The Last Shot | Fight Night Champion
Posted: 25 Feb 2020, 16:57
Abel hissed between his teeth as he dabbed a piece of coarse paper towel against his lip. The big white guy he’d just fought wasn’t anything close to a boxer, but he packed more than a punch with the shots that he did manage. Abel was surprised that he’d somehow managed to not get knocked out – especially at the end of the fight.
He needed to get whatever money they were going to give him and head back to the border before night fell. It wouldn’t help him that he didn’t know how to catch a cab or the bus schedule and his Spanish was too bad to ask for help.
Kique Buemeros and a group of raucous men burst into the small room Abel had been upgraded to from the bathroom.
The man glared at Abel for a tense moment before a smile spread across his face. Laughing, he grabbed Abel’s face and yelled.
“El negro furioso!” he shouted. “I thought that gringo was going to drop you a few times.” Buemeros stepped back and threw a couple punches. “But not negro furioso! You box like a Mexican. Tat, tat, tat and move. Are you sure you weren’t born south of the border?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Abel said, putting the napkin back to his lip.
Buemeros turned to one of the men, a rather large and imposing man. He beckoned with his hand. “Oso, la feria”
The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tightly rolled bundle of bills and placed it in his boss’s hand.
Kique Buemeros held it up and smiled. “You made me a lot of money today, amigo. A lot of fucking money.” Grabbing Abel’s hand and turning it up, he dropped the roll. “It’s a good thing you won because I would’ve had to given you something to take back to Texas with you to get my money back.”
He laughed but Abel just gave an obligatory chuckle in return to not piss the man who was quite clearly in some cartel a reason to give him an acid bath.
“Can you guys get me a way back to the border? I can manage once I’m back on the other side.” Abel put the wad of cash in his back. He wanted to know how much it was but felt that it would be a bit of an insult to start counting money in front of them.
“Back to the border? You have to hang out with us a bit, no? I have a business proposition for you. One that will make us both a lot better off tomorrow than we are today.”
Abel shrugged and gestured to them, all dressed nicely albeit with a bit of a high incidence of cowboy boots and hats. “Well, I would look out of place with y’all. I don’t want to ruin your image or something like that wearing a ratty hoodie and some jeans.”
Buemeros pointed to his head. “You want a hat? We’ll get you a hat.” He glanced back. “Ir a conseguirle un sombrero.”
Abel wanted to say that wasn’t necessary, just a trip back to the border, but it didn’t seem like he was going to get out of hearing this business proposition without hearing it.
---
“Here, drink up.”
Abel looked at the glass of tequila. “I’m not old enough to drink.”
“Not old enough to drink?” Buemeros laughed. He looked at a woman sitting next to him. “Te dije que es gracioso. El dice que es demasiado joven para beber.”
The woman looked at Abel and smiled, laughter in her eyes. She was beautiful, but Abel was sticking to his tactic of not angering anyone and only glanced at her.
“This is not Donald’s America, amigo. You can drink. We’ll just keep it between us.”
Abel sighed and knocked back the shot. He cringed a little at the aftertaste. He waved off the bartender who rushed over to refill the glass of one of Señor Buemeros’ guests. The bartender persisted at Buemeros’ urging and Abel let him refill the glass, but he didn’t drink it this time.
“So, Abel,” he sipped from a tumbler in his hand. “Let’s get down to business so that we can enjoy the rest of the day.”
“Okay.” Abel tried not to show his apprehension about the whole situation, but it was hard not to when sitting in a bar full of cartel members and other hangers on.
“You clearly know how to box. Much better than these guys that I’ve seen you fight. Even that motherfucker Beto who people keep saying is the next big thing but couldn’t beat some random guy that we found in a Texas backwater. No offense.”
“None taken.”
The man held up a finger and downed the rest of his alcohol before beckoning the bartender to refill the glass. This time he made him leave the bottle.
“You work at a casino, right? Security?”
Abel nodded.
“How much do you make? Minimum wage? A little more maybe?”
“Something like that.”
Buemeros nodded and rubbed his chin. “These little off the track matches? They are very easy to set up. Mexicans love boxing. We are good at it. We like watching it. Here’s my proposal. I set up some fights for you and you win them. I’ll give you five grand for every fight you win and…” He paused for effect. “I’ll let you bet on yourself with that money so you can double or triple that pretty easily.”
“And if I lose a fight? How much?”
“Lose?” Buemeros laughed. He said to the woman, “Cree que puede perder.”
As if she knew she was only supposed to laugh and smile and not speak, she smiled and gave a little laugh.
“So, I’m guessing the offer is only good if I win.”
“Of course.”
“And how long does this deal run?”
The man waved his hand back and forth. “Let’s say we review it every other month. But I think you’ll be happy with the outcome.”
