Chase Hendrix's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Chase pushed through the crowd outside the arena. He had come to loosen up before the bell. Instead, he heard his name in every whisper. Two men in leather vests worked the boardwalk, telling the same story. Chase Hendrix twisted a bookkeeper's arm. Chase Hendrix fights dirty. Chase Hendrix is a bully who bought his way in. The crowd stared at him like he was a snake. His fists tightened. If they booed him into the ring, half the fight was lost before it started. He found Mac near the ticket line, shaking. "They're saying I forced you," Chase said. "Blackmire's men. They want the crowd against me." "It's true, though," Mac whispered. "You did force me." "Then help me make it worth something." Chase gripped his shoulder. "I can't fix this alone. Who around here knows how the crowd works?" Mac pointed to a row of metal lockers along the arena wall. Framed photos covered every door. Fighters, all of them beaten. "Mike keeps those," Mac said. "Every man who lost for him. He's been in this pit longer than Blackmire." Chase found the old troll leaning by the lockers. Green skin, one dead eye, a crutch strapped to his left leg. Mike was polishing a frame with his sleeve, slow and careful, like the loss inside it mattered. He did not look up. "You're the bully," Mike said. "Blackmire's lie," Chase said. "I need the crowd back." Mike wiped the glass one more time. "Crowd wants a story. Blackmire gave them one. You need a better one." "Give me one." Mike tapped a photo. A young fighter, fists up, grinning. "This kid lost his first bout too. Sponsor was going to drown for it. Kid fought anyway. Crowd loves a man who bleeds for his backer." He looked at Mac, then Chase. "That your story or not?" Chase understood. He climbed onto a crate where the crowd could see him. He pulled Mac up beside him. The boardwalk went quiet. "They told you I strong-armed this man," Chase shouted. He pointed at Mac. "Truth is, if I lose tonight, he pays the house purse. Triple what he owns. Blackmire set that trap. Not me." He raised Mac's arm. "I fight to keep my friend out of the water. Boo me if you want. I'm still winning for him." A murmur ran through the crowd. Then someone cheered. Then more. The two men in leather vests slipped away, their story dead in the mud. Mike gave a short nod. "Better," he said. "Now win, or you're on my wall." Chase had the crowd. But Mike's warning sat cold in his gut. The bell was minutes off. His undefeated opponent waited in the ring, and the whole arena now expected the bully to bleed and win.