Chapter 1 – Box Check. Shows On.

Laces cling to skin. Interwoven, like you see on one of those old-school boxing gloves. Clenched tightly, unable to break free from an untimely opponent. This Opposing Punching Pugilist has never suffered a defeat, and if they had, were only ever cheated a couple of times, but always won their rematches.  

Lights On. Center Ring. The Beaten In Peace lies motionless on the canvas. The mug matches the color of their steez, a result of the tactic by the interwoven laces. Active-duty Pugil Police investigate the scene of the recent B.I.P. They colloquially dub the victim, The Purple Pugilist.

“Alright-pugilists so whad’we got?” The lead Inspektah Pugilist detective asks as he chews on a grinna like a toothpick. 

Detective Karmen, a real Boxa’s-Honey-Ice-Tea in uniform, gives a one-two of the situation, “Gack Doe. Multiple contusions and lacerations around the slab and mug. A result of a Lace’N pugilist they were BEF’N maybe?” She meticulously flips through her notepad. 

Inspektah Pugilist unimpressed paces back and forth around the ropes of the ring, “Smart way of saying they were beaten full-way to damn. What’s the beat on those laces?” 

“Old-school leather sir,” a forensics pugilist examines the material.

“I’d imagine nothing less holding up the slab like that,” Inspektah Pugilist rubs his sinuses together.

Karmen looks up and down from the ring to the scaffold steel rafters above. “Do you think this was the handiwork of our elusive Fist Fiend, sir?”

Inspektah turns his head, “Fist Fiend…you believe in boogeyman tales, Lieutenant? Pugilist gets into a BEF, then winds up B.I.P. a couple of hours before Show’s On. No, clearly this was a message. Check his bestus.” 

Karmen bends down to look at the Purple Pugilist’s G.L.U.V. with the words etched onto it: 

I’m A Box-Snitch. 

Alarmed, she hops back up, “They were one of ours? I– I don’t understand, who was this message for and where’s the mixtape?” 

“Ain’t it obvious?” Inspektah looks out to the outside of the arena where a crowd is taped off from the scene. “This is a message dedicated to the pugilists.”

A crowd of Pushas and pugilists form on the outside perimeter. Despite being acclimated to beating each other to a pulp on any given Friday, the latexed gladiators begin to question this odd display of poetic pugilism. Surely the loss of the Purple Pugilist by none other than DEATH would put a stop to the ever-punching cog that beats them on a daily. 

But surely you jabbed wrong… 

Because, as the saying at The Project goes: 

Box Check! The Show is On, regardless of injury, knockout, and/or, in certain cases DEATH. THE SHOW IS ALWAYS ON!

The Inspektah Pugilist, clearly a fist-hardened veteran in procedures of pugilistic crime and intent, made his way to the bystander who found the Beaten In Peace. It was none other than the master of ceremonies for this branch of the Carswood Project, Warhol Vaude. It’s part of a Warhol’s job to make sure The Show runs for as long as punch-stakingly possible. Despite their showmanship facade, Warhols were of a two-tone nature. They say one thing and before you can counter it, they slip a jab in the midst of the confusion. 

Just to jab an example:

***

The other night a Warhol called foul on a Heavy B as they are known. He claimed it was because the Heavy B looked like he was trying to eat the New Gack’s G.L.U.V. Warhol slips, “Jab Check on Heavy B here for jab’n his mouth all ova da place!” Downright insulting given that Heavy B’s are usually seven feet tall, with a slab of approximately five-hundred pounds. Of course, that was just a front.

In retrospect, the Warhol was really giving the New Gack more time to recover after a combo or tactic (as they are called at the Project) from the Heavy B proved fatal. 

***

A Warhol’s sharp verbal jabs only cut as deep as they dress. Luxury-Pinstripe Sports Blazers reminiscent of Nineties talk show hosts along with special frames of glasses with false noses attached to them. Warhols vary in styles, from verbal warfare to physical, but their overall objective remains the same as any pusha or pugilist: The Show Always Goes On. 

And for Warhol Vaude that’s exactly what he does with his phrase “I have the gift of gab and all that jab!” (A corny bastard at that!) He gives the Pugil Police a rundown of how the night in question happened. 

“I told ya-coppa, like I told the otha coppa!” The two-tone man guiles while adjusting his false nose. “I roadwalked into the BEF Pit to set the stage, when I saw that cat in the ring. You really need to be spot punch’n for the test-tube pugilist that last saw ol’ boi!” He finally gives them what they seem to be jabbing for.

A suspect. 

Warhol Vaude points to the crowd of pushas and pugilists. Among them was a particular Tribe known punch-stakingly as The Grin Unit. Carswood’s Project BEF public enemy number one, the egregious test-tube of a Grin’N Gackass pugilist, The Ganja Grin.