Page 11 of Unlucky You

“I’m listening, but I’m not promising anything.”

“Of course not. That’s not your m.o. There’s this underground fighting ring…”

“Nope, I don’t do illegal, Joe. You know that.”

“It’s not illegal. Just exclusive. It’s hosted by legitimate training gyms.”

“They bet on the fighters?”

“Yeah, but?—”

“Then it’s illegal and I don’t do illegal.”

“The betting is done in a way that legitimizes it. From what I’ve heard, they do bids as sort of a sponsorship.”

“But there are winners and large amounts of money circulate based on those winners I’m sure.”

“I don’t know all the details and don’t care. I just want the story as an inside source. It’s a really big thing and growing in popularity. A lot of these fighters end up turning professional and I want in before they make it that far. From what I hear, there’s a lot of raw, undiscovered talent in our city. We canrun the story and create the buzz. What people want more than anything are things that aren’t accessible to everyone. The first to the party is always the trendsetter. That’s how these types of things work. You have the best eye, Saniya. You’ll make it look good and capture the rawness. Images sell the story. No one shoots like you.”

“Which is why my schedule is full.”

“Come on, kid. I’ll make it worth your while. You know I’m good for it.”

“What do you know?”

I wasn’t necessarily thrilled about the prospect but I was always about my coins and rarely ever turned down good money. I also knew that if Joe—who owned Inside Track Diamond Falls, which had millions of followers—was indeed the one to break the story with my photos attached then it pushed me further into the arena to get national recognition. Every photographer dreamed of having that moment when that perfect shot went viral. If I could get one of an up and coming fighter then it might help catapult my career.

“The fights happen every third Friday of the month.”

“That’s in two days.”

“Yeah and you have to know someone who knows someone to get inside. The location is not sent until hours before the fights. That’s all I know.”

“So how the hell do you expect me to get an in?”

“You’reyou. If anyone can get the invite, I know you can. The place is called Matrix.”

I grinned again. It was true. I was a revered staple in the city. My work preceded me and spoke to my skillset as a photographer. I was also solid by way of minding my business and never exposing things in ways that harmed people or their careers. That gave me an in around the city that most weren’t granted. I breached some of the most exclusive events.Important parties, underground concerts given by artists as a thank you to loyal fans, and exclusive once in a lifetime listening parties. If it happened, I had access.

“Maybe,” was all I gave. I was the type who relied on her word. I never made promises I couldn’t keep, which meant that maybe was all Joe would get until I did a little digging.

“I’ll take maybe. Get back to me soon?”

“Yep, I’ll be in touch.”

“Thanks, Saniya. Goodnight.”

“Nite, Joe.”

The next nightI found myself pushing through a thick crowd of a local club. One that didn’t offer valet parking and VIP sections for local celebrities because they wouldn’t dare be caught dead or alive in a dump like The Pit. It was, however, the perfect place to get inside information about the things happening in the city that only a select few would have details about.

This wasn’t my scene, but for the night it served a purpose which meant dealing with the dark, smoke-filled space humming with a heavy bass beat I could feel thrumming through my limbs. The place was packed, as always, with hundreds of bodies crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the dance floor which sat just below the DJ booth.

The stage lighting illuminated from the elevated platform, shining upward, presenting the perception that he was a god flanked by his followers. In a way, that was somewhat true. The DJ set the tone and controlled the mood with the perfect blendof tracks that kept patrons moving in sync to the beat vibrating through the floor.

As I approached the bar, pushing between an empty stool and a woman dressed in next to nothing, I tossed a hand in the air to signal for the bartender. My ears were uncomfortably sensitive to the cocktail of voices that collided around me in an incoherent sort of shouting.

I hope I don’t have to be here long.

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