Clint Cleveland: Bound Boxing (M/M)

[bigsmile21]

This latest case was a bruiser. Literally. Clint was boxing his fourth round, of twelve, and knew he was down in points. Aside from a knockout, he’d need to step up his game if he wanted to win. Clint looked down at his hands, covered in black padded boxing gloves. He felt duct tape underneath, keeping his hands bound in tight fists. He had a mouth guard in but couldn’t spit it out due to multiple wraparounds of duct tape. He was still wearing his regular clothes: khaki pants, white long sleeve shirt, and brown shoes. He his competitor was restrained in a similar condition, only the man was without a shirt. Clint’s own shirt was pooling up sweat.

It had started simple enough: young men reported missing by their girlfriends. All the tales centered around them going to JACK Casino but never returning. Clint donned his hat and coat and did some investigating. He’d interviewed tenants in the apartments close to the casino, all with mixed stories. Most shared they’d heard rumors of men missing. Not getting enough hard evidence, he decided to enter the casino the following evening to observe.

From outside, the casino stood on the corner of two streets with its massive sign lit up for the whole block to see. Inside, it was just as impressive: huge dens for card and dice games, a lounge large enough to host half a football team, and tuxedo-clad waiters moving around fluidly to take and deliver drink orders. Clint checked his hat and coat and moved to one of the tables on the back wall. A waiter approached him, and he ordered a club soda. The next hour flew by without any issues. Patrons drank, gambled, and generally had fun.

What caught his eye was a man standing suddenly from his table. The man staggered to his feet, obviously drunk, and loudly accused the dealer of cheating on the card deal. The men and women at his table looked around nervously. Soon, security bouncers were on the scene trying to first calm the man and when that didn’t work gently, but firmly, escorting him away from the table. Clint stood and followed.

Instead of chucking the drunk man out onto the street, the security team led him towards a “Casino Personnel Only” door. After the door closed, Clint waited for what felt like a half an hour. Then, the security team came out, but no sign of the man. He waited some more, and when no one else came out of the door, Clint figured something was up. He went back to his table, paid for his drink, and followed the dealer from earlier to his next card table.

Clint bought $40 worth of casino chips and sat down at the table. He feigned a drunk behavior, pretending to sway a little and slur his words. The dealer greeted him kindly enough, though the others seated around the table were less thrilled to have someone like him next to them. The game was Blackjack, and after a few rounds Clint started to notice a pattern with the dealer. It was subtle, but on hands with bigger pools the dealer would slide the corner on the next card over just enough for him to see when dealing the card above it. Clint was already down $10 and figured he would have to play big if he wanted to find out more about his missing clients. He bet the rest of his pool on the next hand after seeing his cards: a 10 of Clubs and a Jack of Diamonds. He stayed, no use in busting. The dealer had a 3 of Diamonds and a face-down card but drew up to 19 before having to stay. Clint now sat at $60.

Twice more he went all in, and twice more he beat the dealer. He was now sitting at $240 and was having trouble maintaining his cover. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears pumping with excitement.. On the next hand he went all in, but it was even riskier: he was dealt a King of Spades and a 5 of Spades. The dealer had a 6 of Clubs and a face-down card, which Clint had to assume it was at valued at 10. Staying meant he could lose by default and hitting for a card could push him over. He hit and drew a 5 of Hearts, putting him at 20. He stayed.

Most of the table’s attention was on Clint, either from his drunk persona or his aggressive betting behavior. Clint’s attention was on the dealer, and he for sure noticed the small hand movement in the cards. The dealer had looked at the next two cards, at least. The dealer also subtlety changed his tone when asking the next person for a card. It was warm, almost encouraging the next person to draw a card. The person beside Clint hit for a card, drawing a face card and busting. Then it was back to the dealer, who hit and drew a 4 of Diamonds. They revealed all their cards: the 6 of Clubs, their face-down Ace of Hearts, and the 4 of Diamonds for a total of 21.

Clint’s heart (and wallet) sank. He’d been outplayed. Technically he was only out $40 but losing a shot at almost $500 hurt. He tried to mentally focus back on his reason for being there, to find the missing men, and knew this was his best time. He stood and began shouting at the dealer. He reached across the table but after a few seconds he felt his body being pushed down roughly against the table. The same security guards were on him and soon he was being dragged away towards the “Casino Personnel Only” door.

Once they were through the door, his hands were held firmly behind his back while his head was pushed down. He tried to look up but could only see a bright hallway with several branches. Along him he could see the black pants of waiters moving, so this hallway systems must have been how waiters could move about the casino quickly. He smelled food coming out of the kitchen as they passed it. The guards had led him down several right and left turns for what seemed like five minutes, the lights getting dimmer after each turn. Now, the lights flickered in and out as they’d reached a wooden door. One of the guards used two different keys to unlock the door and the door creaked open. Clint was thrown into darkness, hitting his head against a brick wall.

He woke up on a wooden floor. His head throbbed. He moved to touch it, but his hands were wrapped in duct tape, kept in clenched fists. He pushed himself off the floor. He was in a basement bar of some kind, with no windows to the outside. Circled around him were maybe twenty men, each yelling at each other and waving bills of cash in their hands. Clint looked across him to see another man standing in the circle, the drunk man from earlier. The man had lost his shirt, was taped across the mouth, and was wearing boxing gloves. Great, an underground boxing ring. At least now Clint had a good sense for what had happened from missing men.

Clint Boxing.jpg

A tall slim man came up to Clint and began pushing his hands inside padded boxing gloves, wrapping the wrist strap tight to prevent Clint from out pulling his balled-up hands. Clint tried to protest but noticed his own mouth was taped, with a mouth guard wedge between his teeth. Now that both of his hands were padded, the tall man clapped Clint roughly on the back and began pumping up the crowd. All bets would be final, and the first to a knockout or the best of twelve rounds would be the victor. And no blows below the belt, they weren’t savages. At that, the other men laughed.

Clint turned to his opponent. What happened to the winners or losers, he wasn’t sure. Given the current predicament, he couldn’t escape. He couldn’t ask his opponent anything. He’d have to fight his way through the bout and see where the rest of the men were being kept. Hopefully they were all contained here and not shipped off to any other illegal boxing rings. Clint held up his fists and got ready for the fight.

[MaxRoper]

Part of being a shamus is knowing how to handle yourself in a fight, so Clint has that going for him.
Good start. More please.

[NeedControl]

Nice one! The combination of unexpected bondage and a goal/purpose to move forward is really enticing. I hope you'll continue the story!