“Jesus, so what happens to the winner if, you know, they kill their opponent?”
“You go on to the next round. If you make it through all the rounds, you get a personal pardon from Chrysler. If you show exceptional potential, he might just bring you on as one of his own.”
“How many rounds?”
“Depends. It usually goes on ‘till Chrysler gets tired or bored.” The camera panned over to the stadium box seating, a small area cleared out of regular seats and replaced by two old fashioned thrones, gold trimming, and red velvet cushions. The area was guarded by four men decked out in leather and vinyl, but they were armed with enough guns to take down a small army. A girl in a full body leather suit knelt down before Chrysler holding a tray above her head with cups of wine. He leisurely replaced an empty cup, smiled, and held up a small pair of theater binoculars to his eyes, taking in the sights of the arena below. It didn’t matter; I was drawn to his right.
Gia sat at his side, but she was no longer the girl I knew. Her hair, once a chaotic mess of beauty, was now done up in fancy rainbow-colored curls. The blues in her hair matched her dress, the kind of garbage you’d find on a princess in the old Disney cartoons. All frizzles and lace, she looked completely out of place in it. Jewels adorned her neck and white-gloved fingers. She wore a smug look as she scanned the crowd and occasionally laughed at something her father leaned over and whispered into her ear. This wasn’t my Gia…this was Geanna Lynn Chrysler, and the loss I felt at the moment managed to shatter my heart into a million pieces.
“Man,” Smith wildly tapped at my leg, pointing at the TV. “Look what’s going on!”
The gates to the court opened, and two men dragged someone out. The man held tightly between them fought and kicked but it was all useless. Randy! We stared in sick fascination as the bloodied man was tossed into the arena. The gate slammed as he ran back to pull on the locked entrance. His clothes were a mess, torn to shreds in some places and caked with blood in others; most noticeable were the countless lines of red across his back, where his shirt and skin had been ripped to shreds by the kiss of a whip.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “I thought you said that was Chrysler’s main man.”
“‘Was’ being the operative word. Chrysler is fickle like that. Don’t cross the big cheese and expect a sandwich in return. Didn’t you say he put his hands on Princess Bitch? Big dumb move. What the hell was he thinking?”
“He didn’t think it would get back to Chrysler, but why?”
“No idea, man. All I know was that Randy was supposed to pick me up and never showed. Next thing I know, you telling me he was with her in Times Square. No one said nothing ‘bout her coming with. Wonder what’s up. Oh, man, this don’t look good.”
Randy was limping around the court, yelling for help. I almost felt bad for him. The camera went back to the VIP box; Chrysler rubbed Gia’s back in a reassuring manner and held out a hand. The roar of the crowd died down all at once. Amazing the way he had such control over them. He looked at Gia with a questioning gaze. A second passed before she nodded. He held up his thumb and then, with a determined smirk, turned it down. The crowd went wild, all their screams and laughter mixed together, creating an eerie wave of distortion.
“Oh, man, here we go.” Smith was just as animated as the hungry crowd, stomping his feet, hitting my leg, and waving at the screen.
The gate to the court opened once again, and this time a man walked out of his own accord, proud head held high, the lights hung from the stadium roof reflected on his nose and lip piercings. Tattoos depicting death and savagery covered his muscular arms. His chest was bare except for the tribal art and scars scattered across it. His leather pants clung tight to his enormous legs; his leather boots seemed to shake the earth as he walked center stage and raised a hammer-like fist into the air. The audience began to chant as one cohesive force of insanity.
“What’s that they’re chanting?” I asked. “Is it―”
“Samsung, man. Like from the Bible and junk. It’s ‘cause of his long flowing hair.” Except they spell it wrong, like the brand ‘cause they’re dumb.”
“Randy has to fight him?”
Smith gave me a look that said, sure, if that’s what you want to call it.
“Poor Randy,” we both said.
