13

DECEPTION

THREE WEEKS LATER

Jason Todd bounced up and down a few times and rolled his shoulders and neck around as he stared across the ring at his opponent. He could barely hear over the shouts of the crowd in the makeshift arena. The venue for the underground fights changed every time, and fights were only held once a month. This particular fight was being held in an abandoned Sears department store that had closed four years ago, the building all but forgotten by the owner of the property. The main floor had been cleared out and cheap plastic benches and a large chain link cage ring had been hastily set up.

Only one hundred tickets had been sold because of the size of the venue, at a hundred dollars a pop. But the ten thousand in cash wasn't where the host of the fights made most of his money. Waylon Jones made most of his money through the bets on the fights, minus Rupert Thorne's twenty percent commission for letting Jones have the fights in the crime boss's territory. Thorne was also a regular attendee of the fights. No cell phones were allowed, Jones had multiple cameras set up and also charged to see the videos online.

Rounds lasted only three minutes, but there were unlimited rounds. Fights only ended with a knockout or a surrender, and nobody ever wanted to surrender. More than once a fighter had simply passed out from exhaustion. The only two rules were no groin strikes and no killing. It was hard to get fighters when their genitals were vulnerable and a death in the ring would bring a required investigation from the police. But spectators did like to see blood for their money and were rarely disappointed. Fighters who ended up in the hospital knew simply to not say anything, and the matter had never been pursued by the GCPD.

Jones stepped into the middle of the ring and raised his arms and lowered them to tell the crowd to quiet down, which it did. Jones liked to be heard when he announced fights, and nobody dared interrupt him. Jones was not only the host and referee, but also the main event every time. The six foot six black man was well muscled but also completely covered head to toe by small scale-like warts. They actually acted as a natural body armor for him, aiding him in fights. He had never lost yet, even against much larger opponents, and the crowd respected him.

"Alright, here we go!" Jones said to the crowd. "For our third event tonight we have two returning undefeated fighters here. Hope you all got your bets in, this is gonna be good. From the Narrows, in the black shorts, with a record of thirteen and oh, standing six foot four and weighing in at two hundred twenty pounds we have my man Trey Boy!" The crowed cheered for a few seconds. "And his opponent, little vato on suicide mission here. In the green shorts, at five feet eleven inches and one hundred ninety pounds, Jason Todd!" The crowd cheered significantly less this time. "Jason here has whooped ass every time, he's done seven fights and told me he wanted a better challenge. I gave it to him." The crowd cheered again. "Alright boys, go time!"

Jones stepped to the side as an electronic buzzer sounded loudly from a speaker. Jason immediately sprinted towards Trey and leapt into the air, his left leg out for a flying kick. Trey reached up to grab his ankle, but at the last moment Jason dropped his leg, grabbed Trey by both wrists, and slammed his forehead into Trey's face. Trey dropped to the ground unconscious, blood flowing freely from his nose.

The crowd sat stunned in silence for a few seconds. It was the quickest fight they had ever had. Then they erupted in yelling and insults. Many of them had just lost money on what they thought was a sure thing. One man yelled to Jason he was going to take it out of his ass and Jason returned the threat with a middle finger and a smirk. Jones walked over to Jason, grabbed his right arm and raised it into the air.

"And we have a winner in three seconds, ain't never seen a flying headbutt before!"

Fifteen minutes later Jason was sitting in the stands, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, waiting for Jones to fight his opponent. He had been to every fight since it started two years ago, and closely watched all fighters to see their styles, strengths, and weaknesses. He'd seen that Trey was a good fighter, and knew what to do when most kicks or punches were thrown at him. Jason decided that he'd try something new to see how Trey would react. The gamble had obviously paid off, and Jason had bet heavily on himself. He figured he had made at least four thousand that night.

The buzzer sounded, and Jones and a large Armenian fighter named Mesrop sized each other up and stepped towards each other, both had their arms up to guard their heads. Mesrop stepped in and gave two quick right jabs to Jones before a large left hook, which Jones absorbed on his forearm. Jones took advantage of the opening and punched Mesrop in the chest, knocking the wind out of him before he stepped back.

The men circled each other for a minute, feigning punches and kicks without following through, trying to goad each other into attack. Finally Mesrop charged in, throwing left and right jabs. Waylon Jones stepped to the side and wrapped his arms around Mesrop's exposed hips and slammed him to the ground. Once on the floor Jones moved his arms up to Mesrop's midsection and began squeezing his ribs with all of his considerable strength as he continuously rolled Mesrop and around on the ground, his signature move. Mesrop could feel his ribs breaking and tried to swing his elbows into Jones, but the blows were light because of the angle and ineffective. There was a sickening crunch as Mesrop began screaming, and Jones let go and stood up. Mesrop lay on the ground withering in agony, and Jones kicked him in the head, knocking him out.

"And that's why they call me the Killer Croc!" Jones yelled to the cheering crowd.

Jason eventually wanted to take on Jones himself, and he dreaded being on the floor with him. As he watched Jones raise his arms for more cheers the lights suddenly blinked and went out. Within a few seconds the store's emergency lights went on, and the crowd murmured in confusion. Someone in the crowd yelled and pointed up.

The Batman was near the top of the ceiling, looking down on Jones and the entire fight. Shadows mostly obscured him, but he seemed to be floating with nothing holding him up. ¿Que la chingada? Jason thought as he stared up. What the fuck? It was truly a terrifying sight, even though he knew who Batman was. The crowd simply stayed in their seats, too afraid to move and draw the Batman's attention. Weapons were not allowed at the events, so nobody was armed. Even if they had been most wouldn't have had the courage to use them.

The Batman silently floated down and stood on the opposite side of the ring from Jones. Jones simply stood there, not wanting to show fear in front of so many.

"Want a shot?" Waylon taunted.

In a blur Batman moved across the ring and threw his cape around Jones, completely engulfing him. Jones made a muffled sound and then went silent. The crowd heard a low thump and Batman stepped back, revealing an unconscious Waylon Jones lying on the floor.

The Batman turned to the terrified crowd and said only one word. "Run."

Chaos erupted as the crowd scrambled over themselves to get away. They pushed, punched, and kicked at each other to get to the exits. Jason didn't know if the Batman was there for him, and he didn't want to find out. He hadn't talked to anyone on the Team since he left the Cave, and had no desire to now. Surprising himself he noticed that he was relieved to see that Bruce was back to being Batman. Still, he decided to get out of there in case cops came along and busted the place. Jason began pushing through the crowd. Someone grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

"Ya gotta protect me!" the man frantically yelled.

"Fuck off," Jason said as he jerked his arm out of the man's weak grasp. He made it to an exit and spilled out along with the rest of the crowd. Jason saw that everyone was running in different directions. He shrugged his shoulders and ran with the largest group he could find, hoping to blend in with all the others.

Batman hovered three hundred feet above the building, looking down on the building as the panicked attendees evacuated.

"How did I do?" he asked.

"Perfect," Bruce responded over the radio. "They'll be talking about that for weeks."

"Always fun when I get to be spooky. Can I borrow this suit for Halloween?"

"No."

"It's a joke, Bruce."

"Maintain radio discipline," Bruce growled.

"Sorry. What now?"

"Bring the suit back to the Cave, go home. Thank you for your help, Kal."

"Sure thing, pal."