The Fight I Could Never Win Ch. 00

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Intro: Surprise encounter with a powerful, dangerous gang member
2.2k words
3.55
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Part 1 of the 6 part series

Updated 11/02/2022
Created 12/07/2013
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For the first time in a long time, I genuinely felt good after a weigh-in. There was not a shred of doubt in my mind that this was an opponent I could handle. I had seen him fight before, which was far from worrying in and of itself. To top it off, he had clearly overdone his training, trying to cut down his weight too far too fast and paying for it in strength and power. My past few fights had been difficult, including a truly humiliating loss. Thankfully, that was in the past, and I was solidly back on my feet with hard-won prize money.

My lifestyle is only possible in this city. In the underworld, the kind of fighting I do makes for a very popular gambling event. Unlike boxing, what I do for my living is not even close to legal. Professional mixed martial arts have long been illegal in this country, and even if it were within the bounds of the law, the gambling that makes it possible would almost certainly not be. Crime lords of all stripes support, bribe, dope, and, most importantly, place bets on their favorite fighters. My fellow competitors and I can count on a match at least every few weeks, another big difference from our legal counterparts. In short: I fight, it's completely illegal, people place bets, and I get paid when I win. Fortunately, that happens on a comfortably regular basis. I love my job.

I've been lucky enough to have a fairly consistent sponsor for most of my career. Medical issues are fully paid for, I have an apartment with a preposterously low rent for its quality, and money stopped being a problem years ago. I usually don't compete at the highest levels, because neither I nor the gang that makes my work possible are fully comfortable with the drugs that are necessary to compete at the highest echelons. There's more than enough money at the high end of the natural fighters to make the steroids and booster of the figurative big leagues unnecessary.

The people who pay me, a branch of some international crime body based in Russia, have plenty of representatives. Except on special occasions, I rarely meet with the same people twice in a row. For that reason, the fact that a clearly fairly muscular figure in a long coat silently began to walk alongside me on the street leading back to my apartment was not a cause for concern. I could barely make out any face besides a jawline that looked like it could have been chiseled from granite. In fact, I internally laughed to myself: I was glad that this was a friend and not someone I might one day have to fight.

His voice was not exactly what I had expected. He almost sounded like he was trying very, very hard to sound like someone else. This was not uncommon. These people often liked to at least think to themselves that they kept an airtight alias.

"You're ready to make some money on this, yeah?"

Typical of a middle-ranker who had just enough rank to want to impress, but not enough confidence to feel comfortable not working for it. At least I could count on going home by limousine instead of boot tread. I played along.

"If you're paying me, I'm taking the money. Tell what the deal is this time. You know I've always had an open ear."

Theatrics and nothing but. Then again, this was usually just the way things worked. As if on cue, we came to an impressive-looking black sedan idling in a two-hour parking space.

"Get in. We can discuss the specifics in comfort."

"Fancy, eh? You lot don't usually go in for this sort of thing. What, am I in for a Christmas bonus?"

I was only half joking. It was that time of year, if a guy was inclined to feel optimistic. He didn't bother answering. More than that: he didn't bother speaking until the driver had us well under way.

"Actually, yeah, you're in for a bonus, Rex."

He used one of the nicknames I actually liked, one I had been given years ago as a result of a "dinosaur-like" inability to drive. Unflattering origins, but I had always liked the sound of it. This was good. Very good. More money meant I'd probably attracted the attention of someone further up the syndicate, especially since the betting was going to be less than fantastic for this fight, considering how clear the outcome was. Ten to one for the other guy to win, someone had told me on the way out.

"Keep talking, by all means. You know this is the sort of thing I like."

I knew I sounded downright chummy at this point, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to care. Things were genuinely going my way.

"Well, if you really must-"

"You feeling alright? Your voice..."

My own trailed off. This explained the forced accent from earlier. If my ears were telling me the truth, I was speaking to a woman. Peering into the shadows under the gangster's hat, my suspicions were confirmed. Sure, it was a hard face, but unmistakably feminine. These thoughts raced through my head. Women just didn't have shoulders like that... did they?

As if sensing my confusion, the lips before me twisted into an unsettling grin. A flash of movement later, faster than anything I had encountered in the ring, I found a knife at my throat and a powerful body pressed close enough to feel her breathe. This was not the sort of contact I was used to having with women. The few times I had gone to the trouble of seeking out a warm body, it had always felt somewhat fragile, or at least more so than this. This was like the threatening embrace that happened early in ground combat: with a heavily muscled and, more importantly, male sparring partner.

"What the hell? Alright, hold on. I'm a valuable asset. You're not actually going to cut my throat. What do you want?"

"Time to get this out."

In another flash, there was a gun at my temple. The killer embrace was over, and I was once again at arm's length across the back seat of the car. I probably could have tried to do something about the situation at this point, but I decided against it. Better not to rock the boat, it seemed unlikely that she would actually kill me. Scary, yes, but this was probably salvageable. Her reply had come like a flash of steel, but she sounded more businesslike than bloodthirsty. An interesting voice, really. Deeper than most women, low and bottomlessly confident.

"You're not winning that fight, sweetie. See? Right to it. Nice and easy. Oh, don't give me that look. You'll be paid for it. Very nicely."

