- TWO -
Bouncing on my toes, Mateo continued to wrap my hands for me. The basement we were standing in was dark and smelled of piss and mold. A single rusting light dangled above us, allowing Mateo just enough visibility to get his job done.
All I wanted was to get this over with. I hated coming to these things. Training in a well-lit gym where I knew I wouldn’t catch hepatitis was fun. Fighting in these sketchy underground matches f*cking blew and made my skin crawl.
“Have you seen him yet?” I asked.
“I saw two of his guys. He’s here,” Mateo responded under his breath.
“I don’t think I’ve been training enough lately. Shit, Teo...” I rambled nervously.
“You look pretty f*cking cut. More so than the last time I saw you, so you must be doing something right.” He nudged my right hand down and pulled up my left to begin wrapping it.
I watched as he slipped the loop around my thumb and wound the red material over my wrist, between each finger, over my knuckles in a dizzying pattern, and finished with a final pull over my wrist.
“How’s the support in your thumbs?” he asked.
I shook out my hands and flexed my fingers, feeling everything out. I allowed the blood to flow through each appendage before I cut it off swiftly with a tight fist and then opened them again. Sweat beaded in the small area between my shoulder blades and I could feel a single drop running down the center of my spine toward the black shorts I was wearing.
“Feels good, man.”
“Okay, just remember you’re not here for the same reason as these other guys,” Mateo began the same speech he’d given to me time and time again. “You don’t need to fight to the death. If you’re injured, just go down. Winning doesn’t matter. You just need to get into the ring once so we can get into the after-party.” He took my hands and checked his wrapping job one more time. “But... if you win, we do get bottle service, so it wouldn’t hurt if you tried a little bit,” he smarted off. I laughed despite the stress and jabbed his shoulder lightly.
I looked forward to the day when I wouldn’t have to come to these fights anymore. I enjoyed boxing, don’t get me wrong. The sport was exhilarating and the best workout I’ve come across so far, but I hated these underground fights. I hated the people and all of the dealing and betting that they did on the side of the ring. Conniving bastards. I hated being associated with them for even for a night. What’s worse, the fights were only a distraction from the real criminal undertakings they had going on.
“Don’t try to pull any new fancy techniques. Stick to what you’re good at,” Mateo continued as we walked down the long, filthy hallway. The tile was cold and the walls were peeling down to the bare wood behind it. The moldy smell was nauseating. “Most of these guys are brawlers and they lack the finesse you’ve been trained to have. You gotta lose some of that in the ring or they’ll be suspicious. Throw all of your power and energy into your hits. Don’t get too caught up in mastering your footwork.”
The loud roar of the crowd began to invade our ears and it became harder and harder to hear Mateo’s counsel. Without thought, I commenced bouncing again. My blood was pumping, the crowd starting to hype me up. I was the underdog—the one who popped in and out of these events but never stuck around long enough to take it all. They knew me, but they didn’t know me. I intrigued them, and they never knew whether to cheer me on or boo me out of the ring.
As we entered the large, open warehouse, women grazed their fingers across my bare skin. Some tried to reach up and grasp my hair, while others just openly winked at me. My stomach churned because these were the absolute last kind of people I wanted to be around.
Business as usual, Mateo continued with his spiel, moving closer to my ear so I could hear him. “You’re up against Barrera tonight. Get his defense down and then throw a right uppercut and finish him with your deadly left hook. He won’t be able to withstand it, his chin is too weak.”
Mateo knew most of the fighters down here. He studied them at every fight, but just like me, he wasn’t here for the shady dealings. He used to be on the Mexican Police Force, but once he realized the extent of the crime and corruption, he got out. I’ve always had a feeling he’s some kind of undercover agent, but he’s assured me that he’s only here to help people like me. Regardless, I’d never be able to repay him for everything he’s done.
Someone shouted to Mateo in Spanish and he hollered back, “Sí, estamos listos!” When he turned back around, he ran a check over me for the thousandth time. “You’re ready, yes?” I nodded and he tapped the back of my head toward our corner.
Right before I straddled the ropes to step into the ring, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down to hear his tight, whispered words. “If anything goes down, you meet me at my car. It’s parked in the southeast corner of the building. Get there, mijo. It won’t do her any good if you’re six feet under.” He threw in that last line because he knew it would sink in and hook me.
