I sighed and turned to face the thick accent behind me. I plastered my business grin on before greeting him.

“Ivan.” I made a show of looking around him. “Where is your beautiful girlfriend? I saw you both inside the club earlier, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

“Do not change subject. Why you change fighter?”

“Carlos caught the flu.” I raised my arms to the side like I was helpless. “I had to replace him for the night.”

“We had deal.”

“And we still do. This man is not a fighter. He is a gambler.”

The corners of Ivan’s lips ticked upward, like they wanted to smile, but I was pretty sure that was as far up as his cheek muscles could go. 

“You collect debt tonight?”

I winked at him and walked away. The laughter of his men followed me. 

I didn’t often run fixed fights, but when the Russians asked nicely, I granted them the favor. Their version of “nicely” fit very well into my bank account. Carlos got most of that since he was the one who had to get beat. I would still let him keep tonight’s money though.

Randy would be lucky if he still had 4 working limbs by the end of the night.

The first two fights ran smoothly. The first lasted twenty minutes, the second five. As soon as Randy and his opponent walked out, the under-the-table bets blew up. The official betting table closed a few minutes before each fight. We allowed the other ones to continue, especially since each of those bookies had to pay a cut of their winnings in order to be invited each time.

Once again, Randy wouldn’t need to know about those.

Keith had to help the visibly shaking man through the ropes, and then pushed him when he froze, one leg still hanging out. Randy had finally gotten a good look at who he was fighting. A Russian hitman, a pro.

He was far above 6 feet, his arms nearly as wide as his head. And more ink on him than skin. He was bald, but not shiny, as the ink all over his dome kept the shine off. I didn’t know which scared Randy more, the mean mug on his face, or the wicked-looking scar running from his ear, down and across his neck.

I never asked Ivan why they wanted the fixed fights. I always assumed it was to show what they were capable of. It was only ever against one of my own fighters anyway.

The crowd laughed as Randy tried to straighten himself up. He closed his eyes in his corner, and I watched as he worked to center himself. It worked pretty good too. By the time the referee blew his whistle, Randy seemed more focused and less scared. 

He did well for the first few minutes, even managing to knock the Russian’s legs out from under him. The Russian pinned Randy twice before he realized Randy knew how to get out of that just fine. Not long after that though, the Russian learned that Randy only knew how to wrestle. Boxing and Martial Arts were not in his wheelhouse. All in all, Randy lasted just over 10 minutes.

Keith helped Randy out of the ring after the fight, only supporting about half his weight. After the place had cleared out, and all the winnings had been paid, Randy limped back out to me, his face already turning all sorts of colors. I was sure his chest looked worse. 

“Are we even now?” He rasped.

“Close.” I lifted my beer; grateful the night was finally ending. 

Randy looked like he might need the drink more than me. “How much?”

“10. If not paid by the end of the week, then 13. I’ll lower the interest for this week only, since you put up a good fight. You know how this works though, Randy.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, there were tears forming in his eyes. “I’ll have the 10 here. I promise.” And with that, he limped out the door. 

“He lasted longer than I thought he would.” Keith stepped behind the small bar and opened the minifridge, he pulled out a beer for himself.