The worst were the wannabes, he went on. There were dickhead fight clubs where people brought shit like pillowcases full of rocks and frying pans. “You’re just asking for a concussion.”
“Really? That seems kind of unfair. Are there other fights?”
“There’re all kinds. Stupid suburban kids, mostly jocks, thinking they’re the shit. Then there are the felony fights, where they pit two former felons against each other. It’s like the Christians versus the lions with the promoter acting like fucking Cesar. Thumbs up or thumbs down. Everyone in the audience thinking they are cooler than shit,” he sneered.
“Are there rules or officials?”
“Not really. There is the promoter, who sets up the fight, like Mal, and a couple of people that monitor the bets. You can have a corner, but they can’t interfere.”
We entered downtown and pulled onto some side street, parking behind a warehouse. It was dark and quiet, but Noah made no move to exit. He leaned against his truck door and turned to me.
“Who are you fighting tonight?”
“DJ Rickers, who got kicked out of UFC for using steroids. I know he feels like he was unfairly singled out, but no one will sign him now because performance-enhancing drugs are ruining sports. He’s wanted to fight a UFC fighter for a long time and will pay a lot of money to do it.”
“You aren’t UFC,” I pointed out thinking that maybe Rickers wouldn’t even show up to fight.
“I’m an ‘up-and-comer,’” Noah said, “and that’s enough for Rickers. He knows me and my reputation.”
“You think you can win?” I asked hopeful.
“I know I can,” was his immediate and confident response.
I nodded, relieved, but still a bit upset. He opened his door and gestured for me to wait. I really disliked waiting to have my door opened, but I knew from past experience that this was important to Noah. He helped me down, but stayed my hand when I reached in for my bag. “Don’t bring anything in,” he said. “You don’t need anything.”
“What about my phone or ID?”
“No one is carding you, and I have mine.” Noah took my hand and pulled me close.
“Noah,” I tugged on his hand. “I will feel really uncomfortable without a phone in there and no cash or ID or anything.”
“Are you okay with your phone in your pocket?”
I grimaced and wondered if my pockets were even deep enough to hold a phone. He bent down so his face was close to mine. “I’ll hold it for now and then when Finn comes, he can hold it. I need your hands free. Stay with me at all times. Don’t let go of me. Grab my wrist, my pants, my shirt. It can be crowded, and the people in there will be rowdy. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He waited for me to assent. I nodded, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted oral acknowledgment.
I gave a big audible sigh so that he was aware I found this a bit tedious. “I promise I will stay with you at all times and that I will attach myself like a barnacle to some part of your body.”
“Just wanted to know we are on the same page,” he said, clucking his tongue in mock admonishment.
I handed the phone to Noah, and he tucked it into his front pocket. I tapped it with my fingers. “Isn’t it uncomfortable down there?”
“No, but if you pat me a little to the left, it might become uncomfortable.” Ah, teasing Noah was back. He wasn’t at all concerned about his fight. I hoped he wasn’t being overconfident.
“Is this the place?” I gestured toward the seemingly empty warehouse building.
“No. You can’t all park next to the building, or the cops will know what is going on. The building is five blocks from here.”
That meant walking in the darkened streets. Kind of creepy. Noah’s admonition to stay close and hold his hand really didn’t need to be repeated out here. I slid my arm around his back and tucked myself under his arm. I wasn’t so foolish as to not appreciate his protection. “This doesn’t look safe.”
“Safe places are well lit and observed by regular folks. Underground fighting kind of means unsafe and unknown.”
“I’m going to pretend we’re going to a rave, just so you know.”
“Stick close to me, and you won’t get roofied.”
“That’s a pleasant thought.”
Noah drew me close to his side and we started walking across the empty parking lot at a quick pace. Noah’s jeans rang and he pulled his phone out. “Where are you?” He barked into the phone. He listened for a moment and said, “Mulberry and East 6th. We’ll meet you at the entrance. Text me when you get there.”