Free The Dog Fighter by Marc Bojanowski Page B

storyteller had spoken of. I knew the moment the well dressed young man knelt before him. The businessman was of medium height with broad shoulders and chest. His skin light in color but his hair shoe polish black. With a glove over his right hand he smoked a thin black cigarillo. The smoke of this white in front of the lenses of sunglasses. Silver like mirrors. While the yelling men called out their bets and waved their money Cantana leaned toward the well dressed young man and whispered his.
    When this well dressed young man finished taking Cantanas bet he stood and walked through the yelling men toward where I stood with my arms crossed. Two businessmen not far from me argued loudly. The well dressed young man walked past them and as he did I watched his hand dart into the pocket of one of the men and then quickly into his own. The well dressed young man looked then directly into my eyes after he did this and when he knew I saw what he had done he just smiled. I chose to do nothing.
    When I looked back to Cantana a man who had stood at the door of the warehouse when I entered leaned over the businessmans shoulder and whispered into his ear. Cantana nodded as the crowd began to yell and applaud. I followed the businessmans eyes to the ring where a tall handsome young man entered jumping lightly from foot to foot. In a far corner a ragman began to wrap his arm in the heavy rug stained with saliva and blood and put on his hand the glove fitted with metal claws.
    This is his first fight. Eduardo yelled then standing suddenly next to me. His name is Ramón. Put your money on the dog. The foreman smiled. He has chosen one of Mendozas.
    Light from the one large electric lamp dangling above the ring from a steel rafter reflected sharply from the claws of the glove the dog fighter wore. As the ragmen finished tying the heavy rug to Ramóns arm a dog trainer pulled back the fence for his dog to enter through at the end of a frayed leash. The leash was one rope looped over the collar of the dog that the trainer held both ends of through the fencing. One end in each hand.
    Mendoza. Eduardo yelled. He is famous for taking a file to the teeth of his dogs. You can bet on the fighter or the dog. The odds pay better if the dog wins. You can bet who bleeds first. If the fighter gives in before he dies. If the trainer stops the fight. You can bet on almost anything here. But listen to me. If you are ever to put money on a dog you always put it on one belonging to Mendoza. The old men will tell you that it is wrong for Mendoza to sharpen the teeth. But they are fools and try to hide this by acting with pride when they lose betting against his dogs. Tradición. They say. Eduardo said shaking his head. They die for tradición.
    Across the ring from Ramón a ragman teased the dog with a bloody cloth. The dog fighter leaned his head from side to side stretching the muscles of his neck.
    Mira. Eduardo pointed and laughed a short hard laugh. His knees are shaking. He is too handsome to fight dogs.
    The dog snarled and barked at the cloth the ragman held before it. Studying this Ramón suddenly collapsed in half and vomited in his corner of the ring. Two of the three ragmen fell on it immediately and a wave of new bets rustled through the crowd. Ramón stood and wiped his mouth along his forearm and when the hunchbacked ragmen stood the area where the dog fighter was sick came up clean. Across from this but outside the ring Mendoza held the leash smiling.
    He must have seen the teeth. Eduardo yelled at me. If Mendoza was not the friend of Cantana that he is the older businessmen would not allow him to sharpen the teeth. It is good to be the friend of Cantana. Remember that.
    Ramón straightened himself. His knees shook while the ragman continued to tease the dog. Then Mendoza yelled.
    Bastante!
    Pulling one end of the rope leash quickly so that it slipped free of the dogs collar and slithered from the ring through the fence. The