Page 47 of Bad for You

So I have to be smart.

I need to prove myself. They need to do their homework without me telling them who I am.

And that is why I fall back behind the crowd, watching two meatheads smack the shit out of each other. Men from all wakes of life holler at their favorites, clutching onto their colored ticket stubs like it’s their golden ticket.

I laugh at the analogy.

It’s our very own Willy Wonka Fight Club.

The men are all brawn, no brains. They are built like brick shithouses, but that doesn’t make a good fighter. One man has a blue sash. The other a red. That’s the only way the spectators know who’s who. No names are used. No friends are made.

This is about making money and, of course, to find minions for Aldo.

Three men stand off to the side. Two are identical twins. The other looks to be about twelve years old. But looks are deceiving because I know they’re lethal. They are also Aldo’s men, so I need to get them on my side.

The crowd cheers when Blue pushes Red into the circle of rabid men. They shove the half-dead man back into Blue, who punches him square in the jaw. Red wavers before falling flat onto his face.

The fight is done.

Red tickets are crumpled into tight balls and tossed onto the ground in rage as they have bet on the wrong horse. Blue tickets are held tightly, however, because their champion has won.

A man in overalls grips Red by the feet and drags his unconscious body from the circle. No one looks twice.

No one here cares about humanity. Only money.

The open fire drums cackle loudly, illuminating this shithole in oranges and yellows and amplifying the bloodstains on thebroken concrete. The structure is barely standing. It sets the perfect scene for a battlefield I’m about to conquer and defeat.

A man with a pink sash soon takes Red’s place and charges Blue without warning. The animalistic screams of the men reflect the hard-ons they have for violence. It seems we’re all sick fucks, animated by bloodshed and carnage.

Blue reads his move. This isn’t his first rodeo, judging by the many scars on his face and body. I dare say he’s the crowd favorite, which means I’m going to have fun knocking his ass to the ground.

I study the way he moves.

He’s taller and bigger than me. But that isn’t going to be an issue. I’ve fought bigger than him before and won.

He counts to three before he punches. I read it in the way he hesitates before each punch. And on cue, he confirms my suspicions.

One…

Two…

Three…

Punch.

Pink takes the hit and springs back, getting in a shot which seems to shock Blue.

Not only is he a trash fighter but he’s arrogant too.

This is really going to be too easy.

With my head bowed, I subtly push my way past the frothing assholes who are focused on nothing but the slabs of meat who are their cash cows. No one pays any attention to me. I don’t look like a threat. And this will be their downfall.

I stand off to the side, ensuring I’m not in anyone’s way.

Blue is the winner of this fight. Pink doesn’t stand a chance. I wonder if perhaps this is rigged because this isn’t a fair fight. That would explain why Blue’s face looks like he had a late-night rendezvous with a mulcher.

This isn’t his first rodeo.

---