OOM: Bogotá on fight night

[latino_menace]

He'd never really thought that Fiona would take him up on his casual offer to come to watch him fight. Not that it seemed like she was full of shit or anything...but she is a woman. They say things easily, they're flippant and don't have the stomach for anything rough.

His opinion of women at the moment is, justifiably he thinks, low. Maria can shoulder a lot of the blame for that.

He always fights on a Friday and this week, he's definitely in the mood to cause some pain. He'd almost forgotten about Fi but when he opens the bathroom door and looks out onto the bar, he figures why not? He can even see her from where he's standing and she doesn't look like she's doing anything important.

'Busy tonight?'

He's never been much good at small talk.

Comments

[justcallmefee]

She turns on a dime at the sound of his voice, and the sight of him makes her heart leap into her throat. For some reason, she thought maybe he'd never come back. But there he is, young and magnificent, and full piss and vinegar.

Fiona, quit staring, he asked you a question. She lifts her chin a little, a touch of that wildness showing in her eyes.

"Which is it? Dinner or the fights?"

[latino_menace]

'Fights.'

He says it like it's obvious.

'It's Friday.'

He's a little different to the times she's met him before, if she's observant. Whereas before he was confident and arrogant and smirking at the world, tonight he's confident and arrogant with a dark look in his eye. Perhaps it's the impending scrap, perhaps it's the week he's had. Or both.

[justcallmefee]

Her hand comes to rest on the leather hip purse she's carrying. Ever since the tree incident, she's made a habit of carrying the .45 and a couple of spare mags with her wherever she goes.

She pushes off from her chair like it's offended her somehow, and stalks towards.

"Lead the way."

[latino_menace]

He tilts his head in acknowledgement and heads for the door, holding it open for her. It leads to his house in Bogota - the one he keeps for his personal use, though he still has a room in his father's house as well. It's clean enough (cleaners have been in) but there are still a few half empty bottles lying around his room, a few full ashtrays and the bed is unmade.

'I'd ask if you wanted to spend a few hours examining my ceiling but we'll be late.'

The smirk has returned, it seems. He walks to a shelf and starts filling his pockets with cash, adding a knife and his 'duster last.

'Our ride will be here in a minute. You want a drink?'

He's already walking out of the room, rolling his shoulders a little. He trusts she'll follow.

[justcallmefee]

She does, on cat's feet, that ground eating stride she has that makes her look much taller than she is, her eyes taking in all the details. She's never been one to mince around behind a man, but trailing in the wake of this one is like flying behind a fighter jet. The view is nice.

"Let me guess. Tequila?"

[latino_menace]

'Got something against it?'

He heads down the stairs and through the hallway into the open-plan living room and kitchen. The decor is modern for the time, everything clean and in its place, and the kitchen is well equipped though it looks like it never gets used. There's a drinks trolley against the wall, it has pretty much everything on it so she can take her pick.

'Have what you like. There's ice in the freezer.'

He nods towards the kitchen and paces, lighting a cigarette.

[justcallmefee]

She eyes the drink cart and picks the tequila with only a few pours left. His brand. She fills two glasses and skips the ice, bringing him the other.

"¡Salud!"

She doesn't wait for him to return the toast her before tossing the drink back, her eyes never leaving his face.

[latino_menace]

The corner of his mouth curls up and he tilts his head at her again before knocking his own back.

'Leave your purse behind. It'll just get taken if you go out with it.'

[justcallmefee]

She shakes her head 'no'.

She takes his hand and guides it to her hip, down the wide leather strap to where the purse lies over the crux of her thighs. She presses his hand in, so he can feel the hard outline of the gun within.

"Don't worry about me."

[latino_menace]

He looks her steadily in the eye, close up and keeping his hand where she puts it.

'If you want to take a weapon, just put it in your waistband. You don't need to hide it if you're with me. Every man in that place is going to be armed and you'll be safer if you have the thing on show. I'm not going to have the chance to babysit you.'

