The evening came pretty quickly, blanketing the overfull city in darkness. I stashed Stigma and my armour in a safe place near the ranch in a shallow hole that I covered with topsoil. Not that there was much worry about anyone successfully stealing Stigma from me. I had come to believe that she could kill anyone who touched her without permission.
Vincent was waiting for me by the front gate. “This guy’s with me,” he said to the guards. They didn’t ask any questions, Vincent had a higher position in the gang than they did. He wasn’t stupid enough to show his hand so early. I wasn’t going to accidentally meet his boss without doing some major heavy lifting for him in these fights.
I got acclimatised to the area while Vincent signed me up for the next open round. It was a haphazard setup that was easy to pick up and move somewhere else. A repurposed cattle pen, a bar with barrels of booze lined up behind it. The ranch owner must have been getting a nice kickback from the gang for using his land like this.
We had to show up very early to have a chance at getting a spot. Even at this early time, two hours before the fights really got going, there were dozens and dozens of people milling about and getting drinks from the bar. When he came back to me – he had a smile that threatened to split his face in two. “Alright, we’ve got ourselves a good little run.”
“Who am I fighting?”
“The first round you’ve got Frank Miller. Local labourer; he’s strong and looks hard, but doesn’t know a single damn thing about boxing. You can put this guy to sleep pretty quick if William taught you the bare minimum. He’s a favourite with the crowds so a lot of marks are going to bet on him to win outright.”
“I just need to make it look convincing.”
Vincent nodded, “Yeah; give him a chance. Don’t want to hurt his reputation too bad, he’s a big money maker.”
“And after that?”
“Well, the serious competition won’t start until later. I’ve got spots for you in three fights. Frank, another guy called Mercia, and the last one – Wally.”
“Wally?”
“Wally takes his boxing seriously. At that point, we might be looking at making you throw.” He reached into his pocket and started fiddling with something, that turned out to be a box of matches and another poor-quality cigarette.
“Depends on the odds then.”
He lit it and slipped it between his dry lips, “Right. If the odds are crazy, then I might just ask you to try and put him down for real. But I don’t know if you can handle that.”
I’d be the judge of that, “How good is he?”
“Pretty good. He’s lasted to the end of the night a few times, and put up some entertaining scraps with people above his class. The point is, by that time people might go thinking you’re some kinda’ crazy dark horse who’s gonna’ smash everyone. The odds can swing either way. If it’s an even split I’d feel safer with you taking the dive.”
“Alright, I get it. I’m putting up half?” I reached into my pocket and held out several iron bars that I’d gathered as spare change over my travels. Vincent showed his own in response and laid them out of the table.
“Yeah, best way to make this work is if everyone has a stake in it. Stops them from getting clever and trying to pull a fast one.”
A few iron wasn’t going to bankrupt me if I did go into business for myself, but some rules had been put in place to stop the fighters from betting on themselves. I wasn’t going to do any of that in the end. I needed to follow Vincent’s orders down to the letter, so I could get closer to him and Adam and find William’s enlistment papers.
He clapped his hands together and smothered the last of his tab on the dirt below, “Alright, let’s get ready and bum you up a little.”
The first order of the evening was to ‘bum up,’ as Vincent had so eloquently described it. The trimmed facial hair and braided hair (thanks to Tahar) were much too organised and composed. I looked almost competent heaven forbid. We needed to tilt the odds in my opponent’s favour as much as possible, and part of that was looking like I had no idea what I was doing. Being completely lost for real could wait for when I got into the ring.
I removed the band that Tahar had used, allowing my now shoulder length hair to spill forth in a messy, tangled tornado. That was almost good enough on its own, but Vincent wanted to push things a little further. We found a nice patch of semi-wet dirt next to one of the fences and grabbed some, smearing it strategically on the various contours of my face to make me look as unwashed as possible.
“Alright, and if we take your shirt off before the fight you’ll look even worse.”
“Wouldn’t that just show off how muscular I am?” I wasn’t trying to brag, but having my strength stat buffed so heavily had given me a baseline appearance that wasn’t dependent on actual exercise. I’d bulked up significantly since I left Exarch Bend a few months ago.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“All the boring fighters keep them on. You’ll look just that extra bit crazy if you take it off, and your shoes.”
“Okay. You better not steal them though.”
“I’ll keep an eye on your damn shoes,” he sighed, “The folks around here aren’t that poor.”
We killed some time with a few drinks. I tried to butter Vincent up a little more with some beer in his veins, but didn’t learn much of interest. This job wasn’t anything personal, he seemed like an okay guy; but he’d probably throw me overboard if it saved his own skin. For the time being we were ‘business’ partners.
I also took the chance to study some of the fighters squaring up in the ring, and to be frank I was not impressed by the calibre of competition that came through the gates for those first rounds. I’d seen more grace in a bar fight. They usually ended with each guy being too winded to keep going, or them on top of each other trying and grappling to avoid getting hit any more while everyone boos.
