Page 69 of Punchline
“Report me, then,” Carson replied, practically vibrating in place. “He sent you tickets to the next EFC Championship!”
I rolled my eyes. “Who uses actual paper tickets anymore?”
“You’re missing the point,” Carson said. “This is going to be a huge event. There are title fights in three different weight classesandone of them is Barovsky. If youwere EFC you’d be in his weight class, but it’s a good thing you’re not going to because he’s a fuckingbeast.”
Anton Barovsky was, in fact, a fucking beast. His ground game was more sambo than BJJ, and his standup was deadly. He was a lot of fun to watch, but I wasn’t at all sad not to be his opponent. “Who’s he fighting?” I asked despite myself.
“Tachiyama.”
Ohfuck.“The sumo guy?” Tachiyama was big. Like, he mademefeel small, he was so big.
Carson grinned at me. “Yeah. Started in judo, of course, and he’s been working with a trainer out of California ever since he decided to make the switch from sumo to MMA. He’s won every single pro match he’s been in so far with either a KO or a TKO. It’s going to be the fight of the decade.”
Would it ever. Those two were, as Ethan would put it, generational talents. They had hard workandnatural ability on their sides, and two very different original arts that made for a very flashy juxtaposition in their technique. It was rare for people to get to the upper echelons of MMA without a background in wrestling these days—there was just no beating it for brutal takedowns—but both Barovsky and Tachiyama had made it to the highest levels of competition without that.
How would a match between them even work? Barovsky liked to redirect attacks, he was the ultimate sniper when it came to picking his moment, but he didn’t tend to start fights. This being Tachiyama’s first title shot, though, I saw him preferring a conservative strategy until he could get his Barovsky in his grasp, and?—
“You have to go.”
I blinked out of my imaginary matchup and stared at Carson. “No way.”
“Jake, these seats are in the second row. Thesecond row.The fights are going to look so fucking good from there!”
He wasn’t wrong, but… “I’m not giving in to Dimon.”
Carson lightly punched me on the shoulder. “You don’t have to fight for him if you go to the fight,” he said. “In fact, it’s the perfect opportunity for you to tell him ‘Thanks, but no thanks and please leave me alone’ to his face where he won’t be able to do anything shady because you’ll be in public.”
I rolled my eyes. “It isn’t the eighties, Carson. The mob doesn’t run Vegas anymore, and I’m not going to get my kneecaps beaten in with a baseball bat if I tell the guy no.”
“Maybe not, but.” He tapped the tickets in my hand. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun on his dime and play it safe, just in case. And!” His smile was back. “You could take Ethan! You said he liked the smoker, right?”
“Yeah, he did.” My mind drifted back to what we’d gotten up toafterthe smoker, and all of a sudden the thought of taking Ethan to another fight sounded better than ever. Like it or not, the EFC was attracting some of the best fighters out there right now, despite the fact it didn’t pay for shit and had highly deceptive insurance, even given the shitshow that was American health insurance. “Do you think he’d really like to go?”
“I know he’d like it,” Carson said. “It’ll be a great way to take his mind off his hand, too.”
That was a good point. Almost a month out from Ethan’s injury, he was doing well, but of course his recovery still wasn’t fast enough for him. “I’m tempted,” I said slowly, staring at the garish, gold-foiled tickets, “but it feelsdishonest to accept what’s basically a bribe just so I can go tell Dimon to get fucked in person.”
“Just be nice about it,” Carson said, a little twist of a smirk on his face. “Gene is a businessman first and foremost. Once he sees he’s not going to get you no matter how much crap he sends your way, he’ll move on to wooing his next target. If anything, he’ll probably appreciate you showing up and keeping the seats from being empty on the big screen.”
“Like they would be.” These tickets were a hot item, going for close to three thousand dollars apiece. It wasn’t strictly out of my price range, but there didn’t seem like much of a point when I could watch the fights on my flatscreen at home and pause when I needed to pee instead of risking missing some of the action.
And it was going to be quite some action. Barovsky and Tachiyama, not to mention title fights at middle weight and bantam weight… Shit. I had to go. I glanced up at Carson. “Ethan’s got some good suits, right?”
Carson laughed. “Are you kidding me? He’s a hockey player; suits arerequired. You going with the dolled-up look, then?”
“I’m not going to go to the EFC in a T-shirt, if that’s what you mean.” You got two types of guys at fights like this—the ones who dressed up, and the ones who wore branded gear and trucker hats no matter who they were sitting next to. I wasn’t going to possibly appear on national television looking like that. “I’ve got a decent suit, if it still fits me.”
“Better find out before Friday,” Carson said, and shit, good point. The event was happening in just three days.
Whatever. It would be fine.
Jesus Christ, I look like masculine image issues on steroids.I should have checked my suit, IknewI should’ve, but time got away from me. Now it was Friday night, Ethan and I were about to leave, and I was afraid I was going to bust the seam across my shoulders.
How was I bigger now than I’d been the last time I’d worn this suit? Sure, I’d been doing a lot more weigh-ins back then thanks to competition, and sure, maybe I was lifting more to help fill the time at the gym, but… shit. The fabric looked like it was about to cry.
“Wow,” Ethan drawled behind me.
I put my hand to my face and sighed. “Please don’t.”
