Page 11 of Nick

Tuesday, as I’m hauling cases of liquor to the storage room, I hear the steel door slam closed at the top of the stairs. What now? Setting the box of vodka on the shelf, I turn and step out of the small room. Several feet come into view as Deke and friends join me for another round. Sighing, I get on the balls of my feet and wait. Deke has been even more of an asshole since he was shot. I get the feeling he blames me for something he did. He's got four guys with him today. Hank, Donnie, Ethan, and Chance decide to charge me at once while Deke watches.

Knowing these guys after all these months, I punch Hank first in the temple just hard enough to stun him, then kick the legs out from under Ethan after he makes contact with my stomach. Unfortunately, he tears my shirt as he falls. They hit the hardest out of the four, so it's better to take them out first.

Next, I shove Donnie on top of Hank after he gets me in the jaw and punch Chance in the stomach. I always try to inflict minimal damage, especially to Chance, since he's just a kid. Stepping over them, I walk up the stairs as Deke starts yelling at them. Imagine purposely starting a fight regularly with someone who always beats you. Idiots, the lot of them.

His crew can finish putting the last few crates away. Looking at my shirt, the bastard ripped it right down the middle, and it's not fixable. I wouldn't mind, but I only have a few shirts to begin with. Patrick interrupts my thoughts when I get to the bar area, telling me Artur is here to speak to me, and his eyes get big when he sees my torn shirt.

Following a step behind him, we walk into his office where Artur kicks him out and closes the door. The scowl on Patrick’s face as he leaves is priceless. Artur is alone today, no goons is sight, but he has his gun strapped to a holster under his arm.

Taking a seat on the couch, I quirk an eyebrow at Artur to begin. "What happened?" he asks, pointing to my shirt.

"Just a scuffle," I respond.

"Who?"

Well shit. If I throw Patrick under the bus, he's vindictive enough to go after Shortie or Gabs. "Just a misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about."

"Names, Nicholas."

"Deke and friends."

Artur seems to think for a minute before nodding to himself. He removes his phone from his pocket and sends a text before bringing his attention back to me. “Nicholas, your performance these past 6 months has impressed Mr. Fitzgerald. You’ve kept your head down, haven’t complained, and followed instructions. We believe you could be a great asset to our business ventures. He would like you to join the Tuesday fights, starting this evening. If you perform as we expect, you’ll have a bright future here in Tennessee.”

Interesting. “How does Patrick fit into this?”

Artur waves his hand. “Patrick is where he will stay. He does a sufficient job of running this bar and managing his small crew. You have greater potential, Nicholas. Your father is unaware of what occurs on Tuesday nights, and you will keep it that way. I will have someone pick you up at 5pm this evening with appropriate attire. Do not disappoint me tonight.” With that speech, he stands and leaves the room.

Sounds like Tuesday nights are much different from Fridays. I wonder what I’ll be in for. Maybe I’ll finally get to meet in elusive Mr. Fitzgerald.

At 5pm, a security guard in the common navy uniform from the office building finds me in the bar. He hands me a garment bag, telling me to change in Patrick’s office. Going inside and shutting the door, I find a black tuxedo and leather shoes inside. What the fuck kind of fight night is this? Quickly changing, I stuff my regular clothes into the empty bag and rejoin the security guy in the hallway.

He looks me over with a nod, and then I follow him outside to a blacked out Cadillac SUV. Fancy. He opens the back door for me, so I climb inside. Is Mr. Fitzgerald trying to impress me, or is something else going on?

I’m driven to the same office building as the Friday fights, but instead of taking the back elevator downstairs, I’m ushered into the regular bank of elevators near the entrance.

On the top floor, I follow the security guard down a short hallway to the only available door. After two knocks, Artur answers, ushering me inside.

The room looks very similar to Artur’s office in the basement, except there are desks on each side of the door in here, and no windows. He gestures for me to take a seat in front of the left desk. “Welcome Nicholas. Tonight will differ vastly from Fridays. On Tuesdays, we entertain our wealthiest clients. They prefer a more civilized and cultured experience. There will be cocktails and dinner, followed by the fights. These fights resemble MMA fighting, except they have three rounds, and the winner is decided by points or knockout.”

“What’s the catch?” I ask.

“We cater to our wealthiest clients. They like to lower themselves and get to know the entertainment, and that includes you. Be pleasant, answer their questions, and keep them happy.”

That leaves a lot of room for interpretation. Too much. “Be specific.”

“Let them fawn over you, touch you, ply you with drinks.”

Fuck that! I would never cheat on Shortie, and my dick isn’t interested in anyone else. “I’m not a prostitute. You’ll have to shoot me if you expect that.”

“There are guidelines they must follow,” Artur waves me off. “No sex or sexual acts for our fighters, but the women like to pretend they can have you. It makes them feel powerful. I am aware you are not a people person, Nicholas. I don't expect your personality to change overnight. Be yourself, but be tolerant of them. Your fighting will more than make up for it.”

“Am I winning or losing tonight?”

“Ah. That is up to you. These fights are not rigged, so do your best to win. The more you win, the more sponsor money you will make from our clients. We, of course, take a substantial cut of your earnings.”

“What earnings?” I raise my eyebrows at him.

Artur seems confused for a minute, then his expression flattens. “Each fight you take part in on Fridays and Tuesdays earns you a percentage of the betting pool. It’s small, but it is yours. On Tuesdays, some of our clients like to sponsor specific individuals, which gives you a boost in earnings.”