Neither midget had tried very hard. As far as I was concerned the whole fight was a sham. But everyone in the bar, which included seven drunk tourists, thirty bored-looking strippers, one greasy Filipino announcer, and two midgets wearing boxing gloves the size of their heads, was staring at me. I had to make a decision. I was the referee. When I told my friends about the experience later they were jealous. It had nothing to do with good fortune. It was a scam. Some Filipino friends had brought my girlfriend Catherine, our friend Sarah, and I, to the red light district of Makati, a seedy strip of convenience stores, street prostitutes, and strip bars, for our only night in Manila.
The inside of the bar was dark, lit mainly by neon beer advertisements, with booths surrounding a realistic looking boxing ring in the center of the room.
There were only two or three other patrons sitting on the far side of the bar, all of whom were men. It was Thursday night. What was surprising was the number of bikini wearing bar girls. There were at least thirty. Several were talking to the men on the other side of the bar. The price made it clear that it was not a bar for locals. It was for tourists only.
The way the girls were talked to the male patrons made it was clear that they had a price too. We were tired from traveling all day. We had only come to see the show. So, when our drinks arrived, we sipped them slowly, killing time, waiting for the show.
As we waited, a masculine-looking Filipino woman came and stood behind Catherine in the booth. She started to talk to Catherine and, after a moment, asked Catherine if she would mind a massage. Before Catherine could answer, the husky mustached woman, who had several homemade tattoos on her arm, began rubbing her shoulders.
