Hard to Love

10. Seth

There are two platform stages in the basement of Club Allure. The one in the center, a sixteen-by-twenty-foot rectangle, has bright lights shining down on it. They're highlighting two men as they circle each other. The drop is only two feet if one of the hulking men falls off. It's the platform of a professional boxing ring, minus the ropes. It looks like Jameson might fall off the edge. The blood from the cut above his eye is dripping down his face and he can barely keep up with protecting his body with his fists, let alone keep the blood from blinding him.

If he falls, he's still fair game. Just harder for everyone else to see the ass beating he'll take. Judging by the cheers and the frown on Cade's face, this match isn't an upset. There are four more after it though, and regardless of how this match turns out, these men will keep betting. For the thrill, for the entertainment. For the addiction of being a part of something so primitive. All of which is good for us. We haven't had a fight yet that didn't line our pockets. This is the first one down here; the first of many.

In front of where Derrick and Liam are standing on top of the second stage, the one against the back wall, I approach Fletcher. Derrick and Liam are watching it all go down while Cade takes the bets. At least sixty bodies form a swarm around the ring, filling the room with their cheers and yells. It's all white noise. The real money is made away from the lights, in the shadows of the room while surrounded by the chaos.

With men like Fletcher. He runs things up north of here. He has for years and when shit got rough the first year of taking Tremont back from Vito's men who wanted it just as much as we did, Fletcher took our side.

Back then, he said he was rooting for the underdogs. I wonder if he bet on Jameson tonight.

"King," Fletcher greets me and I grip his hand firmly, keeping my gaze on anything but his pocket square. He always wears a suit I can't stand.

Ostentatious is one way to describe the pale blue suit that's wrapped around his body in a slim fit. With the yellow patterned handkerchief tucked in his pocket, garish is the word I'd use for this one. Fletcher is flashy, from his heavy gold watch to the diamond stud in his ear. His look comes outfitted with a lit cigar. Money talks, but the wealth he has, he decides to make scream. I may not prefer his attire, but he's just the man I want to do business with tonight.

"Good to see you, Fletcher."

"Your bar is coming together nicely," he says, starting with small talk. Upstairs isn't finished, and it won't be for another few weeks or more. I want it perfect when we open the doors to the public. Down here is just fine. No furniture, nothing that can be stained with the blood that will most certainly be spilled. These heathens would be fine with cardboard boxes.

"Thanks. I heard you're building one uptown?" I question him and he shrugs.

"Not like this," he says.

"Wasn't asking because I'm worried about competition," I say to reassure the worried look on his face.

He huffs from his nose before straightening the gaudy handkerchief. "I just want you to hear it from me. I'd never step on your toes."

"Likewise," I say with a nod and move on to business. "The next shipment has been moved up a week. Leroy has extra product, and he's happy for me to hand it on over to you."

"You want me to cut out Mathews?" Fletcher questions, a glint in his eye. He's had to deal with Mathews because there was no one else. It's what led to that fucker getting closer to Tremont. This is one more blow to Mathews while giving me favor with both Leroy and Fletcher. It's a win on all sides and both of them know it.