Carson, Bicycle Mark and Paul Red jacket sat at one of the picnic tables at one end of the park. They had an impressive view from the top of the hill of course, and it was a clear, sunny day out (the days were getting warmer now in San Diego , with less rain). From where they sat they could look out at one whole section of the park and the activity that went on, including the sight of any vehicles driving in - as in cops. To their rear was the wooded hillside with its paths going down to the road.

Paul Red jacket actually had his red jacket off on this day, as well as his shirts. He sunned his hairy torso, with nothing above his beltline but his dark sunglasses on his partly bald head.

"I love this," he said, grinning. "I love southern California ." Indeed, with his cold beer clutched in one big hand, Paul looked the happiest or most contented that Carson had seen him.

"I do too, man," Mark said, stripped down to his shorts. "That's why I've been here so many years. I've thought about going other places. Especially after I talk with guys like this who have been around." He nodded at Carson . "I mean if I had the money I might do some travelling, but the way things are now .." He shook his head.

"Why go anywhere else, right?" Paul said. "You'll end up standing in food lines there. If they have food lines. And the way this economy is now it doesn't look like things are gonna pick up anytime soon."

"Not unless you're in the army," Carson said.

"Yeah, if you're young enough and want to see action that way," Paul said. "That guy in office now is gonna make sure you stay busy."

"The economy needs a good war to get it going again," Carson said, smiling.

"That's right," Paul said. "Give it a good kick in the ass."

"I'm glad I don't have to worry about that shit anymore," Mark said.

"No, they don't want your old drunk ass," Paul said, laughing.

They were all feeling good from the beer. They could hear music coming from a parked car. Some of the other picnic tables were being used, but it was a slow time of day for kid activity. The youngsters weren't out of school yet. There was a fairly large group of people over by the restroom, made up of the homeless who usually gathered around there.

"They must be having a party today," Paul commented.

"Somebody got some money," Mark said. Carson told them about the two guys he had run into while collecting cans a couple days before.

"Hell, I collect cans up here," Mark said. "I know a few people who do. But I know who you're talking about. That crazy looking fucker with the eyes and the tattoos. I've drunk with those guys a couple times. The tall one is Wheels. He was a biker years ago. The other one, I forgot what they call him. I know he doesn't say much, but he don't look like someone you want to get close to anyhow." Mark laughed.

"No, that's for sure," Carson said. "Guy like that might stick you with a knife and not blink."

"You get these crazies around here sometimes," Mark said. "I've seen all kinds of characters drift through. Most of 'em don't stay long. Some get picked up by the cops."

"What's goin on over there now?" Paul asked. "It looks like someone's got a camera. It looks like a couple cameras." The three men looked over in the direction of the restroom. Sure enough, there were two men with cameras standing next to the usual group. A white van was parked nearby.

"Maybe it's a TV crew," Mark said. "Doing a special on the homeless."

"I don't see a station number on that van," Paul said.

"That van looks too beat up," Carson said.

"This is something I'm gonna have to check into," Mark said, and he guzzled the rest of his beer. He grinned at them.

"Keep an eye on my bike. I gotta take a piss anyway."

They watched him amble over to the restroom.

"I wonder if one of those crack heads got stabbed," Paul said.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Carson said. "I don't even go into that place to piss."

When Mark came back about twenty minutes later he had a smile on his face, shaking his head.

"You know what those guys want?" he said, standing by the table. "You're not gonna believe this shit. They want to film a couple guys fighting."

"Fighting?" Paul said.

"Those aren't news guys," Mark said. "They're offering to pay guys to fight. They want to film it. Homeless guys fighting. Can you believe it?"

The three of them continued to look in the direction of the group.

"What the hell's that for, some kind of home movie?" Carson asked.

"I don't know," Mark said. "I didn't talk to them. But somebody told me they're offering cash, drink, food, whatever."

"Jesus Christ," Paul said. "You mean fight for real?"

"That's what I was told. I couldn't believe it."

"In other words, they want to make it look like some kind of documentary, right?" Carson said. "Like they just happened to catch a fight in the park."

"I guess," Mark said. "I saw one guy talking to your crazy friend there. I wouldn't be surprised if they get him to do it."

"That guy would probably give them more of a show than they wanted," Carson said.

"Damn, I've never heard of anything like that around here," Mark said.

"Me neither, brother," Paul said. "I've heard of some sick shit being filmed. Snuff films and stuff like that. But it's not out in the park like this. This is a new one for me."

"Hell, they'll probably get a couple guys to roll around in the dirt," Carson said. "Make it look good."

"Did you hear what they're paying?" Paul asked, and he laughed.

"No, I didn't hear that. I guess it depends on the action. But I'd want to see that green up front. How much money can they have driving an old van like that?"

