Fool's Eye Page 9

  “Ohhh,” Simon and I said in unison.

  Before the waitress walked away, she told Simon––not me, only Simon––that if he needed anything else to be sure to let her know.

  “I will. Thank you.”

  She touched his shirt and gave it a little tug as she smiled, sliding her lustful eyes all over him. Stupid-ass girl. I don’t think that was supposed to be part of the con. Malik passed her as he walked back to us, and she brushed his chest lightly. I really didn’t like that girl.

  Simon passed Malik his drink and asked him, “Say, dude, where did you run off to?”

  “Sorry, man. I had to get my bet in before the fight started.”

  When Simon heard that, his eyes lit up. He took a long sip of his drink. “You placed a bet? I didn’t know you could bet in here. How did you know who to bet on? Where did you place your bet?”

  That’s all it took. One word and Simon turned from a cool, confident man who wasn’t afraid to walk into a creepy warehouse with nothing but a pocket knife, to a weak-minded individual who couldn’t resist gambling when a verb relating to it was mentioned. I guess when an addict becomes addicted to something--be it alcohol, drugs, or gambling-- everything takes second place until that itch is scratched. That includes million dollars trust funds.

  Malik was apologetic. “Damn, partner! I didn’t know you get down like that. Hell, if I would have known, we could have went together.”

  Simon downed the rest of his drink and told Malik, “Maybe we have time to place another bet. Linda, we’ll be right back.”

  Simon callously moved Malik through the crowd to place his bet, leaving me standing alone looking like a little lost puppy. I looked up at Ace, who was playing the owner in all white, and saw him take a quick peek at Malik and Simon. Then, he flashed a satisfying grin and leaned in to say something to Jim Payne, who played the owner in all black.

  Two minutes after they left, the boys returned. Simon was long faced, while Malik tried to be sympathetic to Simon’s need to gamble.

  “We can come back next week, if you like. It may not be here, but I always find the location. Tell you what. Let me buy you a drink. That’s the least I can do.” Malik called the waitress as she was walking by. “Excuse me, sweetheart, could you get another drink for my friend here? Simon, what were you drinking?”

  Simon and the waitress both spoke. “Gin and tonic.”

  She smiled. He didn’t.

  As Malik pulled out his money, his betting slip floated out of his pocket. Simon watched it slowly fall to the ground. It moved like a bird’s feather, slowly falling from the sky and in-between our legs. Malik acted like he didn’t notice that he had dropped it, but Simon definitely saw it.

  Simon picked up the slip and looked at it like it was the golden ticket into Willy Wonka's Chocolate factory. My first thought was that he was going to pocket it, but I guess he had a better idea.

  “Martin,” he said. “How about we make a deal? Let me buy this ticket from you. If I win, we’ll split the winnings fifty-fifty. What do you say?”

  Malik thought for a minute. “Well, I do feel bad for not telling you what I was going to do, and if that fighter loses, I won’t lose any money. But if he wins, I’d risk giving half to you. I don’t know, man. Why don’t you just wait till next time? We can come early, and I’ll make sure you get your bet in.”

  Simon was still holding onto the ticket as he tried to negotiate with Malik. “Look, man, the fight is about to start. The man told us that. Now, you said you feel bad about not letting me know about the bets that go on here. This is the way you can make it up to me.”

  A man next to us who was eavesdropping said, “You want to place a bet? I’ll bet you, but being that the fight is about to start, it has to be 6-1 odds on the fighter of my choosing.” The man talking was short, wore a shiny gray suit, and had way too much grease in his slicked back hair.

  “Nobody was talking to you, man. Mind your business,” Malik scold.

  “Hey, I was just trying to help the man out. You don’t have to be rude.” The man turned back around and started talking to the group he was with.

  Malik made it seem like he was uneasy about the position he just put himself in. You could see on his face what he was thinking. Sure, he felt bad that he didn’t tell his new friend about the gambling that went on there, but he also looked like he wanted to make as much money as he could. He made it seem like he was more addicted to gambling than Simon, but he quickly gathered himself and started to smile. When he did, so did Simon. Malik smiled, I assumed, because he knew about the chase that gamblers have. Simon was smiling because he knew he had just acquired a betting slip.

  “Only because you’re a Cowboys fan I’ll do it. But if we win, you’re buying the rounds when we get out of here.”

  “That’s a deal,” Simon said with a smile.

  After the agreement was made, the room went black. Not two seconds after the guys reached their deal, someone knew it was time to start the show and turned out the lights.

  The crowd automatically went mute. The main event was about to start. Suddenly, two spotlights came on from both corners of the second floor where the two owners sat. Both lights were aimed to the center of the stage. The center of the cage where a man wearing a tuxedo started to speak, “Ladies and gentleman, this is the time you've all have been waiting for. Never before have you seen two men with such raw talent in this cage at one time. These men will astonish you with their superhuman strength and cat-like reflexes. These men will make you understand what a real warrior is supposed to fight like. I tell you, once you see these men fight, you will no longer want to watch that bullshit UFC on TV, because you will only find the real thing right here. I welcome you to the LION’S DEN!”

