Beautifully Dangerous

by Chelsea Kendall

  I turn to him and give him my saddest puppy dog eyes. “I am so sorry Sir, but it seems I’ve left my purse...well my ex-boyfriend has it, and I can’t just march down there demanding it—”

  “Say no more, Miss. I’ll just let you in and I’ll have your room keyed to a new card so the old one can’t be used by your ex.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you so much,” I gush as I pass the threshold and into my room where I collapse on the bed.

  “Don’t worry Miss. Get some rest and I’ll just slip your new key cards underneath your door.”

  I give him a grateful smile and close my eyes to let the tears come. I am so exhausted and strung out from so many conflicting emotions, it doesn’t even occur to me to see if Archer or the others made it out of the arena after the crowd mobbed us. I just need sleep, then I’ll go find them. But what will I say? Do I really have the guts to look Archer in the eye and confront him about fixing fights? I look down at the papers in my hands. You can’t get any more obvious than that. He makes bank when he wins, but he rakes in a ton when he loses.

  I can feel the tears starting, but I force them back. I can’t be crying when I see him next or he’ll move to comfort me and I’ll lose all my resolve. I take a deep breath and try to relax. Like it says in the Good Book, for everything there is a season. There’s a time for happiness and a time for sadness. There’s a time for war and a time for peace. Right now, it’s time for war. I can feel my heart begin to harden against the man I have been falling for.

  A sudden pounding on my door interrupts my black thoughts.

  “Eva! Eva, you in there?” It’s Mad Max at the door, and he’s probably with Archer. Wearily, I get up and look through the little peep hole. Yup, it’s them.

  I open the door and step back to let them in. Mad Max gives me a funny look as he walks past me. I’m sure I look worse than ever. I should have cleaned up. I should look like a strong, determined woman, not a helpless wreck.

  Archer’s arms encircle me as he pulls me in close. The moment his masculine scent hits me, I feel my resolve weaken. I have to be strong. I put my hands on his chest and push. At first he resists, then he lets me step back away from him. He looks at me with those beautiful eyes, full of concern and…love?

  I put some steel in my voice. “I think you two should leave now.” It’s all I dare say. I don’t trust my voice to not crack and weaken. I can’t let any sign of weakness in.

  “Eva?” Archer’s almost pleading with me.

  “You have to go, Archer.”

  “Why?”

  “I think I know why,” says Mad Max. He’s standing by the bed with one of the bank statements in his hand. “Where did you get these?” he asks, barely containing his fury.

  “That’s not important,” I reply, trying to be strong.

  “Who gave these to you, Eva? Tell me who’s trying to wreck Archer’s life!”

  “What?” Archer walks over to the bed and picks up one of the papers.

  “Out!” I scream. “Just get out!” I snatch the paper out of Archer’s hand and start collecting the others off the bed. “If you guys don’t leave this instant I’m calling the police.”

  Mad Max is still furious with me, but he’s losing his nerve. He drops the paper he was holding and walks over to Archer. “I think we’d better leave, Bobby.”

  “What is this?” Archer asks, stunned.

  “Let’s just go. You and I, we need to have a talk.” He grabs Archer’s massive forearm and starts leading him to the door. He looks at me one last time. “I don’t know what this is about Eva, but you damn well better be sure of what you’re accusing this man of! This kind of thing can destroy lives.”

  “Yes,” I hiss at him, “Including mine!”

  That was enough for him. He turns and leads a bewildered Archer out of my room. And me, I collapse on my bed and cry myself to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Discovery

  When I finally wake up, the first thing I notice is Andy’s computer sitting on top of my luggage that I haven’t bothered to unpack. I totally forgot I had the thing. Do I go back to sleep or snoop? I’ll snoop. Since he left me his computer, there must be something on it he wanted me to see. I grab it and walk over to the bed to get comfortable for a long session of searching.

