Page 78 of House of Scarlett
“Nice club.Really fucking nice. And it sure as hell looks like you designed it perfectly to fit a cage in the middle.” Gerard Poirier, the CEO of the fight promotion company, gives me an approving nod as we walk toward the door.
“I didn’t think we’d find anything to wow us like the one that the Feds raided. I’m damn glad I was wrong,” Bruce Liggett, Gerard’s second in command, adds.
“I’m glad you approve, gentlemen. We’d be happy to host your fight card for the right terms.”
Gerard latches onto my words like he’s been waiting for me to bring up the subject. “Standard contract. You get fifteen percent of the gate, all the money from the booze, and I’m sure it’ll put you on the map to get more events in here.”
From where he stands off to my left, Q shifts when he hears the 15 percent figure.
“I’m afraid you’re not in a standard situation, gentlemen. You need a venue that wows people, or you don’t have an event worth having.”
“What are you saying, Legend?” Bruce asks.
“I’m saying that fifteen percent doesn’t even get you past the front door. You need what I’ve got, and I know what it’s worth.”
Gerard crosses his arms, testing the strength of the thread holding the button on his suit coat. “How much do you want?”
“Seventy percent of the gate.”
“No fucking way,” Bruce fires back. “You’re out of your goddamned mind. We’ve never paid more than thirty percent.”
“And you lowball me with fifteen when you’re desperate?”
Bruce shuffles his feet. “We hear you’re desperate too.”
I lift my head to scan the interior of the club, with its massive columns and soaring ceilings. “Does it look like I’m desperate? This is my kingdom, and I set the terms.”
Gerard’s jaw rocks from side to side. “You want fifty-fifty.”
“Damn right. And if the fight isn’t already sold out, you should jack up the prices of the remaining tickets, because they’ll sell as soon as you announce the new location.”
Gerard’s gaze goes to the balcony that houses the VIP section. “We didn’t have a second level at the last place. View was damn good from up there. How many seats you think we can fit?”
I glance at Q, who’s already figuring.
“At least two hundred,” he tells the men.
Gerard nods. “We sell them at two grand a piece, split the gate fifty-fifty, and we both make what we need and no one gets greedy.”
“I can live with that,” I tell them.
Gerard’s mouth curves up. “Then I think we’ve got ourselves a deal—”
“One more thing,” I say, and both men stiffen.
“What?” Bruce asks.
“Your main event is weak. You think that’ll fill the seats?”
Bruce rocks from side to side. “The original matchup was better, but a fighter got hurt. We had to fill the spot with the best we could get on short notice.”
Gerard appraises me with interest sparkling in his eyes. “You got a better option for us, Legend? Because I hear Bodhi Black would like nothing more than to get his revenge in the cage.”
Bruce whips around to look at him. “It’s a sanctioned fight, not an underground match.”
“If I fight Black again, it’s going to be legit. Not underground. If you can make that happen, straight up, he’ll take this fight tomorrow, and we’ll put on the best show this city has ever seen.”
Gerard’s smile couldn’t get any bigger. “I’ll take care of the athletic commission. Those upper-level tickets are going to go for a hell of a lot more than two grand.” He holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Legend. I look forward to seeing you in the cage.”
