Page 200 of Everything Under the Sun

The crowd shouted and whistled and then fell silent again.

“In the event,” she went on, “the winner of the fight refuses to put his opponent out of his misery, he forfeits his win, and his opponent will have one opportunity to do what he would not do, or they both die. So none of that taking-a-stand-against-death bullshit! You kill or be killed!”

Whistles splintered my ears; shouts deafened me; the stomping of feet shook me.

“Gauntlet! Gauntlet!”

“Yes! There will be a gauntlet!” she shouted over the chanting. “So bet well, and bet big, boys and girls and boy-girls, because one of these two men”—she pointed at Atticus and then his opponent—“if he survives, will make you very rich tonight! Or very poor!” She laughed, and the crowd laughed with her.

“Why is a gauntlet so special?” I asked Kade, expecting him to practically ignore me again.

“Because it only happens about once a month,” he told me, still looking out ahead at the arena. “And the rule is that everyone here has to bet half of what they own. Or leave.”

“Go big, or go home,” the man to my left put in.

I looked into the crowd then and saw only about a quarter of those in attendance shuffling through the four exits.

“They’re the smart ones,” the man to my left said. “They know when to quit gambling—is that Mr. Royce leaving?”

“Yeah”—Kade laughed—“He’s the richest man in Paducah for a reason!”

“True! True!” the man agreed, clapping his big hands together as Ravinia made her way off the arena floor. “But I’d rather be broke than bored.”

“Agreed, my friend!” Kade said.

“Then what are you betting?” the woman in front of me asked Kade.

“My girl, Drusilla,” Kade answered.

“That’s it?” The woman’s expression hardened with criticism. “That’s not half of what you own.”

“You forget,” Kade smugly reminded her, “my girl has many talents—she’s worth more than half of what I own.”

“Then why are you gambling with her?” the man to my left asked.

Kade’s eyes skirted me, and my throat closed, and my stomach tensed.

“Go big, or go home, right?” Kade echoed. “Isn’t that the point? Besides, I have a replacement if I lose.”

My interlocked fingers tightened against one another; I looked away.

“And if you win,” the man said, “you’ll be stuck with two—better hope she’s not like Drusilla, or you’re gonna have your hands full.” He bounced with laughter next to me.

“Yeah, but if I lose,” Kade told him, grinning, “you’ll be stuck with Drusilla—sure you can handle her?” There was a playful gleam in his eyes.

The man laughed and shook his head. “I know I can handle her,” he said with confidence. “And I won’t need to lower myself to the level you had to, that’s for damn sure.”

Kade’s smile retreated, offended by the remark, but he sucked it up.

“So then, I accept the whiskey,” he told the man, “and the Harley only if you throw in your entire wardrobe—including the snakeskin boots.”

The man’s chin reared back. “Half my wardrobe,” he countered. “And my bird. But nobody’s gettin’ my boots.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ bird,” Kade shot back. “Damn thing shits everywhere—three quarters of your wardrobe, and the boots.”

The man inhaled a deep, concentrated breath, mulling it over.

“Deal,” he finally agreed.

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