Kimberly Lauren: Beautiful Broken Promises

“Okay, just remember you’re not here for the same reason as these other guys,” Mateo began the same speech he’d given to me time and time again. “You don’t need to fight to the death. If you’re injured, just go down. Winning doesn’t matter. You just need to get into the ring once so we can get into the after-party.” He took my hands and checked his wrapping job one more time. “But... if you win, we do get bottle service, so it wouldn’t hurt if you tried a little bit,” he smarted off. I laughed despite the stress and jabbed his shoulder lightly.

I looked forward to the day when I wouldn’t have to come to these fights anymore. I enjoyed boxing, don’t get me wrong. The sport was exhilarating and the best workout I’ve come across so far, but I hated these underground fights. I hated the people and all of the dealing and betting that they did on the side of the ring. Conniving bastards. I hated being associated with them for even for a night. What’s worse, the fights were only a distraction from the real criminal undertakings they had going on.

“Don’t try to pull any new fancy techniques. Stick to what you’re good at,” Mateo continued as we walked down the long, filthy hallway. The tile was cold and the walls were peeling down to the bare wood behind it. The moldy smell was nauseating. “Most of these guys are brawlers and they lack the finesse you’ve been trained to have. You gotta lose some of that in the ring or they’ll be suspicious. Throw all of your power and energy into your hits. Don’t get too caught up in mastering your footwork.”

The loud roar of the crowd began to invade our ears and it became harder and harder to hear Mateo’s counsel. Without thought, I commenced bouncing again. My blood was pumping, the crowd starting to hype me up. I was the underdog—the one who popped in and out of these events but never stuck around long enough to take it all. They knew me, but they didn’t know me. I intrigued them, and they never knew whether to cheer me on or boo me out of the ring.

As we entered the large, open warehouse, women grazed their fingers across my bare skin. Some tried to reach up and grasp my hair, while others just openly winked at me. My stomach churned because these were the absolute last kind of people I wanted to be around.

Business as usual, Mateo continued with his spiel, moving closer to my ear so I could hear him. “You’re up against Barrera tonight. Get his defense down and then throw a right uppercut and finish him with your deadly left hook. He won’t be able to withstand it, his chin is too weak.”

Mateo knew most of the fighters down here. He studied them at every fight, but just like me, he wasn’t here for the shady dealings. He used to be on the Mexican Police Force, but once he realized the extent of the crime and corruption, he got out. I’ve always had a feeling he’s some kind of undercover agent, but he’s assured me that he’s only here to help people like me. Regardless, I’d never be able to repay him for everything he’s done.

Someone shouted to Mateo in Spanish and he hollered back, “Sí, estamos listos!” When he turned back around, he ran a check over me for the thousandth time. “You’re ready, yes?” I nodded and he tapped the back of my head toward our corner.

Right before I straddled the ropes to step into the ring, he grabbed my arm and pulled me down to hear his tight, whispered words. “If anything goes down, you meet me at my car. It’s parked in the southeast corner of the building. Get there, mijo. It won’t do her any good if you’re six feet under.” He threw in that last line because he knew it would sink in and hook me.

I was doing it for her . I tried so damn hard to picture her in my head for motivation… the color of her hair, the deep blue of her eyes, or how her skin shone like porcelain. I pulled out the tattered picture of her that I carried around everywhere I went. The edges were torn, some areas were peeling up, and it was way too small, but it was all I had. Every day I worried that it had been too many years and she wouldn’t look anything like the picture anymore. I shoved it back into the pocket of my shorts and let my fingers graze across the slick surface before I had to force myself to let it go.

I knocked my face around to get myself back in the moment. If I started zoning out now, I would never make it two seconds in the ring with Barrera. I quickly remembered what I came here for and began to scan the crowd, looking for the one in the suit—the richest bastard here. He wasn’t hard to spot and I clenched my fist when my eyes found him and his whole crew. He threw his head back and laughed boisterously at something one of his disgusting lackeys said, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Not this time. You won’t get the slip on me this time, Flores.

I didn’t keep up with the ins and outs of the underground world –that was usually Charlie or Mateo’s job, and they just told me where to be and when. Therefore, I was surprised to see Barrera step up to Flores and the two looked deep in conversation before Flores patted the back of his head and nodded toward the ring. So Barrera belonged to Flores, huh? Well now, the fight just got a little more interesting.

The shuffling of feet began as people started finding their seats. A topless brunette walked down the front aisle, holding a tray. She stopped in front of Flores to hand him a glass with golden liquid sloshing around inside. I could go for that right about now. She tried to stick around and flirt, but I watched Flores slip something into her waistband and shoo her off.

Barrera eyed me as he slithered through the ropes and into the ring. I continued bouncing on my toes, trying not to lose my adrenaline high. I watched his movements and attempted to spot any weak areas, particularly any injuries he could be concealing. He stood up straight and began to bounce as well. He moved from side to side and then began spinning in a full circle, around and around–too busy paying attention to the crowd. The fucker was going to get dizzy, but that could work in my favor.

The commencements of these fights were simple. There was no Mexican version of Michael Buffer shouting, ‘ Let’s get ready to rumble !’ in Spanish. There wasn’t a referee explaining that he wants a “good, clean fight” or asking us to touch-bump to begin. There was just a little old man named Santiago, who looked at each of us, probably to make sure we were in the ring. Then he nodded his head while drumming a bell. Go time .

Shouts immediately could be heard from all corners of the warehouse, echoing loudly off the aluminum walls. The crowd yelled in English and Spanish, and I even thought I heard some Portuguese out there. I couldn’t tell who they were yelling for, although I could vaguely understand they were all calling out different punches to throw or defenses to put up.

But it wasn’t the screaming that pulled Barrera’s attention away from me, it was the deafening noise that came from outside. I lunged at his distraction. My torso shifted and I swung my right fist upward in a rising arc, connecting with a clean hit to his jaw. Spit flew from his mouth and I watched the drops land on the mat below our feet. His knees gave and Barrera fell directly to the ground. He wasn’t out so I kept bouncing, ready to give him another when he was fully upright.

“Reyes!” I heard Mateo shout up at me. It took a long second before I remembered that Reyes was our agreed-upon last name for me in the ring. I didn’t think anyone was actually going to believe I was Hispanic, but it was better that they didn’t discover my real last name. “Rey-es!” he enunciated, louder this time.

I snapped out of my tunnel vision and took in the scene around me. People were scattering quickly to all corners of the building. My stomach dropped and I immediately ran to the ropes to search for Flores, only to find that he was no longer in the front row.