  The crowd went wild. Waving his hands downward, the announcer motioned for the crowd to quiet down.

  “To my left,” the announcer continued. “We have a man so vicious and heartless that he has been banned from all official fighting tournaments for paralyzing his opponents. I give you MANUELLL, THE PERUVIAN HEAD SNAPPERRR!”

  The spotlights shined on a man that stood about 6’1” and was slender, but very muscular, with a bronze tone. He wore red and white boxing shorts and what I’m guessing was his country’s shield across the waist belt. His arms and feet were wrapped in bands, and his chest had a child’s face tattooed on it. The man had a face of a killer and the stance of a warrior.

  After the cheers calmed down, the announcer began again. “And to my right, we have the only man who has never been knocked to the ground or used his feet in the cage. The only man with a 22 and 0 record all from knockouts in the first round! Ladies and gentlemen, I give MIKKKKKE THE SLEDGEHAMMERRR!”

  The spotlights went to a face I knew, but had a look I’d never seen before. Big Mike looked scary. His brows were arched, and he looked like he was out for blood. He started shadowboxing, causing all his muscles to move in waves, seemly jumping off his bones. I never knew he was that muscular. He wore shorts with the design of the American flag and some all-white boxing shoes. The announcer waved his hand motioning for the crowd to quit down again.

  “And your referee for this great event is Keith Dunns.”

  The announcer handed the microphone to a muscular man wearing a football referee shirt, black slacks, and freshly-shined black dress shoes. Keith took the microphone, finger-combed his shiny black slicked-back hair, and gave the rules for the fight.

  Simon looked at the ticket in his hand and confirmed what he was looking at. “So we have The Sledgehammer?”

  Still looking at the cage, Malik said, “Yeah, the guys by the ticket booth said if I want to win to put my money on him. Besides, I’ve seen him fight before. He’s no joke.”

  “Then why does the ticket say it’s a three-to-one odd against him?”

  Malik shrugged. “Don’t know. Maybe some people think his time is up. Look at it this way. That’s a five-hundred-dollar bet. If we win, that’s one thousand and fifty
dollars we get to split fifty-fifty!”

  I watched Malik work with amusement. He was no longer trying to convince Simon that he was who he said he was. Both of them were past that point. Malik was working the play so well that I was getting caught up in it.

  “If I had money to bet, I would have put my money on that Peruvian guy,” I said. “He looks like he’s going to take that other guy out.”

  The eavesdropper from earlier turned his attention to me and said, “How much money do you have on you? I will give you five-to-one odds.”

  Malik tapped the man on the shoulder. “Look, man, for the last time, no one is talking to you. So, why don’t you turn around and mind your own. Damn. Business?”

  Malik’s last three words were sharp. The eavesdropper knew exactly what they really meant. In other words, Malik was saying, If you don’t stop talking to us, I’m going to punch you in your mouth.

  Simon and I smirked at Malik. I don’t know why Simon did, but I thought Malik looked sexy checking him.

  The bell rang, and the fighters began dancing around the cage. Big Mike, with his fist just below his eyes, bounced to his left, while Manuel, with a stance like a Taiwanese boxer, swayed to his right. Both looked like they were out for blood, but neither would make a move.

  Simon asked, “Why are they so hesitant? JUST HIT HIM!”

  He said it so loud that it made me and the people close to him jump. However, his thirst for blood made everyone in the building start chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

  Manuel was the first to answer the people’s call with an attempted low kick to Mike’s shin, but Mike blocked it and hit Manuel in the side with such force that his mouthpiece flew from his mouth.

  “Wow!” said Malik. “That boy is a beast!”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” yelled Simon to the fighters.

  Now I know it was supposed to be a con, but the fight didn’t seem so staged to me. The way Mike hit him made me think it was about real as real gets. I cut my eyes at Malik to get a glimpse of his expression, and he was totally in the role, real or not.

  Back in the cage, Mike threw three more powerful blows to Manuel’s sides, two to the left and a rib-crushing one to the right. Manuel slumped over to his side in extraordinary pain and looked up at Big Mike with defeat and pity. Still, Mike ‘The Sledgehammer’ showed no pity on Manuel as his fist and Manuel’s jaw met for a final blow that was so powerful it spun Manuel around, sending blood flying from his mouth.

  The referee dove to the mat. He was about to give Manuel the three count, but after he lifted Miguel’s arm and watched it limply drop back on the mat, he yelled, “That’s it! This fight is over!”

  The crowd went crazy. I looked at Simon and Malik as they gave each other high-fives.

  “Let’s go get our money!” Malik yelled over the crowd.

  “Hell yeah, bro! Where do we go? Back to the ticket box?”

  “Yeah, follow me!”

