Mavi - The man from the other world

Chapter 12

Avi pushed open the wooden door. The room was loud, filled with the sounds of men raising bets. He made his way to the bar and leaned against it. A man approached him.

"Visky," he requested. "Top shelf."

The man nodded and grabbed a dusty bottle, pouring a shot for Avi. Avi took the glass and turned to look around.

"Who's winning?" he asked the bartender.

"Graham," the man pointed to a large, shirtless man with closely cropped hair. "Ten for ten tonight."

Avi downed the shot, glanced at the side table, then set the glass on the bar and walked away.

"I'm in," Avi said as he faced the two men tallying the bets.

The older man looked up, taking a drag from his cigarette, and slowly assessed Avi.

"Graham will kill you. Go home," he ordered before returning to his accounting.

Avi pulled his money pouch and tossed it on the table. The clinking of coins drew attention.

"I'm in," he repeated.

The man leaned back, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He scrutinized Avi's dark trousers and open-collared white shirt—clothes finer than most worn by the regulars in this dive.

"Your funeral, pretty boy," the man grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "In ten minutes."

They heard the spectators groan and the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. Avi turned to see Graham's opponent being dragged away, bloody drool dripping from his battered mouth.

The burly man grabbed a wooden mug nearly the size of Avi's head, gulping down the beer, letting it dribble through his beard and down his bare chest. Avi rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms. He wore no rings, so he stepped forward and jumped into the packed dirt floor.

The makeshift "arena" was lower, with spectators leaning on wooden beams or sitting at tables on a higher level. The ground was stained with blood, the air heavy with the stench of sweat. Avi unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt.

The massive man before him grinned, revealing missing teeth. Avi stood still, arms hanging loosely by his sides.

A bell rang somewhere, and everything went silent. He couldn't hear the crowd placing bets or his opponent's maniacal laughter.

He ducked the first punch and drove his fist into Graham's diaphragm, then slipped away. He watched the man double over, struggling to breathe. He didn't hear the man's frustrated growl as he staggered and turned.

Graham lunged at Avi, arms outstretched, ready to grab his head. Avi knew the man wanted to gouge his eyes out with his thumbs. He waited until the last second before dodging, letting Graham grab air, then kicked him in the lower back, pushing him into a wooden beam with a satisfying thud.

Before Graham could recover, Avi rushed him and drove his knee hard into the man's kidneys. Grabbing a handful of sweaty hair, he smashed Graham's face into the wooden beam, relishing the crunch of his nose breaking.

Avi stepped back, and silence fell over the arena. The stunned silence of the spectators was soon replaced by indignant shouts.

Graham lay on the ground, blood pouring from his broken nose, too drunk and dazed to fight back.

Avi hopped out of the arena, the men parting to let him through. He walked to the betting table where the old man was fuming. Avi picked up the pouch he had thrown earlier and raised an eyebrow.

"My payment," he demanded.

"You ruined the damn business," the man growled.

"You'd better tell those two muscleheads to back off, or there'll be more blood than you'd like," Avi replied, bored. "Let's make a deal... you pay me, and I'll give you 10% to fix up the big guy's nose. A doctor would be useful... actually, I might've burst his kidney. So I'll be generous and give you 15%."