Page 48 of Red Boar's Baby

“I think you did what you could at the time,” Diana said. “You gave him a win that it sounds like he needed.”

Vic looked seriously at each of them in turn. “Look, I didn’t tell you guys that story for back-pats. I told you so you know what you might be up against. That red lion card is almost certainly a ring fighter’s card, maybe even one of the managers. There wasn’t anything written on it?”

Costa shook his head. “Blank.”

“Probably hadn’t been used. We all had an envelope full of them at all times. Keeping it on the plausibly deniable down low meant you could go into any copy shop and get a bunch run off without awkward questions.”

“I get that the animal is the shift type, but do the colors mean anything?” Diana asked.

“Yes, but it’s not universal. There isn’t one overall organization that controls everything; it’s on the level of local clubs that meet up in groups. In general, though, red and black were the high-level players, either top ranked fighters, or managers or big bettors. Mine being blue signals that I’m mid tier. Most clubs use green for new fighters.”

Costa’s mouth opened slightly. He looked at Diana, and she saw that his face was alight with the suppressed energy that meant his brain was racing behind the scenes.

In spite of her effort to resist, she was drawn to it. Costa wassmart, and she had always loved that about him, especially since he worked hard to hide it behind his jock facade.

“Okay, so we got shifter fighting rings, and rare shifters are pure money-making gold on the fighting circuit. And we’ve got a little girl in there who is a shift type we’ve never seen before.”

Diana’s stomach lurched. “You think they found her and—and sold her?”

“No,” Costa said. “I think they made her.”

“What?” Delgado said.

“Nicole said there was a lab up in Seattle experimenting on shifters, right? What if someone’s trying to dream up custom blends, somehow combine different shift types into—I don’t know, shifter chimeras?”

“That’s insane,” Diana said flatly. “She’s a few months old. Someone’s got to be playing a heck of a long game to commission a custom gladiator who won’t even be able to fight for fifteen or twenty years.”

“Some people do play the long game,” Costa batted back. “And maybe she’s a test run, anyway. Maybe they’re working on being able to get it to work on adult shifters. Get you a bear who can fly and also breathe underwater.”

“That isevil,” Diana said.

“Not if it’s voluntary,” Costa pointed out. “Iwouldn’t want it, but if somebody wants to get themselves a pair of wings or gills, whose cares? It’s sneaky and underhanded, maybe, if they’re springing it on someone in a fight, but it’s not evil. Doing it to people who didn’t consent, doing it to kids—that’sevil.”

“We don’t know for sure that’s what’s going on.”

“No,” Costa said. He turned to look at Vic. “But what do you think? You know the people at the top, at least by reputation, these high rollers you were talking about. Does this sound like something they’d do?”

“Yeah,” Vic said. He met each of their eyes in turn. “Yes, it does.”

* * *

None of the new arrivals had eaten, so Costa’s aunts brought out a generous lunch spread consisting of leftover tamales from the previous night (there was always way more food than anyone could eat in one sitting; it had been true of the family ever since Costa could remember), a huge bowl of salad, fresh bread, and farm-churned butter. The baby was passed around between many willing arms, including Molly’s.

Jenny and Jay turned up, and the two kids, who were similar in age, seemed to hit it off, at least if Jay offering to let Molly ride his pony was any indication. Molly seemed curious but fascinated.

The conversation remained light throughout lunch. Afterward, Molly was installed to do some online homework on the computer. The aunts waved off any offers of help cleaning up, while the agents went off together. Diana followed along, with a slight sense of exclusion that she knew was irrational but couldn’t help feeling anyway.

“Do you still have contacts in the fighting underground?” Costa was asking Vic.

“Not really, and I wouldn’t want to get in touch with them if I did. I didn’t exactly leave on great terms. That being said,” he added, “the way to get into the fighting rings in any major city is to start sending out feelers in the way you’d find any other illegal underground operation. Hang out in places that type of person hangs out, in this case gyms and boxing clubs, and the bars where the regulars go to socialize afterwards. You specifically want places that shifters go. I figure you know the shifter gyms in town, and Tucson seems big enough to have at least one.”

“Yeah,” Costa said. “I can’t ask you to, especially with the kid, but?—”

“I don’t want to stick my toe into that scene back in Seattle. Too close to where I fought before, and I’ve got too much to lose with Molly now. But here, this far from home, it ought to be safe for me to ask around a little. No one’s gonna know me.”

“That’d be great.” Costa grinned. “I’m simply too well known. I don’t think anyone’s going to believe that the chief of the local SCB division wants to start bare-knuckle brawling for petty cash.”

“What about her?” Vic asked, jerking a thumb at Diana.

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