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A tiny bead of sweat began to fall from Sabra’s forehead. It started slow and then it made a sudden dash toward her eyebrow. Sabra blinked and smeared it off. She was dying for a pill. She did her best not to puke on the metal table. Her eyes locked themselves onto the alligator skin cover of a prudently placed briefcase.
“Do you know who I am?” The man’s voice scratched and growled at Sabra.
Sabra shook her head and forced herself to look at him. The dusky man had both of his hands raised at his sides as though he was scaling something invisible. In his left hand, a trail of smoke seethed through the tip of a dark cigar. He looked at her with twinkling eyes and grinned. He pressed the cigar to his mouth and sucked.
“My name is Dominique Manchado,” he hissed with a puff of smoke. His left hand pulled away as he continued. “Most people call me Mister M… But you,” he pointed at Sabra with his pinky and winked, “You may call me Daddy D.”
Sabra forced herself not to gag and spoke. “Let’s just stick with Mister M… For now.”
Dominique nodded and shrugged. “Very well,” he paused and tapped his cigar ash at the floor. “Shall we begin?”
Sabra nodded and grasped at her right pocket. She was relieved to feel the shape of a ring still inside. It comforted her and composed her. She placed her palm over the pocket and left it there.
“Your full name?” Mr. M asked.
“Sabra Lynn Deeds,” she replied robotically.
Mr. M scribbled onto a clipboard and popped the cigar between his lips. “Got ammy mickmames?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Any nicknames,” he repeated after removing the cigar.
“Oh…” Sabra paused. “M-moon.. Pie.”
Mr. M’s eyes flashed upward from the clipboard. He stared at Sabra for a moment. “No… I think,” he stopped to drop the cigar underneath the table. His leather shoe lifted above the cigar and then smashed it. “I think we will call you Doozy,” he finished with a simper.
“Doozy?”
“Cariño, it’s undeniable,” He snickered. “You are a Doozy.”
Sabra’s stomach turned. She gripped herself and waited for more questions.
“Anyone we should contact in case of serious injury, death, etcetera?” The last word shook between Mr. M’s teeth like a rattlesnake’s tail.
“No.”
“No one?” Dominique Manchado was shocked.
Sabra shook her head.
“No parents, no siblings?”
“I said no,” Sabra insisted.
Mr. M’s eyes glowed. He leaned back in his chair. “No fortunate bastard waiting for you at home?”
Sabra gritted her teeth. Her face grew hot. Her blossoming frustration was evident. She did not speak, she only stared at the man in silence.
“Alright,” Mr. M made a quick dash on the page. “No contacts.”
Sabra wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans. She eyed around the room in search for a clock and found nothing. The whole place smelled of sweat and blood. She felt a lump build up inside her throat, and she swallowed.
“Do you have a weapon of choice?” M asked with a wave of his hand.
“Nope,” Sabra choked on the lump in her throat.
“Do you own your own weapons?”
“No.”
“Would you like us to supply you with one?” M leaned in and raised his eyebrows.
Sabra took a moment to register. She blinked slowly and took a deep breath. “I’d like to fight without a weapon.”
“Ah!” M slammed the clipboard on the table and stood sharply. “I don’t normally do this personally, but you are a special case.” He crossed around the table and stood beside Sabra’s seat. He beckoned her with immeasurable pride, “Stand, darling.”
Sabra tilted her head up unsteadily. She pushed herself up from the chair and made herself still.
“If you are going to fight in Class A, we can’t have you cheating, can we?” Manchado smiled and positioned Sabra’s arms straight out to her sides. He paused as if granting some sort of courtesy. “In other words, cariño, I’m going to have to search you.”
Sabra stared at the wall ahead and waited. Mr. M knelt down and slipped his fingers into the opening of her shoes. He slowly rose as he made his way up her legs and thighs until he reached her pockets. He ran his hands over the back pockets first and then over the front. He paused when he found the ring and leisurely pulled it out from hiding. He held it up to the light. Without hesitation, Sabra recovered her ring and drove it back into her pocket with one rapid swipe.
Mr. M pulled away with both of his hands in the air. His face lit with intrigue. He tried to stifle a grin and subtly bowed his head. “May I continue?”
Sabra turned her eyes back to the wall in front of her and resumed the position. M cautiously lowered his hands onto her waist. Sabra closed her eyes and clenched her jaw as his hands found their way to the front of her chest. Mr. M lingered there for a while.
“Thank you, Doozy,” he said as he quickly patted over Sabra’s arms and back. He then walked to the opposite side of the table and collapsed into his chair, full of himself. With glittering eyes, he kissed his fingertips and tossed them into the air.
Sabra took a deep breath and lowered her arms. She sat down and tightly cupped her palm over her right pocket. She twitched.
“Well, do you have any questions for me?” M tapped his fingers on the clipboard.
“How much will I get paid?” Sabra tried to sit up straight. Her stomach and head were both spinning.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Whether or not you win, my dear.” His greedy fingers kept tapping against the paper. “You only get paid if you win.”
“How much?” Another knot grew inside Sabra’s throat.
“Twenty percent of what I wager.”
Sabra blinked. “How much do you wager?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On how often you win.” Mr. M smiled.
Sabra pushed herself forward and reached out for the pen. M slid it over the table to her. He flipped the page on the clipboard and turned it around so that it faced Sabra. He traced a finger along the fine print.
“This states that neither I nor any of my affiliates, are to be held legally responsible for any injuries or death. And all manners of healthcare must be dealt with on your own accord. This contract is in effect for a minimum of ten Class A fights and will only be terminated prematurely upon your death.” Mr. M tapped his finger on a blank line. “Initial here,” he coughed and then tapped his finger on another line. “Sign here.”
Sabra felt any remnants of her soul crawl away from her and through the tip of the pen as she signed her name. She stared at her name on the page and dropped the pen. It hit the metal table and rolled a few inches forward. Mr. M startled Sabra with a loud, sudden clap.
“Welcome to the London Fight Club, Miss Deeds!” Manchado stood and clicked open the alligator skin briefcase. He carefully straightened the papers on the clipboard and placed it all inside the case. With a loud snap, it shut. Mr. M marched over to Sabra and roughly gripped her arm. He lifted her from the chair and pushed her to the door. He opened the door and whispered to a dull-looking boy who was standing outside.
“Take her to the pink room.”
Sabra felt herself being shoved through the doorway via a harsh slap on her bottom. She flinched as the door slammed behind her. She stabled herself on the corridor wall. The dull-looking boy looked up at Sabra and gawked with his mouth open.
“This way, mam,” he spoke with an English accent.
The boy lead in front and Sabra followed. The lights were dim, but not dim enough. Sabra’s head throbbed. She placed her hand in her pocket and held on to the ring for comfort. They walked down a long hallway and took a left turn. At the end of the narrow passage, the boy stopped in front of a faded red door.
“EVERYONE DECENT?” He screamed as he knocked on the door.
Before allowing any response from inside, the boy turned the knob and had guided Sabra inside. Another door slammed behind her. Sabra gripped the wall.
“Who’r you!?” A voice screeched.
Within seconds, a nearly toothless face was inches away from Sabra’s. The face was plain, but pretty. The teeth were not so pretty. The woman breathed heavily awaiting a response. Sabra reminded herself not to vomit.
“Who are you?” Sabra spoke with a shake.
Then another voice interrupted from an opposite corner of the room. It belonged to a shady girl with dark hair and mean eyes.
“That’s Grace,” The voice spoke menacingly. “She’s Daddy’s favorite.”
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