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I grab him by his oversized sweatshirt and stretch the neck out of shape. “Who’s on tonight?”
Derick glances over toward the ring elevated on a concrete platform above the spectators, who dance around the perimeter. He yanks himself out of my grip and replies, “It’s Stockade versus a new guy called Mask.”
Nova snorts, then laughter bursts out of her. “Did you give him that handle? Does he wear a cape?”
Derick emcees the fights by night and falls asleep in class by day. As expected, he’s repeated two grades. “I did, but I ran it by him first.” Derick shrugs. “He cool with it.”
“He cool with you making him a fool?” I tease him.
“Only a fool would think Mask is a fool.” Derick shakes his head. “I’ve seen him practice, and he’s no joke.”
A chill races through my body, and my skin rises in goose bumps when the whispering starts— Mask is in the building. No one uses real names in the ring. But I’d like to know his.
***
He auditioned after hours the same night I fought, and I was invited above the ring to the catwalk to watch. The new guy wore a mask, and only the lower half of his face was visible. Grinder, who runs the underground fight club, affectionately known as the Pit, thought it was a joke, but Derick argued for the gimmick.
“If he can fight, he can stay,” griped Grinder.
The rule is a newbie must beat three in a row to be put on the schedule. It took two short minutes for Mask to knock out the first challenger and less for the second. His moves were fast, and his muscles were defined. I licked my lips, watching the sweat roll off his pumped biceps. His lips were lush, and I was eager to see a lot more of him.
“You like that, Astrid?” Grinder was watching me have a girlie hard-on for the new guy.
Sucking my teeth, I played it off. “He cool...I guess.”
Grinder turned his attention back to the ring, and when the third challenger walked up to the ropes, Grinder shook his head once. Derick stopped the guy, placing his hand on his chest. Grinder looked at another guy, a bigger guy, who looked like a freak of nature and testosterone. My eyes widened as I sucked in air. Grinder had had a stick up his ass since the rich kids started coming here to bet on the fights. He had pressure from above to deliver a spectacle, not just a winner.
“Him?” Derick squeaked, and Grinder nodded.
The brute lumbered into the ring, but it didn’t faze Mask. It took longer, but he busted the guy’s lip, then repeatedly hit the same exact spot until blood was splattered on the concrete in a crazy drip design. The splatters extended in a circle that resembled spin art at the local fair.
The brute stumbled backward and then sent out a blow that bounced Mask off the ropes. Derick looked nervously up at the catwalk, where Grinder was perched calmly on the rail. Grinder leaned back, grabbed a can of beer, and flipped the key off with the tip of his thumb.
“Aren’t you going to call it?” I whispered.
Grinder took a swig of his beer, filling his cheeks before sucking it down. “Why?” he drawled, “You want him?”
My anger flashed, and my mouth reacted before my brain. “I don’t put out,” I hissed. “I don’t need the trouble.”
“That’s not what I heard,” he replied coolly.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the steel stairs leading down. Grinder seized my forearm and tossed me back onto a stool.
“Derick,” he shouted, “end it!”
I gasped when I looked down at the ring. The brute was on the ground, holding his busted nose while Mask stood over him.
***
I sigh, realizing Nova has disappeared somewhere. I look around, and my gaze stops on the mirrored wall. I know what I look like. I’m not that vain, but behind the two-way mirror is the foreman’s office. Now, that’s where the rich kids hang out while they’re slumming. Behind the smoky glass, they sit on spotless white sofas and drink expensive liquor out of chilled glasses. I lift my foot, and the sole of my chunky black shoe sticks to the floor. It’s either blood or sperm; who the fuck knows. I’ll hose it off later in the yard. I flip my finger as I walk past the glass.
Thanks to too much cheap beer and vodka, people are dancing like animals, with no sense of timing. Grinder doesn’t allow drugs inside. If he did, the cops would shut it down, but they look the other way as long as it stays inside. I edge my way over to the stage, so I can be as close as I can get to the action. I don’t care if blood and sweat land on me. I just want to watch Mask’s primal moves up close. Sweaty bodies vibrate around me and heat my body until I ache. I’m ready for the fight to begin between two real men.
“There you are.” Nova collides into my shoulder and hands me a red cup half filled with flat beer. “No cans,” she explains, taking a long sip. “I spilled half of it getting through these fuckers.”
I laugh, downing the piss-yellow water then wiping my mouth on my forearm. “Derick says this will be fierce.”
“Fierce!” We shout in unison, laughing with glee. We bump hips as we wait for someone to get his ass kicked across the ring. Secretly, I hope it won’t be Mask.
