Sheesh, where did he come up with these names? 

The Sleepytime Matress Company was a big, rundown brick building in the industrial area north of town. The factory floor was like an assembly line at an autoplant except they made matresses. We were in the next room, the warehouse. There were mattresses stacked to the ceiling as far as the eye could see. 

Sparkplug and his crew had cleared a space in the center and piled up mattresses like bleachers all around it. The place was crammed with suckers; rich swells in fancy duds, flashy gamblers, working stiffs, anybody who could pony up the twenty bucks they were asking at the door. Sparkplug’s punks were running around, busy as one armed paperhangers, taking bets and giving markers.

I’d changed into my sports bra and jersy shorts in an employee washroom and put on the wrestling mask that short stuff had given me, a green and gold number which laced up the back. I didn’t like it. It ruined my periferal vision and made it harder to breathe. Not exactly what you want going into a boxing match.

She wore a white sport top strained to the seam-poppping limit by a pair of tits that made me look like Kate Moss. They were as big as watermelons. Her shorts, which woulda been small on an XFL cheerleader, could barely contain an ass like Jennifer Lopez’s times ten! Damn, I didn’t know if I wanted to fight her or fuck her. She looked familiar too. Hell, there weren’t too many chicks with a physique like that, but Sparkplug was right; with the mask over her head I couldn’t be sure of anything.

Sparkplug stepped into the center of the open space. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is a one round, no time limit, bare-knuckles brawl. It will continue until one of the contestants can no longer stand. There is no ref, no rules and no mercy, just the way you like it.” 

The crowd hooted and howled. He grinned. “In this corner, weighing in at 212, is the Masked Mauler, the meanest Molly Malone this side of Belfast, and in the opposite corner, at a weight of 223, is the Hooded Hoodlum, the Powerhouse from the Projects.” 

We both got our share of cheers from the guys who had bet heavily on us. Sparkplug looked to each corner. “Ready ladies? Let’s get it on!” 

He brought his arm down then sprinted out of the ring like a guy jumping out of the way of a train wreck. The crowd roared.

We didn’t dissappoint them. The last thing I wanted was a long drawn out battle. I had a real fight coming up in a couple of weeks. I didn’t want to ruin myself trying to wear down this behemoth for half an hour. I wanted it over before it started. So, it seemed, did she. We slammed together like a couple of Bighorn Rams. I swung a haymaker that woulda dropped a bull if it had connected, but Miss Hoodlum was faster than I expected. She ducked it and pasted me with an uppercut that snapped my teeth shut like castenets.

Well, we played it a little safer after that. Circling, feeling each other out, bobbing and weaving. I was almost mesmerized by Miss Hoodlum’s barely contained tits, which did plenty of bobbing and weaving of their own with every move she made. They were like a couple of giant water balloons bouncing on a trampoline in slow motion, but a jab square in the mush woke me up and we settled down to it.

After about three minutes I was starting to see a pattern in her combinations. Jab jab, right cross, then downstairs when I covered up. I let her hurt her hands on my rock hard abs a couble of times to lure her into a false sence of security, but the next time she did it I was ready. As soon as she dropped her hands to go after my midsection I let go a roundhouse that came up from the floor and cracked her on the cheek so hard it sounded like a pistol shot. Her head snapped back so far she got a look down her own spine.

I waded in, landing lefts and rights like mortars, but she musta had a head like solid pig iron. After covering up for a second, she was firing back shot for shot, making me feel like a baseball during a Mark MacGuire hitting streak.

Suddenly we had a new problem. My first punch had hit her so hard I’d ripped the seams around the left eye hole of her mask, and now each blow was rippping it even further. The masks just weren’t up to the punishment. Mine was no better. A big flap of fabric was hanging down over one of my eyes. I couldn’t see, but if I ripped the mask off I’d be recognized. I didn’t want that, but being blindsided by this human steamhammer I was fighting wasn’t a good idea either.

I dodged back and tore off the flap as quick as I could. Not quick enough. Ms. Hoodlum jumped at the opportunity and piled on the punches. I had to block like crazy. My forearms felt like a goalie’s shins after a Catholic Girls’ School field hockey game. It was a second before I could see through the whirling storm of fists, but when I did I saw that her mask was worse than mine. The whole left side of her face was exposed. She was scowling like a demon. 

Suddenly I recognized her. “Hey! You’re Lily ‘Sweet Tiger’ Williams!” 

She flinched back at that and tried to hide her face behind her fists. She was as worried about being here as I was. She sneered. “So. I see you too. You’re Bricktop Brodigan. You can’t tell on me without screwin’ yourself.” 

I cut off. The crowd was booing so loud I couldn’t hear myself. Well, they had reason. They’d come to see a fight, not a conversation. But we suddenly had other things on our minds. We dropped our fists and looked around. “Hey! Sparkplug!” 

I didn’t see him. I didn’t see any of his mugs either. Even our corner men were gone. The crowd started to murmur. Sparkplug had all their betting money. 

I heard a clang from the factory floor. Tiger heard it too. So did the crowd, but we were faster on our feet. We ran into the assembly room. Sparkplug and his crew were heading for the back door. Sparkplug had a briefcase in his hands that was bursting at the seams with greenbacks.

Lily and Me started running and hollering. “Come back here you pint-sized swindler!” 

“Give us back our money, you meddling midget!” 

Sparkplug started backing toward the door, motioning to his goons to stop us. Well, they tried.

Lily and Me waded into ‘em swinging our wrecking ball fists double speed and sent ‘em flying like bowling pins. Lily picked up one guy and used him like a fungo bat to clobber the others. I threw whoever was left all over the room. They crashed all their tenderest bits onto the hardest bits of the assembly line. Between the two of us we flattened ‘em all in less than a minute, but in that time two tragic things happened: sparkplug beat it out the back door, and the cops came in through the front door. That broke up the party big time. Suckers ran every which way, LA’s finest hot on their tails. It looked like a Keystone Kops movie. Unfortunately, the crowd couldn’t keep all the bulls busy. Some of them spotted us and started heading our way.

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