Which reminds him of some other things she should probably know. He could tell her from a distance away but she put him in her space so he's damn well going to stay there. His hand isn't on the gun now though, it's found her hip.

'We're going with two of my guys and there'll be a few more there. If you get in trouble, I'll tell them to get your back but you're still going to be outnumbered and I don't want my friends getting hurt saving your ass, you understand? So try not to piss anyone off. Especially my uncle, if he's there. And my brother might be but you should stay away from him because he's just a kid and I don't want you breaking him, OK?

Don't talk about that bar. Don't embarrass me. And don't insult any of my crew - this is my world and my city and I don't want you fucking it up.'

His tone is dark, solemn. He means this shit. But it lightens as he adds,

'If some other random asshole decides you're a whore or something though, feel free to teach him a lesson.'

[justcallmefee]

She leans into that touch at her hip, crossing her arms over her chest, listening with just as much solemn intent as he's speaking. The warning not to break his little brother pleases her immensely. He's been paying attention.

"Like I said, don't worry about me. Point out your uncle, and your brother, and I can take care of myself." She idly plucks at the front of his shirt. "You just do what you do, and I'll try to not to embarrass you."

She's wearing her best jeans, and her favourite tunic over a long sleeved shirt. Even in the wedge heels, she should fit in just fine.

[latino_menace]

He nods once, all business and dark intensity. As he's moving away there's a knock on the door and he picks up his leather jacket from where it's slung over a chair and pulls it on.

'Lets go.'

The man at the door stands around six feet three with arms the size of a small tree. Tight white T-shirts seem to be all the rage in 1979.

'This is Rico,' he says to her casually, over his shoulder. 'Rico, Fiona. She wanted to see me fight.'

The man's face is unreadable, he just nods and holds the door open for them both, locks it after they're through. He's probably used to random women being around. The car has another man in the passenger seat, Ramon introduces him as Pablo as he holds the door for Fi to climb into the back. This guy is small and wiry, covered in tattoos and with really bad teeth. He stares at Fiona, turning his baseball cap around so the visor doesn't impede his view of her. Ramon ignores him for the most part and he swivels back around eventually, as the car pulls out and heads towards the main road which is full of traffic even at this time of the night.

'Is Hector coming?' Ramon asks no one in particular. Pablo nods and the fact that he's wired as hell is probably obvious in the way his head doesn't stop bobbing for a full half minute.

'Juan is picking him up in an hour. Your father asks that you not let him drink too much tonight.'

Ramon snorts and stares out of the window. Hector can do what he wants. After a moment of silence, he says to Fi, 'He's fifteen,' as if that explains everything - their father wanting him fairly sober and him thinking he's old enough to do what he wants.

[justcallmefee]

She slots in behind him like she's been doing it all her life. There is a moment's pause as she wonders whether or not to curl up next to him like arm candy, but she decides against it. Rico gets a lazy smile, Pablo gets a look that would make a shark think twice.

She does take the .45 out, dropping the mag and replacing it with a surety that should communicate that she knows what she's doing. That accomplished, she tucks it in her waist band. It's not at all comfortable, or attractive, but she recognises the necessity. (Pablo perhaps brought it home.)

The comment about Hector is taken without any visible reaction.

"How far?" She puts a little Rio in her accent, letting them get the wrong idea.

[latino_menace]

'Half an hour. Maybe more.'

Traffic sucks here and everyone drives like maniacs. Ramon seems unconcerned, he knows he could take three hours to get there and still get a fight. And he seems distant. Partly it's the shit going on in his life but mostly it's because he's gearing himself up, mentally preparing himself for what he's going to do tonight.

If she's looking out of the windows, she'll see that the shops are becoming a little more run down and there are more places boarded up, more broken windows and graffiti. Men stand around in groups on corners, there's even a crime scene with cops milling around and a body with a bloody coat covering its face. Pablo laughs at this but neither of the other two men comment.

[justcallmefee]

One of the things you learn in her line of work is how to kill time and make it look good. She memorises their route, fixing major landmarks in her memory.

