Blood Games (18 page)

Ink wasn’t inter
ested in purchasing Son of Zeus even at a low price. God, Ink wouldn’t have been interested if the zombie had been free to a good home. He took the dealer’s card to be nice, but she knew that she wasn’t going to make a sale. She would do better to approach newer managers to the scene, ones who didn’t know any better and weren’t savvy enough to suspect Son of Zeus could be nearsighted.

As he was walking Thor to the funnel for the men’s brawl, nerves getting the better of him, Nadia caught up
with a smile full of gaiety. “Guess what?”

You want a divorce and no alimony
, Ink thought hopefully.
You’re running away with another man.
“What?”

“They’re putting a podium in the clubroom for the post-party!
For Scrapper! I ran into the sponsor in the atrium and I asked for one to be placed in there and he said that he’d be happy to-”

Ink had never, ever hit his wife,
and that was a point of pride to him. Hitting a woman was a sign of low class and poor breeding, an inability to be the master of one’s temper despite the worst provocation. A real man just walked away when he felt like he was losing control. But this was another moment in which he was richly tempted to hit her. The podiums around the periphery of the clubroom at the post-party were for the champions, the
real
champions of the event. The survivors of the men’s and women’s brawls in both the 20-35 and the 36-50 age groups stood in those places of honor, as did zombies who did very well in the armed combat competitions. Not a child! Not a geezer! And she had asked the
sponsor
? Unless a manager was in that clubroom as a permanent member, he or she just shook the sponsor’s hand at any show and said thank you with deep respect. If that sponsor wanted to converse, then the manager conversed. But the sponsor led the conversation, not a lowly manager, and even less his wife.

Oblivious to his rage and embarrassment, Nadia nattered on.
“So I’m going to run to the store now to get him a new costume and don’t look at me like that! The only one in driving distance with costumes is a Save Big so it’ll be cheap, but I have to go this instant in order to be back in time-” She was already walking away, the keys jingling in her hand.

They would encircle the room, the heroes of the Games in Maenad, Dionysus, Calliope, Thor, Volcanus
, Wrath of Neptune, Athena, Nemesis . . . the muscles on display, the injuries endured, all of them head and shoulders above everyone in the room . . . and Scrapper. Having overheard them, the youthful stadium organizer stationed at the funnel said, “Who’s Scrapper?”

Exactly, kid.
Exactly.

They walked Thor down the funnel and Ink left him in the organizer’s
hands to report to the managers’ box. The Greek woman, Constanzo, and Volcanus’ manager were already there. The fifth chair for the manager of Cauldron of Fire had been whisked away. Ink stood before the last seat and waved to the crowds as the announcer introduced all of them while their zombies were walked to the marks. Then he sat down beside Adra-something. Even the announcer had stumbled over her ridiculous name.

The brawl was two newbies against two old-timers, which had to be a first for the Games.
Up in the clubroom, every seat was taken. The blonde was behind Cantine once more, his withered hand tucked into her smooth one. Then a giant banner unfurled right over the clubroom’s big windows and Ink groaned along with everyone else in the stadium. FREE YOUR ZOMBIES FROM BONDAGE: WE ARE ALL ONE FAMILY. The protestors had gone too far this time! People shouted angrily at the idiots standing on the clubroom roof, spelling out ZR = HR for zombie rights equaled human rights. The one-minute countdown to the brawl halted on the screens at fifty seconds for another passel of fools to be marched away and the banner taken down.

They
sat and sweated in the managers’ box under the afternoon sun for half an hour. Volcanus’ manager wrung his hands nervously the whole time. Ink had to remind himself with his phone of the guy’s name, because Volcanus had changed managers several times in his career and never through any fault of his own. Bankruptcies and family chaos just followed wherever that zombie went, leading to silly rumors that he was cursed. So this latest one was Randy Kamen, and he had had Volcanus for six months now. Kamen had managed two zombies of far lesser note before. This was his first true champion, which was probably why he looked so nervous. Ink skimmed the notes on the man. He should know the manager, however briefly he served in the role, of a brawl-qualifying zombie.

