Read Suckerpunch: (2011) for Free Online Page A

walked out, the couch head was still hooded and aimed at the TV. I heard Jairo turn off the water, and I got the hell out of there before he came out with whatever rant he’d been brewing during his shower.
     
    I grabbed a protein shake out of the fridge and entered the gym.
     
    The Warrior Inc. camera crew was setting up to run the interview with the cage as a backdrop, using Roth as a stand-in for getting the lights right. He was telling the producer, “As for Woodrow’s face looking any better, it can’t be helped. If you want, you can keep the camera on me, and he can talk from the next room. Can we do a quick something for me to send to me mum?”
     
    The producer saw me and walked over. “Kevin Jacobson. If we start doing or saying anything you don’t like, just holler, okay?”
     
    “Okay.”
     
    “Great. You ready for tomorrow?”
     
    “I better be,” I said.
     
    “Yeah, short notice, huh?” Kevin seemed like a decent guy, young with a good haircut and rectangular glasses and a wedding ring, but his job was to get me to say things that would create drama and conflict for the fight. I thought there was going to be enough of that, what with the punching each other in the face and all.
     
    It’s a business—I get that—but I just don’t have it in me to hype a fight.
     
    Besides, when it comes down to it, I’m in there fighting myself. My limits.
     
    The other guy’s just a mirror.
     
    “I think we’re ready over there,” Kevin said. “Now, if we could, let’s get you saying something along the lines of ‘I’m going to impose my will on Burbank and prove to the fans it wasn’t a fluke when I beat him before.’”
     
    They sat me and Gil on the cage apron in the lights, and a burly guy held a microphone over our heads. Kevin pulled a step-up platform over from the weight corner and sat down with the camera on his right. Angie and Roth and Terence and the Arcoverde brothers lined up behind him and crossed their arms and tried to keep serious faces.
     
    Kevin said, “When you talk, look at me, not the camera.”
     
    Gil and I looked at the camera; then Gil put an elbow in my ribs.
     
    Kevin opened a black binder and scanned the notes. “All right, guys, we just need a few clips for the preshow and prefight sequences. Eddie really wants this stuff to crackle through the building, you know? Get people in the crowd looking at each other and going, ‘Oooh, he’s gonna pay for saying that.’ Cool?”
     
    Gil said, “Can I say something about Eddie wanting Burbank to win?”
     
    It was my turn with the elbow.
     
    Kevin looked up from his binder. “Well. Uh . . .”
     
    “Don’t listen to him,” I said.
     
    “No, no, it’s good. We can use that energy. But how about instead of saying you think Eddie wants Junior Burbank to win, you say you
know
the
world
wants him to.”
     
    “Never mind,” Gil said. “But don’t get me wrong; we’ll take Junior any day of the week. We just get the feeling Woody isn’t supposed to win this fight.”
     
    “I don’t really know about that,” Kevin said.
     
    Roth whispered something to Angie, who shook her head and frowned at Gil. He shrugged.
     
    I started to panic. I suspected that pissing off a producer would be like swearing at the kid in the drive-through. I didn’t want to get pulled into the hype machine, but I also didn’t want any loogies in my burger. “Sorry. We’re a bit on edge around here. Like you said: short notice.”
     
    “It’s all good,” said Kevin. “If we could just get through these questions, I’ll get out of your way.”
     
    “Hey,” Gil said, “Woody’s right. We’re just fired up for the fight. Please, my full apologies. Fire away.”
     
    Kevin was good at his job and jumped into the window. “How is Woody’s jiu jitsu?”
     
    Gil said, “Well, it’s like watching a bear trying to change a diaper. It’s very confusing.”
     
    “I’m not very confident,” I added.
     
    Kevin