Foul Punch

Chapter 3: A Fool and His Money are Soon Parted

I woke up to Margaret viciously knocking on my bedroom door. I pulled the covers over my head, hoping that somehow she'd go away. Unfortunately, the knocking didn't stop, so I lazily rolled out of bed. I practically tripped over the sheets that were kicked to the ground as I slept. I stumbled to open the door and Margaret sprung into my room, holding the black bandana in her hand.

"Ms. Annette, what were you doing on the East side of town late last night!?"

I rubbed my eyes as I tried to process her words. "What? Why are you yelling?" I said groggily.

"This," She held the perfectly folded material in front of my face. "Clyde's Den, that's a restaurant on the East side and you know that you're not allowed there. It's very dangerous!" She said as she pointed to a small logo at the corner of the square fabric.

I shook my head, "I wasn't on the East side, and I was visiting Sophie at the hospital and some guy..." I drifted off, not wanting to give her all the details. "Some guy ran into me, knocked me to the ground and I scraped my arm on the cement. Then a really nice guy came along and wrapped my arm with his bandana to help stop the bleeding." Okay, or give her none of the details at all.

Of course, Margaret asked a hundred more questions and I tried my best to answer all of them. Then a few minutes later she left my room and I sat down on my bed, looking at the folded material.

Flashbacks of the night before replayed in my head. I wondered if my savior was okay and if he got badly hurt. I then regretted not calling the police for help because he could have died fighting on his own. But with the looks of it, he handled himself quite well.

The way he moved with such grace…I was almost completely captivated.

It was a shame I didn't get a chance to see his face or gotten his name. All I had was the image of his tall, broad frame.

I heard my phone vibrating on my night stand. I rolled over twice when I finally reached my cell and saw that my mother was calling. "Hello?" I answered.

"Come to the office." She said.

"Okay."

I walked down the long hallway that consisted of paintings from all around Europe and a few family photos peppered here and there on the white walls. The opal marbled flooring glistened from the sun that shone through the end of the hallway window and I had to squint my eyes as I maneuvered myself to the left side of the hallway.

I knocked three times on the cream colored door before my mother gave me permission to go in.

I walked into my parent's home office. Mahogany shelves were filled with books of all sorts-- mostly about business and entrepreneurship -- and all were organized from authors A-Z. There was a grand window that took up half the wall and heavy maroon curtains were tied on the sides with cream colored tassels. I walked to my mother's desk-- that was smaller than my father's-- and stood in front of it, waiting for her to finish her paperwork.

I observed her wavy, dark brown hair-- that resembled much like mine-- that was tied up nicely in a ponytail, her purple blouse looked quite nice with her slightly tanned skin tone and it complimented well with her light brown eyes.

"What are you going to wear to Dorian's party tomorrow night?" She asked, not looking up from the documents.

I shrugged. "I don't know, probably the blue dress that I haven't worn yet."

"You mean the one from seven months ago you bought in Milan?"

"Yes."

She looked up from her work finally. "No, that's terribly out of season now. Go get a new one."

"It's really fine, mom, I don't need a new dress. If you don't like the blue one, I'll just wear something I've worn before that would fit this season."

"Absolutely not." She placed down her pen and crossed her arms on the desk. "And it's 10 AM, why aren't you dressed?"

"It's the weekend." I said light heartedly.

She waved her hand towards the door. "Just leave and get a new dress for tomorrow night. Purchase something white or maybe pink." I crinkled my nose. I wasn't fond of the color pink.

Before I left, I asked my mother if she wanted to go to lunch with me. Her answer, like always, was "No, I'm busy, maybe next time."

I quietly shut the heavy door to my parent’s office.

I don’t know what happened to my relationship with my mother. When I was younger, we were close and all of sudden she just faded away. Everything was fine until my twelfth birthday. It was like as if she detached herself from me on purpose. The same thing happened with my father, but I was still closer to him than my mother.

Before I reached my room, my cell phone rang.

“Hey, what’s up?” I answered.

“What are you doing tonight?” My best friend of ten years asked. The background noise coming from her side sounded like she was in a room filled with people. The sound of sneakers skidding across the floor and rubber bouncing suggested she was at a basketball game.

“I’ll probably be reading tonight, I just purchased a –“

Camilla cut me off. “Boo! Reading is disgusting—we’re going out. I’m coming to pick you up at eight, wear sweats, sneakers, and something with a hood! We’re going on an adventure!” And with that, she hung up the phone.

Camilla was a spunky character. She’d wear the pants in any relationship and liked having it her way. She wasn’t a brat, but she knew what she wanted. Sometimes people would even think she was a tomboy, but she’d kill anyone who’d say it to her face. She acted tough and wasn’t afraid to rough house, but that came with the package of her having four older brothers.

That afternoon I went to the mall and grabbed a new dress that hopefully fitted my mother’s criteria of what was ‘in season’. Eight o’clock came around quick and I put on a black Under Armour jacket, black Adidas soccer warm ups, and maroon Converse. I tied my hair up in a high ponytail and only swiped on a coat of mascara. I made sure my attire was simple with no accessories. The last time we went on an adventure, I was terribly overdressed.

I saw Camilla drive up in her sleek black Mustang and I quickly ran down to get into her car.

She basically wore everything she told me to wear but her ombred hair was tied up in a perfectly messy bun, she drew on winged eye liner that made her beautiful grey eyes pop, and her eyelashes were as long as her toned legs. She looked a little too cute for someone who told me to wear sweats, sneakers, and something with a hood.

“Alright, what gives? Why do you look cute?” I asked as I clicked in my seat belt.

She grinned as she kept her eyes on the road.

“You said we were going on an adventure.” I continued.

