Chapter 75: Bare Knuckle Diplomacy
It turned out, right here and now wasn’t actually right now. The fight was half an hour later to account for the need for an announcement and for Cicero’s men to hype up the fight. To Razia’s amusement, a great deal of it was centered around Quentin’s past as a punching bag and how much he was sure to lose. By the time they were almost ready to go, the odds were staggeringly in favor of the champ. People didn’t bet on whether or not Quentin would lose so much as when. Smart money was a knockout in round three.
So it was agreed that Quentin would put up a fight, he’d take his punches and make it believable, and then take a fall in order to get some appeasement money and offer a show of humility and submission before the king of the underworld. It all sounded so logical and straightforward that Razia couldn’t trust it. The plan didn’t add up, but there was no way of telling for sure one way or the other. There was only trusting her gut and Razia wasn’t so sure about that anymore. Nevertheless, she placed a bet of her own.
“You’re really going for that?” asked Quentin, wrinkling his nose as the Mediant took her money and quickly jotted down the information of the bet and the odds on a piece of paper with the Mediant’s signature at the bottom. “That’s not the plan.”
All Razia could do was shrug and hope she was right about her feeling. “I’ll never bet against you,” she said as they made their way downstairs once more. All of the other fights were placed on hold and all of the Kennel’s attention and hype were dedicated to the upcoming sham. Heads turned their way as they passed, with more than a few of the people jeering and booing at Quentin who kept his head held high and ignored them.
“I appreciate it, but you’re just throwing away shards. Don’t do this because you’re feeling guilty, Razia. I’ll be okay.” They arrived at the outside of the pit. Across the gap was the champion Lugo, surrounded by fans and drinking from a large bottle. “He’s not so big. And it’s not like it’ll take me long to heal whatever hurt he puts on me.”
“Look,” she said, sighing, “I’m not used to feeling guilt and actually wanting to do something about it.”
Quentin looked over at Lugo, who let out a window rattling belch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned at Quentin and winked at him. “How about this,” said Quentin, turning back to Razia with a crooked smile. “If you want to make up for the savage beating I’m about to take you could always…nurse me back to health later.”
Razia’s face split into a delighted grin. “Why Mr. Q, that’s awfully forward of you! I’m not sure what kind of woman you think I am but…” she couldn’t finish and started giggling. Quentin joined her and soon they had people staring at the scene. “Look at you,” she said, shaking her head. “The dam burst, huh?”
His face reddened, and he shrugged. Before he had a chance to say anything else, Mr. Cicero stood up on his platform and motioned for silence. Lugo crouched down and dropped into the pit. “After the match, then,” he said.
“Even if you have to lose, make that bastard remember you forever,” Razia said, tugging at his tunic so she could kiss his cheek for good luck.
Quentin smiled at her and dropped down as well. The crowds parted for Razia as she made her way up to join Mr. Cicero for a better view and for what Razia suspected would be an important conversation that would determine things going forward. She loved how straightforward Quentin was, but that wasn’t how the rest of them did things. Mr. Cicero wouldn’t be satisfied to just watch the show in peace and enjoy their show of submission. Razia leaned against the railing by the crime lord as he cleared his throat to speak.
“Friends, followers, and fighting fanatics,” he began, a bit of fire entering his voice. “Welcome to a very special match between the very best and the very worst! Here we have Lugo Skullcrusher, champion of the pits and an unstoppable behemoth!” The crowd shrieked with joy as Lugo himself pulled his shirt off and flexed, showing a heavy frame packed with both muscle and fat.
“Lugo here hasn’t lost a match in months, and today his strength and fury will be tested against a very interesting opponent. Mr Q here used to fight in these very pits. With nearly a hundred losses to his name and only three victories, there are few people who can take a beating and walk away like he can. Let’s see how long he can last, huh?” There was some laughter, but most of their attention was on the two fighters, staring each other down as they stretched out for the fight.
“Gentleman, on the count of three. One.” Cicero glanced sideways at Razia, smirking at her. “Two.” The fighters got into position, with Lugo looming menacingly over Quentin who dropped into a defensive stance. “FIGHT!”
