Mojo (22 page)

One of those interchangeable dance anthems blasted from the speakers, and soon after, Melody strutted out in a hot-pink
bikini. The crowd erupted in laughter, but that didn’t faze her. She had a bit of a problem with the steps leading to the stage, but after that she really put on a show. The girl wasn’t lying when she said she was an artist—she could really dance.

A lot of people kept laughing, but she still didn’t give a crap. She didn’t even look at the crowd—she stared over them. Then she march-danced to the edge of the stage and looked me straight in the eyes—I was the only one she ever looked at directly—and I gave her the thumbs-up. She smiled back, a cunning little smile that said,
You see the kind of people I’m dealing with here, don’t you
. Then she whirled around and marched back to the middle of the stage.

As the song soared toward its big overblown ending, she dropped to her knees and whipped her head like wild. I half expected the pink wig to fly off, but luckily it never did. As the last notes crashed down, she popped up to her feet, threw back her head, and jammed a fist into the air. The crowd hooted and laughed, but that didn’t matter. She knew she was good, and that’s all she cared about.

After she left the stage, Rowan came back out, and I had to hand it to him—he didn’t make any wisecracks about her. In fact, he seemed authentically impressed. “Now, that was something,” he said into the mike. “I don’t even think you asses can appreciate what you just saw. Nash, you screwed up your pick for this contest—she’s way too good.”

“Don’t be bitter, Rowan,” Nash called. “Just because your day is over doesn’t mean it is for the rest of us.”

“Ouch,” Rowan said, holding one hand over his heart like Nash had just shot him. “It’s funny how your friends will treat you at the first sign of a little trouble.” He seemed different from usual. Maybe his dad’s financial problems had knocked
a little humility into him. But then the master-of-ceremonies smile came back, and he rattled off another long introduction, this time ending with, “Let’s hear it for the sexy, the stylish, one-of-a-kind Miss Chastity!”

The thump of another dance song cranked, and out pranced this extremely bony and pale redhead with heavy eye shadow, a blue-and-red bikini, and—wait for it—a very obvious baby bump. There was no doubt about it—this girl was way pregnant. She looked like a drinking straw with a cherry caught in the middle.

Her reanimated-skeleton dancing style was nowhere in the same league with Melody’s, but I’m sure it wasn’t easy packing that belly around. The crowd didn’t laugh at her the way they did Melody, though. They booed. Especially when she sort of creakily scrunched to the floor to do a spin on her back. I thought for a second she’d never be able to get back up. At the end, she grabbed at her lower back in pain and gasped for breath so hard you would’ve thought she was ready to have the baby right then. There was definitely no sense of triumph.

The crowd was still booing when Rowan took the stage. “Calm down, calm down,” he said. “Just remember, this time I didn’t have anything to do with either of these acts, so don’t kill me over it.”

Miss Chastity remained onstage, still trying to catch her breath, and Melody came back for the final vote. I hated this part. I just hoped the girls didn’t know the vote was for
worst
dancer instead of best. Rowan singled out Miss Chastity first, and the crowd howled their opinions. Next came Melody, and the howls cranked to a whole new level. Sure, I bet on her and everything, but I still hated to see her win a contest like this. It didn’t faze her, though. She just stared over the crowd like she
could see the girls of the V in the distance giving her all their support.

Nash slapped me on the back. “See there, Dylan. You’re already raking in the cash. Now let’s go roll that over on the next wager.”

“Uh, okay,” I said, but I couldn’t help looking back to see Melody struggling down the stairs and then making her way to the hall.
Whatever I made on this bet
, I thought,
I ought to give half of it to her
.

I didn’t even know what the next bet was about, so I just put my money on Nash’s pick and waited to see what new weirdness came up. The lights brightened a little, and Rowan leaped off the stage and waved his hands to move the crowd away. Everyone knew exactly what to do—they huddled back into a large ring and started chanting, “Rumble, rumble, rumble!”

“That’s right,” Rowan said into the mike. “It’s that time. We’re gonna rock. We’re gonna roll. We’re gonna throw down a showdown. May the mighty survive and the weak slink back into the slime. Right here and right now we’re gonna go for the glory. Don’t you cry, little babies. It is time for the—fifteen-minute ruuuu​uuumm​mmmmm​ble!”

The crowd cheered, and I leaned toward Nash and asked him what a fifteen-minute rumble was, but he just goes, “You’ll see.”

