by Kolin Wood
A mixture of boos and cheers sounded as the majority of the lesser fortunate showed their dislike for those with means.
Laughing and ignoring the fed up looks from the rest of the VIP box—including Farringdon himself—Teddy changed his tactic again.
“NOW THEN, ARE YOU READY TO SEE SOME BLOOD?”
This time the cheer was enthusiastic as a sea of hands shot up into the air.
“ARE YOU READY TO SEE SOME… DEATH?”
More of the same.
“GOOD!” Teddy continued. “As tonight, I have something really very special for you all. Oh, and by the way… how’d y’all like the new fighting cage? Pretty spectacular, hey?!”
Bottles sailed through the air and drinks were thrown as people jostled and fought each other in the tight space. The arena had never been packed so full. The increased tension made the atmosphere electric, unlike anything Teddy had ever witnessed before.
“Now, in order to mark this very special occasion in the style that it warrants, I have organised for you all to receive a glass of MJF’s finest hooch! Free of fucking charge! What’d you all think about that then?”
Again the closeness of the space brought the level of the noise to an almost unbearable roar. Teddy squinted his eyes and turned his face down to the floor in a theatrical display for the benefit of the crowd, who lapped it up.
“Wow, you lot are hungry for it tonight! Well okay then, I suppose we’d better get this show started. YOU LOT WANNA SEE SOMETHING NEW?” The crowd roared. “Then ladies and gentlemen, please, put your hands together for the first act… Fighting for her first time in the arena, but needing no introductions, here to show us all that we are not at the top of the food chain… the Capital’s very own Hound of Hell… MAXINE!”
One of the spotlights, manned by a Capital guard perched with precarious looking footholds at the top of the pole, swung in the direction of the far gates causing the crowd to turn as one. Teddy watched as every member of the VIP box stood with glasses raised. Sir Farringdon was almost jumping with excitement. Ondine however, refused to look over, avoiding his eye at all costs. Her reluctance made Teddy smile.
Four guards, dressed all in black and sporting faceless masks, marched through the doorway. On their shoulders each of them carried a thick, metal pole, which bridged the gap between the pair in front and the pair behind. And in the centre, strapped to the poles between the four men, perched a large, shiny, steel, dog cage.
The ooooh from the audience came as one as the dog began a frenzied spin in the cage. Froth flew from its snapping jaws as it tried in vain to reach the jeering spectators to either side, some of whom jumped up and thumped their hands on the sides of the cage, inciting it further still.
Behind them all, a man strolled confidently. His back straight and his head up, the man was clearly enjoying the adulation of the excited crowd. It was Cole. He was wearing a clean suit and his face had been wrapped in a fresh bandage. In one hand, he held a thick piece of chain.
The customary entrance drums suddenly kicked in, producing a beat in time which further heightened the majesty of the strange procession.
Teddy smiled as he gauged the people’s reactions.
Soon the guards and the dog had reached the cage at the centre of the arena. With a single, group effort they slid the dog crate through a gate and onto the wooden floor inside. The dog, its hackles raised high on its skinny haunches, paced in a circle, finally coming to rest in a corner facing the door. Its fur was matted, soaked through with drool and sweat, giving the impression that it may have had rabies.
“And next,” Teddy continued. “Slithering into the ring on his belly… like the snake that he is… hoping to show you ALL that he really does have a spine hidden somewhere in that wrinkled husk of yellowing skin… The cheat… The liar… The human can of pedigree chum… SAL!”
The noise intensified once more as the drums continued with their hypnotic beat.
Heads craned as Cole climbed the stairs to the cage.
The dog, seeing Cole approach, exploded into another frenzy. It pulled back its black lips to expose a sharp set of snapping teeth. But Cole ignored it. As the crowd watched, he turned and yanked hard on the chain in his hand. A shape crawled on all fours into the ring.
People screamed until their throats ran hoarse. The sheer indignity of it; the dog, carried like a parading Pharaoh while the master was dragged on all fours on a lead.
