Beautifully Dangerous

by Chelsea Kendall

My alarm goes off at 2am, and I'm instantly wide awake. I grab my camera and decide to snoop a bit. I quietly make my way downstairs and down the hall, past the kitchen. I pass a lot of unmarked doors, and most of them are locked. Probably some kind of offices or something.

  I finally find one of the doors unlocked and crack it open to take a peek inside. The lights are still on, and there's a big desk in the middle of the room. I walk stealthily into the office, and on the desk I find a poster with what looks like some kind of family tree drawn on it. Is he documenting his heritage for me? To give me some kind of back story to add to the documentary? Makes sense. As I take a closer look, I see that it’s not a family tree. It looks kind of like a schedule or something. Unfortunately, nothing is written in English.

  As I study it, I suddenly realize what it is.

  When I was in college, all my guy friends were huge basketball fans. When it came to the tournament to decide the Final Four, they would draw up something like this with all the college teams on it. As games took place, they would advance the winners on the charts. This chart must be a tournament bracket for the whole cage fighting tour, mapped out with all dates of the fights, what cities they are in, everything. I recognize a few of the names, but most of the fighters are still unknown to me. I see Koenig’s name in quite a few spots, but I'm really surprised to see The Archer's name all over the place.

  There must be thirty fights mapped out for Archer. Koenig even has the names of Archer's opponents, and what's really weird is that he’s got written down who wins and who loses. He has Archer losing a few minor bouts, but when it comes to an important fight that will advance him in the tour, he's always down as the winner.

  How could he know that in advance? He has The Archer making it all the way to the Grand Championship in Las Vegas, and his name is inked in the Grand Champions spot. What is Koenig up to?

  Then it hits me.

  The guy must be betting on the fights, just like my friends did for March Madness. They would predict all the winners of the different schools and usually place bets. I don’t know if it's legal, but half the guys in school seemed to bet on the tournament. Maybe that’s how Koenig makes his money. He bets on fights. He must be betting a ton on Archer if he believes the guy is going to be the champion. Although that seems like a pretty safe bet to me.

  I carefully film the schedule, and even take a few stills, so I can really study it later. I am very curious to see how well this guy picks the winners. He’s been in the sport for years, so he must know all the fighters and their capabilities. Maybe I should put down a few bucks on Archer too.

  There’s a lot of other papers strewn around the desk as well. Most of them seem to have the names of fighters and different sums of money next to their names. Too bad I don’t speak German. Maybe when I get home I can try to run this stuff through Google Translate and see what I can come up with. I take stills of as many papers as I can, careful to keep them in the same order I find them.

  I glance at my watch and find that it’s almost three. Probably time to go. I listen at the door to make sure no one’s in the hall before I open it. I peer out. No one is around. As I stalk down the hall I hear voices coming from behind a closed door. It sounds like an argument. I stop outside the door, camera still recording, and listen.

  “Hey, it wasn’t my idea," says a man's voice. "Having her here is about the dumbest thing he could have done. No one’s gonna put him on TV. If they really want someone they'll go to Archer or Bullet Man or someone like that.”

  “You wanna tell Koenig that?” says another man.

  “Hell no!”

  “Maybe we can get her to go home early. Koenig is not gonna want to keep up the pretenses for two more days.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think the guy has ever spent this much time in the gym in his entire life. I’ll be glad to stop acting like a trainer, too.”

  “We should just tell her she's done enough and that she has to go home and piece it together, or whatever she needs to do.”

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this conversation. What is going on around here? I knew something was weird about Koenig’s workout regimen.

  “Do you think she’ll figure it out?” one of the voices says.

  “Not a chance in hell!”

  “He did give her free reign of the place.”

  “She’s not stupid enough to go snooping in the offices. She’s here to film Koenig while he lifts weights and spars. He’ll keep her busy all day, and we’ll do our work at night."

  “Well, in any case. Maybe someone should check, just to make sure the little Miss is safely tucked into her bed.”