Samsung made a show of stretching, rolling his head around, and flexing his arms; he took extra special care to band his hair into a neat pony tail. Randy, on the other hand, was desperately trying to climb over the fencing. Barbed wire, be damned. I was certain he was more than willing to take the cuts. Unfortunately, more guards stood on the outside, poking him off with sharpened sticks. It got ridiculous when Samsung started doing one-handed pushups, while Randy exhausted himself running back and forth, trying to find an escape.
And then it happened, a small ray of hope; an object was thrown into the court, feet from Randy. Everyone gasped in anticipation as the long piece of steel glimmered in the arena lights. A blade―more than that, Randy’s only chance. He froze, looking at the weapon and then the hulking form of Samsung, who was making his way to his feet again. That smile must have done it, though; the knowing smile would have made me piss myself a long time ago. Randy experimentally took a step toward the blade, visibly unsure of himself, too scared to fight for survival. Samsung only watched, and then, as if he grew tired and wanted the games to begin, offered Randy an encouraging nod, motioning with his hands for Randy to pick up the weapon. When it didn’t work, Samsung held up his hands, begging the crowd be quiet. Once they hushed up, he covered his eyes and turned his back on Randy.
The audience broke into a fit of laughter that broke Randy. He glared at the crowd, yelling and making angry gestures. Finally, unable to quiet his tormenters, he went for the weapon. Samsung still had his back turned, hands covering his eyes, hips swaying back and forth. Something came over Randy; his shoulders dropped, and a shadow grew over his face. He raised the knife, blade held down, and ran at Samsung. Watching him close the gap was agonizing. My heart thundered in my chest. Would he make it?.
Finally, as Randy approached, ready to stick the blade into warm, naked flesh, Samsung spin around, catching him, holding tight to the knife wielding hand, while unloaded a series of blows with his free hand until it seemed like Randy’s head would explode. He fell to his knees, a wobbling mess, but still trapped in Samsung. I’m almost certain the moment was filled with regret, before Samsung swung Randy around and brought the blade down with vicious force into his obese belly. Randy’s body fell to the floor. He rolled on his back, and still he struggled, until Samsung brought down a heavy boot over the knife, driving the blade and hilt into his stomach. Porky fell to the floor a lifeless husk, while the audience cheered.
“Samsung, oh, Samsung.” Chrysler was on his feet, leaning over the balcony railing, while another leather-clad female held a microphone to his mouth. “Splendid job as usual, my champion.” Applause and whistles filled the stadium. “However, I ask of you a favor. You see, as everyone can imagine, this last match was a special event. I found out a great wrong was done to me by my most trusted lieutenant. Crimes cannot go unpunished. That would just lead to anarchy, now wouldn’t it? The purpose of my arena is to measure a man’s worth. Our dear, dead friend Randy betrayed me, so I had to think to myself, was he worth redemption, was he worth the time and effort, was he worth forgiveness, what was he worth? Well, obviously from the display he just put on, he wasn’t worth a damn, now was he!” He gave a bark of raucous laughter, loudly echoed by the audience, who listened attentively to his every word. “So now that that’s been dealt with, I have the need to test the worth of two others. This again would be a special case; you see, on the one hand, I feel I owe a bit of debt to these two individuals. On the other, I am filled with disgust, knowing I have to interact with them, these worthless outsiders!”
“Smith,” I said, my heart pounding, hands moistening. “Smith, we gotta get out of here.”
“So what be
tter way to solve my problem,” Chrysler continued, “than to test the worth of these two?” Chrysler looked into the camera. He knew his eyes would somehow find their way to mine. “The two of them will take on Samsung; if they win, they will be accepted into Brooklyn with open arms. If they lose, well then… they just weren’t worth the effort. Is this all right with you, Samsung? Are you willing to fight another fight? Do you think you are worth this handicap match?”
The crowd went crazy. Samsung held out his massive arms and bolstered the crowd. It was hard to hear him without a microphone, but it was clear he was yelling, “Bring it!”
“Okay.” I shot to my feet, searching the room for a means of escape. “This is not good. What do we do?”