Cole walked to the far corner where he snapped down a combination padlock onto a purposefully placed metal hoop, securing the end of the chain to it. Then, slowly, he pulled a knife from his belt and turned to face the snivelling Sal.
The crowd bayed and booed for blood. Bottles and other rubbish, sailed through the air, most of it harmlessly slamming into the grated sides and coming to rest on the floor outside.
Cole bent down, and when he stood again, he turned and showed the frayed ends of the rope that he had just cut, freeing Sal from the bonds securing his wrists.
Suddenly the crumpled form burst into life. It leapt up from the floor, hands like claws, grasping for Cole’s head.
Sal’s thin, grey hair stuck out to the sides now away from his face and produced eyes that were wild and crazy. His face was misshapen and horribly bruised. Blood had caked around his nose and mouth.
Only a foot away and the chain snapped taunt, yanking him out of the air by his neck. The force sent him down onto the boards on his back with a loud slam!
Cole lazily turned to look and the crowd erupted once again. It truly was a spectacular piece of theatre.
“WHOOOOOA!” Teddy’s voice filled the space in the room as the static hissed and the feedback whined once more. “You all remember my old pal, Sal, don’t you? Everybody give him a BIG hand!”
The crowd laughed and Teddy watched as Sal rolled over onto his knees, screaming something at the sky, unheard over the crowd.
“As usual, the same rules apply; only one of them will be leaving that cage tonight, and I know who I have got my money on!”
More laughing.
“Cole, if you’d please!”
Cole nodded under the light and walked over to the crate. He pulled the back of it with him as he walked to the exit of the cage, blocking the route. Once there, he secured the crate in place and reached over the top for the small bar which was pinning the animal pen shut.
“THREE!” Teddy shouted.
The crowd joined in.
Sal scuttled backwards away from the dog, his eyes now wide with fright at the realisation of what about to transpire.
“TWO!”
The dog snapped its jaws as Cole leaned over, saliva flying in all directions through the gaps in its tiny prison.
“ONE!”
The excitement flowed like electricity through the crowd who were now at fever pitch.
“FIGHT!”
Cole pulled the pin free and turned, walking calmly down the stairs.
The cheering became an indistinguishable noise as people began to call out the name of the combatant that they had bet upon.
The dog lay low on the bottom of its pen, its ears pinned back to its skull as it continued to bare its teeth, looking over at Sal and then away, unsure of what was happening. Sal, opposite, was tugging desperately on the steel collar of his neck, and yanking on the chain to try and free himself. But the chain was thick and the lock true; there would be no escape without the code.
A long, wooden pole was thrust through the bars of the dog pen, stabbing it roughly in the side with the blunted end, bringing a yelp and forcing the animal out into the open. The crowd bellowed its approval.
Seeing the dog, Sal stopped the futile attempt to free himself and turned to face it, holding both shaking hands out passively in front of him.
The dog continued to growl, lowering its muzzle in a defensive manner, the whites of its eyes showing its fear and anger.
Sal took a slow step forward. His mouth moved as he attempted to pacify his old companion.
Still the dog did not move forward. As Sal drew nearer, it turned its body to the side and curled its back end inward in subservience.
Angrily, Teddy roared, slamming his fist on the viewing panel.
“Come on, you stupid mutt!” he roared.
More confident now, Sal took another step, and then another, slow and measured, ignoring the crowd as it continued to shout encouragement and abuse in equal measure. Soon he was directly above the dog which had still not moved.
The boos brought about by the lack of violence began to rise in intensity.
Teddy looked around somewhat anxiously. This was not the way he’d envisaged it to go. Beside him, Farringdon had climbed on a chair and now held a sweaty, pudgy hand in a tight grip for balance on one of his shoulders. Teddy stared at the greasy appendage, tempted to twist it off.
“Come on, you fucking animal!” he bellowed. But for now there was nothing that he could do.
In the cage, Sal began to lower himself until he was down at the dog’s level. His slow, controlled movements worked as intended as the dog wagged its tail a few times and it brought its muzzle up to his face, desperate for some reassurance from its master. Sal allowed the dog to lick his neck, and then his face.