Lugo rushed at Quentin immediately, throwing a heavy punch that would’ve floored Quentin if he didn’t duck out of the way and lash out with a counter to Lugo’s jaw. The big man took a step back, eyes widening in surprise. Quentin followed through immediately, letting out a flurry of quick blows to the man’s ribs. Lugo jerked backwards, twisting and swinging, but Quentin danced out of the way.
“Interesting way to begin a loss,” Cicero said, casually leaning over the railing.
“You said to put on a show,” said Razia, crossing her arms over her chest. “And we figured if Quentin got in some good blows early, maybe it would tire the big guy out before he could hurt him too much.” Despite the fact that Quentin was a large man, Lugo had size and reach on him and Quentin couldn’t dodge forever. Quentin was surprisingly graceful for his size, bouncing from foot to foot and staying on the move, forcing Lugo to keep up with him. “Assuming you just want the loss and don’t care how badly he’s hurt.”
“You assume correctly, Ms. Rashid,” Cicero chuckled. “He’s very loyal, to take yet another beating for you. You’ve got yourself a good right hand this time.” Lugo’s next punch didn’t miss and Quentin took it on the chin, reeling sideways but catching himself before he fell. He kept his fists up and circled, looking wary now.
“He’s in charge, Mr. Cicero. We’re partners, but I’ll be deferring to him.”
“Please, don’t insult my intelligence. We both know what it takes to survive in our world, and strength isn’t enough. It comes down to people like us, the schemers and the dreamers. I’m sure Mr. Q makes for an amazing figurehead, but we both know who’s really directing the action and coming up with the ideas. There’s no need to pretend with me.”
Razia’s cheeks heated up. Anger was better than guilt, but anger was dangerous for her. Anger was what led her to making her dumbest, pettiest decisions. She needed to be better about it. So she said nothing as Quentin got in another couple of good hits to Lugo’s ribs before the bigger man reared back and drove his fist into Quentin’s face, sending him sprawling backwards. Quentin flipped over on his hands and knees, panting as the crowd started counting. On three, he was back up, though his movements were slower.
Then a bell rang and they both retreated to opposite ends of the pit. Someone handed Quentin some water, which he gratefully swished and spit. The area around his eye was already swollen and was going to bruise and blacken before too long. Other than that he looked mostly okay. He met Razia’s gaze and winked at her. She smiled back and waved to him, trying to will away the sinking feeling in her stomach.
“There’s something I don’t quite get,” she said to Mr. Cicero as the fighters took their break. “Your bit about sentimentality. I’m not buying it.”
Cicero laughed, the sudden sound startling coming from the normally cool man. “It’s true, though I may have been playing it up just a bit.”
“Why?”
“Why act hurt and offended? So I --”
“No,” Razia interrupted. “Why is all your focus on Quentin? Sure, you teased me about how easy it would be to hand me over, but all of your focus has been on getting Quentin to cooperate. You want something else from him.”
“I do,” said Cicero. “I think Quentin has a lot of potential. The other night, when Piro made a move for you, your man took on four armed men and walked away with just a few scratches. He’s loyal, can take a beating, and I have things he wants and needs. And frankly?” He turned away from the fight. His eyes glittered dangerously.
“If you two want my ongoing help, then I might have to borrow Quentin and put him to work every now and then. He’ll be a valuable asset, if you two can learn to behave.”
The bell rang again and the fighters got back into position. Quentin moved forward and practically ran face-first into the champion’s fist. One punch turned into two and then four as Lugo struck again and again, faster, softer blows this time. The big brute wasn’t capable of speed, but he seemed to realize glancing blows were better than missing. Quentin was forced backward until his back hit the edge of the pit.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Razia winced as another heavy blow came and Quentin just took it, doubling over as the bigger man’s fist sank into his stomach. She didn’t like this. Any of this. “That’s more than we agreed on.”
Mr. Cicero’s smile became predatory. “My help comes with a lot of strings attached, and you’re hardly in a position to be choosy. I’m going to be making demands of you both soon. They’ll be for your own good.”
Razia’s blood ran cold. “What exactly do you mean?” she demanded as her heart thudded and picked up the pace.
His entire body language changed. No longer was there the quiet menace hidden underneath a tightly controlled surface. It was all on his face now, the pure glee of a conqueror about to claim his next victory. “I seem to recall the two of you wanting to be seen as good friends of mine. Wasn’t that what you requested? That we play everything off as a misunderstanding and you got my blessing? Well Ms. Rashid, if you want to project the image of respected friends then you’ll need to prove it to others.