"Well, Mark, how's your wrestling skills these days?" Carson asked. "Maybe the two of us could give them a little show like they do on TV. Bounce each other around, show them some pain." He grinned at Paul. "But we'd have to insist that we don't do it for beer. We do it for top shelf scotch." He and Paul laughed.

"I'll play the manager," Paul said. "All those wrestlers have a manager."

"That's right, Mark," Carson said. "You have to stipulate that our manager gets a cut too. Tell 'em we don't do any bullshit production."

"Tell 'em it's an additional six-pack for every bloody nose or cut lip," Paul said.

"Tell them for a little extra, I'll end up rolling down that hill for them," Carson said.

"Go ahead, buddy," Paul said. "Before one of those other jokers get the contract. I'm still thirsty." He and Carson laughed again, and Mark made a gesture as if he were holding his dick.

"It looks like they found a couple guys," he said. It did look like a few people had separated from the group and were standing near the van, talking to the cameramen. "That's your buddy all right," Mark said. "I guess he figures he won't have to collect cans today."

"A real psycho star," Carson said.

"Go fight him for canning rights, dude," Mark said, smiling.

Some guys got in the van with the cameramen, and the van pulled off.

"I guess they're taking the show on the road," Mark said.

But then they saw the people who were left start walking in a group away from the restroom, toward the opposite side of the park, on the other side of the paved road. They saw the dirty white van moving slowly along the road, but it didn't look like it was going far. "They must be looking for a place to do their show," Paul said.

"Fuck, let's follow 'em," Mark said, grinning at the other two. "What the hell, I'm outa beer anyway. Let's see if this thing is for real. I mean it's not every day a camera crew shows up here to film anything, never mind fighting homeless people."

"Sounds like some pretty desperate filmmakers to me," Paul said.

"There might be some free drinks in it," Mark said, wiggling his thick eyebrows. "For being an extra or something."

"You sound just as desperate as they are," Paul said.

They saw the white van stop in a parking space closest to the woods on that side of the park. The group of people, appearing to have new life in them and laughing, headed in that very direction.

"I'm going over there just for laughs," Mark said. "You comin, Whisky?"

"What the hell, I'm outa beer too," Carson said. He figured it might make for an interesting story anyway.

"Here," Paul said. He brought out two dollars from his pocket. "Pick me up something if you go to the store. I'll hold our spot here."

"We'll report back," Carson said, smiling.

He and Mark, who pushed his bike along, started off across the grass. They saw men getting out of the van and then moving quickly toward the trees. Carson saw that one of the men was the guy with the bleached blue eyes. He spotted his stiff and straight way of walking and his half bald head. His tall buddy, Wheels, was with the group that followed.

Everybody entered the woods, which were just beyond the crest of the hill, so that they went downward before disappearing. Both Mark and Carson had been in this part of the park before, and they knew the woods opened up in a clearing of sorts before the hill dropped sharply. Drunks and crack heads used some cut-up tree stumps for seats in that clearing, and there was paper litter and bottles on the ground. Some coarse brown grass grew here in the clearing before the pine needles took over further down in the trees. There was a black fire spot here too, though it wasn't recent. If the rangers or cops caught you setting fires anywhere around here you were in trouble. When Mark and Carson crested the hill, they saw that the people had gathered in a large group in the clearing, which had a gentle slope to it at first.

"I wonder if they're selling tickets," Carson commented.

The people had gathered in a semi circle around the main participants, and now Carson got his first good look at the cameramen. They were two men in their mid to late thirties, it looked like. One of them might have hit forty, he thought; the guy who seemed to be directing things, tall, fairly muscular, with a tank top and shorts on. A two day beard shadow to go with that. High-top black sneakers.

His partner, the younger one, had a baseball cap on over long hair that went over his shoulders. He wore a dirty t-shirt and shorts, old white sneakers, and had a tattoo of a naked woman on one arm.

Carson wasn't sure if that was the whole crew or not, but his eyes, like everyone else's, were on the tall man who had stubbly short black hair that looked like it had been hacked by an amateur. He was the man talking to what looked like the participants, or the actors, or whatever they were calling them.

One was the rugged, quiet man with the cold stare whom Carson had encountered before. The other, his "opponent", was another street character Carson had seen around the area, a can collector and drunk. "I know that guy," Mark said to Carson in a lowered voice.

The two of them hadn't entered the group. They stood in the shade under a tree, a little higher up than the group, and Mark leaned his bike against the trunk.

"He's a good guy. His name's Billy Brew." Carson almost laughed, but held it in.

"Brew as in beer, I take it," he said.

"Sure. He can drink more beer than I can." Carson looked at Mark.

"You wouldn't be pulling my leg on that one?"

"I'm not kidding, man. Billy can put 'em away."

"He must have put some away already to get involved with this."

