CHAPTER TWENTY
Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) was Genie’s life. She loved to compete. More than that, she loved to teach others how to fight, especially women. She taught women’s classes at the Dojo three nights a week, and competed every other week.
I tried not to compete too often, and even when I did, I held back, pulled my punches. My speed and power were no match for any of those guys, and I knew that it wouldn’t be wise for me to do well and get recognized.
Genie was always asking me to compete. I would give her a bunch of lame excuses, hoping she would just realize that I didn’t want to fight; I would complain about soreness, bad knees, even that my face needed to be presentable for my job, that I would sell less if my customers saw me with a beat up face.
She tried to be understanding, but I could tell that she really wanted to see her man fight. She knew I was good. Sometimes I think that she could tell that I wasn’t giving every fight my all. It was hard to hide it from her. She watched me train. She knew my speed, my timing, and what I was capable of.
When I fought, I fought as a light-heavyweight. Genie told me about an MMA light-heavyweight fighter that she didn’t like. He was starting to make a name for himself, that he was merciless, brutal. She said that he seemed unbeatable. She went on to say that several of her friends had had the misfortune of being placed against him in matches, and that the guy had not only beaten them, he had hurt them so bad that their careers as fighters had come to a halt. He’d put one of those guys in the hospital and the doctors had said he wouldn’t walk again.
That caught my attention. She was so sad when she told me all this. It made me angry. Very angry.
Victor Velasquez. He had been a champion Jiu-Jitsu fighter from Brazil and had come to America to try to conquer the MMA circle. Who would have thought this guy would be the beginning, the stepping stone towards telling Genie about my other life.
One evening while Genie and I were laying in bed, not talking much, but just laying there, enjoying a comfortable silence, when she said she wished someone would beat Velasquez; that he had hurt too many people and needed to be taught a lesson.
Then, without really thinking, I told her ok, that I’ll beat him and send him back to Brazil in shame.
She got a curious look in her face. Not one of disapproval or of unbelief. She just got this curious look, as if she were trying to figure something out.
Victor Velasquez outweighed me by seventy pounds, so I would need to gain at least thirty pounds to compete in his weight class. When I told Genie I would be gaining that weight, she was curious to know how I would do that. I could also tell she was excited that I would go to such lengths. I could see a gleam in her eyes every time we talked about it. When she asked me how I was going to pack on so much weight, I told her that with money, anything was possible.
So, I had Brody set up a meeting with his boss, DeFriese. At first, Brody didn’t want to set it up. He wanted me to relay my request through him like I always did, but I insisted on the personal meeting. What I needed from DeFriese would require some convincing, and I knew I couldn’t count on Brody handling it for me. I just didn’t trust him that much.
It had been over a year since DeFriese and I had had our meeting in Orlando, I had made a lot of money through him, and he’d made quite a bit through me. I’d had no run-ins with the law and had proved myself a good businessman. All-in-all, our relationship had been prosperous.
He agreed to see me.
Miguel met me in the backroom of a dry cleaner’s shop. He was there when I arrived, and had a small table set up with two plates of food on them, and a bottle of wine in a bucket of ice beside it. I think he was anticipating something special from our meeting.
Miguel waved me over and I sat down. He said the food was from the Italian restaurant next door. Seven-cheese lasagna, garlic rolls, and salad. It tasted great, but I wasn’t there for the food. I ate it though and made small talk until we were done.
After a waiter came and took the plates, we discussed business. I knew I had to take my time with him, to lay out my whole plan, to get him interested in it. He had to see the appeal, the chance for profit.
I started out by telling him that I had done some street fighting while I was in Arkansas, and that I was interested in doing the same in Florida. I told him I had made over a hundred thousand dollars the last year I’d been up there and was looking to make more in Florida.
I explained to Miguel that my business, my life, my work, was stealing. But that my outlet, my way of blowing off steam was fighting and that I wasn’t merely good, I was the best.
He kind of smirked when I said that. What I told him was a pretty bold statement, but he didn’t say anything. He sat there for a minute and thought. I told him that it would be a good way to earn a little money on the side.
I could see in his eyes that the wheels were starting to turn. He was starting to realize the appeal, not just to him, but to others he knew. The entertainment, the gambling, something fresh to break up the boredom of his life and the lives of others like him, because when you’re filthy rich and can do anything , everything eventually gets old.
I told Miguel that I had the perfect opponent to go up against. I explained to him about Velasquez; his record, his brutality, everything. I pitched it like a good con man, a carnival barker. Starting small and working my way to the big finish. When I was through, I waited for his decision.
Miguel loved it! He told me he would take care of all of the details, then, get back to me when he had everything set up.
Three weeks later, Brody called me and let me know that everything was ready. Miguel had worked it out for Velasquez and I to fight in an exhibition match at the Miami International Mixed Martial Arts Tournament. No one would know it was a real match until the fight started.
Miguel paid off some people and put a quarter of a million dollars purse to whomever won the match and Velasquez’ people had jumped at the opportunity. When they heard that I was seventy pounds lighter than their fighter and an amateur, they just knew they couldn’t lose.
The two-hundred-fifty thousand was not for me. It was put out there to entice Velasquez to agree to the fight. I didn’t care anything about the money. I was in it to smash Velasquez.
I showed Genie the flyer. It read: Miami International Mixed Martial Arts presents a heavyweight exhibition match: Brazil’s Victor Velasquez VS. Florida’s own Malefic.
Genie was shocked, overwhelmed. When she asked how I had gotten the fight, I nonchalantly told her I knew some people and that she’d be surprised at some of the people I’d met from going door-to-door, selling alarm systems.
Of course, I told Genie nothing about the prize money that was put up to entice Victor Velasquez’s people. It probably would have made her nervous. She probably would have wondered what would happen if I lost.
My whole thought process was that losing was absolutely not an option, although there was always that possibility. A lucky punch could knock out anyone. Neither of us needed to be worrying about it though. I just would not allow that to happen.
I put on a little weight, mainly so Victor would not look so freakishly big in comparison in the ring next to me. I didn’t really need it though. I wanted to put on a good show. Give the people their money’s worth.
Genie was never worried for me. She knew that Velasquez was a beast, but she also knew in her heart that he was still no match for me.