“What do we do? You came to rescue me, remember!” Smith’s face mirrored my own, a look of pure terror and desperation. We weren’t fighters; there was no doubt about that. Dodger was the one always willing to jump into scraps; I wasn’t ashamed to say my strongest muscle was my brain, which was currently drawing a blank.
“Find something, anything we can use as a weapon.” I picked up a chair, intending to break one of the legs off, making a crude club. But, before I could even begin, the door opened, and three leather-clad guards marched in, guns drawn and aimed steadily at our heads. There was no fighting or escaping this. We had no choice for the time being.
They led us out into the dimly-lit corridor that reminded me of the dank, hopeless tombs of the underground world I was used to, except these tunnels had smooth-tiled walls, and the echoing clank of our feet reverberated throughout like a clock ticking down the time of our death. Smith was silent; he seemed lost in thought, focused on each step ahead. At the end of the hall, the elevator waited. Another armed guard held the door. We all stepped in and waited as the doors closed. My stomach dropped as the elevator rose. Had I not been ready to die of a heart attack, I would have been curious what they used for a power source. They all seemed far more advanced and frivolous with their technology. But I didn’t have time to wonder because the higher we got, the louder the banging grew. At first I thought it was my racing heart. But, once the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened, I realized it was the sound of banging feet. The walls and ceiling vibrated with the increasing drumming. We marched to a death sentence, and the audience banged in anticipation.
We walked further down another corridor, at its end stood a double door marked exit. Two guards stood at either side; they smiled as we approached, looking giddy with anticipation. They opened the doors, and the pale fluorescent lights shined in, illuminating our faces with a false sense of hope and security that washed away as we stepped out into the arena. Men and women cheered with excitement, some standing up and applauding. I looked around at hundreds of faces staring at me in delight. Sickening. We were led to the barbed wire fence we saw earlier on the TV, the same one Randy struggled tooth and nail to not be thrown over. I refused to fight though. I caught Gia’s eyes. She and her father were high up on a second level dais in the VIP section. She looked unmoved as I offered her a pleading look. Had she really betrayed me? If this was the case, and she really was against me, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of watching me struggle. I walked into the arena with my head held high. Smith followed my lead, walking a step behind me, but he did not offer a fight.
We marched into the center; the gate was locked shut behind us. Samsung was doing pull ups on the basketball hoop furthest from us. Disoriented by the crowd hooting and hollering all around us, I felt like a tiny ant being scrutinized by children with magnifying glasses, ready to set us ablaze with the sun’s rays.
“Please.” Chrysler was on his feet again, and he pointed to an area before him. “Welcome to the fights. I hope we find you in good health.”
“The food was good.” Smith rubbed his stomach with a smile. “But this, I don’t know about all this. We had a deal, remember?”
“Yes, yes, we did.” Chrysler seemed pensive. For a moment he didn’t speak at all. “But as it stands, the law is law. Before I can even begin to consider our little situation, you have to prove your worth. Whatever deal we have struck, you are still filth that has come from the depths of Manhattan. This, of course, in itself is unforgivable. If I were to let you walk around here of your own accord, surely my people would rip you to pieces. But prove yourself here in the arena and they will respect you and know you deserve a place here in our great city.”
“Wow,” Smith said. “Just, wow. That sounds like a whole lot of crap.”
“And me?” I asked, not taking my eyes off of Gia. “I protected your daughter. I saved her, and this is the thanks I get?”
“You are a very special case. As you can see… “ Chrysler pointed at Randy’s prone body, still lying in pool of his own blood. “Matters were dealt with in the case of my daughter, and I owe you a great debt for your part in rescuing her, not to mention returning her home unharmed. However, it still remains that you come from the same dwellings as the man beside you. You overstepped your boundaries. Do you think I did not take note the circumstances in which I found you and my daughter?”
“Oh boy,” Smith whispered under his breath. “Were you banging her?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” I shouted.