“If you want my protection and the protection from all the best and brightest of North Orchrisus, you’re going to need to make it clear to everyone who you are and what you stand for. Being one of my subjects means living and operating under my purview, and that means being a part of my community. You will not be getting any manpower from me, nor will you get any special attention. You want to shield yourselves with a lie? It’ll be on you to convince everyone of that lie and use it to protect yourselves. With my blessing that you so badly wanted.”
Quentin remained pinned on the wall, holding his arms up in front of his face, twisting and weaving away from some blows while blocking the rest as the relentless assault continued. The next blow broke his guard and slammed into his nose. The audience let out a collective gasp as Quentin swayed and collapsed against the wall, clinging to it to keep him from collapsing.
“You’re going to be my tributaries for real,” Mr. Cicero continued, turning back towards the fight. “You’ll have all the privileges and responsibilities that entails. That means getting called on to provide your services for parties and get-togethers, at your own cost. You’ll get your high end whorehouse, and the rest of my people will benefit from the connection. Welcome to the family, Ms. Rashid.”
The second Quentin raised back up, Lugo reared back and slugged him. Quentin spun in place and dropped to the ground. Everyone screamed loudly as Lugo raised his fists in the air and circled his fallen opponent. Quentin’s hands pushed at the ground, trying to force himself to his feet. He faltered, falling back on his knees as the count went on. “Five! Six! Seven!” Quentin stood, swaying in place. He raised his fists just as the bell rang and the round ended.
The two fighters retreated to their sides. Quentin took another quick sip and gratefully wiped some of the blood off his face with a mostly clean towel. Clutching the sides of the pit to keep himself standing he looked up at Razia again, gaze sliding over her until he made eye contact with Mr. Cicero, who nodded and turned to Razia. “Any complaints?” he asked.
There were plenty of things she could complain about, but his demands weren’t entirely unexpected. Quentin wouldn’t be happy about being dragged in deeper and deeper, but it was a possibility they’d discussed. It would have to work for now. Safety and survival were their first priority, everything else was secondary. Razia shook her head. “No complaints,” she said. “You said it. We’re not in a position to bargain.”
Cicero nodded to her and then raised his hands. The noise faded until it was silent save for breathing and the occasional cough. “This has been an interesting, exciting match so far,” he said. “But I think it needs to get more interesting. Mr. Q? I changed my mind about our deal. You don’t have to just survive this fight. If you want my help, you’ll turn it around and win.”
The audience didn’t know what to make of the announcement, but the fighters did. Lugo burst out laughing and leaned back against the wall, arms spread out across the lip. Quentin stared up at Mr. Cicero with thinly veiled frustration.
Razia, however, wasn’t surprised. In fact, after a long, stressful couple of days, she felt like her old clever self again. “Does that mean Quentin has permission to go all out?” she asked.
Mr. Cicero inclined his head. “I’d expect nothing less.”
Smiling, Razia called out to Quentin, “Stop holding back. Take a breath and then fuck him up!”
Quentin looked at her puzzled, then he understood. That only made him more concerned, but Razia maintained eye contact, grinning at him. Eventually Quentin just shrugged and grinned back. He closed his eyes and grimaced. It was hard to see from this far away, but some of the swelling around his face lightened.
The audience didn’t know what to make of it, but Mr. Cicero did. “Huh,” he said. “Interesting. Let’s see how this plays out then.”
Razia took a deep breath and centered herself. It was an uncomfortable truth that she fucked up. A lot. The majority of her problems were self-inflicted and she knew it, but she was who she was, and Razia liked herself. It was times like these she was reminded just why she had such high self esteem. Pride was very much one of her biggest flaws, but also her greatest strength. Quentin had to fake his confidence. Razia had it in spades. The bell rang, and the two fighters got into position.
“Mr. Cicero,” Razia began in a pleasant, unconcerned voice. “Your terms are reasonable and fair.” In the pit, the fighters circled each other slowly. “But we have terms of our own that aren’t negotiable. Firstly, Quentin will not murder anyone for you. If you want his services, he’ll act for you and fight for you if needed, but he will not be a killer on call for you or for anyone else ever again.”
