Soul Mates (32 page)

The dancers grinded out their provocative routines, showing off their cleavage and backsides to the fervent audience. Lilith knew that this sort of entertainment would not keep the attention of the men for very long, who predominantly made up the Chasm’s audience. That was her intention: get them as impatient as possible so that when the fights began, not only would the contenders demand blood, but the
audience
demanded it as well…perhaps more.

The dancer’s routine lasted thirty minutes, no more, no less; the perfect length of time to get the crowd over-zealous, but not impatient. There
is
a difference between the two, but not much…perhaps a minute or two.

When the dancer’s routine concluded, they left the arena floor to uproarious applause, not for the appreciation of the dancing routine they performed, but because they were leaving and what was left but the main attraction, the two epic battles between four contenders? The dancers resigned themselves to the fact that applause was applause and most of them knew exactly how a visiting team’s baseball player felt in a home team stadium. They just pretended the applause was for them.

The lights dimmed once the applause and cheers began to die down and the sound in the Super Chasm reached deafening levels. “So loud that the rafters shook” was one of the biggest clichés imaginable to describe the noise level in the arena, but if you were part of that crowd, you understand that cliché it may be, but it epitomized what was happening. The rafters of the levels of the Chasm were
alive
as the strobe lights and other laser and LED lights briefly lit faces in the crowd before moving on. Many in the crowd thought to themselves, “
this
is what pandemonium sounds like.”

A man named Rocky Vada was the announcer that the oligarchy of the Chasm chose to hire as their leader of ceremonies.

Rocky did not look as you would expect. Rocky had blonde hair and looked like a retired airline pilot, and by extension, Air Force or Navy pilot. You could almost see his perfect teeth sparkle in the bedazzling light that circulated the arena, like a cartoon game-show host. No, he did not look the part of a Rocky Vada, but his voice stripped away all doubt…
this was
Rocky Vada.

“Ladies and Gentleman!” the voice of the archetypal orator boomed like a deity. The audience didn’t wait for any more. They exploded into a hysterical state once again. People would come to realize that this
alone
was worth the price of admission…being a part of something
this
electric. “Ladies and Gentleman, I want to welcome you to the grand opening of what will be the most notorious, popular, and successful fighting arena in the world: the Super Chasm!” His tone matched the surge in excitement of the audience as he reached the climax: “the Super Chasm,” which brought out the veins in his neck and spittle onto the head of the microphone.

The audience needed time to recharge for the next surge of maniacal energy and allowed Rocky to go on a bit before they offered another mayhem-break.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, tonight we have
two
clashes that will make the battle of the Apocalypse look like a school yard scuffle! Tonight, coming up in just a few minutes, we will have our undercard match! The maiden battle of this modern-day Colosseum: Idennnnn “Pistonnnnn” Kaaaaaaarson! Versus! Rayce “The Stock-Booooooy” Stooooocktoooooon!” Rocky dragged out in a grandiose crescendo that would have made Bruce Buffer envious. “After the winner of that match is decided and you enjoy another brief sensuous and exotic dance routine by the resident Caligula’s Crew, you will witness the main event! The mêlée you’ve come to see for yourself after hearing all of the rumors! The
trailblazing
Chasm main event! Stylin’! Gunnar! DeeeeStefanoooooo! Versus! “Krag” Tyrone! Washhhhingtoooooon!”

There is no doubt that at least half the spectators went home with raw throats as if they were cheering at their favorite concert when they were eighteen years old. The other half? Hard of hearing.

“Before we bring out our first fighters, on behalf of the board of directors of the Super Chasm, everyone involved would like to thank you for making this arena possible. Without your support, this vision would never have come to fruition with all of the opposing forces that exist against this arena existing. Sincerely, thank you very much!” the ingratiated host half bowed to the owner’s suite halfway up the arena.

A polite but genuine applause followed the gratitude.

“But now! The time has come!”

The audience’s energy returned through the roof once again, as a bone crunching heavy metal anthem spit through the Chasm’s doomsday PA system.

“Here comes our first challenger! Iden “Piston” Karrrrrrrrssooooon!” He came barreling towards the decagon-shaped ring and shadowboxed to the beat of his face-melting anthem as he greeted the audience, pumping his fists and yelling.

The next fighter, Rayce “The Stock-Boy” Stockton was announced to his own adrenaline pumping walk-on music and reacted in the same way his opponent did. The spectators, not familiar with either challenger, embraced them both.

The ceremonial festivities continued as the fighters pumped their fists and pointed at the audience until they reached the decagon. Why a decagon? If you asked the board, they would simply say that other fighting competitions are synonymous with the octagon.

The competitors paced in their corners as the referee barked out the orders they were to follow, the most important being that if the other competitor gave up, there was not to be a solitary blow landed following this. This rule could mean the difference between a dead combatant and a live one. They shadowboxed as they paced back and forth, never breaking eye-contact with their opposition, lest they be considered the weaker of the two, just like in the animal kingdom. Truth be told, they were both afraid because of the knowledge that this fight could be the last moments of their lives, but also equally amped that they could walk out of the arena instant millionaires. Their only charge for that fee?

Beat your opponent into submission…or to death, if he doesn’t possess the sense and humility to surrender…and by
God
, give them a good show.

*   *   *

The Imperial Suite was where the board of directors had their private viewing of the events in the Super Chasm, and where the public suites, Tyler, Lilith, and the rest of the board (plus a few home-wrecking secretaries and girlfriends) took in the festivities.