  I turn and run. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! How could I have been this stupid? Sneaking around here in the middle of the night in a strange house full of strange men. This is going to be the death of me.

  As I sprint down the hallway, I keep expecting to hear a door open and for people to come running after me. As I run past doors and halls I try desperately to remember the way I came. I have to make it back to my room before they do. As I charge down the hall, I hear voices behind me. They are still pretty far back, and it sounds as if they’re walking casually. Finally, I see the door to my room. I run in and jump into bed, camera and all. I don’t even think to change out of my clothes until it’s too late.

  I hear voices outside my door.

  “Should we go in?”

  “Relax, it’s after three. She’ll be asleep. And if not, just say you were looking for your girlfriend or something. She’ll believe you. Why shouldn’t she?”

  “Fine, I’m going in.”

  Just as the door opens I hear a loud beep in my ear. Fuck! My camera’s battery is almost dead. I can hear someone moving around my room. I pretend to be asleep, and struggle to keep my breathing normal. My heart is striking my ribcage so hard it feels like the bed is vibrating. How can he not see the bed moving? I can tell by his footsteps that he’s getting really close.

  A loud beep blares in my ear. Fucking camera. The man has stopped moving. He’s holding his breath, listening, clearly suspicious. If he doesn't leave pretty soon, the beep is going to turn into one long steady beeping until I change the battery or turn my camera off. But I'm afraid to move to turn it off.

  Then it occurs to me.

  It’s the perfect excuse to get this guy out of my room. I’ll pretend to wake up due to the beeping, and look for my camera to turn it off. The guy will split, not wanting to be caught snooping in my room like a creeper. I snort, take a deep breath, and start to roll over. Before I even finish rolling over, the man stalks out of my room and closes the door.

  It worked.

  Then another thought occurs to me. What if they want to check my footage just to see if I got some good stuff?

  I save what I have to the SD card and delete everything from tonight. I stow the card away where no one will find it. I’ll spend the next two days filming Koenig, and if they ask to see my stuff, I’ll just say I accidentally deleted the first day.

  I spend the next two days shadowing Koenig, and taking perverse pleasure in the fact that my presence makes him spend hours on end working out. Clearly he’s not used to spending this much time in the gym. The steroids or hormones he's probably on must not require as much dedication.

  Finally, on the third day, he invites me to leave early and go home so I can get to editing. I promise to deliver the finished work the following week.

  What a strange trip this has been. It’ll be good to get back to The Archer.

  Chapter Five

  Madness at 30,000 Feet

  Archer is about to start his ten city tour. We’ll arrive in Chicago on Wednesday evening, but Archer won’t fight until Saturday. Then it’s off to Springfield for Sunday’s bout. Monday is a day of rest, and Tuesday is another travel day. Next is Iowa, where he will fight in both Cedar Rapids and Des Moines before going on to Omaha and Lincoln, Nebraska.

  It’s going to be a grueling few weeks. It would be bad enough if we were ju
st flying to and from the fights, but Archer has to maintain his present level of fitness no matter where he is. And when you're traveling this much, it means getting pretty creative sometimes.

  Archer and some of the other fighters fly on the same plane to and from each tournament, so things can get dicey when tensions flare. Mid-flight fights have broken out on more than one occasion.

  It’s 4am, and we have either been in a plane or an airport for the last twelve hours. Tempers are running high. As soon as I'm finally able to shut my eyes Andy shakes me awake.

  "Hey sorry to wake you," he says, "but you should come tape this."

  I groan and force my eyes open to search for my camera. I look over at Archer and see him powering down breakfast. Mad Max is standing there trying to figure out how to get a workout going on the plane. Every suggestion he has is shot down by the forever eloquent Archer.

  “Okay, how about those drink carts? I'll put the brakes on, and your worthless ass can push them up and down the plane.”