As the boos intensified, he pulled the dog in close. It was now between his legs.
He lowered his body down farther until he was holding it in a bear hug, his arms looped around the animal’s neck.
He began to squeeze.
The dog, now aware that things were not right, began to kick out, twisting in his grip but Sal held firm. The strain showed on his face as his skin slowly began to turn red under the bright light.
Teddy shrugged off Farringdon’s hand.
“NO!” he shouted.
But it was too late. The dog’s misplaced loyalty—even after all the beatings and mistreatment from the man who had simply kept it around for his own protection—had cost it its life.
Sal opened his mouth and screamed at the ceiling as he continued to squeeze.
All around, the crowd began to chant.
“KILL THE DOG! KILL THE DOG! KILL THE DOG!”
Teddy glanced back at Farringdon, still perched on the chair. He was smiling. Noticing the look from Teddy, Farringdon gave him a thumbs up, the sarcasm of which was clearly written on his fat, laughing face. He was enjoying the fact that the opening act had failed in such a dramatic fashion, especially given the theatrics of the drums and the lights alongside the entrance. Teddy snarled. Farringdon would love for him to fail. He was there, waiting in the wings to pounce as soon as Teddy made a misstep.
At that moment, a bottle—half-full of something wet and yellow, and most likely urine— sailed over the cage wall in a high arc and hit Sal squarely in the face causing a huge splash of liquid. The shock of the blow, coupled with the sudden drenching, caused him to fall backwards and automatically he let go of the dog with one hand as he thrust his arm back to stop himself from toppling over.
The dog, sensing the slackening of the grip upon it, twisted in a last ditch attempt to save itself.
Sal, aware of his mistake, tried to maintain his grip with just the one arm but it was too late.
The dog rolled, kicking with its powerful back legs to right itself. Once free of the hold, it turned on the offensive, baring its teeth.
Teddy whooped with delight.
Now aware that it was fighting for its life, the dog betrayed all of its intrinsic sense of loyalty. It pounced, launching with lightning speed towards Sal’s unprotected neck. Sal’s eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open as the canine crunched down with its jaws.
Now firmly latched on, the dog snapped its head from one side to the other, tearing away his former master’s throat with each ferocious jerk of the head. Blood gushed in a torrent from Sal’s mouth as, with one final rip, the dog tore out his larynx.
Teddy thrust an arm into the air in a victorious salute to the cage.
“YEEEHAWW!” he yelled.
The whole of the VIP box, along with the rest of the arena, were jumping up and down, slinging hooch in the air, jeering and cheering the event.
Sal’s hands clutched at his neck as the last of his life pumped from the gaping wound. His eyes rolled in their sockets and he fell backward onto the boards behind, his legs twitching violently as a steadily growing puddle of blood formed around him.
Teddy turned to look once again at Farringdon who had already climbed down from the chair and now sat looking away from him, engaging one of the other VIP’s in conversation.
Put that in your fucking pipe and smoke it! Teddy thought, not needing to catch his eye to feel the pleasure in his victory.
A few of the other VIP’s raised glasses in his direction and Teddy took a small bow, still not drawing a look from the Capital’s esteemed First Gentleman.
If you thought that was exciting, just you wait and see what I’ve got for you now, he though with a laugh.
With act one finished, his mind moved on immediately to the main event.
Already, the dog had been re-caged, and Sal’s lifeless body was being dragged unceremoniously from the arena. A huge bloody patch filled the middle of the ring and glistened as it turned thick and glutinous under the hot lights.
Teddy looked around, taking in the view. What a perfect start; he couldn’t have asked for it to go any better if he’d choreographed every movement himself. Now all he needed was for Tanner to fall to the cannibal. But where in the hell was the Fez? He called over to the guard stood by the doorway to the VIP box, whistling loudly between two fingers.
“Oi!” he shouted when he finally caught the guard’s attention. “Where’s Jan the Fez?”
