In the private room 11.
Rosemary had sealed the deal, cash exchanged for goods with practiced ease.
She slipped the medicine into her backpack and rode the elevator down to the lobby. Horace, spotting her, broke into a relieved grin.
He'd been worried about the boss's safety going upstairs alone. But there she was, walking out of the room 11 without a scratch.
"Got it?" Horace mouthed, his face a picture of excitement.
The place was a racket, but Rosemary caught his drift, nodding and tilting her chin up, signaling it was time to jet.
In the massive birdcage arena, the heavyweight boxer - a brute over 200 pounds - had been mauled by the beast, chunks of his arm flesh hanging loose. Now, he was being carted away, while the victor was rewarded with a feast of raw meat, retreating obediently back into its cage.
Next up was a lopsided match: a muscle-bound fighter tipping the scales at more than 300 pounds versus a kid who looked barely strong enough to lift a feather.