Rowan waved his hands to quiet the audience. “Okay, okay. All bets are closed. Let’s do it to it.” He glanced at a card he held in his hand. “First, from east Oklahoma City, the bad, banging brawler Markelle Thomas!”

Out of the darkened corridor jogged this wiry little African American dude with his hair knitted into cornrows and
lightweight orange boxing gloves on his hands. When he got to the center of our human ring, he raised his hands and hopped around the way you see boxers do in the real ring, soaking in the cheers and the jeers. I was never a fan of watching fights. Who wants to pay to see someone get hurt? It seemed even more stupid to want to be one of the fighters. I figured, for Markelle, it was all about the money.

“Is this the guy I bet on?” I asked Nash, and he’s like, “No way. You bet on the next guy.”

“And our second fighter of the night,” announced Rowan, “is that fiendish phenom, the Lilliputian powerhouse who has never lost a rumble at Gangland, the incredible Huy ‘The Mangler’ Pham!”

And sure enough, out of the hallway danced the very same Huy I’d met at the Vietnamese pool hall. That’s why I’d seen him and his buddy Tommy walking into Gangland the first time I went there—Nash probably won so much money off them at pool they had to enter the rumble just to pay it back. But Tommy must have lost somewhere along the line because he was nowhere to be seen this time.

The two fighters settled into different sides of the ring while Rowan explained the rules: there would be one nonstop fifteen-minute round; fighters could use hands, feet, knees, elbows, and anything else on their bodies but no weapons; and barring a knockout, the winner would be chosen by the members of Gangland, which was pretty much the whole audience, except for me.

“Now, boys,” Rowan continued, “come to the center of the ring and shake hands.” They did it, and Rowan asked if they were ready. They nodded and stripped off their shirts. For little guys, they both had some pretty serious muscle definition. On
Rowan’s signal, the audience started the backward countdown from ten. At zero, the fight was on.

Since Huy was Asian, I figured he’d come out with some flying karate kicks, but that didn’t happen. Instead, both guys circled each other, looking for an opening to throw a punch. Markelle launched the first fist, but Huy dodged it easily. Speed was the key to his fighting style. Every time Markelle threw a punch, Huy practically seemed to vanish, then reappear on one side or the other and pepper Markelle with sharp blows to the cheek. Markelle had a hard head, though, and never got hurt so much as frustrated with Huy’s elusiveness. The crowd booed. Apparently, they wanted to see more damage.

Finally, Markelle got tired of missing punches and tried to wrestle Huy down. Mistake. Huy dodged him again and Markelle crashed to the floor. Huy jumped on his back and jacked a few punches into the back of his head. I thought it was probably time to stop the fight, but the crowd had a different opinion. They cheered.

But Markelle wasn’t done. He bucked Huy off, and they continued the match on their knees, punching and slapping and spitting. It was ridiculous. At this point, even I had to laugh. The crowd yelled, “Get up! Get up! Fight like men!” but it was too late. Rowan blew the whistle to end the rumble.

Since nobody got knocked out, Rowan called for a vote from the audience while both fighters stood there sweating and huffing for breath. It wasn’t even close—Huy won again.

“Perfect,” said Nash. “Let’s go roll your money over on the next fight.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. I figured I should quit while I was ahead, but he argued that it would be bad manners to cash in early. That was a manners rule I’d never heard, but like I say,
I never was much of a gambler, so I went along to put down my bet.

“Dylan’s going to double down on my man,” Nash told Tres, and Tres goes, “That’s what I’m talking about.”

But I’m like, “Double down? I don’t have any money to double down with.”

“That’s all right,” Nash said. “Trust me. I haven’t steered you wrong yet.”

“Well, okay,” I said. “But this is my last bet.”

Rowan announced the next two fighters as Dancin’ Dan and Robo-Troy. I’m like,
Dancin’ Dan? Maybe I should introduce him to Rockin’ Rhonda
. He was too young for her, though—a white dude with long stringy brown hair—while Robo-Troy was black and sported an Afro that could have housed several weapons if they’d been allowed. Both fighters were several inches taller than the last two but just as wiry. Stripped of their shirts, they looked like they could inflict some serious damage.

Like Markelle and Huy, they circled each other at first, but Robo-Troy was pretty quick to jump in and show how he got his nickname—his machine-like arms pumped quick, sharp punches past Dan’s defenses, landing with loud thumps and drawing red splotches on Dan’s face and shoulders.

