“You said it yourself. Your life is falling apart because you’ve subjected an innocent man to a bullshit story. No money is worth that. As for him coming after you, surely you can go to the police about him?”
“He’s not the type that leaves a name. But I have seen his picture.”
“Where?”
“In the paper. He’s that big MMA champion’s manager.”
* * *
Owen stepped into the interview room alongside Robert, shaking the hand of the detective in the room. “Mr Gasnier, I’m Solomon Crane.”
All three sat at the interview table, and Crane began the interview process. “Well, Mr Gasnier, you’ve been accused of sexual misconduct. You’re allowed and encouraged to make a statement. Please be aware this statement can and will be used as evidence during any court proceedings.”
“I didn’t do it.”
Crane gave a patient smile. “I see you’ve never done one of these before.”
“I don’t make a habit of getting charged, no. The only people I assault, I get paid for.”
“Fair enough. What would be most helpful for yourself, Mr Gasnier, would be to tell me what did happen that day. Your version. Try not to leave out any details as they might be important.”
“Important?”
“In determining who’s telling the truth.”
“Look, Detective, I know you’re only trying to do your job, but I kinda feel like I’m backed into a corner here. I honestly don’t think there’s anything I can say that will convince you that I’m innocent. I could give you a run-down of my entire day, but I don’t think it will help. She approached me. I was in the shower. I came out, and she was in the room. Yes, I was naked. I always am in the shower. We did have a brief conversation, and yes, I was naked for a time while talking to her. Maybe I should’ve covered up sooner. Maybe I should’ve demanded she leave immediately. I didn’t. I was stunned. Then she kissed me. Not the other way around. I asked her to leave. Then, she said she wanted to party, and there would be no one back there to catch us. When I again asked her to leave, she did. That was it, or so I thought. I wish there was a camera inside the room, so you could see for yourself.”
“Interesting you mention that. The cameras. By law, companies can’t have cameras in bathrooms or change rooms, but they can have them outside the door. When given this case, that was one of the first things I did. Look at the tape for that day. Or try to. Surprisingly, that day has magically disappeared.”
Robert leaned forward. “What?”
Owen gave a scoff. “Of course, it has.”
“Mr Gasnier, I have to ask. Do you have any enemies? Anyone that might want to see you out of the ring? Anyone with a vendetta?”
Owen and his father exchanged glances. Yes, he did. The shadow element that infected their sport. Right now, the only person out of that element’s reach was the champion. The champion, as the face of the sport, the drawcard, was nearly untouchable.
He and his team could dictate any match they wanted. Their choice of opponent was matched heavily alongside the challenger’s merit, but if the champion didn’t want to face you, there was no power to change that. Luckily, greed and ego usually won the day.
“Yeah, I do. I wish I could tell you their names, but I don’t know them. They’ve been after me for a while, trying to make sure I don’t get the title.”
“Have you taken this to the sport’s governing body?”
“No. We don’t know how deep this goes...” Robert said. “…or high. We don’t know who to trust. She could be a plant intended to get him disqualified from the match. He’s undefeated so Diaz won’t deny him. That whole ego and greed thing. But a scandal would suit the shadow element down to the ground. Owen was ready to retire. I was on the phone with the promoter of the fight when this came up.”
“You were ready to retire? Are you not now?”
“No. I thought it was what I needed to do, but... I was set straight. I may be backed into a corner, but fighters fight. I won’t let them take my shot away from me. I’ll cooperate in any way I can.”
Owen stopped as a knock on the door made the entire room freeze. Another officer interrupted them and addressed Crane, “‘Scuse me, you might want to pick up line two.”
Crane nodded and reached for the receiver next to him, which showed line two blinking away. He pressed the piece to his ear, said a few words, looked up at Owen, said another few words, and put it down again. “Well, I’ve got some interesting news for you. I’ve just been told the charges have been dropped.”
“Wait. What does that mean?”
“You’re free to go.”
