by Rob Lopez
It was turning out to be a strange day.
Alex stepped up into the cage, the gate being chained shut behind him. Dez the Rez was waiting, pumped and ready. A six foot geezer with a good reach and a face that looked like it had been used to test mallets. Had a nice line in tattoos too, with a celtic swirl all up one arm. Alex wasn’t much into fashion, managing with just a mermaid on one shoulder and tiger’s head on the other, plus the badges of the two regiments he’d served in, now disbanded. The celtic thing looked good though, and he decided he might look into it.
There was no bell to start the fight. Once in the ring Alex started circling, looking for an opening. None of that shaking hands business. Dez closed the distance, looking to use his reach, and Alex ducked under the first jab and started pummelling his ribs. The crowd went wild.
Barely winded, Dez landed a few on the side of Alex’s head and then went to grab him in a lock. Alex kneed him in the nuts and tried to grab his torso to flip him, but Dez charged him into the fence, locking Alex round the neck with one hand and punching him in the face with the other. Alex twisted and kicked him in the side, trying to crack a rib, then pushed at his face, trying to bend him back. Dez locked tighter on his neck, bringing him forward, and Alex kicked off against the fence, using the momentum to topple Dez, landing on top of him. Slipping his head out of the lock, Alex wrapped his legs around Dez’s to keep his knees down and started pummelling his face with rapid fire punches. Dez heaved him off however and the two were separated again, both jumping up simultaneously to face off again, breathing heavily and dripping blood.
Alex’s left eye was clouded and he took deep breaths, the drug multiplied red blood cells doing their thing and giving him extra oxygen. His vision cleared and he charged in again, the stimulants amping up his aggression, the pain blockers shrugging off the throbbing bruises. Dez liked his arm locks, and he kept trying to grapple Alex, occasionally getting in a powerful blow on Alex’s face, going for his eyes. If he could get the skin to swell up around them, he’d reduce Alex’s vision. He wasn’t so good with his legs though, and Alex used his advantage there to deliver roundhouse kicks to his ribs and the sides of his knees, knocking him off balance and then launching furious rapid punches on his torso and the side of his head. With both of them amped up to the gills, they could take a lot of punishment, and as the fight went on, the floor got slippery with blood.
It was slipping on that blood that nearly cost Alex the fight. Off balance for just a second, he let Dez get behind him, and before he knew it Dez had his neck in a lock, powerful biceps squeezing off the blood supply to his brain. Struggling hard, Alex tried to throw him off, but he was hyperventilating, and his vision started to fog. He bent forward in an attempt to tip Dez over him, but Dez had one hand gripping the fence, using the leverage to keep Alex in place. Backing into him, Alex jabbed his elbows back, looking for those cracked ribs, but apart from grunting at the blows, Dez wasn’t budging. He had the strength to hold him and a few more seconds was all he needed to render Alex unconscious and win the fight.
That did it for Alex. Losing was more than a blow to his esteem. It just wasn’t fucking happening, and that was that. Reaching around, he gripped the fence himself and pulled Dez round. With his vision blacking out he clawed his way up the fence, yanking up Dez with him, then he threw himself back, both of them tumbling down to the concrete. The pressure on his carotid arteries slackened just enough for his pounding heart to force more heavily oxygenated blood up to the brain, and Alex whirled in Dez’s grip, pumping his fists hard into Dez’s lungs. Wheezing heavily, Dez got his legs up and kicked Alex off, getting up fast. With his systems recovering fast, however, Alex was on him again, kicking hard against his leg and breaking it. As Dez went down, Alex jumped on his chest and started rapid punching his face, blood flying. In a red haze he smashed blows into his temples, knocking the head back and forth. He hammered his jaw, broke his nose and was about to jab his eyes out when the ref and the minders came and pulled him off.
Dez was out and that was it. Fight over.
Growling in fury, it took a while for Alex to realize he’d won, then he put his arms up and the crowd screamed their appreciation. Tickets were waved and the collectors went round to distribute winnings. Then the crowd started to disperse, bloodlust sated.
Alex watched as Dez was carted away. He didn’t feel that elated. He was trembling still from the adrenaline, and he knew that when that wore off, he’d fall into a depressive slump as his brain chemicals readjusted. The best thing now was to drink a ton of water and then sleep. He’d celebrate later.
His old pal Nicky appeared to have other ideas though, deciding that now would be a good time to send his boys round. As Alex stepped out of the cage he saw them approaching and looked about. Half the crowd was still there, but the local minders had all gone. Clearly, Nicky had cut a deal with them: let Alex fight, take your money and then let us have our chat with him.
Looking at the four goons ambling over towards him, Alex was sure that their definition of ‘a chat’ didn’t involve much in the way of lengthy conversation.
“All right boys?” said Alex as they approached.
“Nicky wants his money back,” said one of them, cracking his knuckles.
“Hey, the race got broken up. Technically, I didn’t lose.”
That was the end of the chat. The four goons thought they were hard, and fancied their chances. It wasn’t every day that they were let off the leash, after all. Three of them rushed Alex - two to grab his arms and one to administer Nicky’s unhappiness by way of his fists.