  Archer just grunts, but it’s obvious what he thinks about the idea. I decide to try and draw him out.

  “What if you carry me up and down the aisles,” I begin.

  He responds without even looking at me. “Featherweight.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” I say.

  I take this time to study The Archer while he and Mad Max talk more about his training routine. The fighter is wearing a pair of long board shorts that hang low on his waist and show off just how fit he is. He takes off his tee shirt, and I feast my eyes on his perfect physique. As I sit there, hiding behind the privacy of the lens, I can stare uninterrupted and he’ll never know what I’m up to.

  He suddenly pushes his breakfast away and stands up. I watch his muscles strain and stretch as he moves. He puts his arms above his head. Stands on the balls of his feet and stretches his fingers towards the roof of the plane. He can just barely touch it. I look down at his eight pack and dream about touching him there. I’m just about to pull back when his hands drop. He hooks his thumbs in his shorts and slides them down over his hips.

  I gasp. I don’t know what I was expecting to see. Boxers maybe, or those spandex things that go down to mid-thigh. What I did not expect was to see a pair of black cotton briefs. I am only vaguely aware that my mouth is hanging open.

  Before I can reel in my jaw, he turns to face me, giving me a full-frontal view of his package. I can’t help it. I have to look. My eyes travel down to the edge of the underwear, and then, without permission, they slide over the thin material where it emphasizes the bulge of his manhood. My eyes slide up and down his length, memorizing every detail, imagining what lies beneath the fabric...

  “Eva? Are you okay?”

  I wake with a start and look around. I’m sitting next to Andy, across from Archer and Mad Max. My camera is lying on the table, and I have the distinct feeling that my face was lying there just a moment ago.

  I wipe away the imaginary drool from the side of my mouth. I can’t believe I was just dreaming about The Archer not five seconds ago. I don’t understand this craving my body has for the man. I've been around gorgeous men before without going all gaga over them. I have never been a girl that's swayed with good looks alone. I need more than just a pretty face and hard body.

  I’m just about to ask The Archer a question when he suddenly stiffens up, a look of malice clouding his eyes. The look is enough to make me back up away from the table. Then I realize he’s looking up at someone standing behind me. I pick up my camera and start to record as I turn around.

  Behind me is a man wearing the colors of another fighter. He must be a part of the medical staff as he’s got a stethoscope around his neck. He sizes Archer up for a moment before speaking.

  “So glad I didn’t flunk out of medical school. To think I could have ended up a brawler like you. It’s sad to see just how far a man can fall. Tsk, tsk...”

  A dramatic change comes over Archer. His face is red and his eyes are screaming murder. Can’t this man see that he should take a step back? Does he not know how much danger he is in right now?

  I want to tell the doctor to take a step backwards. But part of me wants to see what Archer will do. Archer clenches and unclenches his fists, but he doesn't move.

  “Fucking. Cheat,” he says in a low, deep voice.

  The doctor looks at him for a second, then laughs. “A cheat? You think I’m a cheat? Really Robert, is that the position you’re going to take? Seems like you should be taking the log out of your own eye before you go trying to pick the twig out of mine.”

  “Eyes are clear,” Archer replies.

  “Yeah...you go on telling yourself that. See you in Vegas, champ. If you play your cards right, of course.”

  I look at Archer, waiting for some kind of explanation. He stares at the doctor in stony-faced silence until the man turns and walks away. I turn my camera on Andy.

  “Medical school friend?” I phrase it as a question, the lilt in my voice making it obvious I am asking a question that I expect will be answered.

  Andy looks over at his brother who, after a long moment, gives a barely perceptible nod. Andy stands up. “Let’s go to someplace a little more private, shall we?”

  I nod and stand, wondering what the big secret is. I follow him back to his own area in the back of the plane where he lays back on his makeshift bed. He points to a seat for me. I sit down and wait.

