Page 19 of The Challenger

“It’s called mixing it up,” the guy shouts back. “You think Arlo will hit to your forehand all day?”

“You and he can…” Chavez gestures at his crotch to finish the sentence.

“Promises, promises. And you better watch your mouth,” the man adds, pointing his racket in my direction. “Looks like your company has arrived.”

Chavez spins around and a smile wipes away his scowl. “Hey. How long have you been here?”

“Just arrived. Please, keep going. I’m happy to watch.”

Happy to drool from the sidelines. Jesus. Adidas will be hard-pressed to find a better wall of muscle to advertise on. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s commando under those shorts.

“Nah, it's time for a break. Come in.” Chavez opens the chain-link door and swats my entering behind with his racquet. “Cute outfit.”

My favorite Lacoste tennis dress matches the color of his eyes, and I might have chosen it on purpose. With a break in the action, the other man strides over, peeling a camo headband off a shock of bristly black hair. His features suggest he might have Central American roots, and he has at least a decade on Chavez, although both shop at the same tight short store and have the blessings from Jesus in the sculpted legs department.

He waves his arm forward and dips into a gracious bow. “Buenos Dias, señorita. Python the Great.”

“Hi, I’m Flynn. Nice to meet you.”

“He's my hitting partner,” Chavez explains. "With a great hearing problem."

“Ex-partner,” Python corrects. “I’m officially retired as of next week.”

“Might be a decision you regret. In with the old, out with the new. Flynn used to play competitively.”

The challenge in that statement draws a smile from Python. “You don’t say?” He turns to me and winks. “It’s only the third time he’s mentioned that.”

“You can retire today if you want to, old man.”

Python grins as he packs up his bag. “Same time tomorrow?”

“I got a bunch of shit to do before Christmas Eve. Let’s say ten.”

Despite the insults, the respect and love between these two are evident as they engage in ritualistic hand gestures that end with a high five and a bro hug.

“Good luck out there,” Python says to me. “The best way to piss him off is the short and wide serve. Gets him every time.”

Chavez rolls his eyes. “If you could get it in the box, dude, maybe I’d bother.”

Python flips him the finger and he’s off, whistling down the path. Once he’s out of earshot I ask Chavez, “Why is he retiring? He’s like the Energizer Bunny.”

“He’s retiring from me. Moving back to Peru.”

“Was he part of your team for a while?”

“Five years. But whatever, I’ll find someone else.” He scuffs his shoe on the court and looks past me to the cabana and pool across the atomic-green lawn.

“Nice digs, by the way,” I say. “What a beautiful property.”

“Thanks. As I said, fortune favors the bold. I took a risk and it paid off.”

I glance at him. “How so?”

“A friend of mine plays basketball with some big-time investor. We were shooting the shit one day at the gym, and he asked if I wanted to put some money into the next deal this guy had brewing. No idea it wasLeostrata. I put in a mil, cleared forty and bought this place with cash.”

Leostrata is the Pink or Beyoncé equivalent of the tech world. One word and everyone knows the biggest IPO in the history of the stock market.

“Congrats,” I say. “Good timing. Who was the guy brokering the deal?”

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