Death Blow (4 page)

A couple trips back and forth, and Lila was swimming
smoothly. She’d been worried about striking the right tone, but the patrons
seemed to love her. She knew already that her memory and her intuition were
always good, and she was killing it in that department right now. Her and
Raechelle had a great shorthand and already seemed to be so in tune that between
the two of them, they’d kept the patron mood up and on a steady incline.

The two new fighters were in the ring now, eyeing each other
feistily, pacing back and forth. Lila was reminded of dogs, spotting each other
from far away and preparing to fight. The bell rang a couple times, letting
people know that the fight was about to start, and the crowd that had
previously swarmed the bar dispersed almost immediately back to their seats.

Lila swam upstream of the crowd, back to the bar. When she
made it out of the throng, she saw Cassandra sitting on one of the bar stools,
dwarfed by a big gentleman standing behind her. Tonight, she looked stunning in
a tight crimson number, offset in sexiness only by the strappy gold heels that
made their way up her calves. Her blonde hair was coifed and curled, and the
jewels around her ears, neck, and hands were casting their own small spheres of
sparkles. She and Raechelle were talking, both laughing, while the man behind
her stood by silently, but amused.

“Ah!” Raechelle exclaimed as she spotted Lila. “Here she is,
woman of the hour.”

Cassandra and the man turned to look at her, both smiling
interestedly. Cassandra hopped off her stool and pulled Lila into a hug that
caught her off guard.

“Raechelle was just tellin’ us what a
wonderful
job
you’ve done tonight, Lila!” she practically squealed. “I of course trusted
myself to know when a girl might have a good head on her shoulders, but you are
somethin’ else, sugar.” The man behind her moved forward slightly, eyes
sparkling with something Lila couldn’t quite interpret. “This here’s my
husband, Lyle Moran, the owner of Club Malevolence.”

“Hey Lila, how are ya?” The man’s drawl surprised Lila, but
he had that genteel softness about his accent that made him sound moneyed and important.
He took Lila’s hand into a firm shake. She caught sight of his bejeweled Rolex
just peeking out from the sleeve of his crisp white cuff. His grey suit looked
very expensive, and fit him very well. He was maybe around 55, 60—a fair amount
older than Cassandra, it looked like—and had a pleasant, chiseled face that had
only gone slightly with age. His hair was a nice, light silver, and his blue
eyes were crinkled and bright. But there was something about him that, when he
took Lila’s hand, left her feeling a little nervous.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Moran,” she said, mustering up the
best smile she could.

“Aw hell, girl, call me Lyle. Mr. Moran—“

“—was your father?” interjected Cassandra playfully.

“Naw, just makes me feel old.” All three of them laughed at
his joke, and Lila reminded herself to join in just in time.

“Seriously, I was just telling them, if they don’t keep you
around, they’re crazy,” said Raechelle, winking at Lila.

“Oh, we’re keepin’ her,” beamed Cassandra. “Raechelle says
it looked like you done worked here all your life.” She and Lyle exchanged a
glance, and then Lyle locked eyes with Lila and smiled at her again.

The bell rung again. Cassandra leapt back up onto her stool
and pulled Lila close. “Come here, I want you to watch this next one closely.”
Lila let herself be drawn in, framed by Cassandra and Lyle, all four of them
facing the ring. “See that big one there?” She pointed at one of the fighters in
the ring. “That’s our son, Jackson.”

“Yep, our pride and joy,” added Lyle.

Lila’s stomach turned. Jackson must have been 6’4” and about
4’ wide at the shoulders. He was built and rippling and rock-hard in any place
visible to the eye. He had dark, tousled hair and bright, blue, wolf-like eyes.
His brow was bent and tense in cold, murderous focus, and his jaw was clenched
so tightly that Lila felt a pain in her mouth by proxy. Most alarming of all,
Lila felt like she’d seen Jackson before, somewhere, but she couldn’t place
where or when she might have met him. His face just
hit
Lila, and to her
surprise, she felt a little bit of cold sweat form on her palms mere seconds
after laying eyes on him.

The fighters settled across from each other. The bell rang.
The crowd hushed, and everyone in the room fixated on the ring.