I was doing it for her. I tried so damn hard to picture her in my head for motivation… the color of her hair, the deep blue of her eyes, or how her skin shone like porcelain. I pulled out the tattered picture of her that I carried around everywhere I went. The edges were torn, some areas were peeling up, and it was way too small, but it was all I had. Every day I worried that it had been too many years and she wouldn’t look anything like the picture anymore. I shoved it back into the pocket of my shorts and let my fingers graze across the slick surface before I had to force myself to let it go.
I knocked my face around to get myself back in the moment. If I started zoning out now, I would never make it two seconds in the ring with Barrera. I quickly remembered what I came here for and began to scan the crowd, looking for the one in the suit—the richest bastard here. He wasn’t hard to spot and I clenched my fist when my eyes found him and his whole crew. He threw his head back and laughed boisterously at something one of his disgusting lackeys said, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Not this time. You won’t get the slip on me this time, Flores.
I didn’t keep up with the ins and outs of the underground world –that was usually Charlie or Mateo’s job, and they just told me where to be and when. Therefore, I was surprised to see Barrera step up to Flores and the two looked deep in conversation before Flores patted the back of his head and nodded toward the ring. So Barrera belonged to Flores, huh? Well now, the fight just got a little more interesting.
The shuffling of feet began as people started finding their seats. A topless brunette walked down the front aisle, holding a tray. She stopped in front of Flores to hand him a glass with golden liquid sloshing around inside. I could go for that right about now. She tried to stick around and flirt, but I watched Flores slip something into her waistband and shoo her off.
Barrera eyed me as he slithered through the ropes and into the ring. I continued bouncing on my toes, trying not to lose my adrenaline high. I watched his movements and attempted to spot any weak areas, particularly any injuries he could be concealing. He stood up straight and began to bounce as well. He moved from side to side and then began spinning in a full circle, around and around–too busy paying attention to the crowd. The f*cker was going to get dizzy, but that could work in my favor.
The commencements of these fights were simple. There was no Mexican version of Michael Buffer shouting, ‘Let’s get ready to rumble!’ in Spanish. There wasn’t a referee explaining that he wants a “good, clean fight” or asking us to touch-bump to begin. There was just a little old man named Santiago, who looked at each of us, probably to make sure we were in the ring. Then he nodded his head while drumming a bell. Go time.
Shouts immediately could be heard from all corners of the warehouse, echoing loudly off the aluminum walls. The crowd yelled in English and Spanish, and I even thought I heard some Portuguese out there. I couldn’t tell who they were yelling for, although I could vaguely understand they were all calling out different punches to throw or defenses to put up.
But it wasn’t the screaming that pulled Barrera’s attention away from me, it was the deafening noise that came from outside. I lunged at his distraction. My torso shifted and I swung my right fist upward in a rising arc, connecting with a clean hit to his jaw. Spit flew from his mouth and I watched the drops land on the mat below our feet. His knees gave and Barrera fell directly to the ground. He wasn’t out so I kept bouncing, ready to give him another when he was fully upright.
“Reyes!” I heard Mateo shout up at me. It took a long second before I remembered that Reyes was our agreed-upon last name for me in the ring. I didn’t think anyone was actually going to believe I was Hispanic, but it was better that they didn’t discover my real last name. “Rey-es!” he enunciated, louder this time.
I snapped out of my tunnel vision and took in the scene around me. People were scattering quickly to all corners of the building. My stomach dropped and I immediately ran to the ropes to search for Flores, only to find that he was no longer in the front row.
“Mierda! This could be a raid. We gotta get out here,” Mateo shouted up to me. “I’m not spending the night en la cárcel while we wait for Charlie to bail our asses out. My car, ahora!” When Mateo was stressed, he began to speak Spanglish, switching back and forth between the two languages. He probably didn’t even know he did it.
But despite his warning and demand, I didn’t come all the way out to this nasty hellhole after not seeing or hearing anything from Flores for over a year to lose my chance again. I just couldn’t go another year. It had to end and it needed to be tonight.
I spotted Flores’ security detail huddled together at the back west corner of the wide-open space. They frowned at one another while tapping their earpieces frantically. If their frequency was catching interference, then it was highly likely that we were in the middle of a police raid.
Without a second thought, I launched my legs over the top rope of the ring and jumped to the floor.
“LANE, DON’T!” Mateo shouted in anger from behind me. So much for not using my real name.
