Maxwell Helmes
Twenty minutes before the fight outside...
Next door to the drinking establishment where the fight was eventually about to spill out, was a slightly smaller building which seemed just as busy. The sign outside the entrance read "Helmes the Third, 'Goldust' vs 'Big Hoss Lobowski'- First KO wins!". Of course, Helmes the Third was referring to the now veteran of the fighting world, Maxwell Helmes. Despite the age of 35, he can still keep up with all the young up and comers, and this peak physical condition that had been maintained for so long paired with the experience his father taught him and the experience he had garnered for himself made for one scary fighter. Just the name Helmes was enough for any establishment to be able to sell their seats very quickly.
Max sat in a form of dressing room as he awaited to be announced, pulling on his black leather gloves. He had got a good look at his opponent already. Lobowski was at least 6' 7", if not taller. However, his physique leaned on the more chubbier side. No doubt this guy was a powerhouse and would be trying to overpower Helmes almost immediately. That was a lot of fighters problems these days, too busy trying to use their power to win and nothing else. Agility and patience was also key. Backsteps, dodges, a jab and then go. It all played a major factor in those, and if another fighter also knew this and employed those techniques, those were the fights that 'Goldust' enjoyed. Soon enough, he could hear his name being called out, accompanied by cheers and whoops from the crowd.
Maxwell emerged from the curtain, looking out at the crowd as he raised his fists up high above his head. He then walked down to the ring where his opponent sneered at Helmes from the center. Max smirked at him as he walked around the ring, shadowboxing as he did so. After taking his sweet time, he finally grabbed the ropes and hoisted himself up. For many members of the audience, not only was a fight a fight, it was also a show, and Max understood this perhaps more than his father did.
After Max stepped through, the two fighters went to their own corner until a referee stepped in. Referees never really facilitated a match, they were just there to stop lowblows or fights getting too out of hand. The bell rung, and the match was underway. Lobowski stepped forward and immediately came out swinging, trying to land a right hook out of the gate. However, Max's smaller height and agility made dodging even easier. Helmes rolled his body from right to left, feeling the Big Hoss's right hook glide over him. Best not to get hit by this guy. Max could already tell that if he didn't remain vigilant, then any of those punches could knock him on his ass in one shot.
When Max came back up, Lobowski tried to follow up with a left straight shot to the jaw. However, Helmes had way better speed than this titan of a man ever could. Max slipped left, stepping in one step and bringing his fist to Lobowski's side. Max's punches had been described as spring loaded. They came out of nowhere and still hit hard. Max coiled his arm back and stepped back out, in fact stepping back twice more to create some distance and see how his opponent took that shot.
Lobowski certainly wasn't expecting that, and the Big Hoss gritted his teeth in pain. The crowd cheered at the handiwork of Goldust Helmes. Surveying his opponent, Max rushed back in to keep up the pressure. Lobowski couldn't keep up with this burst of aggression. Max put his right arm across Lobowski's chest and braced it as he used his left to try and land more bombs to the body. Trying to defend against the body shots, Lobowski couldn't concentrate against the right arm, which was slowly pushing him to the corner. Suddenly, the Big Hoss could feel the ring post against his back, and Max smirked up at him as he brought his right arm back.
Two fists began drilling into Lobowski, and the speed and power of which these shots were coming meant that he didn't have a chance to retaliate. A shot from the left into the gut, a right hook cracking into the forearm that guarded his face. The blows kept coming and coming, and Lobowski was all of a sudden powerless against the hailstorm of shots that Max rained down upon him. As Lobowski's defence wore down, Max didn't let up. He originally thought to let go of the attack but he could see that the block was beginning to waver. Lobowski tried to peer through by letting his hands apart slightly.
Big mistake. Lobowski had just created an opening that Max didn't even take a second to exploit. His fist drove past the hands and landed square into Lobowski's face. Suddenly the Big Hoss's hands dropped. The shot had clearly rocked Lobowski, and now he was open for Max. It was time for his finishing combination. Max dropped low, and began to drill in to his stomach at a rapid pace. The shots alternated left to right at the pace of a gatling gun. After ten blows landed, Max leant back up and swung with his right, landing a solid hook across Lobowski's chin. That was the killer blow, and the 6' 7" powerhouse slumped to the ground, his body sprawled across the canvas. The crowd cheered at the victory, although a few had made a bad bet and was going to have a very angry group of men to answer to when they didn't pay up.
Present time...
Max had now undressed from his fighting attire, and was wearing his shirt and black duster outfit. With prize money now in his hand, Helmes began to walk out from the fight venue. However, he was quickly met with the sound of ringing gunshots, and a familiar sizzle of a specific type of explosive. Helmes bolted down the road, taking cover at an overturned crate. He quickly unholstered both of his revolvers. It seemed he had ended up behind one of the groups. He peered over to see the outfits of Dawson's men closest to him. He had to make a decision, join this fray and risk the repercussions or take the first step in getting to Dawson himself.
With a shrug, Max stood up and pointed both of his revolves, a finger on each trigger and a thumb on each hammer of his revolvers. Using his flanking position, Max let loose his bullets into Dawson's men from behind, keeping some pinned and maybe even hitting a few. Max didn't have time to check, once he was out, the gang would know of his position and he had to duck back behind the crate. Sliding his now empty revolvers back into their holsters, Max readied his double barreled shotgun, fastening the bandolier across his chest.
