Page 37 of Scythe & Sparrow
“I don’t think they have Skittles.”
“Trust me, they do.”
Though I roll my eyes, we both know I won’t deny her. It’s hard enough not to bring an entire keg back for her just so she can have the two beers she wants while I keep her in sight. She grins at meas though she can read my thoughts. I shake my head at her, but when I turn my back and walk away, I smile.
The bartender sees me coming and I’m able to jump the line, grabbing the Skittles and a free beer and a bourbon for myself before I return to the table just in time for the start of the fight. Tom yells the rules into the mic. Closed fist only. No slapping, no elbows, no knees or kicking. Anyone knocked down has ten seconds to get back up. And then he steps back from between the two fighters, and with one simple word, the battle is on.
Fight.
The crowd roars as the Hurricane lunges forward with a hook that doesn’t connect. Ballistic Bill leans away from a cross jab. And another. Another. A punch finally connects but only with Bill’s arm as he blocks his face. He dodges more hits, allowing a few past his defenses, always leaning away just as a punch connects. The blows he lets through are nothing more than taps. The crowd cheers, and heckles, and shouts at both men. But Bill doesn’t seem to notice. He’s only focused on his opponent, his feet light and quick on the bloodstained mats despite his massive size. And he hasn’t thrown a single punch.
“He’s wearing him out,” Rose says over the din of the audience, not looking away from the fight. She gestures toward the ring with a Skittle. “The Hurricane is so fucked.”
Dread settles in my guts like a stone. Most fights here might be raw, but they’re at least evenly matched. Not this time. And she’s right—I can feel it in my marrow. The Hurricane is fucked.
I turn my attention back to the ring just as Bill delivers his first hit, a punch to the Hurricane’s ribs. He stumbles backward. Bill clips his cheek with a jab. The Hurricane buries his head behindhis forearms and blocks a few more punches. The crowd eats it up. But it’s obvious. Bill barely follows through, hardly uses his shoulders. He doesn’t put the momentum of his weight into the fight. These hits are only for show.
The buzzer rings, ending the first two-minute period. The fighters head back to their corners, where their buddies or amateur trainers pass them water and towels, leaning close to each man to deliver strategy or encouragement. Excitement skitters through the audience. I look down my shoulder at Rose and find she’s already watching me, a grin etched into her face as she tilts her beer bottle in my direction.
“This is great, Doc. Thanks for bringing me here.”
I frown. “I didn’t. I’ve asked you to leave. Multiple times.”
“I thought we were friends,” she says with a sarcastic pout, but there’s something about it that seems like genuine disappointment. The expression disappears in an instant and she turns her attention away from me to add her voice to the chorus of shouts around us as Tom calls for the fighters to return to the center of the ring. But I’m still looking at Rose, and it takes longer than it should to tear my gaze away.
The buzzer rings. The fight resumes. This time, Bill puts in a little more effort. He punches with more force. When the Hurricane loses stamina and backs away, Bill is on him, pushing him into the ropes. The newcomer is unrelenting. One blow after the next. The Hurricane takes successive hits to the ribs and when his arms inch lower and his frame hunches, Bill is there. A huge left hook slips right through his defenses and slams into the other man’s jaw.
The Hurricane’s back hits the mat and he doesn’t get up.
Cheers and boos swell around us as the seconds are counted. The Hurricane barely stirs, his body splayed across the mat. When the match is finally called in his favor, Bill takes a victory lap around his opponent and then slips through the ropes to collect his winnings. I take his place to collect my patient.
“Hey, buddy. We’re going to need to get you to the hospital,” I say over the roar of the crowd as I kneel next to the Hurricane. He blinks his swollen eyes up at me, and I pull him into the recovery position. His friends pat his shoulder and keep him conscious as I turn my attention to Tom, the announcer hovering in the periphery. “What the fuck, man?”
Tom flashes a smile that might as well be made of dollar signs. “Great fight, wasn’t it? The crowd is goingnuts.”
“You and I might have different definitions ofgreat.”
“Everyone who steps into this ring knows they might leave it on a stretcher.”
“And everyone who steps into it should be matched so they won’t fuckingdie.”
The longer our eyes stay locked in a silent exchange, the more Tom’s smile dissolves. We both know that if I accuse him of rigging this fight with a ringer, there will be more trouble in this barn than either of us can handle.
Tom knows I don’t like it. But he also knows I won’t risk lighting a fuse in a powder keg. His smile sneaks back onto his face when he says, “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy a little mayhem, Dr. Kane. Why else would you keep coming back?”
“Because if you insist on running this club of yours, someone qualified needs to be here to put the fighters back together,” I say as the Hurricane’s friends get him up on his unsteady feet.“Because they’re going to wind up worse off if I don’t. Or someone will end up dead. Because—”
Whatever half-truth I’m about to bark at Tom evaporates the moment I hear Rose scream.
I forget about my patient. The crowd. The lights and the noise. When I whip around, all my focus is on the place she should be. The place where she isnot.
My table has shifted, my supplies scattered across its surface. One of Bill’s friends tries to hold him back as he scraps with two other men, a third stumbling away from the altercation with his hand raised to catch the blood that trickles from a gash over his eye.Where is she?I call out her name, but she doesn’t respond. The brawl shifts to one side just enough that I can see the floor. And then I spot Rose. She’s been knocked off her stool, one hand clasped around her leg just above the edge of her cast. Pain twists her features into a grimace. She tries to push herself beneath the table and out of the way of the fight, brandishing one of her crutches as a weapon to keep the oblivious crowd away.
In an instant, I’m on my feet, gripping the ropes to duck between them. The sound of her scream still rings in my ears, setting my blood on fire. But I can’t get to her fast enough. Not before Bill knocks into her cast and she lets out an agonized cry.
“Get the fuck away from her,” I snarl as I shove Bill with both hands. He stumbles into another man on the sidelines of the skirmish. By the time he rights himself and pivots in my direction, I’ve put myself between the fight and Rose.
Bill hardly takes notice of the men he was battling just a moment ago. His friends step in to shove them back into the heaving crowd. But Bill doesn’t notice them. His eyes trail down the lengthof me as a sneer lifts one corner of his lips. “Stay out of it, bro. Wouldn’t want to bust up that pretty face.”