I feverishly began ripping the wraps from my hand, knowing I would need the full use of my fingers. The first wrap was hard to get loose, but I continued to remove it while I pushed my way through the shoving bodies. Once my right hand was fully freed, I began working on the left, but the majority of my attention was focused on finding Flores. More loud pops and bangs continued to filter into the warehouse. Women were screaming and the crowd became more frenzied by the moment.
When I reached his entourage, his balding, ugly ass was nowhere to be found. I pushed right through the middle of them and jumped on my toes to peer over their heads. Nothing. My instincts told me to search the open space again, and just before he cleared the doorway, I spotted the tail end of his navy suit jacket dodging around the corner. Hell, if he wanted to separate himself from his own protection and take off solo, that only made my job easier.
With singular focus, I sprinted forward. People fell and stumbled around me, but there was no time for apologies. I wasn’t sorry anyway.
It didn’t take long for me to catch up with him. He was a smart son of a bitch and had been able to elude me for years, but now that I had the opportunity to get my hands on him, there was no denying that he was the weaker opponent. Especially since I still had the fight from earlier coursing through my veins.
I reached forward to grab the collar of his jacket. My right hand was free, but I had a long stream of the wrap from my left hand trailing down to the floor. I didn’t have time to mess with it before I dragged him backward and flung him onto the ground. He grunted, but other than that, I didn’t hear another peep from him.
“Where is she?” I growled, crouching down over his frail body and holding his throat in a tight clench.
“No hablo inglés,” he gasped. His tiny smirk lit a fire within me and I squeezed harder.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that, Flores.” I wanted him to understand that I knew exactly who he was, but there wasn’t time for this bullshit. “Where is she?” I roared.
“Who the f*ck are you talking about, a*shole?” he bit out in a raspy voice. His English was good and only carried a hint of his accent.
It hit me then that he had no idea who I was. I couldn’t help but throw my head back and laugh in extreme frustration. I could understand that he never recognized me in the ring, but up close and personal like this? He should have f*cking known.
“Amateur! You’re a f*cking amateur,” I yelled. “Don’t you know to keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Shouldn’t you be keeping an eye out for the people whose lives you destroy?”
“That’s not my job. I pay people to do that shit for me!”
Just then his eyes lit up as he looked over my shoulder, and I quickly spun to the left. Not fast enough though because instantly I felt a piercing, cold pain slice into my shoulder blade. As the moron behind me pulled his knife out swiftly, the sharp, biting pain began to take over the entire right side of my body.
I stumbled against the partition and watched as the guy’s body was suddenly slammed into the wall. Mateo landed hard on top of Flores’ not-so-little minion and with one quick jab, it was lights out for the lackey. Flores began to laugh wickedly behind me, and I scrambled to grab a hold of his shirt before he could even think about escaping.
The moment I got a hand on him, the Mexican Federal Police, dressed in all-black riot gear, surrounded us. I clutched Flores but my right hand couldn’t grasp anymore—it felt like there were needles shooting up my arm. I reached with my left hand and held on to his throat with everything I had left in me.
“Where. Is. She?” I bit out.
“Se?or Flores,” one of the officers called through his face shield. He grabbed Flores by the arms and pinned them behind his back roughly. I saw a brief look of horror cross Flores’ face as he realized the complexity of his situation, but when he turned toward me again, his pure evil smirk was firmly back in place on his ugly mug.
There was a loud ringing in my ears and the thought crossed my mind that if I had been stabbed, I should probably be feeling more pain than I was right now. Classic symptom of shock. I pushed through because there was no telling if or when I would ever see Flores again. They would hide him away in a Mexican prison, or he would pay his way out and I might never find him.
I stood eye-to-eye with him and pulled the last hope I had out of my pocket. With my left hand shaking, I held the picture up to his face. The officer continued to wrestle Flores backward but I pressed on. I felt a coldness begin to creep over my skin, and I couldn’t seem to catch a long enough breath.
“Where is she?” I tried to shout over the high-pitch drumming in my temples. He satisfied me for a moment by actually glancing at the old, worn photograph in my quaking palm. His lips turned up and my stomach dropped to my feet.
The officer finally tugged Flores to an open doorway and right before he was jerked outside, Flores uttered, “Check the bottom of the Sea of Cortez.”
My vision darkened as if a camera shutter had snapped shut, and the last thing I heard was a string of curse words flying out of Mateo’s mouth.