  The first thing I discover is that it’s password protected. Now what am I supposed to do? He gives me a computer because he wants me to read something, but he doesn’t bother to provide a password? I try to figure out what words or numbers might have been important to him. Unfortunately, I don’t know the obvious things like his date of birth, his mother’s maiden name, and the city he was born in. I also don’t know his first pet’s name or who his favorite author is. It suddenly occurs to me that I worked with the man for, like, two months and I don’t even know the simplest things about him. I will not let that happen with Archer or Mad Max. Soon as I’m done here, I’m going downstairs and asking everyone what their favorite movie is, favorite book, and so on...And soon as I’m done, I’ll be able to break into all their online accounts.

  Back to the problem at hand. Maybe he changed it to something I would know since he wanted me to access it. Other than my name, what would he know that he knew I’d know? On a lark I type in my first and last name. Nothing. I try just my last name. Jackpot, I’m in!

  The first thing I notice is that there’s a lot of shit here. Fortunately, the guy is well organized so it’s easy to make sense of. Maybe there’s something here with my name on it? He has pages and pages of documents about other fighters and speculation about future match-ups. It’s pretty dry reading and I’m about to put it away for now when I see my name randomly inserted into some text that has nothing to do with me. It looks like it’s a hyperlink or something, so I click on it to see what happens, and I was right. It takes me to a document titled “Eva Vanderbilt, For Your Eyes Only”. What the heck? It starts with a letter to me.

  Dear Eva,

  I guess I’m dead now, so there are some things you need to know. First of all, you should know who you can trust and who you can’t. Do not trust Koenig! I realize he’s my brother’s friend from the beginning, but I believe he is somehow in the middle of some very strange happenings on tour. Even if he’s not, he is an evil man, and he’s very good at hiding his true nature. He’s got my brother completely fooled.

  You can trust Mad Max. If he even caught wind of something like this, he’d be all up in arms. That man has a good heart. Trust him. I don’t know any other fighters on the tour who I would trust except the Ramirez brothers. Yeah I know, they’re by brother’s mortal enemies, but they live by Bushido, the warrior’s code. They would never be mixed up in any wrongdoing. If you get into a tight spot, use this number. It’s one of the brother’s cell phones. I just forgot which one.

  There’s one name I don’t see here and it’s conspicuously obvious. I don’t see any mention of Archer. What does that mean, he can’t be trusted? But then he hasn’t been listed as being untrustworthy either, unlike Koenig who was number one on the nasty list. I go back to reading.

  At the bottom of the page there is a link I want you to click on. It leads you to a picture I took with my camera and I want you to look at it closely. Click on the link now, then come back to reading this.

  This is becoming a real mystery. I click on the link and at first I don’t get it. He’s taken a picture of the same chart I saw in Koenig’s office. So we both took the same picture, what’s that supposed to mean? I don’t recall all the details of the chart I took a picture of, but I’m almost certain it’s the same one. Suddenly it occurs to me. I know how to check, I’ll just bring up the one I took on my laptop.

  I break out my own computer and set the two computers side by side. They’re not the same chart. What is written on the charts are the same, but there is two distinctly different types of handwriting here. The chart I took a picture of looks hastily written and hard to read in parts. The chart Andy photographed has very neat h
andwriting.

  Clearly, two different hands penned the charts. I still don’t know what the significance is here—two identical charts written by different people. If different people were picking winners on the tour and gambling in some organized gambling ring, the charts would be different. No one’s going to pick the exact some fighters every single night. There should be some variance in the charts picks.

  I go back to reading the rest of his message.

  So Eva, as you have probably guessed, this is a chart of the tourney that we’re currently in the last leg of. As you saw, someone clearly has predicted the winners and losers off all the different match-ups leading all the way to the finals in Vegas. What I don’t know is, if the past winners and losers penciled in on the chart were written in before the actual matches or after. However, you can clearly see that someone has penciled in the results of the remaining matches here, so it remains to be seen just how accurate the chart is.