Jackson took up a guarded stance fast and furiously. He
bobbed back and forth, fists up, eyes steady. His opponent was smaller than
him, muscular but lean and only about 5’9”. Plus, he seemed way less serious
than Jackson was. Lila’s stomach cramped now, not at Jackson’s face, but at how
even she, with as little as she knew about fighting, knew that Jackson’s
opponent was about to get his ass kicked.

“I know that guy looks little,” Cassandra whispered into
Lila’s ear, “but he’s one of the top fighters, actually.” Lila was surprised.
“He took some crazy martial arts somethin’ and kicks the shit out of everyone,
‘scuse my French.”

So far the two men had only danced around each other a
little bit, Jackson rigid and serious, the smaller man lax and loose.

“Well, he may’ve kicked the shit outta others,” Lyle broke
in, “but Jackson’s about to kick the shit outta him.”

“He better,” Cassandra added, “or we’re out a lot of money,
honey.”

As if on cue, Jackson struck forward with a fist, jabbing
into the space where his opponent’s head had previously been. The small guy
dodged quickly, and then just as swiftly, he darted around Jackson and socked
him in the stomach. Gasps and groans erupted from the Jackson supporters as he
doubled over, just a little bit, never dropping his guard.

“Shit, boy, come on,” Lila heard Lyle mutter under his
breath.

Jackson and his opponent danced around a bit more, the crowd
beginning to yell loudly, jeer or hiss depending on whom they were supporting. Jackson
dipped low this time and swung a hammer fist out, but again his opponent was
too fast for him, and this time, he cracked Jackson a swift kick to the face.
Everyone winced collectively, and then the small man’s supporters erupted into
applause and cheers.

“God,” Lila groaned, “is that allowed?”

“No rules,” Cassandra replied automatically, not taking her
eyes away from the ring.

Lila wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but she knew she was
rooting for Jackson, somewhere deep down in her gut. She felt the blows he took
as if they were her own.

Jackson flew forward with his whole body, it seemed, and the
small man was lost under it for a second. In a flash, Jackson had taken his
opponent’s head into a lock and punched him once, vicious and powerful, in the
face. The man’s nose was bleeding all over the ring now, trailing red wherever
Jackson moved him. The small man’s arms came up to Jackson’s enormous forearm,
clawing for a way out, when Jackson swiftly switched his grip on the man’s head
and proceeded to flip his opponent all the way over and onto his back. The sound
that the small man made, hitting the mat like he did, sent a shockwave through
the crowd.

Jackson supporters were going crazy, all but Cassandra and
Lyle. They sat stoically while the crowd raged. The same woman Lila had noted
earlier, with the bouffant and the pink lipstick, was again screaming bloody
murder, this time for Jackson. Lila wondered if she had a thing for dark-haired
fighters. The woman stood up in her seat raising herself and her voice above
the fracas, and shrieked, “Lay him out, Jackson!” As if rehearsed, the half of
the crowd there supporting Jackson started chanting it in unison.

Jack-son! Jack-son!

Jackson didn’t even seem to notice. He didn’t seem to hear,
he didn’t pay any attention to the people loudly losing their heads over him.
He eyed the small man, now struggling to get up off the ground. As he got up
onto all fours, Jackson mercilessly kicked him in the ribs, and the small man
spun over and curled up in pain. The blonde bouffant lady and many other people
now were up, the chant still going, women tearing their hair and holding their
arms out to Jackson, men pumping their fists at him. Lila couldn’t believe the
money that was filling the air, passing from patron to patron, waving through
the air at the ring.

Jackson walked over to the small man, knelt, and grabbed him
by the hair. He dragged his opponent over to the edge of the ring and then
hoisted him up against the ropes, facing out towards the audience, showing off
the damage he’d done so far. He turned the man around to face into the ring,
and then the punches started to fly. Stomach, stomach, ribs, face. Left, right,
uppercut.

Finally, Jackson was ready for this to end. The small man
weakly held himself up on the ropes, not wanting to go down for fear of more
kicking. Jackson took four or five steps back from him, set his legs apart, hit
himself once in the chest, and rushed forward. The chant reached its zenith
right before Jackson made impact, and everyone seemed to know what was coming.
Jackson’s arm came up, straight as a bar, and hit the small man square in the
collarbone, into the ropes, which bounced Jackson’s opponent forward so
quickly, he hit the mat face first with a sickening crunch, and immediately
passed out.