  Simon grabbed my hand as he made a failing attempt to keep up with Malik, but we lost him in the madness.

  The waitress came up to us and asked Simon, “Are you leaving now?”

  “Umm, not yet. I’m looking for my friend. Did you see where he went?”

  “Sorry, sugar, I didn’t. If you leave before I see you again, take this.”

  She handed him a card with her number on it. Simon looked at the number and smiled.

  Before walking off, the waitress rubbed her hand across his chest and said, “Make sure you use that number.”

  No longer paying the girl any attention, Simon belted, “Where the hell did he go? Did you see which way he went?”

  “No,” I said. “I thought you had an eye on him, but now I see where your eyes were at. Where did you guys go earlier? Maybe he’s already there.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. I think it’s this way.”

  He pulled me in the direction he thought Malik went…

  “EVERYBODY FREEZE!” yelled a police officer over a bullhorn. “THIS IS A RAID!”

  People went frantic! I looked up at where Ace and Jim Payne were sitting. They had gotten up from their seats and calmly disappeared into the shadows. I got bumped constantly as I tried to get through the crowd and make it to the front door. The police had blocked the exit and was tackling anyone who came their way.

  Malik turned up out of nowhere. “Hey, follow me!”

  He pulled Simon’s hand. Simon held my hand tightly as Malik shoved his way through the mob going in the opposite direction of everyone else.

  What did I get myself involved in? I thought.

  Malik looked so scared that I started to think it wasn’t part of the con. I can’t afford to get arrested. Not like this.

  Malik led us to a side exit that opened to an alleyway. Large green dumpsters were on both sides of our small getaway path. We ran past a short Chinese man with a stained white shirt, who was smoking a cigarette, talking on the telephone, and taking out the trash. I started to get really nervous because I didn’t know what was going on.

  “Simon, where is he taking us?”

  “I don’t know! Just keep up!” He was just as scared as I was. “I can’t get caught out here,” Simon kept saying to himself.

  Malik pulled us into a bodega.

  “Papo, let us in the back!” His words were rushed, and he seemed to be extremely scared.

  “Porque?” the cashier asked. “There is nothing going on here tonight. Who’s the white boy?”

  “He’s with me.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Papo, stop playing and just open it!” Malik yelled.

  “Alright, bro, chill out,” said the cashier calmly said as he hit a button located underneath his counter.

  A buzz came from the back of the room. Malik pulled us toward the back and stood in front of a door. “We should be safe here,” he told us.

  However, by the time Malik tried to open the door, the buzzing stopped.

  “Papo, stop playing,” Malik said in a harsh whisper.

  “You’re the one playing around,” laughed Papo. “You think I’m going to hold this button all night.”

  He hit the button again, and the buzz let us know the door was unlocked.

  “Asshole,” Malik said under his breath.

  I think Papo must have heard him, because as we exited through the door, he started laughing harder.

  When we walked through the door, we were welcomed by a row of four slot machines on the wall. A roulette table and card table took up the space in the center of the floor. At the card table sat Ace and Jim Payne talking over a drink and cigars.

  A new glow came over Simon’s face. “What’s this place?”

  Malik had his ear to the door listening for the cops. After he was certain the coast was clear, he answered Simon’s question.

  “This is another place I like to go when I come to visit my sister. It was the only place I could think of coming to in order to avoid getting arrested.”

  “Good thinking, bro. I was sure our goose was cooked”

  “You’re not the only one,” I said. “This is my last year in school. If I get arrested for something so stupid now…” I shook my head. “I don’t want to even think about it.”

  “I think we’re fine now,” said Malik.

  Ace cleared his throat. “May I help you gentlemen and young lady?”

  Malik walked up to them with his hand out. “Ummm... Hi, I’m Martin Lawrence. This is…”

  “Martin Lawrence like the actor?” asked Jim Payne.

  “Yes, like the actor. Like I was saying, I’m Martin. This is Simon; that’s Linda. We were at your fight, Mr. Leblac, but had to get away before the police caught us.”

  “So you come here, why?” inquired Ace.

  “It was the only place I could think of. If you don’t mind, we would like to stay here until the police clear out.”

  “I suppose that would be fine. Do you have a problem with that, Mr. Daniels?”

  �
�No, not at all, and since we’re all here, do any of you boys partake in any card playing?”

  “Sure,” replied Malik. “It would have to be recreational. I lost all my money at the fight.”

  Ace laughed. “So you bet on Manuel to win? That was a costly move.”

  Simon spoke up. “No, we had our money on Mike ‘The Sledgehammer,’ but the police busted down the door before we could collect our winnings.” He slammed his ticket on the card table. “See, we had five big ones on Mike to win.”

  Ace calmly picked up the ticket, examined it, and reached into his coat pocket. “It seems that you did win. So, here is what I’ll do.” He counted out fifteen crisp hundred-dollar bills and slid it on the table. “I’ll take this ticket, and you boys take this money. I’ll get my money back from the gate master later.”