“Maybe that is what you think, but someone of your stature, has no business… caressing my daughter.” He had to force out the last bit. It really bothered him that we had been holding each other. Good thing he didn’t see what we were doing before. “But the fact remains that, were it not for you, my child would be in a great deal of danger, so I extend to you the chance to prove your worth, and, as you both have done me a favor, I will return the gesture by giving you both the opportunity to fight together. Surely two against one are odds in your favor. Beat my champion, and you both shall be welcomed into Brooklyn with arms wide open.” He looked up to the crowd, raising his hands out as if embracing them. “Am I not fair?”
They responded with renewed strength. Their shouts of joy seemed to engulf the world. I looked at Smith. There was a chance we could do this. Chrysler was right. We had an advantage. I only hoped Smith shared my resolve. I needed him to be at a hundred percent.
“Smith.” I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to focus him. “We got this.”
“Damn” was all he had to say.
“Let’s get this started.” Samsung somehow silently crept behind us, startling us with his strong hands on each of our shoulders. “Don’t worry, fellas. If Chrysler feels he owes you a debt, I will repay it kindly, by making your deaths swift and painless.”
“Screw that,” I said, swiftly kicking him in the balls.
He went over in a heap of curses; luckily, Smith followed my lead and swung his fist, cracking the side of Samsung’s head. He didn’t go down, so I ran behind him, kicking the back of his knees while Smith pounded away.
“Crap, man,” Smith yelled, using his left hand to continue his barrage. “I think I broke my hand. That hurt like hell.”
Samsung was down to his knees. It was like we were chipping away at a tree with our bare hands. We could win. We were actually winning! Until Samsung had enough of us. He punched Smith in the stomach so hard he almost threw up. Poor Smith crumbled in on himself, falling to the ground, gasping for air. There was no time to react before Samsung was on his feet, staring down at me.
His eyes raged with fury, spit flew from his mouth. “Now that you have thoroughly pissed me off, I will make sure to stretch this out as long as possible.”
The punch was so hard I thought my neck had snapped; his fist connected full on with my face, spinning me around and knocking me to the ground. I tried desperately to stay conscious. My mouth filled with blood, and what I could only guess was a tooth clattered around inside. I had enough time to spit crimson saliva and let my tooth dribble out the side of my mouth before Samsung kicked at my side. For a moment, I wondered who was screaming so loud before I realized it was me. I dug my fingers in the ground and tried to pull myself
away, searching for escape. I could hear Samsung’s smug laughter as he brought a heavy foot down hard onto my back. Things went hazy, and sound became distorted like listening to something underwater.
I won’t go down like this! I pushed myself up, first crawling to my hands and knees, then up to one foot. I would face him like a man. I looked up toward Gia for a brief moment, and her face was unchanged. That hurt the most. I didn’t think anything in the world could hurt me as much as her indifference to my suffering. I was wrong of course; Samsung’s knee to my face won out in the end. The snapping of the bone in my nose was horrendous. I fell back, landing on something soft. I was barely able to turn my head to see I had crumbled on top of Randy’s body.
It was agonizing to breathe; my throat kept filling with blood, and my nose seemed all but destroyed. I watched as Samsung approached; he enjoyed every bit of it, he coming in for the kill, taking in all my pain and agony.
“I’m going,” I couldn’t stop myself. Something inside kept up the fight. “To kill the hell out of you…”
“You silly little―” Before Samsung could finish, Smith was on his back, arm wrapped around his neck while his free hand raked across his eyes.
“Twist!” Smith yelled, as Samsung swung him back and forth, trying to dislodge him. “The knife! Get the knife!”
I was still in a daze. I had no idea what knife he was talking about. Instead, I watched dumbfounded as Smith attacked the giant’s head and tried to claw his eyes out. Blood was pouring from numerous scratches and his left ear, where Smith hammered. Most importantly, though, was the wheezing sound of Samsung struggling for air. Smith’s right arm was like a tight vice that never once left Samsung’s neck.
“Big ups to me, I know. Come on man, get the knife!” Samsung was down on his knee again, trying to swing behind him. Smith easily dodged his wild arms. Now, close to the ground, he found leverage and locked in a sleeper hold, while kneeing Samsung in the ribs.
The Artful (Shadows of the City) Page 18