Abel sipped some of the tequila from the shot glass in front of him. “Then how can I say no?”
“Right?” Kique Buemeros laughed, slapping the table for emphasis.
He needed to get whatever money they were going to give him and head back to the border before night fell. It wouldn’t help him that he didn’t know how to catch a cab or the bus schedule and his Spanish was too bad to ask for help.
Kique Buemeros and a group of raucous men burst into the small room Abel had been upgraded to from the bathroom.
The man glared at Abel for a tense moment before a smile spread across his face. Laughing, he grabbed Abel’s face and yelled.
“El negro furioso!” he shouted. “I thought that gringo was going to drop you a few times.” Buemeros stepped back and threw a couple punches. “But not negro furioso! You box like a Mexican. Tat, tat, tat and move. Are you sure you weren’t born south of the border?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Abel said, putting the napkin back to his lip.
Buemeros turned to one of the men, a rather large and imposing man. He beckoned with his hand. “Oso, la feria”
The man reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tightly rolled bundle of bills and placed it in his boss’s hand.
Kique Buemeros held it up and smiled. “You made me a lot of money today, amigo. A lot of fucking money.” Grabbing Abel’s hand and turning it up, he dropped the roll. “It’s a good thing you won because I would’ve had to given you something to take back to Texas with you to get my money back.”
He laughed but Abel just gave an obligatory chuckle in return to not piss the man who was quite clearly in some cartel a reason to give him an acid bath.
“Can you guys get me a way back to the border? I can manage once I’m back on the other side.” Abel put the wad of cash in his back. He wanted to know how much it was but felt that it would be a bit of an insult to start counting money in front of them.
“Back to the border? You have to hang out with us a bit, no? I have a business proposition for you. One that will make us both a lot better off tomorrow than we are today.”
Abel shrugged and gestured to them, all dressed nicely albeit with a bit of a high incidence of cowboy boots and hats. “Well, I would look out of place with y’all. I don’t want to ruin your image or something like that wearing a ratty hoodie and some jeans.”
Buemeros pointed to his head. “You want a hat? We’ll get you a hat.” He glanced back. “Ir a conseguirle un sombrero.”
Abel wanted to say that wasn’t necessary, just a trip back to the border, but it didn’t seem like he was going to get out of hearing this business proposition without hearing it.
---
“Here, drink up.”
Abel looked at the glass of tequila. “I’m not old enough to drink.”
“Not old enough to drink?” Buemeros laughed. He looked at a woman sitting next to him. “Te dije que es gracioso. El dice que es demasiado joven para beber.”
The woman looked at Abel and smiled, laughter in her eyes. She was beautiful, but Abel was sticking to his tactic of not angering anyone and only glanced at her.
“This is not Donald’s America, amigo. You can drink. We’ll just keep it between us.”
Abel sighed and knocked back the shot. He cringed a little at the aftertaste. He waved off the bartender who rushed over to refill the glass of one of Señor Buemeros’ guests. The bartender persisted at Buemeros’ urging and Abel let him refill the glass, but he didn’t drink it this time.
“So, Abel,” he sipped from a tumbler in his hand. “Let’s get down to business so that we can enjoy the rest of the day.”
“Okay.” Abel tried not to show his apprehension about the whole situation, but it was hard not to when sitting in a bar full of cartel members and other hangers on.
“You clearly know how to box. Much better than these guys that I’ve seen you fight. Even that motherfucker Beto who people keep saying is the next big thing but couldn’t beat some random guy that we found in a Texas backwater. No offense.”
“None taken.”
The man held up a finger and downed the rest of his alcohol before beckoning the bartender to refill the glass. This time he made him leave the bottle.
“You work at a casino, right? Security?”
Abel nodded.
“How much do you make? Minimum wage? A little more maybe?”
“Something like that.”
Buemeros nodded and rubbed his chin. “These little off the track matches? They are very easy to set up. Mexicans love boxing. We are good at it. We like watching it. Here’s my proposal. I set up some fights for you and you win them. I’ll give you five grand for every fight you win and…” He paused for effect. “I’ll let you bet on yourself with that money so you can double or triple that pretty easily.”
“And if I lose a fight? How much?”
“Lose?” Buemeros laughed. He said to the woman, “Cree que puede perder.”
As if she knew she was only supposed to laugh and smile and not speak, she smiled and gave a little laugh.
“So, I’m guessing the offer is only good if I win.”
“Of course.”
“And how long does this deal run?”
The man waved his hand back and forth. “Let’s say we review it every other month. But I think you’ll be happy with the outcome.”
Abel sipped some of the tequila from the shot glass in front of him. “Then how can I say no?”
“Right?” Kique Buemeros laughed, slapping the table for emphasis.