  You’re probably wondering where I found this chart. I found it in Denver when I wandered into the wrong fighter’s dressing room at the arena. Unfortunately, I don’t know which fighter it belongs to. I just know it wasn’t Archer’s or Koenig’s. I don’t know what to make of this, but I do know what it looks like. Either it’s someone’s picks for betting, or it’s a schedule of what is supposed to take place. The other possibility is far more sinister. Someone has fixed the fights and is laying huge amounts of money on the outcome of each fight. If that is the case, whoever is doing this is going to make millions of dollars by the end of the tourney.

  I don’t need to tell you to keep this information to yourself. Track the winners and losers on the chart and see if you can tell if the fights have been fixed. No one can accurately predict that many fights, so if they’re all right, that’s a problem. On the other hand, someone smart enough to pull this off will probably throw in a few bad picks to keep people like you and I off the trail. Good luck Eva, and remember who you can and cannot trust and pray that Archer is not involved in any of this.

  Andy

  Pray that Archer isn’t involved? I think it’s a little late for that. There are at least two charts in existence that have all the fight outcomes already inked in. More proof of fight fixing. I look over the chart on my computer a little more closely and have a sudden sick feeling down in the pit of my stomach. The fight that Archer lost the other day, when he got knocked out, it’s on the chart as a loss for Archer. But, the chart has Archer losing the other two fights that he ended up winning. That had to be why Koenig was not happy for his friend after the fight.

  He must think that I am somehow responsible for Archer’s comeback. He probably saw me at ringside with Archer and maybe heard somehow of the deal we made with the doctor for Archer’s conditional return to the ring after being rendered blind for a couple minutes. My guess is that maybe team doctors talk to other team doctors and they don’t stay quite so tight lipped as I would have thought from that profession. That actually all makes sense.

  I take one last look at the chart on Andy’s computer. Maybe there are clues in the background of the picture. I use the little magnifying glass and zoom in on the area in the background surrounding the chart. Bingo. Sitting on the edge of the chart is some kind of ring. It’s not your typical diamond ring or any piece of jewelry like that. It looked more like a class ring you get when you graduate from high school or college. The guy writing the chart probably took it off his finger and set it down because it was bothering him while he was writing.

  If I find the owner of the ring, I’ll find the other guy caught up in this supposed gambling ring. No...I’m no Sherlock Holmes. I can’t run around here pretending everything is fine while I’m trying to find evidence to sink Archer and the tour. I can’t watch another second of Archer training, or any of the other fighters either. I have to leave the tour. That sinking sick feeling returns to my stomach, and this time I can’t hold it back. I lunge for the nearest wastebasket and vomit. What a mess I’m in, all because of a man.

  But I can’t leave just yet. First, I print a copy of the photo containing the chart. It’s a little difficult to read, but with a magnifying glass Mad Max should be able to see enough to understand what’s going on around here. And if he is the honorable man I believe he is, then he’ll play Sherlock for me. He’ll expose the fight fixing that’s going on and blow the lid off the tour, just like I was going to do when I first showed up with a camera back in Oakland several months ago.

  I go to the bathroom and make myself presentable, then gather up my luggage. I call for a bellhop to get my things and bring them down to the lobby. I’ll take a taxi to the airport and be on the first flight I can find back to Oakland to pick up the pieces of my life once again. But first I have to give the photo to Mad Max and make a painful goodbye.

  I find Mad Max watching Archer spar with another fighter. I’m surprised when he gives me a smile as I walk up.

  “I’m sorry,” I begin, getting all choked up.

  He looks knowingly at my shoulder bag. He stands up and gives me a warm hug. I can feel the tears beginning again. This is not the fairytale ending I was dreaming of. Mad Max finally let’s go and I try again.

  “I can’t...I c-can’t...”