Vasilov sent him a text.
Put down the phone, my boy. You have been shown on the television in here looking distracted.

The man was the father that Ink had never had.
He closed up his phone right away and slid it into his pocket. Even though nothing was happening in the ring, he watched it attentively. As the last clips were removed and the banner rippled down into the waiting hands of security, the clubroom reappearing and everyone inside blinking at the sudden sunlight, he said to Adra-something, “I hope that’s the last of it. They’ve been worse than ever.” The memory of the flying red paint onto his suit and Gore Fest was going to goad him until he was on his deathbed.

“We are all passionate
to the point of madness about what we believe in,” said the Greek/not-Greek mannish woman, never once looking away from the ring. She had no accent, so her fancy name was likely an affectation of her own design to make herself seem more exotic. Ink amused himself in guessing her real name, which was no doubt as plain as Jennifer Williams or Hannah Jordan. Emma Smith. Mary Jones. This was how she stood out, a dressed-up name for herself, and tons of black henna and facial prosthetics for her zombie fighter.

But yes, Ink was passionate to
the point of madness. He liked how that sounded. He loved this sport with every fiber of his being. What was football to this? What was baseball or basketball or golf? Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. That was play. This was real.

The banner was folded up into a heap and
lugged out. This
had
to be the last of the protestors. The event was nearly over. But they would be out there on the sidewalk again when he drove off after the post-party, yawning in the darkness as they chanted, throwing eggs and waving their signs. He was going to keep his windows closed and turn up the music, forget they even existed.

The post-party was going to be brilliant
. He could walk in there with his head held high no matter how badly Thor lost in the brawl. Both of them had done well, and far exceeded Ink’s wildest dreams.

The countdown resumed on the
jumbo screens. The stadium was almost as full as it had been for the men’s melee. And look at that! As he moved his binoculars around, he came across people waving THOR signs. The signs for Dionysus and Volcanus outnumbered them, yet a small but respectable bunch was rooting for Ink’s zombie. The Greek woman and Nemesis had supporters, too.

“So, what got you into the business?” Ink asked as the countdown hit thirty-seven.

“That zombie,” the Greek woman said, motioning to Nemesis and still not looking over to Ink. “I had had no interest until then.” She didn’t return the question, which was annoying. A new manager should have been pleased that a far more experienced one was showing interest, met him eye to eye and smiled. But not every zombie was cut out for the fighting ring, and not every person was cut out to be a manager. Matthias West was going places and Our Lady of Affectations was not.

Everyone yelled out the last ten digits and the lights
turned dark. Then it got interesting.

Nemesis and Thor
stayed upon their marks to share one long look, and then they raced away for the others. The announcer said, “Looks like those two are saving each other for last!”

Volcanus had it out for Nemesis and was already headed his way.
Dionysus was also going for Nemesis, or perhaps Volcanus since both were almost to each other. The three of them met in a clash of fists, and then Thor tore Volcanus away from the battle and snapped him over the ring. Volcanus staggered but stayed upright, and bared his teeth at Thor. Thor just stared at him. Ink thought it was almost insolent.
What you got, Volcanus?

Then Volcanus crouched down, held out his arms, and charged Thor, who
looked like he was going to attack in return. His hands were over his head like he wanted to land a blow to the top of Volcanus’ head, and he lifted one leg for a groin kick.

But then he just
blithely stepped aside as Volcanus closed in. It was nothing more than that, a mincing jump of a sidestep to the right, and done when there was only a fraction of space between them so Volcanus couldn’t halt his momentum to spin after him. Arms closing on nothing, Volcanus slowed down and turned to try it again.

