring and tell you to beat the crap out of another kid who’d spat on a jacket.
‘Stop stalling, Dante,’ the Führer shouted. ‘Wipe the floor with the skinny prick!’
Dante stepped away from the ropes and saw Martin backing into the opposite corner of the ring. Getting cornered is the worst thing a boxer can do, but Martin had never boxed in his life and held his arms crossed meekly in front his face.
Dante closed fast and threw a punch. He was surprised by how swiftly Martin dodged and he thought – almost hoped – that the fight would be more even than everyone assumed. He followed up with a Karate kick and his trainer sank deep into Martin’s undefended stomach.
The crowd shouted wildly as Martin stumbled sideways. With everyone cheering him on, Dante got a taste of bloodlust as the older boy hit