lover not a fighter

Maxamilliano lowered himself, like a priest genuflecting before an altar. He placed the leather strap that was attached to the car battery over his neck, and then stood, feeling the muscles in his back strain. He let the weight settle, the flat of the black battery finding its rightful spot against his rounded abdomen.
His two fighting cocks beat their wings.
"Calmate," he whispered.
Then Maxamilliano walked down the ally into the city.
When he entered the "Azteca" it was empty, save for four drunken miners sitting at a corner table.
"Venga! Venga, cabron!" the bearded man facing the door shouted.
Maxamilliano obliged. He handed two pieces of metal to a muscular dark-skinned man whose eyes were half opened. Wires ran from these metal rods to large alligator clamps that Maxamilliano held aloft above the battery's terminals.
"Listo?"he asked.
"Si, si, si!" Their voices were rough and tubercular, a chorus of laughter and coughs.
Maxamilliano closed the teeth of his clamps.
Negative.
Positive.
The drunken man's eyes snapped open. He shivered. His teeth chattered and his molars made a sound like rocks banging together. His friends roared, arms flailing, sending tall bottles of Presidente skittering onto the concrete floor.
Maxamilliano released the clamps and the man slumped in is chair, as if he were once frozen but now suddenly thawed.
The three slapped the electrocuted man on his back. Tears ran down his cheeks.
Maxamilliano slipped the wet bills he was given into his jeans. He stepped out onto Calle Obregon. His night had just begun. When it was over he hoped to have enough money to buy flowers for his wife Graciella.

(large is wild)