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As the boat nears the port of Casablanca, Jerry Flynn is just waking up. The Bossman, wearing his mirrored sunglasses, looks out to the horizon, and to the land of Morocco.
�Are we almost there,� Flynn asks.
�We�re there,� the Bossman replies.
�What do we do now?�
�You can go home if you want. If you don�t, Morocco is a nice place to visit.�
�What are you going to do?�
�I�m going to Libya,� the Bossman replies quietly.
�Why?�
�To fight.�
�I�m always up for a good fight. Can I come?
�No, this ain�t for you.�
The boat pulls into the harbor of Morocco�s largest city. The two friends catch a cab to the Hotel du Palais in central Casablanca, where they get adjoining rooms. They depart the next day, but to different locations. Flynn flies home, but the Bossman goes by train to the Moroccan city of Marrakesh. Waiting for him in the station is Skandar Akbar.
�Welcome to Marrakesh,� Akbar says, �I have arranged for you to stay at the Hotel Le Grand Imilchil. Come this way.� Akbar has a cab waiting and they speed off to the hotel.
�I haven�t been to Morocco in over four years. Not much has changed as far as I can see,� the Bossman says.
�Yes, the taxi drivers still try to rip you off, but I won�t let this one do it.�
As they approach the hotel, the taxi driver says, �two hundred dirham.�
�You stupid son of a bitch! I keel you! You take fifty dirham and be happy,� Akbar says, �come this way, Ray. I�m sure you�ll find this hotel most appropriate. I�ll give you a chance to clean up and I�ll meet you by the pool.�
The Bossman checks in and changes into a Florida State tee shirt and a pair of bermuda shorts. He goes to the pool, where Scandar Akbar is enjoying a mint tea. The waiter comes and he orders a vodka martini and some couscous.
�So, when�s the fight?� the Bossman asks.
�It is in three days. I have arranged for your transportation to Ghadhames. You will fly to Tunis and go by convoy to Ghadhames. We will leave tomorrow.�
The Bossman deems the first class service in the Moroccan Air flight as excellent, as there is a selection of three different types of vodka, and only one is domestic. From Tunis, a jeep meets them at the airport. Bossman and Skandar Akbar get in the back seat. There is a driver and an armed guard.
As they are driving across the desert in the jeep, the Bossman wearing his mirrored sunglasses, Akbar hands him a canteen, �drink up, my friend. The desert can be our friend, but it can be our enemy as well.� They approach the Libyan border. They don't have any trouble crossing it because they are traveling with a group of well respected terrorists. From there, it takes about twenty minutes to get to the Al-Faras Hotel in Ghadhams.
The next day, the Bossman is in his air-conditioned room, wearing his fighting uniform. There is a knock on the door. �Come in, boy,� the Bossman said. A small boy comes in carrying a bottle of Dutch vodka. The Bossman opens it up, sniffs it and takes a swig. He deems it to be worth $30 in this godforsaken land. He hands the boy $30, who thanks him profusely and runs away, leaving the door open. �Lazy punk,� the Bossman says as he closes the door. He puts the bottle in his gym bag, zips it up and goes downstairs to meet Scandar Akbar.
�The fights begin today, Mr. Traylor,� he says.
�Good,� the Bossman replies, as they walk down the oasis town to the outskirts, where a circle of fighters is. Surrounding them is four rows of bleachers, where rows of tuxedoed men and well dressed women sit watching the event. He joins the circle of fighters. Suddenly, the loudspeaker shrieks.
�Welcome to the fight of the century, ladies and gentlemen,� the announcer says, �the Great ... Libyan ... Baaaaash!� As soon as the applause dies down, he says, �the first match pits Abdul Yassar against the Big Bossman.�
�Time to fight,� the Bossman says. He is not familiar with his opponent, which could be a good thing or a bad thing. He is probably a wanted terrorist who can�t compete in regular competitions for fear of being arrested. This could be a very dangerous man.
