Life Deluxe (8 page)

Stefanovic shook hands right and left. Greeted acquaintances who threw themselves in his path, shook his hand, were given a gentle nod.

Farthest down: the ring, covered in netting, just thirty feet ahead of her. Natalie fixed her gaze on something far away in the distance and
did not make eye contact with anyone. Did not look around. Rocked a completely disinterested expression.

She glimpsed a group of silicone chicks with bleached-blond hair, vulgar cleavage, and skirts that were too short. They were supposed to hold up the match signs and stuff like that during breaks. She took note of shaved gym guys with cauliflower ears. She saw suit-clad men who sat calmly, almost pissed-off looking, just staring straight ahead. Dad was probably sitting there somewhere. They looked like his people.

She made her way around the edge of the ring.

Someone beside her rose.

It was Dad.

“
Dragi
, how wonderful that you came!”

There was an empty seat next to him. Natalie sat down. Goran was sitting on her other side.

The spotlights caught every new fighter who entered. The speakers called out the guys’ names, their clubs, and nationality. Electric guitars screeched on max volume between the matches. The silicone chicks put on tight T-shirts with ads on them and held up signs with the number of the next round. Natalie thought:
So, this is how they make their living when dreams of magazine centerfolds don’t pan out
.

True, Louise’d had her tits done last year, but she hadn’t gotten all exaggerated like that.

Dad chatted with Natalie between the rounds. Talked about the fights and that she had to enroll at the university as soon as possible. He thought she should study law or economics.

Natalie thought about that morning. Viktor’d come over to her house while she was still in bed, even though it was eleven-thirty.

She heard him exchange a few words with Mom. Then he came into her room with a breakfast tray in his hands. Tropicana orange juice California style, espresso coffee, a boiled egg, and bread from the Kringlan bakery on Linnégatan. Even if she didn’t eat bread because of her diet: he was a nice guy, after all.

Viktor sat down on the edge of her bed and set the breakfast tray down carefully on the comforter. She sipped the coffee. Cracked the egg’s shell.

After breakfast, they downloaded a flick with Adam Sandler in the lead—they always watched rom-coms when they were together.

“There’s something I want to talk about,” Viktor said.

“Okay.”

“You know what I do for work, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Cars and boats and stuff.”

“But you know, things’re pretty shitty right now. First that nasty fucking recession made people stop buying cars and Jet Skis like they used to. So I took on some loans to keep the business afloat during the tough months. And now I’ve got problems.”

He continued to talk about how his competitors sold shit at lower prices. That his landlord’d raised the rent. Natalie was only half-listening—deep down, she was interested in business, but Viktor’s stuff felt banal somehow.

And anyway, she was beginning to sense where he was going with this.

“I have to pay off the loans. It’s not exactly an ordinary bank that I owe the money to. And then I’ve got some other debt here and there. Taxes too. Things’re tight, actually. You know, at first I was thinking of just lighting the whole shit on fire and pulling an insurance scam.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“No, not me either, really. An insurance scam would’ve been dumb—the insurance companies are like hawks. So I don’t know what to do. Quit? If I can’t pay the rent, I could end up in bankruptcy and shit like that. Do you know what that means? If I can’t pay the taxes, I might end up in personal bankruptcy too. And if I can’t pay my debt, I might really end up in trouble. It’s not good, baby. Really, it isn’t.”

She looked at him. Obviously she knew what bankruptcy was. At least five of the companies Dad owned’d folded. And to not repay debt to the wrong people—she wasn’t stupid, of course she understood.

Viktor could look so sad. While she knew what he was getting at with this conversation, she regretted not having made her stance clear about ten minutes ago. She didn’t want to mix worlds—she wanted to keep Viktor out of Dad’s sphere. And above all: the other way around.

She got up. Made sure to end the conversation before it went any further.

“I have to deal with my college applications now.”

It was true.

Three hours with the online application to the law program. Really, you didn’t need high school transcripts or standardized tests—anyone who succeeded in filling out these forms correctly was obviously intelligent enough.

She thought about Louise again: she was already in her second year at the university. It seemed pretty chill: Louise updated her Facebook status, like, twenty times every morning. They were mostly about all her constant coffee breaks.

It was almost time for the heavyweight match. Dad said that it was the one everyone had come to see. And the thing was that a Serb was going up in the ring: Lazar Tomic from Belgrade, a real UFC fighter. He was facing off against a guy from Sweden: Reza Yunis.

When Serbia was competing, it was serious stuff.

The emcee introduced the fighters.

When the Swede’s name was called out, the arena really exploded. At least ten thousand male voices roared. Support. Strength. Supremacy.

The gong sounded, the first round began. Dad delivered a stream of commentary about what was happening into Natalie’s ear. Yunis was apparently pushing hard and rocking a high tempo against Tomic. Only a few seconds into the fight, he was flat on the ring floor after the Swede swept him down. Yunis jumped on top of him. Fed punches at the Serb’s face. Tomic tried to protect himself, block as much as he could. The seconds kept on ticking. He succeeded in wrapping his legs around the Swede. They rolled around. Made it back up on their feet. Danced around each other and kicked at hip height.

The round ended.

Extreme Affliction Heroes: MMA in its finest form. Everything was allowed except for head-butting, biting, poking in the eyes, or hitting the back of the head or groin.