“That’s it?” Owen asked, not hiding his shock and relief.
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr Gasnier, you said there are elements of your profession that have sinister motives. In my line of work, I’ve dealt with elements like these. You’re free to go, but if I understand you correctly, they’ll try again. I’m willing to listen and to help. Talk to me.”
Owen and his father exchanged another glance and seemed to have the same reaction. Why not? What did they have to lose?
Chapter Twenty
Owen approached the apartment with his father in tow. Tegan and Fiona were sitting, perfectly content, inside, sharing a private joke. Owen kissed Tegan on the cheek and sat down. He took his time and explained what happened at the cop station.
“Wow, she dropped the charges, huh?” Tegan asked.
“Weird that. Stupid bitch probably got some sense knocked into her.” Fiona added, filing her nails.
Owen could’ve sworn, by the tone of their voices, none of this was a surprise. Women’s intuition or something else? He didn’t know. Yet he put it out of his brain as he had important things to discuss. “While you’re both here, we have something to ask you, Fiona.”
“Me?” she asked.
“Yes, you,” Robert said. “We want to know if you’d consent to joining us.”
“Sure. Where are we goin’?”
“No,” Robert answered. “Coming on as a consultant.”
Fiona creased her brows; she wasn’t understanding.
Owen, though, made it crystal clear. “I’d like you on Team Gasnier. Officially.”
Fiona held her mouth open.
“You’re my biggest fan. You have great insight. You’re not tainted by this system. You think outside the box. You’re honest and loyal. You’ve done so much for me, so much for us, recently. You notice things even I don’t. I need your help.”
“But... Why?”
“Because I don’t think I can beat him without you.”
Fiona was saved having to answer by Tegan. “And you don’t have to babysit me anymore.”
Fiona looked from one to the other then back again. Pausing, she then said, “I want my own TG jacket with my name on it. Don’t skimp on the sparkly cursive writing either. Make sure they spell it right. Fifi.”
“Anything else?”
Fiona didn’t answer with words, wrapping her arms around his shoulders instead and holding on for a long time, before saying, “Thank you.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” she sniffed.
Fiona snapped up and wiped her eyes, pointing to Owen and then Tegan. “Right, first thing. You two. No fucky-fucky.”
“You said that already,” Tegan pointed out.
“That was coz I was jelly as fuck. Now? We are in training, got it? You,” she said, pointing to Tegan, “Keep em’ closed. Think of sewage. All the time. You, marathon man,” she said, looking at Owen. “Think of Diaz’ hairy, stinky, syrup dripping, flaccid baboon cock. Time to go to work. Now look, you fucked up after your fight. You let him bait you. I know why. I get it, and I love you for it, but you fucked up. Now he knows if he pushes your buttons enough, you’ll snap. You watch at the press conference. He’ll say even worse shit to you. So, from now on, we gotta defend against that.”
“How do you propose we do it?” Robert asked.
“As much as I love you O, your press conferences are shit. They are designed to create buzz for your fights, but you never use them that way. You never insult anyone. You never out sass your opponent. You’re respectful and courteous all the time. It’s annoying,” she said, blowing a strand of hair from her face. “So, here’s what we are gonna do. I’ll speak for you.”
“You’ll speak for me? How will that help?”
“We take his power away. I’ll fire back for you, putting on a show. Buzz will be generated. We will get ticket sales.”
“Again, I ask: how will that help?”
“Because the only thing bigger than that cue ball he has for a head is his ego. He’ll see that he isn’t the one getting attention. And the person he’s going to fight isn’t responding. Worse still, I’m a chick. That’s the key. You make him think he doesn’t count. That he’s insignificant. Get into his head. Trust me, there’s space. To pull this off, we need to gain back lost ground in the mental fight first. And it all starts with the press conference.”
* * *
Owen peered down at the packed press conference from the viewing booth of the Le Grand Hotel in Darling Harbour, on the waterfront. There wasn’t a spare seat in the house as the countdown to what was being dubbed the fight of the century was officially on.