Volcanus wasn’t stupid.
He expected Thor might try that a second time, and was curving his body ever so slightly to the right to catch Thor in his sidestep. Thor went the other way, a jumping sidestep to the left, and Volcanus again flew past to embrace an armful of nothing. Nemesis and Dionysus were tussling ferociously, but Ink wasn’t watching them. His eyes were on his dancing zombie, who was letting Volcanus waste his energy while he just did the shuffle. A very weird zombie shuffle.

“I love this guy!” the announcer yelled
about Thor. “Ink Delwich, I love you!” The crowd shouted in laughter at the third mincing sidestep of a charge.

In
anxiety and aggravation, Randy Kamen turned in his seat and said to Ink, “But what is he
doing
?”

Fuck if Ink knew.
Thor was being Thor. And Thor was biding his time. Dionysus got in a particularly hard punch at Nemesis, and the Greek woman winced in sympathy. Now
that
was a rank newbie reaction. Ink could see her now, giving Nemesis hugs and kisses and bandages in playful colors afterwards. Cooing over his injuries like he had the brain to care; fussing over him behind the stall’s sheets, which were put up there so no one saw her giving love to her zombie man. Ugh! It wasn’t like this woman could be all that picky, and maybe that was exactly what this was. She had made a boyfriend out of Nemesis. Some people with screws loose did that.

Volcanus was going nuts from not being able to get hold of Thor.
He yelled and waved his arms over his head, his face twisted in a frenzy of hatred. It seemed like his mind had gotten locked into this one battle strategy, because he crouched and ran yet again. The announcer said, “This is just cat and mouse here!” Kamen’s lips were tight at how Thor was embarrassing his popular champion of a zombie.
So sorry
, Ink thought insincerely. It could have been Kamen who ordered the hit on Samson. He hadn’t expressed his condolences or even said hello all weekend. Ink was nothing to him, that was clear to see, but Volcanus was nothing to Thor.

Thor had his arms over his head like always, and one foot lifted for a kick.
This time though, he didn’t sidestep. As Volcanus closed in, arms out wide and the front of his body exposed, Thor put down his foot hard and leaped into the air, kicking out his other foot and nailing Volcanus squarely in the face.

A flying front kick!
The impact was so hard that Volcanus turned over in the air as he flew back. Then he crashed down onto his stomach. The reaction from the stadium was even louder than it had been at the high points of the melee. The announcer questioned if Thor was actually a zombie and how the sponsor needed to check the veterinarian’s paperwork for medical verification of the virus. “Is he getting up? Volcanus, are you down for the count?”

Volcanus was down
! All it had taken was a dance and a single kick. Kamen had turned gray in his seat and his fists were throttling the armrests. Becoming aware that his visage was on the big screens, he squeezed out a smile so strained that his face looked at risk of shattering. The camera moved to Volcanus. A pool of blood was forming under his head. One of his fingers flexed weakly in the dirt.

Nemesis and Dionysus had been fighting the whole time, getting injured and wearing each other out, and Thor was still fresh
as a posy to the ring. He turned to them just as Dionysus reeled away from a blow and fell on his ass. For a second time, Thor and Nemesis shared a stare. Then both of them turned to Dionysus.

As he got up, Nemesis knocked him back down.
He tried to get up a second time, and Thor knocked him down. They were ganging up on him, and Constanzo began to look very worried. Thor and Nemesis were nothing if not deliberate in their methods, and they made other zombies look like they belonged in the remedial ring.

Dionysus tumbled over backwards and then rolled over deliberately a second time, understanding that the only way he was going to regain his feet was through a little distance from his stalkers.
The announcer was going on about Thor and Nemesis being friends, because he was a fool who didn’t see that these two were just taking out the weaker competition first. Goodbye to the Old Guard; hello to the new.

Once Dionysus was standing, he backed away from his challengers.
They were moving him to the wall, feinting right and left when he tried to escape out the sides. Shepherds guiding him to slaughter! Ink exclaimed about Nemesis, “What did you pay for this zombie? He’s marvelous!”