Getting Real

Jake stepped up into Rand’s space. The bigger man was itching to push him away to get to Stu. He dragged Tef and Bunk forward.

“Stand down Rand. It’s over.”

“No, it’s not over, until that fucking pig changes the way he treats Ceedee.”

Stu shouted, “Saint Rand. Get the fuck out of my face,” and reefed one arm out of Lizard’s grasp.

“Right,” said Jake, “so that’s how it is then.” He surveyed the scene, both protagonists and the circle of hyped-up onlookers. “Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll have an organised fight. Not here, blood on the stage is bad luck.” He considered, scratched his aching head. “Guess we might not need the stage, so yeah this will do. We need about ten minutes to get organised. I want an ambulance on standby.”

He snapped his fingers at Tef, who said, “On it, boss.”

“Bodge, you organise the betting.” Jake looked at Rand. “Last man standing wins.”

“What?” said Rand, wiping blood from his eye.

“I’ll have him right now!” shouted Stu, spitting a mouthful of blood and saliva on the stage floor.

Lizard said, “Oi mate, I have to clean that up.”

“Yep, Stu. Ten minutes, mate. Just keep a lid on it for ten minutes. We all want a piece of this,” said Jake.

“What! You’re going to let us fight?” said Rand.

“I can’t stop you. And it looks like you’re prepared to rip each other up. We’re all going to lose income on this especially if one of you is hurt badly, so I want to give the crew a chance to pick up some extra cash before the tour falls over.”

“What?” the two rock star gladiators chorused, both of them loud and incredulous, their pitch finely calculated to make glass shatter in the empty cavities of Jake’s head.

“Look, let’s just get on with it. You should both pick seconds. Do we want a safe word or is this no holds barred?”

“Two to one odds on Rand,” called Bodge.

“I’ll take that,” yelled Bunk.

“Here’s a blood bin to spit in,” said Lizard, offering Stu a bucket.

“Five hundred bucks on Rand,” shouted Rielle from somewhere behind the circle of black shirts.

“Someone get me paper,” yelled Bodge, “gotta get this down before you bastards change your bets.”

“Jesus Christ!” said Rand.

“You’re not going to try getting us to sit down and talk are you?” said Stu.

Jake said, “Nope.” He was trying this friggin’ desperate tactic instead. If it didn’t work he’d have more than a hangover to worry about.

“They always try and make us sit down. They always try counselling.” Rand sneered.

“And it never worked, so bring it on. Once and for all,” said Rielle, having forced her way through the roadie ranks. She looked at Rand. “You ready?”

“No-o-o-oo!” he stuttered. He exchanged a look with Stu and laughed.

“I don’t know what you’re laughing at?” she said, “I’ve got five hundred bucks on you.”

Rand bent forward, put his hands on his knees and roared with laughter, and Stu followed him, the two men shifting from fury to hysteria in a matter of seconds.

There was a shuffling from the spectator ranks, then Bodge called, “Ah, ya bastards,” as Rand advanced on Stu with his hand out to shake. Stu grabbed him in a hug, clapping him on the back instead, and thank fuck there wasn’t going to be a fight.

“All right,” said Jake, “show’s over, everyone back to work.”