Dad asked if she wanted something to drink. He sent Goran during the break. He returned with mineral water for her right before the second round was about to begin.

Dad kept talking. “Tomic has competed a lot in the U.S. He is good at feinting and uneven shifts in tempo. He likes to take it slow for a while before he comes back strong. We’ll see.”

Natalie was getting bored. They were fighting like crazy up there. Kicks to the shins, jabs to the body, different grips when they were down on the mat. Knees in ribs, jabs to the head, punch after punch to the face. The people around her were howling. The fighters up in the ring panted, wrestled, and circled around and around, like dudes in a bar who are about to launch a pick-up ambush on a girl.

She played with her iPhone. Played Bubble Ball. Checked the hours at the gym. Navigated Facebook—Louise’s status: “Home again after a sweet afternoon with the girls at Foam café.”

Well, compared to that, Extreme Affliction Heroes was damn exciting.

Something wet. Drops of sweat from Tomic landed on Natalie’s forehead.

Goran looked at her.

“Nice,” she said.

Third round. They continued their war. Tomic, Dad’s hero, was dominating more and more. Natalie was only half-watching. Now and then she glanced down at her phone.

Stefanovic, Goran, and one more of Dad’s cronies, Milorad, had stood up. Were so into the fight that, when Tomic took a hit, it almost looked like they were getting whipped too.

Natalie tried to concentrate during the last seconds of the fight.

Tomic used his knees well, but so did Yunis. Tomic jabbed and tried to sweep. Yunis got up close and threw punches at Tomic’s kidneys. Tomic tore free and attacked with hard jabs to the Swede’s head. But, unexpected: Tomic’s swings didn’t bite, Yunis shadowed him so that Tomic ended up on the mat instead. The Swede threw himself over him. Pressed Tomic’s arms down with his knees. Showered punches over his face. Tomic tried to twist out of his grasp. But he was stuck. Natalie saw how Yunis’s fists pounded into Tomic’s nose, landed on his chin, cheeks. Tomic almost seemed to give up.

But then he made a swift move. They rolled around and ended up next to each other. Suddenly the Serb was fast. He gripped Yunis’s head between his thighs. Pushed. Pressed. Yunis’s face grew redder and redder. Tomic continued to squeeze his thighs together. The Swede was being suffocated. The referee nudged Tomic. The Serb ignored him, continued to strangle the Swede.

The referee nudged him again. Yunis’s face was growing blue.

The referee pushed Tomic aside—he stood up.

Everyone waited.

Yunis didn’t move.

Joy rushed through Natalie. She stood up. She pumped her fist in the air. “Yes!”

The Swede remained where he was. The referee counted off.

“One.

“Two.

“Three.”

Emergency medical personnel rushed up into the ring. Natalie sat back down.

Dad was still standing up. Screaming, “
Ostani
. Stay where you are! Keep lying there. Don’t get up,
pićko
, you pussy!”

“Four.

“Five.

“Six.”

The arena was in uproar. Was the Swede even alive? The EMT guy bent down, yelled into Yunis’s ear.

“Seven.

“Eight.”

Yunis stirred where he was on the mat. Sucked after air.

The referee was holding nine fingers in the air.

“Nine.”

It was over.

When they left, Goran walked first. Divided the swaths of people the way Stefanovic’d done on the way in. Kind of like a president with bodyguards—all fans and photographers: step aside. Except now it wasn’t as easily done as when they’d arrived. The crowd pushed. Stefanovic walked behind Natalie and Dad at an angle and made sure the space around them widened. Milorad was walking behind her.

It felt good. High spirits. Lazar Tomic—a hero. Extreme Affliction Heroes, a success. They talked about the fight, laughed, recounted over and over again: Tomic’s thigh muscles, Yunis’s bluish-purple face.

It was a good day. They were going to go eat at Clara’s Kitchen & Bar, all of them together. Still, Natalie felt strange. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Something unpleasant.

They reached the parking garage. People were streaming out of the elevators. The cars were queuing up, on their way out into the Stockholm night.

Stefanovic was going to drive Natalie. Dad was going to ride with Goran and Milorad. She saw his Lexus over there. He turned around to hug her, said, “See you soon.” Kissed her on the forehead like he always did.

That’s when she heard something.

Sharp sounds. Bangs.

Like fireworks.

Natalie saw Dad in front of her. His movements were choppy. As if she were seeing what was happening image by image in a video-editing program. As if she were watching the frames in an animated movie. Small changes like jerky breaks in the flow. She saw everything: shifts in people’s gestures, expressions, ways of breathing.

Another bang echoed through the parking garage.

And again.

The movement around her stopped.

Dad screamed, “I’ve been shot!”

After that everything happened so quickly. Stefanovic threw himself over him. Pressed Dad down onto the ground. A second later she was lying with Goran on top of her. She saw Milorad waving a gun around. Yelling at people to stay back.

Everyone was screaming.

She could feel Goran pulling her. The parking garage looked so small.

She saw Dad underneath Stefanovic.

She saw a puddle of blood, spreading.

She saw his hand, still on the concrete floor.

No.

NO
.

The first real recruit—Tom Lehtimäki said yes, of course. The dude was smart. Two, three million in cash, straight up. Or whatever his cut would be. RIP—right in pocket. Not even he could swing that much in such short time, no matter how many number-juggling tricks he had up his sleeve.