Slow to react, the guard looked around with a gormless expression and then shrugged. Teddy stopped moving, the smile dropping from his face.
“Cole!” he shouted as the large man ducked into the Plexiglas space. “You seen the Fez yet?”
Cole shook his head.
“Go and find him, now!” Teddy said, as anger and anxiety fluttered in his stomach. “Take the team with you.”
Cole nodded, turned, and made his way out in the direction he had just come. When Teddy turned around, Farringdon was once again looking at him and smiling.
The bastard! It was almost as though the man could read his thoughts. Without the Fez, there was no woman; no trump card to ensure that Tanner would fall in the pit. And with less than an hour until the fight, time was running out. The crowd, by now hot and frustrated, began to seethe with discomfort.
27
The room was the same one that he had used to train in. Huge wooden beams ran across the ceiling holding up the cobwebs. Thin broken windows high up on the walls carried darkened bits of rot and allowed the noise in from outside. The choking reek of diesel oil lifted from patches on the floor and hung in the air like a ghosts from a time forgotten.
Tanner closed his eyes and breathed outward slowly from his mouth, ignoring the pandemonium outside. The leather jacket felt tight at the forearms as he pulled it on over the strips of padding that he had taped there. If his opponent was going to try and eat him, then he was damned if he was not going in there without taking a few precautions. He was being pitted against a cannibal; somebody who had not only killed an entire prison full of people, but had stayed behind afterward in order to feast on the bodies. A truly sick bastard. Tanner had experienced a lot during his tours with the Special Forces. He thought that he had endured the worst types of people that the world had to offer. But it seemed he had underestimated the world.
“Tanner!” a loud voice shouted, accompanied by a bang on the door which snapped him from his thoughts. “It’s almost time!”
Tanner didn’t answer. He wouldn’t allow himself to be rushed. After all, it wasn’t as if they could start the thing without him. He pictured Teddy Braydon, standing like a sporting peacock in his VIP box, chest pumped and rings polished, lavishing fine drinks upon the Capital’s wealthiest; ex gangsters and
whores newly ordained in stolen riches of the old world.
What he wouldn’t give to have Teddy himself thrown down into the Pit for this last fight. Would he—the master showman—beg for mercy under the lights of this self-styled Colosseum as his own people chanted for his murder? Tanner somehow doubted it.
Anyway, it didn’t change anything. He would find a way to kill Teddy Braydon, and then Cole too if the chance presented itself. But first, he had to survive the cannibal.
He flexed his fingers in the stiff, leather, fingerless gloves. Although not offering the padding and protection afforded by a boxing glove, the leather should help to stop the skin on his knuckles splitting; at least on any glancing shots. Nothing would help any blows that ended up as bone on bone; they were going to hurt like hell, regardless. Tanner made a tight fist and punched it into the palm of the other hand. It felt strong, powerful.
The sound of screaming intensified. Braydon had organised an appetiser to wet the tongues of the crowd before the big event which, from the sounds of it, had received the seal of approval from those watching. It now felt as though the noise was going to bring the walls of the holding cell tumbling down upon him.
He walked over to the punch bag and threw a few punches into its mid-section, rattling it on its thick chains. The lack of flexibility in his taped arms was irksome but still manageable. Hopefully, he would be able to end it quickly so that the extra weight would not play a factor in his fatigue. Whatever surprises the egomaniac had prepared, whatever changes had been made to spice up the proceedings, Tanner figured that it was now too late to worry about them. He would fight, regardless of his mental or physical health, and in spite of his preparedness or lack thereof. Tonight, blood would flow, and it was simply a matter of whose blood it was being sloshed from the ring after the final curtain.
The beam above cracked as he threw another, much harder punch, into the compacted sand. Try as he might to simplify it all in his mind, there was more at stake. The feelings, however, were so foreign to him that they sat like oil on top water, slick and concentrated, unable to be diluted or mixed in. The woman, Clara. Without him, she would never make it out of the capital. He had to survive, if only to ensure that she lived. This much he had promised to himself.