He was one step closer to his childhood dream. Yet two people were on his mind. The one standing in his way, belt over his shoulder, and the one sitting alone in Fiona’s apartment. He closed his eyes and willed himself not to think of her.
“It’s time,” Robert said. Owen nodded and walked towards the door, pausing and holding it open for Fiona. Fiona zipped up her pink Team Gasnier hoodie, bouncing on her toes. Wringing her hands, breathing out deeply.
“You OK?” Robert asked, touching her shoulder. She barely nodded, and the colour had drained from her face. “It’s perfectly natural to be nervous.”
“What’s to be nervous about? There’s only like a thousand people down there. Millions watching.”
“Fiona,” Owen said. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?” he asked. “We can figure out some other way.”
“Because you need me to, and I’d do anything for you.”
Owen smiled and reached out to hold her hand. She held on to him with both of hers, and he said, “OK, let’s do this.”
Owen led them out the door and down the stairs. They passed people along the way, most of whom strained their necks to get a better view of him, but few said anything. The MC had just finished introducing him to the crowd as they went through the curtains to an explosion of cheers and boos.
They made their way to their end of the table and sat down. Microphones were fed through holes in the table and curled to face them.
Diaz entered the room. The crowd appeared fifty/fifty. He sauntered up the stairs to the table, belt gleaming as ever. He looked over at Owen, holding the belt out in front of him and beckoning with his other hand. Come and get it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press, and fight fans around the world, let me welcome you all to the official press conference of the most highly anticipated matchup in living memory. Brent Diaz versus Owen Gasnier for the Undisputed Heavyweight Championship is the stuff fight fans dream about. Skill versus brute strength. Speed against power—”
“Massive cock against a mangina,” Diaz cut across him.
The crowd had a splattering of laughter at this. Owen focused on the water bottle in his hand. Fiona was right. He had fucked up in letting Diaz bait him. He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake twice. This was his one chance to gain back some ground.
The MC waited for the laughter to die down before finishing his introduction. “We don’t have a lot of time, as usual at these things, so we will open the floor up to questions at this time.”
Hands across the crowd shot up, and the MC began randomly picking them out.
“Brent! Is this the toughest challenge to your title so far?”
Diaz smiled, looking out through his sunglasses. “Nah. Not at all. A challenge means he has a chance of winning. The MC and you guys can build this up all you want, but there’s only one way this is gonna go. If you were all being serious, and not fake news, you’d tell the truth.”
Camera flashes and mutterings echoed throughout the room.
“What truth is that, Brent?”
“That I ain’t a woman, so he won’t hit me. There is no way a cute little father-son team from a butt-fuck desert in Straya’ can beat an athlete that outweighs him by twenty pounds on my worst day. Not to mention, the prick has no ground game to save his life. Literally.”
More hands shot up, and the next question was aimed at Owen. “You’ve been asked this, many times, but given the calibre of your opponent, do you have any plans to change your style? To counteract your lack of a ground game?”
Owen held in a breath and flicked his eyes towards Fiona, but she was looking stressed. Unsure. A pit welled in Owen’s stomach as the seconds with no answer drew on. He should never have agreed to this. It wasn’t fair. He hated this and had since day one, but he was used to it. She had no experience with any of it.
Diaz was the one that broke the silence. “Not a clue. See? Clueless in the Cage. Clueless out, and you wonder how this is going to go.” He laughed, pointing out to the cameras in the crowd. “Get your tickets quick. Secure your seats at the local pub. This one ain’t gonna last long.”
Under the table, Owen reached for Fiona’s hand to reassure her. When he found it, she squeezed her apology hard. Luckily, the next question went to Diaz who was only too happy to hog more of the limelight.
“Brent, you are known as the bad guy of the sport. Do you find that mantle gives you fuel for fights, or do you wish people saw you in a different light?”