The odds for my fight were slowly shifting in the favour of Frank Miller. Vincent’s assessment had been correct, he was a fan favourite and I was a total unknown. Nobody here even knew who I was – which was perfect. I could skulk around and make plans without them catching on that I wasn’t just a homeless guy with a penchant for violence. It was only when the thought crossed my mind that I realised that I was a homeless guy with a penchant for violence. I returned to the table and sat down, only for Vincent to immediately stand and drag me with him to one of the pen’s gates. My first fight came sooner than I anticipated.
Vincent motioned to my shirt, “Your turn is coming up, so let’s get you prepped.” I did as he asked and stripped the cotton top. He’d also been kind enough to bring some bandages for my knuckles. I held out my hands and he wrapped them tight. “You remember the game plan? Give him just enough to make the fans happy. Don’t make it look too easy or your odds are going to go through the floor.”
I looked down at my own body and grimaced. I looked like I hadn’t eaten a carb in my entire life. I was ripped, with a six-pack and muscles all over. My body hadn’t bulked up that much – it was just a more defined version of what was already there. I was a skinny guy normally, and my strength stat hadn’t changed that. The veins in my arm had settled down again, and I made sure to cover them with as much dirt as possible to obscure the true nature of their presence. Still, my skin was unusually pale. An uneducated observer would conclude that I was very ill.
I heard a loud voice cry out over the jumble, “The next match! Ren Kageyama versus Frank Miller! The odds on this one are real good so you money makers better get your bets in, the booth closes in a minute!”
The smart money had come in in the last minutes. Five-to-one for Miller. We’d get five times our investment if I won. Vincent was overjoyed with the result, “Big crowd, Miller on the dock – perfect. We’re going to make a killing out of this. Assuming you hold up your end of the deal.”
“If I don’t, I’ll just make an ass of myself.”
I could see Frank Miller through the gaps in the cattle gate. He was a burly guy who must have had a few years on his clock. He was eating up the spotlight, speaking with the people surrounding his cell and posing for them. On my side, people only dropped by out of curiosity, and didn’t try to speak with me. I didn’t mind. I was bad at dealing with large groups of people.
“Alright, here we go.”
The gate was unlocked and pulled open by the men hanging from the fences. I stepped into the dirt-covered ring as the crowd roared around me. Frank was eating it up, flexing and sending joking kisses to the fans. A lone referee stood in the middle and welcomed us both.
“Bets are closed, the fighters are ready, let’s get to it! Are you both ready?”
I spread my feet and squared my jaw. I nodded, “Yes.”
“Aye!”
The official raised his arm into the air between us and let it drop, “Fight!”
I learned quickly that Frank didn’t know much of anything about boxing. He was a consummate amateur, though even that label was a step too far considering his stance. His punches were wide, slow and didn’t make full use of his body. His stance was sloppy and liable to make him topple over at the slightest resistance from me.
The real challenge was learning how much to hold back. My first punch clocked him on the ear and nearly knocked him clean off his feet. I put too much power into it. He backed away and tried to probe me with long distance jabs, but he was never going to hit me doing that. I ducked under one of them and struck him in the gut to illustrate my point.
I reminded myself to not get too carried away in bruising the guy. Vincent wanted me to make the fight look competitive. I leaned in and let him hit me a few times, but the punches were much weaker than the ones that William cleaned my clock with earlier that morning. He could theoretically knock me out cold with a lucky blow, but that was unlikely with his level of ability.
We continued the dance for several minutes, but much to my annoyance Miller started to get winded. The guy was used to long periods of semi-intense lifting at his job, and didn’t have the stamina for a genuine boxing match. I couldn’t continue the charade forever, so I started to dismantle him with some punches of my own.
Around his ear, the cheek, and to the stomach. Each one sapped him of more and more strength. Miller fell easily and frequently. He scrambled back to his feet in a blind rage. I felt light as a feather as I danced around him using William’s footwork. I wiped my forehead during one of those knockdowns and spread the blood that had been spilled as much as I could, to sell the reality to the crowd.
Miller didn’t have any fight left in him. I’d done everything I needed to, so I calculated that now was the time to end things. I ‘staggered’ over and delivered one last overhead hook that he didn’t even try to avoid. The sound of his head snapping back made me cringe. He froze up, completely blanked, and fell to the ground in an explosion of dust.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have an incredible upset! Ren Kageyama wins by knockout!” The crowd nearly deafened me as they cheered my victory. Though there were many sour faces in the fray from people who had bet big on Miller. That’s what they get for judging a book by its cover, I suppose. I headed back to my side of the ring as a street-doctor checked that Miller hadn’t broken anything.
Vincent was very happy with me, which meant that I was very happy with him. He patted me on the back, “That was some good stuff out there. Love the thing you did with his blood. Some of the guys thought he busted you open.”
“Right. I’m going to clean up and get onto the next one.”
Vincent nodded, “I’ll watch the odds and get back to you with the plan.”
I grabbed a clean towel from the fence and wiped my face down. The next battle was going to be much more challenging.