Trustless Shadows, CH 04 (Patreon)

I fight the urge to pull at the coat’s collar. It’s stiff, and rubs at my neck. The whole of it feels stiff as I move. Maybe I should have bought a different one, but this was the only black trench-coat the store had.

At least people no longer look at me. I look like one of them again, just another person taking a walk along the path following the river’s shore. There are more people here than I expected. They walk singly, or in pairs. Some even have pets with them.

The path follows the river from one end of the city to the other. I walk it when I need to get away from the noises, but don’t want to leave the city entirely. There aren’t enough trees for this to count even as a wooded area, but most of the sounds get muffled, so I can get a respite.

I get off the path when the river curves away from the industrial area. It doesn’t take long for the trees to fall away and be replaced by metal and brick buildings, then a dozen warehouses standing about, unattended.

Except for one.

I hear the crowd in it before I see it. The cheering, the booing. Fights usually start the moment the sun is down, so they’ve been going on for an hour now. It’s the sixth building in the row. They all belong to a company called Shoshan. Robert told me they manufacture a variety of products, and store them here while waiting to ship them to other cities.

I asked about the dangers of using the warehouses if the company also used them, but Robert said that while he had no idea how the organizers did it, they always knew which one was empty.

The two men standing by the door are tall and bulky, in faded jeans, a shirt, and work boots. Anyone seeing them would just think they were workers, outside for their break, and not enforcers controlling who entered the building. The warehouse was far enough from the road no one there could hear the crowd inside, even if all the cars were to shut their engines down.

I don’t recognize either of the men. As I go to walk between them, the taller and more muscular of the two places a hand on my chest. “This is private property, buddy.”

“I’m Derick. I’m fighting tonight.”

The man looks me over, and his friend snickers. 

“Right,” the tall one says, “because you look just like the guys we usually get.”

This often happens with new people. I don’t look imposing. I’m average height, and even out of my trench-coat my muscles don’t bulge like theirs do. Amanda didn’t pick this body because it was imposing; she picked it because of the skill-set that it had, that I inherited when she injected the demon’s essence in it.

I look at the hand on my chest. “So you want me to beat you up to prove I can fight?”

His friend stops snickering. He’s also massive. “Wall, he sounds pretty sure of himself. Why don’t you check the list?”

Wall looks at him, then me again. He pulls a piece of paper and unfolds it. “What’s your name again?”

“Derick,” I growl in annoyance. I reach for the door, but Wall’s friend steps before me.

“Sorry, buddy. Until Wall says you’re on the list, you’re not going in.”

I growl again. I don’t mean to, but I’m getting tired of these people getting in my way, making my life more difficult than it needs to be. He doesn’t look impressed. He’s used to dealing with people who look impressive, so he doesn’t know how to judge someone’s strength. I contemplate grabbing him by the neck and throwing him out of my way, to show he should tread carefully around me.

“Got it.” Wall sounds surprised. He looks me up and down. “Are you really sure you want to fight? They’re going to break you.”

I smile at him. “I do hope they try.”

Wall’s friend pulls on the door just as screams erupt from inside.

Bleachers have been set up around an elevated central fighting cage. I walk between two sets, and as I get closer to the center, I see more and more of the people seated and cheering. There are no empty spots.

I don’t understand humans’ fascination with watching violence. Back when I hunted demons for Amanda, people would gather at windows or behind cars and watch me fight. I’d asked Jason why they did it, and he explained they wanted to see who would win, so they’d know what to do: flee or cheer.

Now, I’ve decided that was another lie. If that was the reason, then why were all these people here? There’s no danger to them, and yet they watch with an intensity that makes me think they feel that their lives depend on the outcome of the fights.

Another muscular man places a hand on my chest once I reach the end of the bleachers. I’m tempted to grab the hand and break it, but I know this one.

“What are you doing here?” His job is to make sure no one runs to the cage and the people working around it to cause trouble.

“I’m fighting tonight.”

He takes his hand off. “No one told me.”

I shrug. “Robert arranged it.”

“He’s sitting over there.” He nods to the left.

I head in that direction. Inside the cage, a woman is beating down a man. At the foot of the cage, men and women are seated at tables, phones to their ears and writing down information.

“Derick!” Robert calls to me.

He’s seated in a chair placed before the lowest row of bleachers. Only the fighters and their managers, which is what Robert is to me, are allowed on the floor. As usual he’s wearing a black suit, white shirt, and red tie.

I sit next to him, and look at the other fighters. Those I’ve fought before greet me with a nod, and the new ones study me.

Before Robert can say anything, I lean toward him. “I’m not losing tonight.”

Robert doesn’t react. When he speaks, his voice is even. He rarely lets his emotions show when he talks about the fights. “You’ve won the last three matches. Your odds are getting kind of high. We can’t make much money the way they’re going.”

