Page 66 of Liquids

“I hate these fucking newcomers; they never know what they’re doing,” the man in front of Marni says.

“You got any bets on this one?” the guy next to him asks.

“No serious money: just two grand against the newcomer. They always lose. They’re just not well versed enough in the dirty tricks.”

A couple of thousand isn’t serious money?

I look at Marni, who makes wide eyes at me, then leans over. “I think this crowd is loaded. You probably aren’t invited unless you’ve got bajillions to bet.” She grins her evil Marni smile. “I’m looking at these guys in a whole new light now.”

But the men in front of us are still talking. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing this latest guy get destroyed.”

The MC is still speaking, and I’ve missed it all.

“What was that?” I say to Agnes.

But before she can answer, the MC shouts, “Please welcome Rigger to the ring!”

A loud cheer goes up, and Marni screams at the top of her voice, “He’s gonna slaughter him!”

And the place dissolves into laughter.

“Shut up!” I hiss.

“Thank you to the lady at the back, whoever you are! We’re expecting a very close fight tonight. Make your last-minute bets!”

More murmurs ripple through the crowd. The music strikes up, and Rig swaggers through the velvet curtains with his arms in the air. I’ve never seen him behave like this. I want to laugh, but I’m terrified, too.

“Big guy, seems confident.”

“It’s a setup. Bound to be.”

“Maybe it’s a setup the other way around. Think I’m going to make a bet on him. I like the way he looks,” the man in front of me says.

The other guy shakes his head. “The odds are wild on him.”

But my guy just smiles. “I like a gamble that pays off. Saw him watching the first fight, too. Takes it serious.” He beckons one of the suits over, and after a brief chat, a wad of money changes hands and something is handed back.

“You’ll regret that,” his friend says, but he just grins at him, showing several metal teeth.

The MC has moved on to talk about Rig’s opponent and all the fights he’s won. Someone named the Razor. Even his name doesn’t sound good. And oh my God, the list is so long!

The friend leans into the one who’s just placed a bet, laughing. “He’s fighting the Razor, man. That asshole knows every dirty trick in the book. This is obviously a setup.” And my stomach drops. Does Rig know that?

The music starts, and the meanest, most beaten-up man I’ve ever seen comes waltzing through the curtains, surrounded by guys who look just as rough. He’s about the same size as Rig, but boy, does he look different. Shaved head. Silver Spandex pants. Body covered in scars. How can I watch this?

In seconds, he’s leaped into the ring, bouncing through the cage door, and he goes right up to Rig and spits in his face. The referee tries to shift him back, but he doesn’t budge. Rig stares back at him, unmoved.

The referee says some words to the Razor, who bounces back to his corner, but as he does, Rig follows him, doing an exaggerated imitation of his walk, sticking his ass out and wiggling it, and people hoot with laughter. As soon as the Razor stops and turns, Rig halts, too.

He steps up to Rig again, but Rig doesn’t move. He just chews his gum and grins, side-eyeing the crowd. Someone starts clapping, and then everyone is clapping, and Rig carries on smiling, stepping back from the Razor and putting his arms in the air. He walks around the wire cage, clapping his hands above his head. I can see the Razor doesn’t like this at all—he’s clearly used to being the performer in the ring—and if you’d asked me whether Rig was a showman, I’d have said no way.

“This is going to get nasty real fast,” the guy in front of Marni says.

“I heard this new guy did a vicious fight with the Bear, and you know he’s as mean as hell.” He nods. “I’m liking the look of ’im.”

The referee calls Rig and the Razor together and lifts his hand, and the bell rings as he brings it down. The Razor goes straight for a headbutt, which has to be illegal, but Rig must have been expecting it because he jerks back. The Razor still catches him across the cheek, but as the momentum carries the Razor forward, Rig has moved and twisted enough to be able to karate-chop him on the back of the neck. I can see the force he puts into it, too, and the Razor staggers but rights himself as he bounces off the wire cage at the far side of the ring with a howl of rage.

The guy in front of me who placed the bet slow claps.