�Yassar rushes the Bossman,� the announcer says, �the Bossman with the Desert Slam! It�s over!�
The Bossman walks back to the circle, muttering, �how come no one calls that move right?� There are about a dozen more matches before the fighters break for lunch. The Bossman watches them intensely, noting the strengths and weaknesses of each fighter. He doesn�t attend the afternoon competitions as it is too hot and the desert can be his enemy, as Skandar Akbar said.
Now it is time for the evening fights. A few yabrones mix it up in the circle and the Bossman watches, disinterested. Finally, the announcer says, �and for the next match, it will be the Bossman against Fred Floyd!�
Fred Floyd; Kurt Angle; his old student. The Bossman relishes the chance to test himself against a man of his ability; the man who defeated the great Jerry Flynn. He steps into the circle and the referee blows his whistle. �Weapons!� he announces. Each man is tossed a six foot long staff. Angle doesn�t show any fear, but both men know that he doesn�t have the ability with the staff to face a world class weaponist. The Bossman tried to figure the most painless way to render him unconscious.
Angle takes up a defensive position, which the Bossman quickly takes to his advantage. He strikes Angle on the left hand and then follows up with a strike to the right forearm, dislodging the weapon from the helpless Kurt Angle. He strikes him once to the solar plexus with a jab and once to the chin with a swipe, knocking him out. He could have thrown down his weapon and fought him mano a mano, but this would have been seen as a weakness by the other fighters who don�t know better. He carries Angle back to his room, where he administers first aid.
Waking up, Angle says, �no one told me that there were going to be weapons in this competition.�
�You�re lucky, boy,� the Bossman says, �you re jaw ain�t broken. It�s a good thing you were in there with me instead of one of those killers. I don�t want you doing this again.�
�But I�m a fighter, a no holds barred fighter!�
�This ain�t no holds barred, boy,� the Bossman says, �this is no rules.� He walks Angle back to his room and gives him a slug of vodka. �Watch some TV, boy. I�ll have someone check on you every four hours to make sure you don�t have a concussion.�
The Bossman returns to his room and retires early. He will fight two times tomorrow, and if he wins, he will compete in the finals the next day.
The next morning, the boy returns with another bottle of the same Dutch vodka. The Bossman gives him another $30 and he runs off again, leaving the door open. �Lazy bastard,� the Bossman says. He walks down to the arena and joins the circle. The next fight is him against Kareem Yassar, Abdul Yassar�s brother. And he is looking for revenge.
As they prepare to do battle, the referee blows his whistle and shouts, �weapons!� to a roar from the crowd. Each man is thrown two short swords about twenty-eight inches long. The Bossman takes one in each hand an takes up his stance, preparing for Yassar�s charge.
The fight begins. Like his brother, Kareem Yassar charges the Big Bossman and he sidesteps him like a matador, severing his head. The crowd goes wild. Then the Bossman takes all four swords and does a dazzling four sword juggling routine, to the amazement of the crowd.
�What is it with you and decapitations,� a familiar voice says. It is Jerry Flynn! His old friend!
�Put her there, boy,� the Bossman says, �what are you doing here?�
�I heard there was a fight. You know me.� The next fight pits Jerry Flynn against Valk Han, the famous Russian grappler and king of Sambo. Flynn is wary of his wrestling ability, so as he is coming in, Flynn hits him with a staggering kick to the side of the head. As Han is off balance, Flynn follows up with a front kick to the nose, shattering his face. The match is over.
The evening fights go well for Flynn and the Bossman, with the possible exception of the miscalling of the Side Suplex. The next day, they are to meet in the finals.
Olympic Gold Medalist Kurt Angle meets the Bossman in the hotel lobby. �How are you going to beat Flynn,� he asks.
�Same way I did last time,� the Bossman replies, �I�ll just do it faster this time.�
The next day, the finals take place. The two men square off in the ring and do battle. Flynn connects with a roundhouse kick and Bossman connects with an uppercut. �Flynn strikes again! And again! He rushes! DESERT SUPLEX! Flynn reverses it! Arm bar! The Bossman taps! The Bossman taps!�
Now the two friends are one and one. will they do battle again? Only time will tell.
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