On the other hand, Dan imagined he knew karate, but all his spinning kicks and roundhouses came off like magic tricks that didn’t work. He was definitely no Walker, Texas Ranger. And his head didn’t have the cinder-block quality of Markelle’s. After ten minutes, blood flowed from his lips and nose. My stomach didn’t feel so good. It must have been the combination of the blood, the champagne, and a bet that looked more and more lost with every blow.

Finally, Dan tried one too many flying kicks and ended up on his back with Robo-Troy on his chest cranking one robo-punch after another into what was left of his face. The crowd cheered. Not a single person showed pity on Dan. Robo-Troy had to do that himself. Before the finishing whistle blew, he stood, looked at Dan for a second, then stared into the crowd, disgusted. “I hope you got your money’s worth,” he said.

Dancin’ Dan tried to get up but couldn’t quite make it until Robo-Troy and Rowan helped him. His bloody face had the look of melted wax, his features smeared all over the place. “Woooo-hoooo!” he hollered. “Dancin’ Dan is a bad, bad man. He stings like a butterfly—” He paused to spit a gob of blood on the floor. “And floats like a bee.”

As Rowan and Robo-Troy helped him to the dressing room, I turned to Nash and go, “Someone needs to get that dude to a hospital.”

“He’ll be all right,” Nash assured me. “Guys like that, you can’t really hurt them.”

“What do you mean?” I said. “Guys like what?”

“You know—the Dancin’ Dans of the world.” He shook his head. “It is too bad he lost, though. I could’ve sworn he’d be the one to finally beat Robo-Troy. But I guess you can’t win all your bets, can you, Dylan?”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Robo-Troy’s never been defeated, and you told me to double down on the other guy?”

Nash shrugged. “I thought he was a sure thing. But that’s okay. I’m sure you’ll be able to pay me back.”

“Pay you back? I’ve got like seventeen dollars.”

“Well, you’re going to have to pay it back somehow. I mean, that’s just the honorable thing to do, and I know you’re an honorable guy. That’s why I let you in on the after-ten-o’clock action.”

“But you told me who to bet for. I wouldn’t have bet on anything if it was just me.”

“Wait a minute now. I didn’t make you bet. I just advised you. If you didn’t want to, you should’ve just said so. But now you owe me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Really? But it’s fair that I’m out all that money? I don’t see it that way.”

I looked toward the door, thinking maybe I should make a run for it, but I knew I’d never get there. “How about this? Maybe I could pay you back a little at a time like a loan at a bank.”

“But the thing is, I’m not a bank. I need to get paid back tonight.”

“I told you I don’t have that kind of money on me.”

“Right. But there’s something else you can do.” He cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “There’s one more fight tonight, the heavyweight bout, and let’s face it, you’re pretty much a heavyweight.”

“Yeah, sure,” I said, but I could see he wasn’t joking.

“Look, the problem is, I don’t have a heavyweight tonight, and I can’t afford to forfeit. The competition is too close. So I figure you owe me this favor.”

“But I can’t fight anybody. I’ve never been in a fight.” This was true. I’d never had any interest in fighting. Part of why I quit football in middle school was because I didn’t like to hit people—that and all the exercising.

But Nash’s like, “What do you mean? You got in a fight with that guy with the switchblade, and you came out of that all right.”

Okay, maybe when I told Nash about Sideburns and his switchblade, I exaggerated my role in chasing him off, but that
was no reason to get my butt pummeled tonight. So I’m like, “That was different. I didn’t have a choice that night.”

Nash’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see that you have a choice tonight—except to pay me my money or do me this favor. Besides, it’s only for fifteen minutes. What can happen in fifteen minutes?”

“What can happen in fifteen minutes? Did you just see Dancin’ Dan’s face?”

Nash smiled as if recalling a fond memory. “Okay, I’ll make this deal with you. If things start getting out of control, I’ll stop the fight. How about that?”

I glanced around the room. “Can I see who I’m supposed to fight first?”

“Sorry, that’s against the rules. But think of it this way—all these pretty girls around here are going to see you standing up like a man. Even if you don’t win, can you imagine how much sympathy you’re going to get? You’ll be a bigger part of Gangland than ever. Hey, Aisling Collins, I guarantee, is going to love you for it.”