She also watches him, her gaze focused on the scene beyond the window. She's seen him keyed up before, but not like this. Well almost. Something about the way he's holding himself reminds her of their first near miss, in her flat.

She looks away, out the window, watching the barrio unfold around them.

[latino_menace]

Another ten minutes and they're properly into a slum, surrounded by buildings cobbled together with corrogated iron and boards and broken bricks. A few turns and Rico pulls up next to a bar that looks like it might fall down if you give the walls a good push. There are a few men outside and the way they approach the car makes it obvious that they're waiting for them.

Ramon doesn't get out straight away. There's a space of maybe five seconds where he closes his eyes and drops his head back, hands resting on his thighs. When he opens them again, he moves immediately, out of the car, and is like a different person, grinning at the men near them and catching one of them in a loose embrace.

'Fiona, come meet my brother.'

[justcallmefee]

Again, she trails in his wake, eyes on the crowd, watching hands and cataloguing who's carrying. (Answer: everyone.) Her smile is easy, her movements relaxed. She's been here before. This place is always the same, no matter where it is in the world.

"Hector."

Her thumbs hook in the pockets of her jeans and she rests her weight on one hip, and she keeps Rico at her back.

[latino_menace]

The kid is taller than Ramon already, by a good two inches. He's thin and has a childish line of fluff on his upper lip; his smirk is an obvious imitation of his brother's.

'Senora.'

Ramon cuffs him lightly over the shoulder (technically Fi is old enough to be addressed that way but it's hardly polite) and rolls his eyes.

'Mind your manners, kid. And papa told me to make sure you don't get too drunk.' He's pulling a fifth of whiskey out of his jacket and handing it to the boy, completely shameless. 'Is Raul here?'

'Si, Ramon. Inside.'

'OK, I'm coming now. Go away and enjoy yourself.'

He turns back to Fi, rolling his shoulders once more, bouncing a little on his toes. 'I need to go talk to my uncle. You want to lay some bets?'

He pulls some notes from his pocket, ten one hundred dollar bills bound together with a band, and hands it to her. 'I wont be long. Hang out or go find a good spot against the wall, it's up to you.

Rico, stay with her.'

He disappears inside, confident that she'll be alright with his man. And if she isn't, who's fault is that? She said she could look after herself and now's her chance to prove it. Pablo has melted away but there are plenty of other guys around who look at her like he did. Plenty who look neutral too but who can tell what goes on behind their eyes?

[justcallmefee]

She takes the money, not even bothering to hide it, lining the bills up across her palm and snapping them so she can count them. Two fingers curl them down the middle and she smirks up at Rico, heading off to find a good place to watch from. She finds a heavy water-filled fifty five gallon oil drum to perch on, her eyes picking out the other fighters and their little bands of followers. She's surprised not to see more women here. Even when she was growing up, the girls always wanted to hang out with the bad boys.

Maybe Colombian women aren't as hardy as the Irish, she thinks. And that makes her smirk broaden into a proper grin.

Rico isn't much of a conversationalist, and that's okay. It isn't long before she gets bored and wanders off to find the other bookies. She dives head first into the action. She's pleased to find out Ramon's odds are almost even. She refrains, reluctantly, from talking up how he's slow on that one side and how he drank too much last night, so she doesn't think he's going to do too well. He said not to embarrass him, so she won't, even it might mean a double on their take. He has to live here, after all.

Bets laid, she returns to her oil drum, and using Rico's shoulder to steady herself, she hops up on it. One foot goes flat on the corrugated tin wall and she rests on her heel. The metal is still warm from the day's heat, and she's got a perfect view of the fight. (And the exits, and the guys out on the street, and wow, nobody can grab her ass or steal her purse from here.)

Rico gives her a small and seemingly appreciative nod and turns his back to her.

