Free Rogues Gallery by Will Molinar

would tire faster.
    His opponent, Donald, was known as one of the better toughs. He had elbowed Marko hard in the face on their last grapple, an acceptable maneuver, even though they were wrestling and not boxing. It happened. The man was taller, older, and outweighed Marko by a good thirty or forty pounds. But he wasn’t the type of man to make excuses even though the weight disadvantage was ponderous. Donald smiled and came on again, relentless as ever.
    He reached high, looking to grapple with Marko’s arms and lock in with each other’s shoulders. They had done that before, and the crowd at Stern’s Place cheered for more. But, Marko stepped to the side to use his shorter stature as an advantage and ducked under Donald’s armpit.
    He dove for Donald’s left leg, very low on his ankles, swinging around to the side, but the big man was ready for it. He put his weight forward and down on Marko’s back. Donald reached around Marko’s torso from above and clamped down, but Marko countered by hooking his elbow on Donald’s arm.
    Keeping it locked tight to his side, Marko rolled to his right and shifted his hips hard to increase his power and momentum. It worked for a second, but Donald planted his feet and stood taller, stopping Marko’s move before it had a chance to turn him over.
    Marko switched tactics, sweeping out under Donald’s armpit and reversing direction. He came out from under his opponent’s body. Donald tried to square up in front of Marko and deny him the angle. But for all his size, Marko was the stronger man, and he used his left arm to grab Donald’s wrist and twist it behind his body.
    Donald grunted and the crowd, “Ohhh’d.”
    He tried to turn and twist his body out of the hold, but this put him off balance. Seeing his opening, Marko pulled Donald’s body closer to him and let go of his arm. He threw his arms around Donald’s waist and set his feet and bent his knees.
    Up they went.
    The crowd at Stern’s Place held their collective breath for a moment while Donald’s lost his feet and went airborne. They roared as they came crashing down to the wooden floor of the main taproom. Marko felt the breath blast from his opponent’s body as he landed on top of him, both face down.
    But Donald was not finished. He kicked his legs and scrambled on the ground, trying to dislodge Marko from his back. Marko’s breath came out in huge huffs, and the proximity to Donald’s thick back pressed his nose against his skull in outright agony. He spun on Donald’s back as the bigger man got to his hands and knees.
    Marko wouldn’t let him get planted, knocking out one arm and slamming his hips down hard on Donald’s lower back. He grunted in pain. Marko reached and yanked hard on Donald’s ankle, flattening the man back on his face. He held the limb and twisted hard. Donald cried out in pain and submitted. It was over.
    The crowd cheered again, and money changed hands as bets were won or lost. Another tough, Renner, picked Marko up off Donald’s back while two others helped the losing man to his feet. Marko smacked Donald’s hand with his, and he was surprised by how light headed he felt. The blood loss and shock of physical trauma had caught up to him now that the fight was finished.
    People slapped him on the back, and he had to catch himself to stop from falling.
    “Great job, Marko!”
    “Your winning streak continues! That’s seventeen wins in row.”
    “Go again, Marko. I won ten silver on you!”
    Marko shook his head at the last request. He was too tired. He stepped away from them and wiped the blood from his face with a shaking hand. He blew his nose one nostril at a time. Viscera spewed. People backed away, some laughing, some cursing. The victorious tough smiled and felt dizzy as he plopped down on a chair to watch the next match, and someone handed him a beer.
    “Thanks.”
    Later, after a few more matches, someone from the crowd stood out. Marko had seen him before at the arena,