Page 50 of Saving Blood

“Sure, anything.”

And he means anything. He has contacts in every alley and rathole in and around the city, plus he speaks the language. If you needed something done—ask Ricky.

“You gotta get me a passport.”

“For you?”

“Nah, for Maxine at the fight club.”

“Oh.” Short pause. “Does Smoke know about this?”

“Are you questioning your VP?”

“No, no, I just—” I hear the flick of his lighter. “I’m gonna need some information. Date and place of birth, full legal name and a photo. We like to make them look as real as possible right down to the watermarks and hologram over the picture.”

“Stop by the gym later today. I’ll have all the info you need.”

“The guy I deal with is a professional. He does quality work, not like the shit sold by the border. Swear to fuck, it’ll never be detected, but—it’s gonna cost you.”

“How much?”

“At least two grand, maybe more.”

I can’t say I’m surprised. In the States, the Royal Bastards deal in fake documents. Huge moneymaker for the clubs situated close to the border.

“All right, see you in a few.”

I swipe away the call before Ricky could ask any more questions I didn’t feel like answering—or better yet, couldn’t answer. Like why was I setting this up and willing to lay out two grand for someone I’d known less than a month? Better yet, why would I lay it out when I couldn’t even answer one of the questions required for the passport?

When I think about it, I realize the only solid thing I know about Maxine is where she lives now, that she is a kick-ass fighter, and fuckin’ lit me up in bed. I have no idea where she lived in the States, or even her last name. For all I know, Maxine isn’t even her real first name.

I gaze out into the gym. Every ring is occupied with men and woman honing their craft, practicing their footwork, bobbing and weaving in every kind of mashup imaginable. Guns N’ Roses blares through the speakers, matching the vibe, as they all prepare for the biggest event since the Bastards took over the fight club last year. An event that has to go off without a hitch. An event that needs my full attention.

After I set up the meet with Ricky, I try to keep my mind off Maxine. Hard to do when she has my guts twisted in knots, but if I stay in the office and off the gym floor, I’ll avoid the distraction of watching her work out.

I keep myself busy the rest of the morning, going over every detail for the fight. We expect huge crowds and the partying and craziness that goes along with it.

“Maxie’s the favorite to win,” Bolt says as he and Smoke enter the office. “Her hands are like lightning. Never saw a fighter, man or woman, with such fast fuckin hands.”

“Everybody at The Tropics is talking about her and the whole night,” Smoke adds. “Gonna be fuckin’ huge.”

Javi and some of the other neighborhood kids passed out flyers for the last two weeks to the locals, along with the usual word of mouth, so Bolt’s prediction is right on target.

“Gotta hand it to you, VP, you turned this shithole into a huge moneymaker.” Smoke claps his hand on my shoulder. “The weekly fights brought in huge crowds, so this mega fight is gonna be off-the-fuckin’-charts crazy.”

“Between the bets and the product, the Bastards are sure to clean up.”

A few minutes later, Diesel returns, unusually somber. “You seen Maxi’s face?”

“No, why?” My whole objective is to avoid Maxine until Ricky shows up for the passport info. Info I couldn’t wait to hear.

“It’s all busted up.”

“Whaddya mean?” Bolt asks.

“Looks like somebody whaled on her. Swollen cheek, black eye.”

Smoke leans forward in his chair. “Did it happen here?”

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