arena.
“Uh huh . . .” Mick said, clucked his tongue, then picked up his pace.
He silently counted to ten then peeked over his shoulder again. The Spider-Man guy was not far behind him, walking.
“Great,” Mick said. Sterpanko’s sent someone to come and do me in early. “Fighting’s not even over yet.” Guess he thinks it’s hopeless. Coming to collect now, it seems.
Heart leaping into overdrive, Mick made a conscious effort not to look over his shoulder. Quickly, he weaved in and out of the crowd, zig-zagging his way toward the entrance to his section, hoping he’d lose the guy.
Carefully, he feigned needing to check a sign on the wall thus enabling him to glance out his left peripheral to see if the guy was still following him. The bald guy was not far off, appearing as if he was searching the crowd, looking for something particular.
“Couple more gates,” Mick said quietly. He hoped he could lose him. Then again, if the guy really had been sent by Sterpanko then he surely already knew where Mick’s seat was.
He pictured the Spider-Man guy following him to his seat, causing some trouble and Jack coming to his rescue. Then he thought about how lame that was and if the guy behind him was indeed a leg-breaker of some kind, the guy was obviously a professional and Mick was in for a world of hurt if he was caught.
Mick darted between a few more people then dipped down and slipped off into the entrance of his section. He didn’t look back to see if the Spider-Man guy was behind him.
He reached the end of his aisle. “Ex—” The words caught in his throat. “Excuse me.”
Jack tucked his legs in.
Mick went to his seat, but not before noticing the Spider-Man guy coming down the steps toward his section.
Just stay calm. Just stay calm. He exhaled through pursed lips and eased himself onto his seat, expecting any second now to be asked to “come with me, please” and taken to some backroom and beaten worse than he had been before.
The Spider-Man guy was a few steps away.
Here we go, Mick thought.
The Spider-Man guy was at his row.
Mick pretended not to see him.
The man went past and went to a seat a few rows ahead of Mick’s. The guy sat down and began talking to another man beside him.
“Hot out there?” Jack asked.
“Hm? What?” Mick said.
“I said, is it hot out there?”
Mick tried to catch his breath. “Um, no.”
“Did you run?”
“What?”
Jack pointed toward Mick’s forehead. Mick put his fingers to his skin. It was soaked with sweat. “Oh, ah, no. Just . . . yeah, hot, but not out there. Lots of bodies in here. Fight coming up.” He quickly busied himself with his Controller. There probably wasn’t long before the next bout and he had yet to place his bet.
“Tell me about it. I probably lost fifteen pounds just sitting here.” He tapped his round tummy with his palms. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Why not take your jacket off?”
“Um . . . it’s a thing I do. The jacket. Can’t say too much else, right?”
“Right.” Mick smirked then flipped through the screens for info on the next fight. He whispered, “This one’s easy.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
The lights went out.
16
Bruce Lee vs Zombie
Bet: $127,000
Owing: $1,146,000
Q uiet awareness. That would be the secret, especially now, standing in the dark, waiting for the opponent to unveil itself.
Bruce Lee grimaced and got himself ready, fists clenched but not tight, arms strong but loose, like iron chains with iron balls attached to them.
He’d seen these creatures before. He was almost one of them when he first arrived here. He remembered the night at Betty Ting’s house, working. He had a headache so she gave him a painkiller called Equagesic then lay down. The blackness of sleep was suddenly invaded by a bright blue flash and then he found himself on the street, the buildings and cars unusual, smooth, fast. People ran around, screaming as others with white or gray skin
“Uh huh . . .” Mick said, clucked his tongue, then picked up his pace.
He silently counted to ten then peeked over his shoulder again. The Spider-Man guy was not far behind him, walking.
“Great,” Mick said. Sterpanko’s sent someone to come and do me in early. “Fighting’s not even over yet.” Guess he thinks it’s hopeless. Coming to collect now, it seems.
Heart leaping into overdrive, Mick made a conscious effort not to look over his shoulder. Quickly, he weaved in and out of the crowd, zig-zagging his way toward the entrance to his section, hoping he’d lose the guy.
Carefully, he feigned needing to check a sign on the wall thus enabling him to glance out his left peripheral to see if the guy was still following him. The bald guy was not far off, appearing as if he was searching the crowd, looking for something particular.
“Couple more gates,” Mick said quietly. He hoped he could lose him. Then again, if the guy really had been sent by Sterpanko then he surely already knew where Mick’s seat was.
He pictured the Spider-Man guy following him to his seat, causing some trouble and Jack coming to his rescue. Then he thought about how lame that was and if the guy behind him was indeed a leg-breaker of some kind, the guy was obviously a professional and Mick was in for a world of hurt if he was caught.
Mick darted between a few more people then dipped down and slipped off into the entrance of his section. He didn’t look back to see if the Spider-Man guy was behind him.
He reached the end of his aisle. “Ex—” The words caught in his throat. “Excuse me.”
Jack tucked his legs in.
Mick went to his seat, but not before noticing the Spider-Man guy coming down the steps toward his section.
Just stay calm. Just stay calm. He exhaled through pursed lips and eased himself onto his seat, expecting any second now to be asked to “come with me, please” and taken to some backroom and beaten worse than he had been before.
The Spider-Man guy was a few steps away.
Here we go, Mick thought.
The Spider-Man guy was at his row.
Mick pretended not to see him.
The man went past and went to a seat a few rows ahead of Mick’s. The guy sat down and began talking to another man beside him.
“Hot out there?” Jack asked.
“Hm? What?” Mick said.
“I said, is it hot out there?”
Mick tried to catch his breath. “Um, no.”
“Did you run?”
“What?”
Jack pointed toward Mick’s forehead. Mick put his fingers to his skin. It was soaked with sweat. “Oh, ah, no. Just . . . yeah, hot, but not out there. Lots of bodies in here. Fight coming up.” He quickly busied himself with his Controller. There probably wasn’t long before the next bout and he had yet to place his bet.
“Tell me about it. I probably lost fifteen pounds just sitting here.” He tapped his round tummy with his palms. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Why not take your jacket off?”
“Um . . . it’s a thing I do. The jacket. Can’t say too much else, right?”
“Right.” Mick smirked then flipped through the screens for info on the next fight. He whispered, “This one’s easy.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
The lights went out.
16
Bruce Lee vs Zombie
Bet: $127,000
Owing: $1,146,000
Q uiet awareness. That would be the secret, especially now, standing in the dark, waiting for the opponent to unveil itself.
Bruce Lee grimaced and got himself ready, fists clenched but not tight, arms strong but loose, like iron chains with iron balls attached to them.
He’d seen these creatures before. He was almost one of them when he first arrived here. He remembered the night at Betty Ting’s house, working. He had a headache so she gave him a painkiller called Equagesic then lay down. The blackness of sleep was suddenly invaded by a bright blue flash and then he found himself on the street, the buildings and cars unusual, smooth, fast. People ran around, screaming as others with white or gray skin
Similar Books
