Page 32 of Loverboy
“My turn!” she sings out. “I’m fighting Max. Duff can referee.”
“Back-to-back matches?” Duff asks, taking the stopwatch from Scout. “Shouldn’t Max get a rest?”
“I don’t need a rest,” Max says tartly. Scout is barely five foot two. She’s also a woman. And Max is slightly more competitive than Genghis Khan.
“What shall we play for?” Scout asks, pulling on her head gear. “How about this—if I win, I can choose what we order for dinner.”
“You’ll pick Indian again,” Max grumbles.
“Then don’t lose and you can have whatever you want.” Scout checks her gloves, and they face each other at the center of the mat, waiting for Duff’s signal. When he tells them to begin, they bow to one another gracefully.
But that’s the last civilized moment between them. A few seconds later, Max has already made his first attack. But Scout is fast. She’s ten inches shorter, with far less reach. But she’s got impeccable instincts and the ability to dart like a hornet away from his first kick.
And his second. And his third.
He circles her to try again, and no one can look away. Every matchup is fun to watch, but Max versus Scout isfascinating. They look impossibly mismatched. It’s a lie, though.
At least Max is no longer distracted. He knows he can’t afford to let down his guard.
Scout dances and weaves. She pretends to lunge for him, but it’s a trick. The moment he moves to block, she flits away. Circling. Waiting. Trying his patience.
I understand Max’s frustration. It’s like trying to swat a fly. It’srightthere, and it’s smaller than you are. This ought to be easy.
Spoiler: it’s not. Max tries a spirited kick which almost connects with Scout’s shoulder. But she executes a gorgeous spinning jump-kick, which lifts her high into the air, putting her bare foot right into Max’s face.
The crowd lets out a gasp of appreciation as Max’s head snaps backward. His arms shoot out to the sides as he hops awkwardly backward, struggling to stay upright.
It doesn’t work. He tumbles onto the mat with a thump and an “oof.”
“Knockout!” Duff says gleefully. “Sorry boss.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Max says, leaping to his feet. “Best out of three?”
But Scout has already peeled off her protective gear. “Spicy chicken it is!”
Max takes off his headset and sighs. “Good on you. That was the fastest loss I’ve ever sustained.”
“I can probably top that next time.” She gives him a blinding smile. “You want that lamb dish that you always order?”
“Sure.” He flips open his wallet and pulls out a c-note. “Get whatever Gunnar and Pieter want, too. I need to chat with all of you.”
“Will do.” Scout reaches into the V-neck of her T-shirt and slips the money into her bra. “Chicken Tikka, Gunn? I’ll text Pieter. Meet you upstairs in forty-five?” She leaves the ring looking very pleased with herself.
Max watches her walk away, and then he shakes his head. “Gunn, let's get a beer upstairs before dinner.”
“I was going to grab a shower.” I gesture toward the locker rooms.
“Use mine. There’s something I need to show you.”
I grab my gym bag and follow Max to the elevator banks. He puts his hand on the scanner and his private elevator opens up. Then he flips open his messenger bag, extracts a copy of thePostand hands it to me.
The front-page story is hard to miss.Brutal Downtown Murder Appears Linked to Overseas Crimes. “Oh, shit. Right here in New York. You think this is…?”
“Keep reading.”
It only takes me a minute to skim the article. The deceased was a thirty-six year-old computer security expert. His brother sent police to his house when he failed to answer his phone for several days. Officers found his body in his garden-level apartment.
The deceased was clutching a red ribbon.