Billy Brew didn't have as much muscle on him as the other guy, but he wasn't a lightweight; he had some heft to him, perhaps due to his beer consumption. He had long greasy hair with a dirty red baseball cap over it, a dirty white t-shirt over his thick torso and loose fitting jeans. He nodded his head at what the cameraman said to him, appearing to be loose and ready for anything.

The guy with the whitish-blue eyes stood apart from everybody, taking it all in, as cool looking as usual. He wore a torn green tank top and old jeans.

Carson still found it hard to believe that these men were going to fight. He had never heard of anything like this. And yet what were they all doing over here behind the trees? They were going to see some kind of show, that's for sure, and Carson only wished that they had gone to the market first.

"No bullshit now," the tall "director" said more than once to the two men. The rest of the group had backed away from them, except the shorter cameraman, who examined the ground to see what the footing was like. He finally decided on a position and then nodded at his tall partner.

To Carson , there was something absurd about the whole picture: a beautiful sunny day; trees in the background and the brown grass around them; the spectators gathered (there were no women); the two, serious cameramen. And two serious, dirty looking men faced off against each other. The showdown, Carson thought, still amused by the whole idea.

Yet when the two men did start to fight, and for real, fascination replaced amusement, followed by disgust. The cameras were going, and the struggling and punches were real enough (both men seemed intent on earning their money or drink), as was the blood. Some in the group urged the men on. There were a couple of men who felt the same way as Carson and Mark, it seemed, and backed away from the tussle. The smaller cameraman stayed as stationary as he could without getting bowled over by the action, while the taller one circled the two fighters.

After a couple minutes of feeling each other out, Psycho and Billy Brew, fuelled by anger now or frustration, started winging punches, and then came together, and ended up rolling on the ground. Carson was pulling for Billy Brew, though he didn't know either of the men.

Then Billy Brew's nose was running blood. His cap, not as dark as the blood, was off in the grass, and his long hair hung in his face. Psycho seemed to be getting the better of it; he was stronger and in better shape. The director was just letting the action happen now; there was no need for coaching.

Just when it looked as if Billy was in for a drubbing, he surprised everyone by getting a hard punch in on Psycho, backing the other up. The director loved it, as did some of the men watching. Psycho now had a cut over his eye, and he kept blinking as if to clear his vision.

Finally, they grappled and rolled on the ground again, this time rolling downhill toward the trees below them. There was the sound of the men grunting and breathing heavy, and the steady murmur from the onlookers. Both cameras followed the combatants. Some in the group followed them, but others stayed where they were, looking at each other and then back at Carson and Mark still under the tree. Carson looked at Mark and they both seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Carson said.

"Pretty sick, isn't it?"

"And what are they gonna get out of it, a few beers? A bottle? Fuck that." Carson started back over the hill. "Our buddy had the right idea."

Mark pushed his bike after him. "The thing is, they'll probably get others to do it too," Carson said. "Word'll spread."

"I wonder who they're filming for." Mark said.

"Who knows? They probably have their own company. And their studio is probably some garage around here."

When they got back to their table with the beer, Paul looked like he was asleep on the bench, but he smiled when he heard the brown bag being opened. His sunglasses reminded Carson of pictures of sixties rock musicians. When Paul heard the story, he shook his grizzled head and smiled.

"It says something about the times, doesn't it?" he said. "When you think about it, it's not really surprising though. You see how things are around here on the streets. People are sick and desperate." They saw the old white van pull off and some of the street people walk back through the park.

"That looks like Billy with them," Mark said. "At least he's walking." There were others still over at the top of the hill where the action took place.

"What happens if one of them really gets hurt?" Carson said. "Are those guys gonna take them to the hospital?"

"They sound like those kind of guys," Paul said.

"Well, at least I know I can do something besides can collecting for money," Mark said, grinning.

"Like I said, just don't settle for cheap beer," Carson said. "Demand the good stuff. As befits a film star of your magnitude."

Paul laughed loudly at this and toasted Carson with his can. Mark shook his head, laughing himself.

"Those guys might have gotten some pretty good money," Mark said. "Compared to what they're used to."

"Probably so," Carson said. "But you saw what they were doing to each other, Mark. Next thing you know, they'll have them scrapping with knives."

"I wouldn't doubt it," Paul said. "The thing is, there's got to be a market for it or they wouldn't be out here. Somebody's bankrolling them."

"Probably some rich people showing them at cocktail parties," Carson said. "A little dirty reality over the wine and cheese."

They all chuckled at that picture. "You're probably not too far off, my man," Paul said.

"Not too far off at all, I'd wager." Carson guzzled some beer. "But what the hell, I'm not gonna let it bring me down anymore than it has. It's too nice of a day for that."

"That's right, fuck the idiocy," Paul said. "That's always gonna be there."