Job Girl (Fight Card)

by Jack Tunney

  Dragging Dick behind her, Vicky forced herself between Mammoth and Mickey. She handed Dick off to Mickey, then filled her hands with the front of Mammoth’s t-shirt. “C’mon.”

  He still didn’t really see her. “Queenie, I want that whisky.”

  “Now. C’mon, champ.” Vicky grabbed Mammoth’s arm with both hands and pulled him from the bar. Mickey, helping Dick, followed.

  They were clear of the scene before the sheriff arrived in his bathrobe.

  SEVENTH FALL

  Mammoth popped the sedan’s trunk at dusk the next day. “This is it, huh? I’m not impressed.”

  Vicky stood at his big, beefy shoulder and took in the hotel. It was more like a bed and breakfast, embedded in the middle of Circular de Morelia in Mexico City’s Colonia Roma district. With its little balconies, little iron gate and just-managed greenery, La Querencia, looked like a quaint place to hole up for the next few matches. “I like it,” she said.

  Mammoth, a small suitcase in hand, rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised? Look alive, kid.” He chest-passed the case to Mickey, who only barely caught it. Mammoth then handed a bigger one to Dick, who glanced around the area. There were disparate buildings to either side of the two-story La Querencia and a simple green park on the other side of the street, where their big, blue sedan was parked. A few pedestrians, giving sidelong glances, moved along the sidewalk opposite the group. Two police officers stood on a corner further down along the street.

  Dick nodded to Mammoth. “Are we just supposed to go in?”

  “The guy from the promotion is supposed to meet us out here, I think.” Mammoth fished Vicky’s suitcase from the trunk and put it on the pavement about a yard away from her. No sidewalk on their side of the street. “Reservation’s under his name, he’s got the dough for it.”

  Vicky exchanged a look with Dick. “Not sure I like it,” she said.

  “What’s the difference?” Mammoth pointed at her bag. “Your gear’s there.”

  “Thanks.” Vicky stepped over to retrieve her suitcase in time to glance into the sedan’s trunk as Mammoth closed it. He had his bulky suitcase in hand, but there was another, smaller satchel still inside. “What’s that?” She pointed.

  “What’s what?” Mammoth pocketed the car keys.

  “Was there another bag in there?”

  “Where?”

  She shifted her weight to one hip. “In the trunk.”

  “In the trunk? No.”

  She looked at Dick, who patted the air with a palm.

  “Hey.” Mickey, positioned near the hood of the car, nodded up the street. “That him?”

  A small, white car trundled up behind the sedan and rattled to a stop. Two men, one much bigger than the other, got out. The smaller man, the driver, nodded to the group with a grin. “Buenos tardes.”

  The four Americans mumbled an approximation of the man’s greeting. He stepped up to the group. His bigger companion, who was as broad as Mammoth but not as tall and thicker through the middle, was close behind. The smaller man looked the group over and smiled. “I would ask if you are waiting for me, but this is certainly a group of luchadores if ever I’ve seen one.”

  He was young, maybe mid 20’s, Vicky thought. He had bright brown eyes and a perfect shell of short, black hair. His pecs, shoulders and biceps tested the basic white dress shirt he wore over black slacks and polished black shoes. The bigger man was rougher looking all the way around. Mammoth gave the smaller guy a sneer for a smile. “What makes you think that?”

  “We can smell our own.” The man offered Mammoth his hand. “I am Daniel.”

  Mammoth just stood there. “Uh huh.”

  “Come on.” Vicky rolled her eyes.

  Dick reached passed Mammoth’s hip to take the man’s hand and shook it with a big smile. “My name’s Glass.” He started pointing. “This here’s Mickey Mercury, our lady here is Tonda the Jungle Queen…”

  She did a little curtsy for them, which they noticed.

  “And this ray of sunshine is Mammoth Malloy.” Dick smiled up at Mammoth, who grimaced. “Mammoth’s the champeen up our way.”

  “I’ve heard.” Daniel looked up at Mammoth. “You are here to challenge Aguila Gigante.”

  Mammoth nodded. “That’s right.”

  The bigger, broader Mexican behind Daniel mumbled something, which made Daniel smile briefly. The bigger man chuckled.

  Mammoth switched his case from his right hand to his left. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing.” Daniel shook his head. “He said nothing.”

  “Sure seems like he said something.” Mammoth dropped his suitcase to the pavement.

  “Easy.” Dick stepped between Mammoth and Daniel. “We’ll have plenty of time to compare pissers later.” He put a hand on Daniel’s shoulder and extended the other toward the hotel. “Would you care to lead the way?”

  Daniel held Mammoth’s gaze for just a moment, then favored Dick with a smile. “Absolutely, Senor Glass.” He glanced around at the rest of them. “If you’ll all follow me.”

  Vicky kicked Mammoth’s suitcase two inches out of his reach when he went to pick it up.