  “Yeah...about this Georgetown business...Archer’s a great fighter, but he would have made a phenomenal doctor, had he not been so damn ethical.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

  “Bobby has a photographic memory, or damn close to it. But most people these days are skeptical as scientists learn more and more about how the brain works, some have taken the stance that having a photographic memory is just not possible. So when Bobby began to ace his exams at Georgetown, he was suspect. He was fine at Cal Berkeley, his alma mater before attending Georgetown. Folks in Berkeley are much more open-minded to the idea of a photographic or even an eidetic memory, which I believe he has as well.”

  “Wait, what’s that other one?”

  “The eidetic memory?”

  “Yeah, what’s that?”

  “Supposedly, a person with an eidetic memory is able to recall perfectly not just what can be seen, but also sensory information like auditory, tactile, gustatory, and olfactory. It’s why he never loses a fight. He just has to see a fighter fight for 60 seconds and he knows everything there is to know about that fighter. He’s forever twenty steps ahead. It’s like an unfair advantage. But people are even more skeptical of that.”

  “So, what happened at Georgetown?”

  “Sometimes I think the only reason he was accepted into Georgetown with a full ride is because they wanted to make an example of him. To prove that it is all some kind of trickery or that he was cheating. At Georgetown, he’d either have to quit cheating and become a normal med student, or he’d be caught cheating and they would finish him.”

  “Okay..."

  “So when he began acing every exam, and I don’t mean just getting an A, he got 100% on every quiz, pretest, and exam there was to give. He was constantly suspected of cheating. They made him retake exams, exams that were four hours long, in the hopes of discovering that he was cheating. Finally, he refused to take them over, and the pressure from the University staff forced him to drop out."

  “But...that couldn’t be possible. He’d be way older than he is now.”

  “He graduated from Cal Berkeley at 15 and a half.”

  "Shit."

  “Yeah,” Andy continues, "He’s that smart.”

  “So what’s the story with that young doctor back there? He seems to hate Archer.”

  “He was Georgetown’s star when Bobby came in and stole the show. He had a lot to do with the accusations that followed my brother around everywhere. That man made it his goal in life to ruin Bobby, and now he seems to be at it again. I don’t know how, but he’s go
t to be up to something shady.”

  "That's insane," I say.

  "Yeah it's unfortunate, but that's life. I'm going to get a Coke, you want anything?"

  I shake my head. "No thanks."

  Having said his piece, Andy gets up to grab a drink.

  It would be interesting to know if Koenig knows the evil doctor from Georgetown. If the two know each other, that would be extremely suspicious. Perhaps they're working together to fix the fights.

  As I sit here, I cannot help but think about the man Archer is. Not just a really good fighter, but an honest and highly principled man. I just cannot see him being involved in any fight-fixing scheme, even if his best friend is involved.

  I sit there mulling things over when I hear a crash and people shouting. I get up, camera ready, and sprint down the aisles to see what is happening. It definitely sounds like a fight. I fling open the door that separates the cabins just in time to see a fighter take a swing at Archer. Archer, clearly not wanting to be involved, easily tilts his head to the side and the punch slides by harmlessly.

  I recognize the colors the fighter is wearing. His doctor is the med school dickhead that was harassing Archer earlier. The guy lashes out with a kick aimed at Archer’s groin, but Archer easily blocks it with his leg. Archer backs up, effortlessly knocking aside the fighter's attacks. But he's running out of space quickly.

  From what I know of the rules, any fighters caught fighting in the plane can be fined at the very least, and often are banned from fighting at the next destination. Being banned from a fight means a huge loss of revenue for any fighter, and most of these guys cannot afford it. Somebody must be paying the guy to attack Archer. With onboard flights, because of the danger, both fighters are always punished, even the one who didn’t start it. If Archer even takes a swing, he’ll be out of the next set of fights...

  Time to take one for the team.

  I step up on a seat and climb over another to put me in the right position. I push my camera into the hands of a shocked steward and jump on the other guy’s back, putting my hands over his eyes.