“People might not like me, and that’s fine. But you know what really boggles my mind? How this guy is seen as the good guy. He heads back to Sydney, ploughing sluts, and he’s the role model? We are both killers, but I’m the one that keeps getting reminded about it.”
Owen crunched the bottle in his hand, splitting it and flooding the table with water as Fiona whipped her hand out of his grasp and leaned forward to her microphone. “I got a question for you. When they inject you with that stuff they give to racehorses, do you pick your favourite breed beforehand? Or is it, like, a potluck?”
Diaz’ eyebrows disappeared under the top rim of his glasses, frowning. “What?”
“Oh,” Fiona said, tapping her head. “I forgot. Are you only programmed to understand giddy-up? Or do you need a riding crop across your arse to get you to comprehend anything?”
Diaz looked left and right. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“The only joke is the fact that the title isn’t with its rightful owner,” Fiona replied. “But you’re a good sport, son, keeping it warm for us.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Diaz spat.
“Don’t you remember me? I was the receptionist at the clinic that day you came in about your penis enlargement. I filled out your refund.”
Diaz shook his head and waved his hand. “Whatever, shithead. I’m surprised they let you in the building. Has anyone checked if she should even be here? Shouldn’t you be serving popcorn in the aisles? Or can’t Gasnier find someone better to paint his toenails, now his old man’s backs gone out?”
“Big talk for someone who couldn’t find a g-spot with a wetsuit, a map, and a diver’s helmet.”
Even Owen had to suppress a laugh, something most in the room didn’t do. Chuckles flowed for several seconds.
The MC cut through to call for last questions and chose a hand near the front. “This question is for both of you. Heading into this match, what are your final thoughts on the other?”
Diaz grabbed the microphone quickly. “Gutless pretender. Even his home crowd has turned on him. His lack of a ground game is a d
isgrace to the sport, and it’s gonna be a pleasure to show the world he doesn’t belong in the Cage, let alone in a championship match.”
The press clicked their cameras and wrote their notes, but the question was then directed to Owen. This time, Fiona didn’t hesitate. She’d found her groove. “The only disgrace is that right now that title is empty. It holds no meaning. We look forward to washing the filth away from the belt after proving he was the load his mother should’ve swallowed.”
Owen dodged and swatted away a water bottle thrown from down the table by Diaz, aimed for Fiona. Every occupant at the table rose at once. Robert threw his own bottle back. It grazed Diaz’ head. The MC couldn’t even get out of the way fast enough as both Diaz and Fiona rushed at each other. Diaz’ manager and two other security personnel held him back, seething and struggling, while Owen held a frantic and writhing Fiona at bay, trying to claw Diaz’ face off.
“I got ya’ fuckin’ load right here, cunt! Fuckin’ bend over, and we’ll see where ya’ get it!” Diaz yelled.
“Take me out to the paddock and show me all your exes first, you pill-poppin’, thimble dicked, overgrown marshmallow!” she screeched.
Diaz struggled harder and held out the belt. The men holding him were actually losing ground. “Look, shiny, shiny! No meaning? You want it? Come and take it, mole!”
“The real champ is here!” Fiona yelled, pointing to Owen. “Countdown is on you hunka-hunka ‘roid raging, bitch! Tick tock, mother fucker, tick tock!”
Owen carried Fiona, still screaming obscenities and screeching, off the stage and around the corner. Instantly she stopped screeching. “Gaz, as nice as it is to have your hands so close to my arse, can ya’ put me down, please?”
Owen set her down on her feet, and she thanked him, letting out a sigh as she re-adjusted her hair before putting her TG hat back on.
“That whole thing was...an act?” Owen asked.
“Duh,” Fiona rolled her eyes. “Why would I give you shit for taking his bait if I was going to do the same thing? No, my friend, that was all to get him revved up, and it worked. We pegged him back a little.”
Undisputed (The Undisputed Series Book 1) Page 17