  “I know, I know,” he says softly. “You just go home and forget all of this. One day it’ll be a distant memory and you’ll be okay again. I promise.”

  I give him another hug. I hadn’t realized leaving would be this painful. Finally I step back. Time to go. I reach into my bag and take out the envelope with the picture and hand it to him. Then, without another word, I turn to go. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Archer has stopped sparring and is watching me. I look at him as long as I dare, then turn and leave.

  Once in the hotel lobby, I decide I need a drink and head to the bar. I sit and reflect. This is not the way this is supposed to go. But then, could it have turned out any differently? The drink helps. I’m on my second and starting to feel numb when I am joined at the bar by one of the doctors.

  “Eva Vanderbilt?”

  “Yes...May I help you?”

  He extends his hand to shake and I nearly drop my camera. On his middle finger is the ring from the photo, or one like it. It’s not a valuable ring, I can tell. It looks like a class ring. On the face of it is a shield with the letters VE RI TAS engraved on it. What makes the ring unusual is the serpent that is woven in and around the ring with twin bright red ruby eyes. You normally see that on a class ring. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, and I wonder if he can see the fear in my face.

  “Are you okay, Miss Vanderbilt?” he asks gently.

  “Sure...I—I’m fine. That’s quite a ring you’ve got there,” I say.

  “Thank you. It’s my class ring from Georgetown Medical School.”

  I’m about to respond when another man takes a seat on the bench on my other side. To my surprise and horror, it’s Koenig. And rather than greeting me, he leans out around me and nods to Doctor Williams. The doctor gives him a barely perceptible nod in return. I am afraid. I don’t know what that silent communication was about but I’m pretty sure I’m about to find out.

  Koenig speaks first. “You’re quite the curious cat, aren’t you Eva?” he asks in a silky and very frightening voice.

  “Of course I am. I am a videographer after all. It’s in my nature to snoop around.”

  “Even where you’re not allowed, apparently.”

  I can feel the fine hairs on the back of my neck standing up. “What do you mean?” I ask, deciding to play dumb.

  “Oh, I think you know what I mean. Maybe you don’t understand, but the tour provides many people with opportunities to make a living, not just the fighters. There’s the support staff, the trainers, the doctors, the physical therapists, even the janitors. They’re all here to make a living.”

  “As am I.” I don’t dare speak too much or I’ll give away how terrified I really am.

  “Yes, yes you are. Many of us need to supplemen
t our incomes to make ends meet, and we do it by betting on the outcome of certain fights. It’s done in every sport, college or pro. I’m sure you heard of March Madness when you were in college, yes?”

  I nod my head.

  “Call this our July through December Madness. We place bets and we win some and we lose some. It’s all in good fun, really. But every now and then, someone new to this sport comes along, who just doesn’t understand what’s going on here. They often jump to conclusions that have a harmful effect on many good people. Are you following me, Miss Vanderbilt?”

  I nod.

  “Good, because it has come to our attention that you may have made contact with someone with his own conspiracy theory about what really goes on here. We have to be careful here, Eva. I’d hate for people to think that some fights are actually fixed and for good people like Archer. It wouldn’t do to get drawn into some crazy conspiracy. It could ruin a fighter’s career. It could ruin a man’s life.”

  Suddenly Koenig puts his massive arm around my shoulders. “You’re cold, Eva. Are you feeling alright?”

  “I’m just a little tired I think.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s that. Maybe Doctor Williams should take a look at you.” Koenig shifts his attention to the doctor. “Doc, I know she’s affiliated with another fighter, but would you be willing to take a look at our dear friend here. I’m afraid she’s coming down with something.”

  Koenig’s voice sends icy arrows through my heart. He terrifies me, and he knows it.

  “I’d be happy to, Koenig,” the doctor replies. “I’m quite sure Archer will be very appreciative that we are taking care of his little friend here.”

  They hook their arms in mine and stand me up. When the bartender looks in our direction, the doctor speaks up.