| s t o r i e s * a b o u t * b i o * c o n t a c t * t r a i l e r * h o m e |
| M A R C U S S L A D E |
| Slade limped from the ring, victorious but infuriated. That last blow did some serious damage, and it would be weeks before he could walk straight again.
There had to be a better way to make money around here. He made his way through the crowded arena, seeking Tomi Harada to collect his fees. A Pandora woman wearing next to nothing stopped in front of him and offered him one of the drinks from her tray. He accepted with a smile and a wink; the Japanese beauty blushed demurely and smiled back. She was his if he chose to take her...but tonight he wanted one of his own girls. Sienna, perhaps; or maybe Moxie, the buxom blonde with the expert fingers. Dismissing the woman with a regretful shake of his head, Slade located Harada seated at a corner table, deep in conversation with one of his in-House fighters--Shonen, he thought his name was. The venerable Japanese leader seemed taken with the boy, and Slade suspected there was more to their relationship than met the eye. As he watched the two of them talk, an idea began to form: he could recruit his own fighters. He had enough real estate and capital to create an arena. Other than the hotel, he owned two nightclubs and several warehouses. Beatz would be ideal, as he also held the large, vacant building next to it. The thought brought a smile to his face. He could stop fighting and make far more money than the percentage he was clearing now. He just had to convince Harada of the deal--which was easier said than done, since the old man was almost as greedy and power-hungry as he was himself. Harada looked up when he reached the table and gestured for him to take a seat. He did, ignoring the superior sneer on the other fighter's face. Slade had yet to face Shonen in the ring, but he didn't doubt his own capacity to beat the younger man. So far, his self-assurance had never failed him. "Greetings, Mr. Slade," Harada said, his slight accent making the Western title sound awkward: mees-tah. "I believe I owe you something." "You do." Slade refused to mince words when it came to money. With a smile of strained politeness, Harada reached inside his jacket. He paused, turned to the fighter beside him and spoke in rapid, guttural Japanese. Shonen rose and bowed, then slipped into the crowd without sparing a look at Slade. "Please excuse Shonen's ignorance," Harada said when he was gone. He extracted a banded stack of bills from his pocket, slid the paper circle off and began to count them out. "The boy does not yet know whom he should be respectful of." "Of course," Slade replied without looking away from the money. "He is young." Harada remained silent until he'd finished counting, and then raised eyes that glittered black as beetles to Slade as he slid the cash across the table. "Seven thousand," he said, "and my congratulations on a splendid fight." "Thank you," Slade mumbled, pocketing the bills with a slight frown. Seven grand was insignificant compared to the millions that changed hands at every match. He wanted more... much more. Harada gave him a vaguely concerned look. "Something troubles you," he said. "Yes." Slade paused as he tried to conceive the best way to frame his idea. At last he decided on a direct approach. "I'd like to open another arena," he said. "Excuse me?" "Another House. My own, in Manhattan." Slade leaned forward, excited at the possibility. "I have the perfect place. I'll recruit and manage fighters, take some of the burden of hosting off you." And make a fortune, he amended silently, grinning. Harada's face gave away none of his thoughts. He didn't answer right away, but Slade knew better than to push the old man. After long minutes of silence, Harada said, "Allow me to consider your proposal. Give me until the end of the evening, and then we will speak again." "You got it." Slade stood, his grin widening. Since Harada hadn't refused outright, the chances of his agreeing were better than half. Good odds. "See you then," he said. Harada inclined his head forward slightly, a thoughtful look in his eyes as the fighter plunged back into the crowd. There would be at least three more matches tonight, giving Slade an hour or more to kill. His gaze swept the spectators around him and settled on the fighter's cage alongside the ring for an instant. He might just take a seat, watch the rest of the matches... He caught a glimpse of the woman with the drinks and decided he could go at it twice in one evening. Maybe even three times. Besides, he'd heard that the women of Pandora were exceptionally skilled in the art of massage, and his muscles ached. With a predatory leer, he made his way toward her. ****** KEEP READING...Click Here for part two |