  ***

  The Americans sat round a dim sitting room off La Querencia’s front desk, where Daniel spoke to a thin, friendly young man. The taller, thicker Mexican stood in the sitting room with the new arrivals, looking more over them than at them.

  Vicky leaned her chair closer to Mammoth, who was on a love seat with Mickey. She spoke in whisper. “What’s in that case in the trunk?”

  He just stared at her, his eyes darting for a moment to Dick, who sat across a small circular end table with a floor lamp behind it. Vicky looked to Dick, who mouthed “not now” as Daniel entered the room.

  Daniel clasped his hands together. “All is ready. You will have two rooms.”

  The Americans quickly exchanged looks. “Two?” Dick held up that many fingers to Daniel. “That’s it?”

  “That is as kind as Senor Lutteroth can be at the moment, senor.” Daniel gave a little bow and gestured at the others. “I’m sure you gentlemen can find a way to make the senorita comfortable.”

  The rougher, thicker Mexican snorted. “Los tres caballeros.” He smiled at Daniel. “Cuál es el Pato Donald?”

  “Ha.” Dick say back in his chair. “Nice one.”

  “What?” Mammoth lurched forward on the love seat. “What’d he say now?”

  “Nothing.” Dick motioned Mammoth back. He looked to Daniel. “Which Senor Lutteroth are we dealing with here?”

  “First.” Daniel held up a finger and glanced sidelong at his bigger companion. “Do not pay any attention to Pablo.” He nodded at Mammoth. “He sometimes forgets himself.”

  Mammoth crossed his blue-jeaned legs. “Whatever.”

  Daniel turned to Dick. “Senor Salvatore Lutteroth is traveling with El Santo and El Demonio Azul. They are trying to make sure the new Arena Mexico is as big a success as it can be.”

  Dick nodded. “Of course.”

  “Senor Chavo Lutteroth is looking for new luchadores to the south.” Daniel turned up his palms. “Senor Juan Carlos Gonzalez will arrange your matches while you’re here. He is a good man.”

  “Okay.” Dick’s head bobbed. “That sounds fine.” He shrugged. “So what’s next?”

  Daniel dug into his pocket. “I have your room keys here. I am sure you will want to get settled. Then there is a bar close by. If you’d like to relax this evening and I can return and show it to you.” He aimed the last sentence at Vicky, who sort of smiled and turned away. “If not, I will leave you with directions to Arena Mexico, it is very close by. Senor Gonzales will meet you there tomorrow. Perhaps some of you can even be a part of this Friday’s card.” He looked to Mammoth. “I know Senor Gonzales is anxious to see what you can do, senor.”

  Mammoth nodded.

  “Very well.” Daniel handed the two room keys and a folded piece of paper to Dick. “The telephone number there is where you can
reach me if you want to try the bar.” He did his little bow again. “Adios until then, my new friends.”

  “Oh, Daniel,” Vicky said.

  He turned. “Yes, senorita.”

  Vicky crossed her legs. “Did you say you’re a luchadore, too?”

  “Si, senorita.” Daniel smiled. “In the arena I am Daniel Relampago.” He gave Mickey a quick look. “Perhaps I well see you there, senor.” He nodded to Vicky. “Senorita.”

  She nodded back, head tilted just right so her auburn hair crested over one eye. “Senor.”

  Daniel and Pablo left. Mammoth rolled his eyes at Vicky. “Christ. Don’t you ever stop?” He got up and stuck a hand out to Dick — who gave him one of the room keys — and stomped off toward the staircase beyond the sitting room.

  Dick crossed to Vicky. “Let’s keep this simple.” He held out the other room key to her.

  “Thanks, Dick.” She took the key. “I appreciate it.” She looked at his hand. “I’ll take the phone number, too.”

  “Be careful, Tonda, huh?” Dick held up the folded paper. “This ain’t the jungle down here. This is something else.” He handed the paper over and turned to Mickey. “Let’s go, kid. Before Mammoth locks us out.” They headed for the steps.

  “Relampago.” Vicky turned the paper over in her fingers. “What does it mean?”

  “Lightning.” Dick stopped near the bottom step and winked over his shoulder. “He’s Daniel Lightning.”

  ***

  “So.” Vicky slipped through the held bar door. “Daniel Lightning?”

  “Yes.” He handed the door to an incoming couple and joined her on the sidewalk. “You speak Spanish?”

  “Well…no.” The thunderous sound of the revelry within followed them from the bar — where, amidst the annoyed natives, Mammoth and Dick were sloppily singing something about Ireland while Mickey’s tongue danced with that of a barmaid in a dark corner somewhere — but subsided to muted clatter and thumping once the door closed.

  As Vicky and Daniel walked north along the street, called Guaymas, he put himself between her and the street. She flashed him a little smile, making sure her hair was between him and her scar. “I guess I have…poco Spanish?” She squinted up at him and showing him an inch of space between her thumb and forefinger. “Poco?”