"Are you out of your damn mind? Throw a fight? No way in hell, and definitely not against a pathetic scrap of meat like Bruce Covis. Stop the damn car, I'm done with this shit."

She didn't seem intimidated in the slightest. I was trying hard to keep from losing out to sheer anger. This was incredibly insulting, for some reason. Even more irritating was the strange helpless feeling that this woman instilled in me.

"Now, now. Don't be so quick to throw away such a lovely opportunity. I'll start with this: the group I represent can pay you five times what you're being offered to win. Isn't that enticing?"

She had a real way with words, or maybe it was just that voice. Whatever is was, it took me two split seconds instead of one to let out a low chuckle and sneer.

"Well, I can't say I expected that to work myself. Not if you had a shred of self-respect, anyway. Fair enough. Oh, I'm not done just yet, you can stay right where you are. You see, I have what you might call an ace up my sleeve. Funny how effective blackmail can be, isn't it?"

My eyes widened as soon as I heard that word. She knew. There could only be one thing. The thing I'd been running from for the past several years. The titanic, crushing debt that I thought I had finally run from. Nobody would expect to find me back in my own country after my terrified flight to Europe. Nobody. They would kill me if they found me, and not in a pleasant way.

My heart beat feverishly. Strong enough that it truly scared me. I could feel every pulse in my face, my arms. This could not be happening. My breathing accelerated by the second. This woman had the power to bring death with one phone call. Before I could gather the strength to reply, she saved me the trouble.

"Yes, yes. Scary, isn't it? Talking to a member of the people you owe millions to?"

Bad to worse. This hadn't even crossed my mind. She didn't know, and she couldn't tell them. She was them. I tried to think logically. Every cent of my savings and all of the backing I could get from my sponsors could probably satisfy them enough to give me more time. Just a little. Enough that I could live. Somehow. I would find a way. I had to.

"You're still alive. I know what you're thinking. Don't bother. Wondering why I haven't killed you yet?"

I couldn't bring myself to turn my head. She had a gun to my temple. I just looked out the corner of my eye in her direction and made the faintest nod possible. Much to my surprise, the pressure of the barrel disappeared. She holstered the pistol.

"It's alright. See, you're something of a golden goose to us. That reputation of yours, it's good, isn't it? Your name means something where it counts: with the bookies. Work for us... well, we might be willing to be a bit more considerate dealing with you in the future."

I could have fainted from relief. Every word seemed trustworthy. Little drops of euphoria at not having been shot were running through my mind. Wait. I couldn't fall under her spell just yet.

"You want me to lose. You want me to lose to Bruce Covis? I... dammit. Damn it."

I closed my eyes hard. This was the hard part. I didn't really have a choice. If I kept my pride, I lost my life. How much did they each mean to me?

Once again, she seemed to read my mind, seeming to smile at my obvious distress. The hat was gone now, revealing a tight bun and, practically to be expected, impenetrable dark glasses. She smiled in a way that reminded me of a wolf reaching the end of a hunt. She knew full well that she had the power here. With a fluid motion, she reduced the distance between us to a few inches, letting an unnervingly powerful arm hang over my shoulders. Letting her voice drop to a low, confident purr, she asked me again:

"So, what'll it be, Champ? Our friend Bruce looks pretty tough all of a sudden, doesn't he?"

I didn't know how to react. Things were happening far too fast. Big things. My life was on the line, and I knew it. This was a formality. Betraying my trainers, my friends, my supporters... I had no alternative.

She leaned in a little, dropping that unnerving purr to a deep whisper, her lips a few inches from my ear.

"You won't regret it. Everything will be just fine. Just fine. All you have to do is say a few little words."

Damnation crooned into my ear. This woman was dangerous. Damn. I was backed up against a wall and I knew it. I fought hard not to let my voice break. There was nothing to do but tell myself that I had no choice. Clenching my teeth together and squeezing my eyes shut, I forced out my answer.

"I- I'll do it. Damn you. Damn you to hell, all of you."

Even I could tell that my curses had no power left, and it certainly wasn't lost on her. The soft laugh that came as a response could have come from the depths of hell. Pure, dangerous control. My will was completely irrelevant, and she was the reason. Somehow, she was the reason even more so than my life and the millions that went with it. That thought was the most unsettling part of the whole encounter, in a way. Acknowledging that someone else had this sort of power was an almost sickening experience.

"I'm glad we had this talk. I'll be seeing you."

The car smoothly pulled to a stop, the driver got out, and he opened my door. Nice service, at least.

With something a little less than perfect body control, I moved to get up. I was stopped in my tracks by one last unexpected sensation. I couldn't tell because of the sunglasses, but she seemed to be looking straight at me as she brushed my cheek with two gloved fingertips.

"Good boy."

The malicious smile that accompanied those words stuck with me after I shut the door, after she drove off, after I undressed safely back home, and even into my dreams, if memory served. Who was this woman? I could do nothing but drift off into an uneasy sleep. I needed every second for the fight tomorrow... well, I suppose that I didn't anymore, did I?

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AnonymousAnonymousover 10 years ago
Badly done

Common thread, poorly written dialogue and no real character to like or dislike.

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