Page 68 of Liquids

But in the split second where the Razor thinks he’s achieved something, Rig’s hands flash out in a chopping motion, and the Razor suddenly goes down like a ton of bricks.

“Oh, fucking hell,” the guy in front of Marni says, just as his friend who placed the bet on Rig punches the air. “Knockout blow!” he shouts, and several people turn around to scowl at him.

A sudden howl of rage erupts from hundreds of voices as the referee steps over the Razor’s prone body and starts counting down, and the crowd surges toward the stage. Rig drops to his knees, skin still running with blood from the wounds all over his body, hands on the floor propping himself up. But the Razor is out, unconscious; you can tell from the way his arms are splayed across the floor. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon. The guy in the suit at the end of the row starts pushing toward the front where the crowd is surging forward, and I follow him. I’ve got to go and take care of Rig. A hand lands on my arm. I look up to find Konstantin frowning down at me.

“Come,” he says.

“What?”

I watch as the referee shakes his head and puts his hand in the air. Oh my God, Rig has won?

If I thought the place was in uproar before, it really goes wild now. The MC has the microphone, but it’s drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Everyone surges around the ring, and as Rig moves back onto his feet, wariness creeps over his face. I put my hand over my mouth.

Konstantin grips my upper arm. “Come, you need to leave. Now.”

“But Rig, he …”

“He will be fine. He will be taken care of. Come. Now.”

He bodily drags me toward a door I hadn’t noticed near the rear, behind the stand of seats, just as I see Rig jump out of the wire cage and disappear into the melee on the floor. Fists are flying and a gunshot rings out. Oh my God! So much for no guns.

“Now!” Konstantin barks, and I turn to find Marni standing by the door with Marge, Agnes, and June, who are all looking beyond thrilled.

Marge squeezes my arm with a grin. We’re ushered out the back of the venue to a waiting 4X4. I hear another shot, and Konstantin’s face hardens as we bundle into the car and he snarls something in Russian to the man sitting behind the wheel. We take off with a squeal of tires.

“What’s going on?” I say.

“A lot of trouble,” the driver says, flashing a gold tooth at me in the mirror, and Konstantin barks at him, “Quiet.”

“Why is there trouble?” Marge asks, eyeing both men in the front seat.

The driver and Konstantin say some words to each other in heated Russian for a few seconds, and then Konstantin says, “Your Rig was not expected to win tonight. People have lost a lot of money, and there will be a great deal of anger. We needed to get you out of there.”

“Is he going to be okay …?”

“We look after our assets. He will be fine,” Konstantin says, and I think about his skin and a knot forms in my throat. I really don’t like the idea of Rig being any kind of asset for this … this … whoever these people are.

We pull up to a nondescript motel about fifteen minutes later, and I quietly thank the Lord that we might have somewhere to sleep tonight. When I look at my watch, I’m astonished to discover it’s 1 a.m. Konstantin disappears into the office and reappears with some room keys.

He passes one to Marge. “You three are in here.” He gestures at a door. Then he hands me another key. “You are in here. Rig will join you later. And you are with me,” he says to Marni silkily. “I need you to stay here until I find out what is happening at the fight.” He gives her a key and leans in to kiss her neck, and she smiles up at him. How is she so blasé around guys like this?

He cups her cheek. “I will come back for you.” He jerks his chin up at the driver, climbs into the front seat, and they take off with another squeal of tires.

Marge claps her hands. “Good Lord, that was amazing! Best night of my life.”

“Better than your wedding night?” Agnes asks.

“Oh God, yes. That was a disaster. Neither of us had any clue what we were doing.”

I hold up my hand. “TMI, ladies.”

“I can’t believe he won!” Agnes squeaks, like it was some ordinary event where he wasn’t brutally torn to shreds by a maniac.

“I know!” says Marge, clapping her hands again. “Time for a drink, ladies. Let’s finish off this hooch and see if the ice machine still works and the vending machine has any mixers.”

“Maybe he’s dead. Maybe he’ll be in more trouble from winning than losing,” I mutter.

“Oh come on,” Marni says. “He’s just made a pile of money. Let’s celebrate!”