The mob boss took a drag of his cigar, puffed it out in a slow, lingering bloom like devils smoke, and turned to Louis. And he grinned knowingly.
It is, he said, his teeth flashing in the dark. And he turned again to the screen, watching as Sol and El Toro tore up the Colosseum floor. They were a flurry of swinging feet, gnashing teeth, and smashing figures. The endless waves of fans cheered on.
And thanks to this match-up, Sol grinned, pausing to snicker deeply, to emphasize the remainder of his sinister sentence. He will.
He leered at the broad figure of El Toro, clad in the repressive straitjacket that nonetheless proved ineffective in containing both fighters rage and fury. It was torn and dirty, hardly recognizable as being white anymore. Fossil flicked his cigar, scattering ash on the floor. The Bravado kid may be good, He started, But hes not his old man.
Louis remained quiet. He would us