It was bad timing. Alex was still amped and he blocked one rush, delivering a punch that lifted one goon clean off his feet. A high kick caught a second goon under his chin, sending him back choking for breath. The third goon smashed his fist into Alex’s cheek, snapping his head back, and Alex recovered to grab the goon’s hair and pull his head down, punching him hard in the solar plexus and then bringing his knee up to meet his face. The first goon got back in and kicked Alex in the back, and Alex whirled quickly, catching his leg still in the air, flipping it up and sending the hapless goon crashing to the ground. The second goon, his face puffed red, charged into Alex, trying to wrap his arms around him and bring him down. Alex head-butted him in the face but lost his balance, going down under his weight. Hitting the concrete, he kept rolling and threw the goon over his head.
That’s when things got nasty, as the fourth goon, standing back, pulled a pistol out. Jumping to his feet Alex dodged to put the third goon between him and the gun, but goon number three was having none of that and skipped away, wary of having his hair grabbed again. The fourth goon aimed his gun.
It was the appearance of Forbes that saved Alex from some extreme lead poisoning. Grabbing the goon’s gun wrist, Forbes smacked his face sideways and twisted the gun out of his grip. As the goon tottered about, surprised, Alex charged him and planted a punch on his chin, shocking the goon’s brain with the impact and collapsing his legs, like a puppet with its strings cut. Forbes turned and delivered an impressive blow to one of the others, and that was pretty much it. The four goons decided enough was enough and either staggered or crawled away.
“You’d better go now mate,” Forbes said to Alex, “before any more come. I’ll cover you.”
Forbes, with spots of blood on his nice suit, had the gun out. “Cheers mate,” said Alex.
The crowd had come back, thinking this was an encore, and Alex plunged into their midst, getting his back slapped and his hair ruffled as he made his way to the exit.
Outside, Alex looked around to see if anyone was waiting for him. He was having trouble seeing though. He felt dizzy and his heart was pounding like a jack hammer. It was starting to hurt.
“Mr Harvey.”
Alex turned to see the bug eyed professor approaching him.
“You stay where you are mate, or I’ll have you,” said Alex, swaying.
“I am not here to harm you Mr Harvey. I hav
e a proposition for you if you’d like to talk.”
Alex looked around for Stu. Where the hell was he when he needed him? “What about?” he slurred.
“I can offer you some assistance in your endeavours.”
“What?” Was this guy for real?
“My car is just here Mr Harvey. I can give you a lift home and we can talk on the way. Please, you are in no condition to walk further, and what I have to say will be to your benefit. I have an offer to make.”
Alex was having trouble staying upright. “All right,” he said.
In the car Alex felt nauseous, and he was starting to break out into a sweat. His heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.
“Hang on Mr Harvey,” said the prof as he started the car up and took off through the ruins of the retail park, throwing the car round a corner.
The movement was too much for Alex. “Stop the car,” he croaked, and as the prof slammed the brakes on, Alex opened his door and leaned out, throwing up onto the concrete. The convulsions felt like they were tearing him apart, and the bile was burning his throat.
“Quickly Mr Harvey, drink this.”
The prof was holding out a bottle of water. Alex grabbed it and glugged it down, his hands shaking.
“Take these.”
Prof was holding out some pills.
“What the fuck is that?”
“Aspirin, Mr Harvey. We need to thin your blood. The chemicals you have taken have increased your blood pressure to dangerous levels. Quickly, please.”
Alex knocked back the pills, nearly choking on them. When he looked next, he saw the prof preparing a hypodermic needle.
“You can fuck off with that right now mate.”
“Do not be alarmed. Your heart is beating far too fast. You are seconds away from a cardiac arrest Mr Harvey. This will reduce your pulse, relieving the pressure. Come, this is no time to hesitate. Your life is in danger.”
Alex was fading fast and he didn’t feel like putting up a fight anymore. He nodded weakly and the next minute the prof stabbed him in the neck.
“You cu...” was all Alex managed to say before blacking out.
5
He woke up in what looked like someone’s living room. Curtains drawn, soft lighting, pictures of ferns and trees on the walls. Science magazines were stacked neatly in a rack. A coffee table was polished to a high sheen, with cup mats laid geometrically around a cut glass vase of flowers. All very neat and organised.
Alex was sprawled out on a leather sofa with wires attached to pads on his chest. The wires led to an ECG monitor sat next to him, beeping as it displayed a healthy heart rate.
“You’re awake,” said the prof, standing in a doorway that led to the kitchen.
Alex yanked the wires off, causing the monitor to keen. He switched it off. “This your gaff?” he said, his tongue slightly swollen and tasting of metal.
“My abode, yes. I’m afraid a talk in the car was out of the question. I had to take you somewhere quickly. Your heart stopped and I had to restart it.”
“You never heard of hospitals?”
“This was quicker, and involved less questions being asked by the authorities. Such as why you had enough illegal drugs in your system to kill a rhinoceros.”
Good point. “You a doctor?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’ve made us something to eat, but you might want to shower first.”
Alex looked down. He was covered, head to toe, in caked blood. “Good idea.”
“Through the door behind you, first on the left.”
