Opaque

26 | A Masquerade Fight

"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." - Mark Twain

Chapter Twenty-Six

The gong rang twice - the one and only signal for the commencement of a fight.

Smasher conveniently ducked out of the ring and chose to watch us from a safe distance. He made an excellent choice. While I watched all the unneeded men exit from the ring as if it was on fire, I allowed my body to tingle and tremble with the familiar feeling of pain and embarrassment.

Yes, in the end, once everything was said and done, the only reason I had stormed out of the FBI headquarters as if I had a bounty on my head and had driven one and a half hours to get to this arena was because I was embarrassed.

His text had broken me down, destroyed my inner peace. What should've been a glorious day, for I had single handedly caught Blaze-the notorious drug dealer who always eluded the grasps of law-in a crime he wouldn't be able to talk himself out of, became a day of remembrance and infinite flashbacks. I could recall those memories within a millisecond, but I chose to tuck them away in a safe corner of my mind for the time being.

I needed to focus. One of the few ways I could take on a man twice my size was by finding his weakness. He knew mine, but it was time that I found his.

"What are ya looking at," he said, his teeth grinding on top of each other, "You've come so far to get revenge, so attack me ya little wimp."

He spat in my direction. The crowd gasped-I was sure they hadn't seen their beloved fighter actually fight someone. Sure they've all seen him wrestle and box with another man of his caliber, but that was all a pretense. An act created for the enjoyment and entertainment of the general public-of course, I would know. After all, I was part of the FBI.

However, this was real. Our emotions, our bottled-up rage, this fight were all tangible like human flesh. We weren't acting, or at least I wasn't, and we were most definitely not going to end this battle by shaking hands when it was all over. This wasn't some lowly game, a mindless form of television programmed to make average people forget their problems for an hour or so. This was as real as it got.

"Haven't you heard Scarface? Revenge is a dish best served cold," I said, as we began to walk in circles.

With our knees bent slightly, we circled each other like vultures waiting to find a sore spot to peck until blood was shed. I kept a defensive position, not wanting to be the first to attack. After a certain amount of training and a specific level of expertise, one often came to the realization that the first to attack was the first to lose. I was sure that he knew that specific rule by heart as well, judging by the lack of sly punches being thrown my way.

Maybe, he was actually afraid of tarnishing his reputation. After all, I hadn't just spontaneously chosen to walk onto his turf and challenge him to a fight. Once I had his name and profession memorized, I had an inkling that as a boxer, he would most likely be somewhere near this arena as it was the most famous. Lo and behold, my small gut-instinct had been correct. And the best part was, I had caught him off-guard with a thousand witnesses surrounding us from every side.

He could pulverize me to death and walk out of this arena as a winner, but then he'd be classified as an over-the-top bully and rumors would spread like a wildfire. One misstep on his part and his career would be over. Which, come to think of it, was exactly what I desired.

I didn't want to specifically win this battle and I knew that it would be difficult, given his size, but I had my femininity as an advantage. If I was overly beaten, I could easily play the victim card...though I was hoping it didn't reach that point.