If the crowd had been cheering beforehand, it was nothing
compared to the noise that erupted now. Lila felt the sound all over her body,
pressing down on her like a weight, engulfing her completely. Cassandra and
Lyle smiled to themselves, shared a brief glance as if they’d known all along
that Jackson would come out on top.

“How much you come away with that round, hm?” Raechelle’s
eyes sparkled as the asked the question.

“Oh, you know,” Cassandra demurred, “there were some pretty
high odds on Jackson’s loss.” Lyle put a hand on her shoulder and slid it down
her back. She looked up at him. “And we put a lot of money on our son.”

“Now, now, ladies, we don’t want to be discussin’ money when
Jackson gets over here, and he’s on his way right now.” Lila turned sharply
when Lyle said that, scanning the crowd to see how close Jackson was to them.
She couldn’t tell what she was feeling, whether it was intense excitement or
intense fear, but her heart rate kicked up and she could feel it pounding in
her chest.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to meet Jackson. But there he
was, trainer at his heels trying to help him sop up some of the sweat pouring
off his body, cutting his way through the crowd toward the bar. He was beaming
at his parents in between looking at all his fans, women groping whatever parts
of his body they could get their hands on, men slapping him on the back,
pumping his hand in a firm shake, or tousling his hair like he was kin of their
own. Cassandra and Lyle didn’t go towards him, didn’t even seem much moved by
the spectacle, aside from the small, quiet smiles they both wore.

Jackson finally made it up to the bar, and, as if they
already knew, the crowd backed off and let him talk to his family without
bothering him. Lila assumed everyone knew Cassandra and Lyle were the owners,
and indeed, most people in the crowd seemed somewhat afraid to come up and
bother the Morans. They suddenly had their own little bubble, right in the
throngs of all the club goers. Lila looked awkwardly around, anywhere except
Jackson, as he kissed his mother on the cheek.

“Nice fightin’, son,” Cassandra offered up as Lyle reached
over her shoulder to slap Jackson’s face lightly.

“Almost let ‘er slip there at the beginning.” Lyle smiled
when he said this, but Lila caught the look in his eyes, and she didn’t like
it. Jackson’s elated face dropped a little at the remark, a storm cloud took
over his brow, and Lila felt the same surge of emotion go through her.

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” Jackson offered sarcastically. He turned
to Raechelle. “Get me a whiskey, would you, before my parents completely crush
my high.” Raechelle winked understandingly, and poured a Jack Daniels fast as
she could. She passed it to him and he knocked it back.

“Take it easy, babe,” Cassandra cooed, still smiling.
Jackson ignored her and motioned to Raechelle for another one. She obliged. “No
more after that one,” Cassandra said to Raechelle. It was clear that if she
couldn’t control Jackson, Cassandra could at least control everyone else.

“Who’s this?” Jackson asked gruffly. Lila was still avoiding
looking at him, so it took her a moment to realize he must be talking about
her. She finally gathered herself and brought her eyes up to meet his. At first
glance, Lila knew Jackson felt it too, whatever this bizarre, gut-level
connection was between them. Now, up close, Lila felt like she was looking into
a mirror—definitely an enormous 6’4” mirror with way more muscle than she could
ever dream of, but still. Her eyes stared back at her out of Jackson’s face,
and she was sure that the shocked expression he was wearing mirrored her own
perfectly.

“This here’s Lila,” Cassandra chimed in, cutting the awkward
silence between them. “She’s gonna be workin’ here with us, at the bar.”

Jackson tentatively held out a hand to Lila, which she took,
gently, and they shook hands. He seemed to have forgotten all of the annoyance
his parents had caused him, and was now solely focused on her, and trying to
read her with his eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Lila,” he said quietly.

Her voice caught in her throat. Whatever fear she’d felt had
turned into a tenderness now, and she found herself inexplicably moved by
speaking to him. “Uh, hey, hey Jackson. It’s nice to meet you, too,” she
finally managed.

“You shoulda seen Lila over here, son,” Lyle interrupted. “Actin’
like she was in the ring with you!” Lila blushed at the realization that
everyone had seen her react that way during the fight. She’d been aware she was
feeling that, but she hadn’t even thought about whether anyone else could tell.
They clearly could. “She was writhin’ and dodgin’ with every shot.”