The hot shower was bliss, but the water that ran off him was crimson. When he went to the toilet, it turned out his urine was too. He’d taken a nasty blow to the kidneys.
It wasn’t the only damage. His face hurt, his ribs hurt, he had a pounding headache and his hands struggled to grip the soap, his knuckle joints were that bad. When he looked in the mirror, it was like his face had been skinned and blown up with compressed air. Then smacked with a shovel.
Wearing a dressing gown decorated with flowers, Alex walked slowly to the kitchen, his knees and hips creaking. At the dining table there was a steaming plate of food waiting, plus a glass of water and a packet of over-the-counter painkillers.
“Have you got anything stronger than that?”
The prof took his seat opposite. “You already have some in your system. You cannot risk anything stronger. When your drugs wear off, you will experience a lot more pain, trust me.”
Alex’s dinner was a nice mix of protein and carbs, just what he needed. The prof, however, was a salad man. Alex picked slowly at his food, chewing it gently. Half his teeth were wobbling in their sockets.
“So what’s your name?” he said.
“You can call me Randal.”
“Not your real name then?”
“It will suffice.”
Alex had trouble placing his accent. “Where you from?”
“That shouldn’t interest you right now.”
“It does.”
“Let us just say that I am not local.”
No shit. “Why were you following me?”
“As I said at the outset, I wanted to talk with you.”
“If you’re lonely for conversation, there’s charities for that. Or you can just pay someone.”
The prof, or Randal, was stonefaced. He didn’t look the smiley type.
“It will involve payment,” he said.
A spymaster. That’s what he reminded Alex of. Was he being approached by a foreign intelligence agency? With his military background, Alex knew enough secrets, and had been involved in some very dirty operations.
“So who do you work for?”
Did something resembling a faint smile cross Randal’s face just then? “I work for a select organisation.”
“National organisation?”
“A private organisation.”
“And what’s the name of this organisation?”
“I cannot tell you that yet.”
“Great, so it’s so fucking private, it doesn’t really exist.”
“That would be a very good way of describing it.”
“So who are you really working for?”
“I do not work for anybody. The organisation in question is my own.”
“But you don’t want to tell me what it is.”
“The organisation is, what you might call, illegal. Think of it as a... pharmaceutical company.”
Alex didn’t feel like eating any more. He pushed his plate forward. “Okay. You know about drugs. You know what I’ve been taking. What are you offering?”
“Better drugs.”
“Is that it?” said Alex, patting his cracked lips with a napkin. “Give me a brochure and I’ll be on my way.”
Randal pushed his own plate aside and leaned forward. “You want to fight. You want to win. I can give you the means to do that. And I can give you better targets.”
Whoa. That was a strange leap. “Better targets?”
“Tasking, I believe you call it.”
That made Alex think. How much did this guy know about him? “Why would I call it that?”
“You have hunted men before. For your government. How would you like to hunt the toughest of adversaries? Properly enhanced with the best that I can give you?”
“You’re taking the piss now, aren’t you? I mean, thanks for everything you’ve done for me so far, but seriously. If it’s just some bloke who’s been shagging your wife or something, then you can find someone else to knock him off. There’s loads of lads in this town who’d probably do that for peanuts. But not me. I’m not a hitman.”
“No,” said Randal, straightening up. “You’re a fighter. I fully understand that, which is why I am talking to you. You want an opponent who is a match for you. You want a challenge. It is what you live for. I can pit you against opponents who will test you to your very limits, and possibly beyond. You will need to be stronger, faster and more enduring. The drugs you have been takin
g...” Randal waved a hand dismissively. “They are crude, weak and poorly made. The drugs I can give you are far better. And they can be tailored specifically to your metabolism. You can control them, in real time, as you need them. They are not the kind of thing you can buy off the street. In fact, they are not available anywhere else. Think about it Mr Harvey.”
“And if I still say no?”
“Then I shall bid you adieu and find someone else. Here is my card. Call me within the week. Or forget you ever met me.”
6
Alex had plenty to think about on the way home. He had even more when he found his door had been smashed in. Inside, he found Forbes sitting on an upturned crate, thumbing through his phone listings.
“Nicky’s boys paid a visit,” said Forbes. “They turned the place over.”
Alex looked around. The flat looked like a tip, but then it always looked like that, so it was hard to tell.
“Price? Smith?”
“Legged it.”
“I’ll bet they did.”
In his room Alex found his mattress slashed and your ded sprayed on the wall.
Charming.
Some people just wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Seen Stu about on your travels?” asked Alex.
“No. He’s gone to ground.”
“Yeah, with my money. Landlord’s due today as well.”
“Paid him off already.”
“Really? Nice one. I’ll pay you back when I can. Who was that nice bird I saw you with at the fight, by the way?”
“Fiona McIntyre. CEO of McIntyre Investment corp.”
“You’re aiming high. Nice pull. What you doing taking her to a cage fight?”
“If a client wants to be taken to a cage fight, then the client gets taken to a cage fight. That’s the business.”
The mind boggled. “Client? You a prozzie then?”
“I prefer the term Male Escort myself.”
“Christ. Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?”
“Yeah, why, what did you think?”