[latino_menace]

Ramon's in an opposite corner, talking to a small man - smaller than he is, even - wearing a grey suit and a fedora that's pushed on to the back of his head. A cigarette hangs loosely from the guy's lips and no one touches him; it's like there's a forcefield about a foot wide all around the man. Even Ramon, who respects virtually no one in the world, appears to be speaking politely and judging by the way two pairs of dark eyes are looking in her direction, he seems to be having to explain what she's doing here.

The man looks away and Ramon glances at the floor, then at the centre of the ring of men that's gradually been pulling together. The fights are starting, two big guys start hammering at each other and it takes less than ten seconds for first blood to be drawn. He squeezes his uncle's shoulder in a rare gesture of affection and heads off to lay his bets on himself, dropping around five thousand dollars in five minutes. That done, he heads over to where Fiona's perching, smoking a cigarette and looking calm. Two men, and his brother, follow in his wake.

'No trouble?' he asks her, leaning against the drum and watching a fighter spit teeth. Hector hands him the whiskey bottle. He takes a swig and offers it up to her. 'Raul thinks there will be.'

[justcallmefee]

She takes the whiskey from him, uncorking it and taking a long swig, never letting it interfere with her view.

"No trouble at all, right Rico?" She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand before taking another sip, watching the fights with a lazy interest.

She hands the bottle back and hooks her thumbs in her jeans pockets. "I hope he's right. Would hate to be a disappointment."

[latino_menace]

Ramon eyes her for a moment, then turns his head to watch the fighting.

'I wouldn't piss him off if I were you,' he murmurs, but offers no elaboration on why. After a pause, he adds, 'There are a lot of people betting against me tonight. It usually means something's going on.'

He seems pleased by the prospect, not worried. As time passes, he seems more and more relaxed but says little, just takes in the environment. As another bout starts, he pulls off his shirt suddenly and bounces, tilting his head far to each side to stretch his neck out. He doesn't say anything but he's obviously up next.

[justcallmefee]

She reaches out a hand to touch his shoulder.

"Don't turn around," she says, keeping her voice down, for his ears only. Her arm rests on his, casual, but pointing in the direction of the man he's going to be fighting. "Knife, left pocket."

She smiles and giggles, turning her eyes away like he just propositioned her.

[latino_menace]

He looks up at her, then away, and nods. He's not worried - it's not against the rules to carry a knife in your pocket, as long as you don't get it out and use it. But now that she's mentioned it, he'll be able to keep an eye on it at least.

'Rico, watch her,' he tells his man shortly, and heads off to the ring. Men are shouting and shoving each other, placing last minute bets and passing bottles around. He hears none of it. He just focuses on the guy coming out to meet him; a muscled, meaty guy that stands about five inches taller than him. His favourite kind of opponent, actually - they're usually slower and he's fast to start off with.

The guy nods at him and pulls a 'duster from his pocket. Ramon nods back and finds his own, slipping it over the fingers of his right hand. People don't have to use them here but if you want to, your opponent has to agree - Ramon never says no. To say no would be weak and anyway, he likes the edge it gives proceedings.

As soon as they've sorted out that bit of business, the big guy swings. Ramon ducks it on reflex, laughs and just like that, everything else in life drops away. That's why he loves this. When you do this, nothing matters but survival and winning. He's loose, fast, dancing away from the big haymakers this man seems to favour. A couple of minutes in and he's taunting the guy, telling him what a good fuck his mother is and making his face turn red in rage. Ramon's barely thrown a shot yet but fuck it, he's enjoying himself.

[justcallmefee]

She stands up as tall as she can, watching him, heart in her mouth. The air in the crowd is strangely charged, and she keeps just as close a watch on the crowd. It's not the usual casual bloodlust of these events, there's something more. He's royalty here, and it shows in their faces. Like this is the only place they'd dare lift a hand against him.

She cheers for him, regardless, one hand resting on the butt of her gun. She cheers and winces, unconsciously weaving as she watches the big haymakers come in low and slow, waiting for Ramon to open up on him.

She also watches his uncle, smoking that cigar and looking not the least bit worried. She turns her eyes back to the fight and the shifting energy of the crowd. Whatever happens, she can handle herself.