Quentin feinted, baiting out another heavy blow from Lugo he sidestepped and swung a vicious hook into the bigger man’s ear. He faltered and Quentin hit the other ear, forcing him back. The crowd booed and hissed as their champion reeled. The challenger didn’t let up, advancing and peppering Lugo’s ribs with fast, sharp punches that kept him off balance.
“We’re happy to supply entertainment for parties at cost. However, we’ll only bring people who want to come serve gangsters and mercenaries. If any of them say no, we’re not forcing them. Likewise, no whore under us will ever have to serve a person who makes them uncomfortable or feel unsafe, and we don’t care who that pisses off. Our priority is our people, and they will not be disrespected or mistreated. If we’re to be friends,” she said the word with a sardonic flutter of her eyelashes, “then that friendship will be based on mutual understanding and respect.”
Below them, the fight turned. With Quentin on the offensive, Lugo found himself unable to get in a good blow. The bigger man stumbled back further, twisting away from the blows. He may have been able to hit harder but Quentin could hit first, and he wasn’t letting up. The moment Lugo’s back hit the wall, Quentin dropped and drove his fist into his gut. The champion folded in half.
Quentin grabbed him by the beard and hammered his fist down against his jaw. The crowd screamed foul, but no one stopped him. It didn’t end until one final heavy blow made Lugo convulse then go limp and fall to the ground. Quentin straightened up, heaving and panting for air. He looked up and around, smiling at the dead silence that followed. Both he and Razia looked to Mr. Cicero.
Razia wore a big smile on her face, knowing it was risky. All of it boiled down to this one moment of judgment from a powerful, prideful man. Her heart soared as he exploded into applause, which stirred the crowd into clapping as well, slowly at first and then rising into a pleased cacophony. “Excellent. Excellent!” Mr. Cicero called out. “Mr. Q is our winner, in round three with a knockout.”
That was something the audience couldn’t pretend to be pleased about, save for the handful of people who went for the longshot. Turning to Razia he said, “Your terms are acceptable. If the pride and dignity of your whores offend some of my people, it’ll be on you to deal with any problems that arise from it. Understood?”
“Perfectly,” said Razia, turning and throwing herself into Quentin’s arms as he climbed the steps back up. He grunted as she collided with a bruised and battered body but held her there. They parted and she looked up at him. He’d looked worse in the past, but it was still pretty rough. “How do you feel?”
“Tired. Sore. Ravenous.” Quentin half smiled and looked past her to Mr. Cicero. “Are you satisfied, Mr. Cicero?”
Mr. Cicero inclined his head. “I am. You performed well, surprised me, and made me some money today. You are now one of my tributaries and are under my banner.”
Quentin’s shoulders slumped in relief. His eyes fluttered closed and he took a deep breath. When he relaxed, he was smiling as well. “You’re not the only one who made money, I think. Forget what I said Razia, you were right.”
“Oh how I love to hear those words,” she sighed.
Cicero paused. “You bet he would win?” he asked.
“I know what I’m doing, Mr. Cicero. And more importantly, I understood what you were doing. You said you wanted it over in the third round, so I took that to heart. Sorry you’ll have to split your winnings with me, but hey. Looks like I have enough to pay off Samantha’s and my debts, Quentin. With plenty left over.”
Whatever fear she had at Mr. Cicero’s reaction was dispelled by the genuine smile on his face. While he was mostly back to his restrained, neutral mask, he seemed pleased. “Well done, then. We need a sitdown with Piro and his partner to discuss our options. I’ll arrange the meeting and get back to you. In the meantime, I’ll send a man over with details you’ll need for the party. Until next time Ms. Rashid, Mr. Q.” He bowed his head respectfully and left them on his platform.
“Party?” Quentin asked.
Razia shook her head. “While you were fighting he put some extra conditions on the deal, and so did I. And when we get home, I’ll tell you about all of them. You trust me, right?”
He looked at her, then snorted. “I’m choosing to, for now. Disappoint me again and it’s over. For now? I trust you.”
Her heart swelled. Sure there had been plenty of missteps, but they were on the same page now, they had a mutual enemy and they had plenty of work ahead of them. But for now, all was well and things were looking up. “C’mon Mr. Q. you look like you’re in need of some nursing.” After a quick stop for a bulging sack of shards, they walked home arm in arm.