This 5,000 square-foot space situated in an outcrop built between the 1
st
 and 2
nd
 levels boasted floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the fighting decagon and spanned at least thirty feet in length. The suite itself was decorated with gaudy marble columns as soon as you walked in and onto the marble floor, and the short foyer leading to the main sitting/viewing room was lined with gladiator armor. The motif of the Super Chasm was unquestionably reminiscent of the Roman Colosseum, however, it still maintained its own unique identity, for certain. The differentiation between the two motifs is hard to articulate, however, if you have ever been a guest in the Super Chasm, you most certainly know what those subtle bits of variance are. Was it slightly theologically demonic?

Comfortable black leather couches were positioned everywhere a spectator could possibly want to sit to watch the event. There was even a television on the wall in the bathroom, which was located in an alcove off the main foyer. In case a member or guest of the board was having trouble seeing the action from a distance, there were 42-inch flat screen televisions speckled around the suite. As a matter of fact, there were 23 of them.

There were also two fully stocked ten-foot bars. Not only were the bars stocked with the typical beers, wines, and liquors that the emblematic guest would surely ask for, but it was also stocked with lavish top shelf liquors, imported beers, and aged wines that the most priggish wine-taster would feel privileged to consume. Decadence is what I am trying to get across to you.

“Come on, Lilith, a toast!” Jayson called out from one of the bars, as he carefully brought over a tray full of champagne flutes topped-off with Dom Perignon to the long leather couch positioned up to the flowing wall of windows. This was where the rest of the board of directors were situated preparing to watch the first battle between the contenders. They were all lost in their own conversations and discussions of the future of this venture as the strobe of the flashes from smart phones captured this momentous occasion of the Chasm’s founders all together in the same room, bringing in the maiden bout together. They all rose from their couches and grabbed their respective champagne flutes.

“To everyone who made this possible. To all of my fellow investors, to masses of degenerates who lined up to fill our arena to capacity, the persuadable politicians who saw the potential for exponential revenue growth in this fine city,” Lilith started, as everyone laughed at the quip aimed at the fans, save for Tyler, who had felt minute emasculation after having the ceremonial toast stripped from him. Lilith continued with a couple of minutes of grandiosity, speaking to the promising future, the wealth they would all accumulate, etc., but during all of it, if Tyler was being honest with himself, he would admit that Lilith was seen by the rest of the investors as holding not just as much decision-making power as Tyler, but more. And why not? Even though Tyler and Lilith held equal shares in the Super Chasm, if Tyler thought back to the construction of the Chasm, did the board and laborers come to Tyler for the final say in the daily minutia, or to Lilith? For the most part, they went to Lilith. Perhaps it was Tyler’s somewhat sexist assumption that a fighting arena, a male dominated sport, defaulted to the man for some charge and command. Out of everyone there in the Imperial Suite familiar with the Swanson couple
,
even those coming to know them intimately over the course of the construction of this business venture
,
he was the only one who saw things that way. All of that aside, she was a great talker. She could talk an anorexic into going out and eating a six-course meal. Coming up on the close of her oration, the strobe flashes from the camera phones below intensified as they all raised their glasses in a circle and toasted to “success.”

Down below and high above the Imperial Suite outcropping built into the arena, the crowd was on its feet losing its mind, cheering in anticipation of the first match between the two contenders. The fighters ceased shadowboxing and pacing and listened intently to the referee’s final words on the scarce list of rules.

It was time.

“Fighters ready!?” the referee bawled. The fighters nodded, their mouthpiece-holding, Neanderthal-looking jaws aimed at the ground, their eyes locked into their opponent’s soul.

“Are
you
ready, ladies and gentlemen!?” Rocky Vada bellowed into the microphone so loudly that his jugular could be seen protruding from six rows back. The crowd answered with a thunderous roar that shook the Chasm to its core and may have actually registered on a seismograph that was buried under Sierra-Conrad Observatory eight miles from the Vegas strip.

The referee took over once again with his next command: “Let’s go, men; fight!” The roar of the crowd, still not over their first wave of adrenaline, piped back up with the fight command and extraordinarily quickly quieted down in an intense bout of concentration on the match. The fighters came out and touched gloves, not because they really respected one anothe
r–
how could they when they intended on killing their opponent if need b
e–
but because it was a tradition that embodied the fighting world since the beginning of the sport…sort of like breaking a bottle of champagne over the bow of a new ocean vessel to christen it. The fighters circled one another and kept their distance at first, dancing around the decagon, one with determination, and the other with spurious fortitude. Karson moved in, sure of himself as Stockton backed up in sync with Karson. Stockton threw out a jab that completely missed Karson as they danced with each other in the center of the decagon. Karson moved in again and this time Stockton’s fist connected with Karson’s forehead. The force of the impact launched the sweat off of Karson’s forehead as the crowd cheered the first hit of the night.

“Oooof! That had to have rocked his brain a bit, huh?” Tyler said to no one in particular in the Imperial Suite. The entire board of directors and their plus-ones and plus-twos took up the span of the window looking down onto the decagon.

“Karson is finished, you watch,” Lilith said, taking a swig of top-shelf whiskey.

“The fight just started, Lilith. How could yo
u–
” Jayson challenged good naturedly.

“You can see the look in Karson’s eyes,” Lilith interrupted.

“What look?” Brad Laurentia, one of the other board members, asked.

“The look that is screaming
‘what the fuck did I get myself into?’
”

By this time, Karson had fought back sheepishly, as he appeared to be thinking of a way to get out of this situation without taking a dive. Destroying his credibility, and the credibility of the Chasm during the maiden fight, was not an option. With the knowledge of the cast of characters (save for Tyler) who ran the Chasm, Karson believed he had a much better chance of survival in the decagon than to disgrace this arena.