Okay, so the interview got off to a horrible start. “My apologies.” I used a contrite tone, one I didn’t feel, to get the interview back on track. “Mr. De Niro, sir.” I ignored the scowlMr. De Nirosent me and pulled up my phone to look at the questions I had saved in my notes.
“No pictures.”
I looked up from my phone, then turned it around so he could see I was looking at my notes and not getting ready to snap his picture. Damn, but the dude was paranoid. “Rupert has already provided an approved image to use with the article,” I replied patiently. “Are you ready?” I nodded at the recording device in his hand. “You can be in charge of the recorder if it makes you more comfortable. If I ask or say something you don’t like, then you can shut it off and we can discuss it before we turn it back on and resume the interview.”
“Fair enough,” Macio replied reluctantly. He pushed the record button and set it on the desk in front of him.
I planned on starting with easier questions to make him comfortable. “How’d you come by the nickname ‘The Hitman’?”
“They line them up, I take them out,” he said flatly.
I looked at him to see if he was going to expand on his answer and continued when it was obvious he had no intention of doing so. “At what age did you start fighting competitively?”
Macio leaned forward and shut off the recorder.Already?“Why is that relevant? All that matters is that I’m the best fighter in the world. That’s all people need to know.”
“Macio, we talked about this.” Rupert’s tone of voice sounded fatherly and affectionate. “Aiden isn’t your enemy. He voluntarily submitted his list of interview questions to me so that we’d know he wasn’t looking to do some sleazy exposé on you. If he asks a single question that wasn’t on the list, then I’ll shut this interview down myself.”
“You did that?” he asked me. “Why?”
“I’ve interviewed many high-profile athletes since joining Ringside Magazine. Many of them were extremely private individuals and were reluctant to sit down with me. Submitting the questions beforehand made them feel more comfortable.” I was surprised to learn that Rupert hadn’t shared the list with Macio prior to the interview. My warm, friendly smile was met with skepticism. “Look, the world would like to know more about you, but that doesn’t mean you need to slit your wrists and bleed for them. Just give them a brief glimpse into your life; a glimpse that you control. That’s the opportunity I’m giving you.”
“They’ll just want to know more,” Macio countered.
“If you’re lucky,” Rupert said from the corner. “Can you just give the guy a chance, kid?”
Macio’s answer was to push play on my recorder. “I started fighting on the MMA circuit when I turned eighteen.”
“But you were fighting prior to that?” I asked.
“I started fighting when I was a skinny elementary school kid who was tired of getting picked on. An older boy in my neighborhood taught me a few moves so I could defend myself. I got really good at fighting and I liked the way I felt when I won. I wouldn’t say that I started trouble just to get into a fight, but I never backed away from it. Coach witnessed one of my fights and saw the potential in me. He gave me a business card and told me to stop by his gym to see him.” Macio shrugged. “I guess you could say the rest is history.”
I felt a sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through my system and mentally punched a fist into the air. It was a huge fucking deal that he told me something he’d never told another reporter. I decided to reward him with an easy question. “What would Animacio De Niro eat on a diet cheat day, if he could have one?” I detected a slight titling at the corner of his mouth and vowed to see a full-fledged smile by the end of the interview.
“Depends on my mood,” he replied. “Today, it would be a medium-rare steak, king crab legs with tons of melted butter, baked potato with butter and sour cream, an endless supply of good bread, and cheesecake for dessert.”
“Damn, that sounds good,” I heard myself say. I wasn’t talking about food; I was imagining melted butter running down Macio’s hand and him licking it clean. Macio cleared his throat and I snapped out of my daydream. I jerked my eyes up to meet his and wondered about the change I saw in his gaze. The intensity was still there, but something else was present that I couldn’t quite name.
“Next question,” Macio said, getting back to business. “I have hours of training left today.”
“How long do you train each day?” I asked.
“Until I’m finished,” was his surly reply. Rupert let out a deep sigh from the corner and the stubborn fighter turned to face him. It appeared that the two men carried on a silent conversation between them in a matter of seconds. Macio turned back to face me and said, “On non-fight weeks, I can train up to six hours a day. I mix it up between cardio, weights, and sparring. During fight weeks, I focus on technique so I can save my legs for the ring.”
I jotted down a few things in my notebook and felt his penetrating stare on me the whole time. I expected him to snatch it out of my hands to see what was written, but he didn’t. “What kind of music does ‘The Hitman’ listen to prior to a fight or while training to get him pumped up?”
“Metal music. No light and fluffy bullshit.”
“Not a Belieber, huh?” I wasn’t sure where that remark came from and wished I could take it back the moment it slipped out.
Macio shut off the recorder forcefully. “Believer of what?” he asked in confusion.
“Belieber,” I repeated, putting an emphasis on the second b. “It means a Justin Bieber fan.”
Macio looked at Rupert for help and only received a shrug, then he turned back to face me. “Who the fuck is that?”
I was shocked he didn’t know who Justin Bieber was.He must live at the damn gym.“He’s a hip hop singer. The exact opposite of a metal band,” I explained. “It was a joke; a very poor one.”
He turned the recorder back on. “Next question.” His voice had gone from irritated to downright disgusted in a flash.