“I don’t care.”

Robert thinks it over. “Can you play like you’re going to lose, then come back up? The crowd likes those.”

“No.”

“D, you—”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Sorry. Derick, you know how this works, I need to bring in enough money to justify buying your way in. For that I need—”

I silence him with a glare. “Robert, I don’t give a damn about the money tonight. I have had a couple of bad days. All I want tonight is to beat the crap out of someone. If you have to keep my share, keep it.”

“Now, Derick, you know I’m not going to do that. We agreed to a reasonable split when you brought me on to manage your fights. I’m just saying that if you win both fights tonight, we’re barely going to see any returns on our investment.”

In the ring, the man has thrown the woman over his shoulder. She rolls back up and tackles him. Neither shows signs they have much training.

“So I should expect difficult opponents.”

“Gentry’s pissed at you.”

“Who?”

“You remember Jutro?”

I shake my head. 

“Black man, a head and half on you, wire-brush hair. You fought him three weeks ago.”

I remember him. He challenged me directly, called me a fake. Yelled he’d show everyone I didn’t belong in the ring. It was showmanship, nothing more. 

Robert had taught me about that. In my first fight here, when I’d first found out I could make money fighting, I won my fight with one punch, and the crowd booed me.

I’d gotten paid, and left. I had no interest in watching the other fights; all I wanted was the money. Robert had found me as I left that warehouse and he talked with me about the fight. He spent some time trying to explain what I’d done wrong. It was clear I didn’t understand what he meant—I’d won the fight, what else mattered? He told me that if I let him be my manager and followed his directions, he could triple the money I’d make.

That had been what made me agree. I needed the money. I’d been tired of eating out of dumpsters.

Before I’d fought Jutro, Robert had told me to make the fight last twenty minutes, and to win by beating him unconscious. The man had been strong and skilled. He’d made me work for my victory, but by the time he was unconscious, he also had a broken leg and arm. Injuries were part of the fights.

“Gentry’s a friend of is. He’s probably going to challenge you on your second fight. Make you pay for putting Jutro in the hospital. I heard from the doc he’s going to be laid down for at least two months.”

I nod. Humans are fragile. I have to be careful when fighting not to do permanent damage. I’m going to have to be even more careful tonight, with my anger burning as it is.

Robert motions to a man talking with one of the women in a suit. “Okay, I’m not sure what he’s doing. That’s Gentry. If he’s talking to her, that means he’s in tight with the organizers. Maybe he wants to make sure they give you someone hard as a first fight, that way when he challenges you, you’ll have been tenderized.”

Robert grins at me. “You do realize you could really ruin his plans if you lost your first fight.”

“I am not going to lose.”

As a part of showmanship, Robert taught me how to play the crowd, as what he’d like me to do tonight: act like a fight is taking more out of me than it is. I don’t understand the point, but I normally do what he tells me. I can see the crowd likes it; they cheer louder when I win a fight that was ‘tough’, but I don’t understand why.

Robert doesn’t have me act that way every time. He says that if I become predictable, the crowd will lose interest. I’ve learned to trust his judgment when it comes to how I should win a fight. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d listen to him tonight. I’d even lose like he wants me to, but I am looking forward to these fights.

Losing a fight was the hardest thing Robert had to teach me. I have been trained to win. To lose meant I’d die. That first time I almost couldn’t do it, and afterward I was so angry I almost punched Robert. Even after he gave me my cut of the winnings, I still wanted to hit something.

It only took me two more losses to realize that I got more money out of them than when I won.

Robert explained about the betting then. How the odds changed the more someone won so that fewer people would bet on him, but it also meant that someone could bet on his opponent, and make more money if the opponent won.

I still don’t get it. I don’t understand what the odds are about, so I let Robert deal with that aspect. But knowing that made losing easier.

Robert takes out his phone and sends messages, instructing his people how to place their bets.

Cheers erupt as the arbiter declares the woman the winner. There is no doubt of her victory—the man has to be dragged out of the cage, leaving a trail of blood. She walks around the cage, arms in the air, another part of showmanship, then she leaves and a young man enters to mop the blood off.

The next fight lasts less than five minutes, with one man limping out. As the next two go in, two women, we’re told they are the last of the new fighters.

We wait. The first fight is organized by the people who run the fights, based on matches they want to see, or popular fighters who haven’t fought in a while. Robert explained they also create rivalries and have them continue for years.

The man who’s speaking to the woman points at me.

“What is he planning?” Robert is studying the man. His motions are angry. “The smart play is to have you weakened by someone, and then take you on.”

“Is he smart?”

The woman throws her hand in the air. Whatever the argument, she just gave up. She speaks to one of the arbiters, who scribbles something on a piece of paper.

“I thought he was.”

“I’m not worried.”

“I am. If he isn’t the one to try and beat you down, who is?”