FOURTEEN
Fighting for the Win
This time I was sharing the back seat of the Cadillac with Marta as we approached Coatzacoalcos, another coastal city nearly four hours south and east of Paso Tolome at the southern end of the State of Veracruz. Our three-vehicle caravan was
belting
along the 145D--a divided, controlled access highway similar to US Interstates--that covered most of the distance from Veracruz, where Voice lived, to Coatzacoalcos, the home base of Sergio Martos.
I'd learned in the past month that the games always started at three in the afternoon on the first Saturday of the month, as Letícia had said, and lasted until they were finished. We'd gotten a late start, and when Voice had finally arrived, Gregorio, Marta, Teresa, and I were already in the two security SUVs, ready to join formation with his S-Class. I was sitting behind the passenger seat, and I smiled as I glanced at the Escalade's speedometer. The posted speed limit was 110 km/h--about seventy miles per hour--but the needle in the Caddy's speedometer was currently hovering around 175 km/h--about 110 mph--and I'd seen it as high as 200 km/h--about 125 mph--on empty stretches as our convoy strained to make up time.
Like Voice's compound at Paso Tolome, outside Veracruz, and Garcia's compound at Potrero Nuevo near Córdoba, Martos didn't actually live in Coatzacoalcos, but inland of it slightly, on a large estate near Calzadas Viejo, on the banks of one of the Coatzacoalcos River tributaries. We arrived with barely ten minutes to spare, and were rushed through the hot, muggy air into the blessed coolness of Martos' villa. We were again the last team to arrive, and I wondered if that was the norm.
Where in Diego's home, the games room was a large open space that could have served any number of functions, and perhaps did when the circus wasn't in town, Martos held his games in a sunroom. The room had an easy-care dark tile floor, was full of plants and casual rattan furniture at opposite ends of its forty to fifty foot length, and was sunken two steps from the huge family room of the main house to visually separate it from the other room. With half the ceiling of its approximately twenty-foot depth, and its three walls made of glass, the room blazed with light.
I didn't know what the arrangement of the room normally looked like, but it was almost certain that the plants and furniture had been divided and moved to the opposite sides of the room. Not only did the thick jumble of potted plants form a visual screen to the sides, but it also left a twenty- by thirty-foot open area that now contained four, thick, vinyl pads arranged in a twenty- by twenty-foot square. Additional chairs, similar to those at the last tournament, had been arrayed closely around two of the open sides of the pads. At the right side of the mat were four comfortable looking rattan chairs, each with a wide red ribbon draped over its back. The marked chairs were also, I noticed, tucked more deeply into the foliage of the potted plants, and unlike the rattan chairs on the other side of the mat, there were no guest chairs to either side of them.
I thought it interesting that Martos held his games in a room made almost entirely of glass, especially since the padding went right up to the glass wall opposite the family room, but glancing around, I quickly realized only those invited would likely be able see what was occurring in the room. Not only did the arrangement and selection of the plants in the room provide an effective screen for prying eyes, but Martos' home was set well away from his neighbors to either side, with additional screening plants the length of his property providing even more privacy. Stretching away from the back of his house was a broad expanse of carefully maintained grass with a narrow, sluggish, brackish-looking river beyond. On the other side of the river was nothing but thick vegetation that appeared to be mostly mangrove, banana, and other scruffy looking trees and bushes. Martos' estate might not be walled like Voice's and Garcia's, but it was just as private, and I suspected just as secure.
I'd barely finished taking in my surroundings when guests began to flow through the family room, and then into the sunroom from somewhere else in the house. I people watched until I saw my biggest fan. She smiled at me as she approached, taking a chair directly behind where I was standing. I smiled at her in return, causing her to beam. Moments later, the four principals entered, and as before, three men sat while the fourth, the host, remained standing.
After everyone settled, the thick, balding man with the voice that sounded like distant thunder spoke. "Welcome, friends and guests," Martos began, his voice sounding almost painful to use. "Competitors, if you'll please prepare yourselves."
I turned to my friend. "Would you mind?" I asked as I began unbuttoning my shirt.
"Not in the least," the woman replied, her delight unmistakable.
The five women that bracketed her didn't say anything, but I could tell from their faces they were annoyed, or perhaps slightly jealous, that I'd immediately zeroed in on the woman without giving them a second look.
I was again the only one wearing normal street clothes, the rest of the competitors still opting for easy to care for, easy to remove, clothing. I undressed, putting on a semi-private strip show, and like last month, I was the slowest undressing by far, so much so that as I was peeling out of my underwear, Víctor began bitching, in a stage whisper that I was surely meant to hear, that I was 'taking too fucking long.'
There was clearly a ritual to the games, and after I finished stripping, we mingled as we had before. I recognized all the same competitors, but I'd long since forgotten their names. The only two I could remember were Víctor and that chick I fucked... Zamboni... or whatever the hell her name was. As we strutted and postured, allowing the guests to cop a feel, Martos began speaking again.
"Today, our valiant gladiators are competing in a come fight." The crowd muttered in appreciation. The guests obviously knew what a 'come fight' was, but I didn't, and could think of a least a dozen things it might be. Had one of my housemates been close, I'd have asked for clarification, but since we were scattered all over the room, I had to hope Martos would explain it further. "After the teams are selected," Martos continued, "the competitors will draw to determine their opponent. First one to come, go soft, or withdraw is eliminated. Winners will compete to determine the winner among the men and women, then our two champions will compete for the overall win."
The games explained, Martos settled to his chair while we all strutted around the room, posing and flirting with the guests. Valencia was standing directly behind Voice, but as none of the competitors approached the four men sitting in the rattan chairs, I didn't have an opportunity to annoy her.
Finally, Martos rose and began speaking again. "Gentlemen," he growled, "if you'll choose your number. Felicita, if you please."
A woman nodded as she pushed her way through the overlapping fronds of the plants as the teams reformed, then returned with a small silver tray holding three stone boxes clustered close together. As at the previous games, the woman bent low as she presented the tray to the men, again starting with the man farthest left. Pico selected a box, removed the lid, and withdrew a piece of paper before placing the box and lid back on the tray. The woman moved on before pausing before Garcia and then Voice.
"Number one, please," Martos said.
"Marco and Pia," Garcia replied.
"Number two, please," our host continued as a man and woman from Garcia's stabled stepped onto the mat.
Pico seemed to consider. "Tomás and... Adana I think." Another pair stepped onto the mat.
"Number three, please."
"Gregorio and Teresa," Voice replied without hesitation, his voice as robotic and unemotional as the last time I'd heard him speak. Gregorio and Teresa stepped onto the mat, claiming the third side.
"Julio and Consuelo," Martos finished.
All three of my housemates glanced at each other across the open area of the mat. "What?" I whispered to Marta as the last side of the mat was claimed by a team.
"This is Víctor's event. I wonder why Sergio didn't pick him?"
