Free Suckerpunch: (2011) by Jeremy Brown

eye that disappeared when her eyebrows lifted and she waited for me to talk. I didn’t know what to say. I stuck to things I knew were true. “It’s almost six. We could eat now.”
     
    “Let’s walk around a little first. I’m not too hungry yet.”
     
    “Good. Okay.” We went through the doors.
     
    “So, what happened back there? Jairo had to run out; then those guys are bringing you to the chair.”
     
    I was surprised I had to tell her. “Oh, there was some trouble on the stage. You know, smack talk, posturing, all that.”
     
    “You are all so stupid,” Marcela said.
     
    I didn’t argue.
     
    “Why do you do that?”
     
    “Well . . . ,” I said and started searching for the restaurant. If I could get some food in my mouth quick enough, maybe I wouldn’t have to answer.
     

CHAPTER 6
     
    Marcela and I got out of the event center and went through the big opening into the casino, laid out in a huge circle and divided like a pie into different gambling areas. The middle of the pie was all clubs and shops and restaurants; in order to get to them, you had to run the gauntlet of slots, craps, roulette, blackjack, poker, and whatever else they could come up with to get your money. We battled clockwise through the noise and bustle and after fifteen minutes found an entrance into the inner circle.
     
    The long hallway into the core was decked out like a Roman garden, the walls covered in trellis and fake ivy with an electronic sky you could glimpse through the leaves to catch the stars winking at you. They’d done a good job with the constellations. I thought I saw a dollar sign, but it might have been Cassiopeia.
     
    We stepped into the inner sanctum next to a shop that sold realistic Roman fashion. Silver togas and all. I saw the sign for Chaos, then the long line outside the door that looked like tryouts for the douche bag Olympics. Marcela sagged.
     
    “Maybe we can find a vending machine,” I said.
     
    She perked up, pointed. “That guy is waving at you.”
     
    I saw the Chaos doorman beckoning somebody over.
     
    Me?
     
    Well, well.
     
    We showed him our event badges, but he shooed them down. Dressed in a tailored suit that Marcela and I could play hide-and-seek inside, he was close to seven feet tall and had short black hair and no facial hair or visible tattoos.
     
    He smiled and said, “Please, Woody. We know who you are. Shouldn’t you be resting up for tomorrow?”
     
    “We won’t be out late. Just unwinding a little.” I glanced at Marcela to see if she was going to overrule me. She was busy leaning around the doorman to peek through the door and didn’t say anything.
     
    “I heard what happened,” he said and tapped a wireless earpiece. “I hope you knock his ass out, man.”
     
    “Can I hit him with you?”
     
    “Have fun in there. I’ll let them know you’re coming, and we’ll get a booth ready.”
     
    “Much appreciated.” I tried to tip him, but he pushed my hand away.
     
    Marcela and I put on bored faces like the debonair VIPs we were. We went through the door into darkness, and immediately a cool mist drifted over us and our feet swirled through a low-lying fog. We pushed through a thick black curtain that was pulsating to heavy bass and stepped into a room that should have been illegal.
     
    It was dim, illuminated with indirect spots in cool blues, greens, and purples with some red thrown in to draw the eye. Ahead of us was a full bar extending from floor to ceiling with the staff working horizontally, the drinks defying gravity to stay in the glasses as they went to customers who stuck to high-backed stools but should be dropping to the floor in a heap.
     
    Directly over my head a woman walked upside down out of a door that wasn’t there and waved to another woman who looked like she was ten feet away on my left, but when she screeched and hugged her inverted friend, I couldn’t hear a thing. It wasn’t because of the music—I could hear plenty