“We are, but who knows, we might run into a pot of gold.”

Twenty-five minutes into the drive and Camilla still hadn’t told me where we were going. I became eager to know why she was keeping it so secretive and if I were going to not run into a pot of gold, but a swarm of police cars.

“Seriously, where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there!” She said for the tenth time. “Quit worrying, I’m not going to get you killed—just arrested.”

“Camilla!” I shouted in frustration.

She laughed and admitted she was joking—kind of.

I looked out the window to see what we were passing in hopes of getting a clue of where the heck we were going. We were still on the west side of Belwyn, but we were driving closer and closer towards the coast where a lot of industrial factories were. As we passed the threshold of the city life, all color began to dilute into a smoggy gray color of the cement warehouses and factories planted around the area.

I began to get nervous because I wasn’t the one to hang around those parts of the city.

“Dude, seriously, where are we going?”

Camilla smirked and glanced over at me. “I’m sure you’ve heard of street fighting, right?”

“Street fighting?” Camilla couldn’t have been serious.

“Yeah, and since its illegal, the party takes place in this deserted warehouse. Oh and don’t worry about cops, their security has got it under control.”

I was a person with an open mind, but street fighting was just…just… “Camilla, street fighting is barbaric!”

“Quit being such a prune! It’s totally exciting, there are absolutely no rules, and they don’t stop fighting until one of them knocks out! Oh and you’d be surprised with the type of people who go to these things.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, every time I’ve went I always see those uppity corporate workers and those phonies who wouldn’t think twice about betting their Lamborghinis on their player in the ring.” Camilla took a sharp turn. “You Gavin Brune, right? That one guy who owns that big construction company? He’s one of the many city dweller sponsors.”

I was completely surprised that someone as successful as Gavin Brune would get involved with such a dirty occupation.

Suddenly Camilla slowed down the car and we approached a gate with barbed wire neatly weaved through the top chains. There was a heavy set man seated in a cement booth who was grubbing on a cheeseburger. I looked at the paper bag that was propped up, up against the window. It had the same logo as the one on the black bandana. Clyde’s Den.

“Hey Maurice.” The fact that Camilla was on a first name basis with this guy made me uneasy.

He gave her the nod with food still in his mouth and pressed a button under the counter and the gates quickly slid open and closed after we drove through it. There were all sorts of cars parked in front of the warehouse and there was barely any parking left. Camilla pulled up next to a Jeep with a couple making out in the back seat.

“Stay close.” Camilla advised once we entered the building. The first floor was completely deserted and there was only the eerie sound of water dripping from a pipe on the other side of the room. There were broken pieces of wood everywhere and a few chairs stacked in the corner of the room.

“Hey, hurry up!” Camilla said as she casually walked down a flight of stairs that were behind plastic curtains.

As I pushed passed the transparent plastic curtains, I couldn’t help but notice burnt red splotches smeared across some areas of the plastic. I cringed and quickly made my way down the stairs.

“So where’s the security around here?” I asked Camilla as I stayed close behind her as she leaded me down a dim lit hallway.

“Oh they’re everywhere, we just can’t see them.” She said as she placed her hand on the handle of a large, dented, metal door. She gave me a sneaky smirk as she opened it, unleashing the sound of heavy cheering.

We walked into a capacious room with men and woman cheering and shouting at a cage that was the focal point of the room. There were so many bodies all around, pushing and shoving each other for a better view. In a corner of he room there were many people waving around money in the air, shouting out bets to a brunette male in glasses behind a desk. Another male, possibly a little younger than the one sitting behind the desk collected the money as bets kept pouring in.

The most interesting and canny thing about their system was when the crowd of gamblers got too close, there was a beautiful Siberian Husky warning them to back off a few steps with its aggressive bark and bared teeth. It snared and snapped if anyone got too ancy.

Camilla pushed and shoved through the heavy crowd, paving a way for me as I trailed closely behind her. We finally got to the front and there were two males already fighting. There was a dark skinned, stocky, Hispanic guy throwing lazy punches at another who was less muscular in size. The taller, athletic fighter dodged every punch and jabbed in a few good ones of his own.

As horrible as it was to watch someone get beat down to a pulp, I couldn’t help but be captivated by this man. He looked poised and the expression on his face was deadly. He was concentrated and his flexed arms were in front of his face, protecting it as he was ready for every blow.

“The white guy’s name is, Romeo, he’s the best in this game! The Hispanic looking one is Cooper Gunner and I think he’s new.” Camilla shouted over at me, not taking her eyes off the fight.

Romeo gracefully punched Cooper in the face and then brought his upper body down to make hard contact with his knee. The crowd went wild and encouraged Romeo to finish the amateur off. Cooper swayed back and forth as he stepped back from Romeo, practically falling over. Cooper wiped the sweat off his forehead with the crook of his elbow, also smearing the blood that was trickling down from the cut on his eyebrow. Blood was dripping down his nose as well and it trailed down his lips and down his chest.

A small group of angry and completely frustrated men were screaming at the tired, terribly injured fighter to get up after he fell on his knees.

The crowd got even rowdier as they continued to push Romeo to destroy his competitor.

I watched Romeo as he stood in the middle of the ring, waiting for Cooper to get up.

“Why is Romeo waiting for him to get up, he can completely destroy him right then and there!?”

I watched Romeo put down his arms and look at his defective competitor. He gave Cooper a smug smirk and shook his head in disgust. He glared at the shouting men behind Cooper who were encouraging their fighter with abusive language, calling him animalistic names.

Romeo looked over at the referee. “I’m wasting my time; give me a real competitor when you’ve got one!”

And with that, he walked out of the ring with the entire room dissatisfied.