  “Ha. Si. Poco.” He gave her a glare of fake scrutiny. “If you mean to say little.”

  “Yes. Definitely.” She shook her head. “Poco, poco, poco.” She poked a thumb over her shoulder back toward the bar. “Dick…Senor Glass, he’s sort of our unofficial translator on this trip.”

  “I see.” Daniel nodded. “But of course.” He kept his eyes on the sidewalk in front of them. “Now you have me also.”

  “Yes. Now we do.” She let her shoulder brush against his with just enough impact it could still be considered an accident.

  They wove their way through a group of teenagers on the corner of Guaymas and Cerrada de Guaymas. Vicky’s tight, vine-patterned dress and high-heeled peep-toes drew murmurs from the boys and tongue clicks from the few girls. Calliente and puta were the only words she recognized.

  Story of my life, she thought.

  Daniel extended his arm behind her, keeping at least an inch between his palm and her bare back, and ferried her past the last few youths. He looked back over his shoulder at the teens with a lopsided smile. “Todos ustedes deben estar en casa.”

  That earned him a few dismissive waves. He gave one back before returning his attention to the sidewalk and Vicky. “I’m sorry about that. There is little accounting for the youth of today.”

  She shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

  He looked over. “How do you mean?”

  She let her heels scrape the pavement as they walked. “Life hasn’t always been my best friend.” She gave a little shrug. “And I’m a bad guy in the ring, so…” She smiled up at him. “I’m guessing you don’t know how that goes.”

  His brows were all smashed together. “Bad…guy?”

  “Sorry, yeah.” Her gaze wandered the street as they parted to allow a couple between them. She had the word she wanted in mind when they were once again shoulder-to-shoulder. “You say rudo here, right? That’s me.”

  “We would say ruda for you.” He smiled, but he was still all creases between the eyes. “But how can this be when you’re…” He waved an upturned palm at her up and down, then jerked it back and returned his gaze to the sidewalk. “I’m sorry. I forget myself.”

  “Oh, please.” She waved his propriety off with a genuine giggle. “How many putas did I get back there?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Like I said.” Their eyes met for the first time since they left the bar. There wasn’t a smile in either set. “I’m used to it.”

  Daniel shook his head. “I’d just assumed you were tecnica.” He glanced over. “Sorry, that’s…”

  “A good guy, I know.” She said it with a smile. “Or good girl. Sorry.”

  Their shared laugh was born in warmth and died in awkward embarrassment, all the span of five seconds. No one said anything else until they reached the corner of Cerrada de Guaymas and Circular de Morelia, which stretched around the dark greenery of the Plaza Morelia in both directions.

  The hotel was around a gentle curve to the right. Vicky nudged Daniel to the left when they reached the intersection. “Walk a ruda around the plaza before we call it a night?”

  He stood a step away from her, licked his lips and glanced around at the few passing faces before nodding. “Of course.” She smiled when he looked away, then he offered her his arm. “Senorita?”

  She hooked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Sure.” Her thumb and index finger nestled against his bicep as they walked. She noticed it was round, smooth and firm, even though his sleeve. She kept at least a quarter of her mind concentrated on keeping her fingers from stroking it. “So.” She cleared her throat. “You’re a…tecnico, I guess?”

  “Oh, yes.” His walk turned into just a bit of a strut. “That was always what I wanted.” He glanced over at her. “For the children, you know?”

  Vicky’s lower lip puckered a bit. Kids usually loved seeing Tonda get destroyed more than anyone.

  They moved toward the far edge of the plaza. She looked over at Daniel’s jawline. “What does your mask look like?”

  He kept walking, but his entire body stiffened. She slowed. “Sorry. Is that not something I’m supposed to ask about?”

  “No. It’s okay.” He flashed a smile at her, but only for a moment. He gave her arm the slightest tug with his to bring her back alongside him. “We can talk about it.”

  “We don’t have to.” She gave his bicep a little squeeze.

  Oops.

  They turned the corner to the right and began to walk the long side of the plaza. Daniel slowed their pace to a meander. Other faces on the sidewalk got fewer and farther between. “Luchadores, you will see, wear their masks whenever they are in public.” He glanced over. “It is to protect our private lives as well as to maintain our stature in the eyes of the fans.”

  She nodded, just staring at his jawline now.

  “When I began my career, I did have a mask. I was a very proud luchador enmascarado. And yes…” He smiled at her. “It did have lightning on it.”

  She smiled. “Of course.”

  He looked at the sidewalk, then into the dark flora of the plaza, which was now exactly between them and the hotel. “However, one of the biggest matches a luchador can have is one in which he puts his mask up against that of another.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  He kicked his shoe out a bit as they walked. “I had such a match. And I thought I was ready for such a match.” He looked over at her with a lopsided grin that got nowhere near his eyes. “But I wasn’t.”

  Her face wilted. “I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his arm again without thinking about it before or after she did it.

  Suddenly getting stretched a bit by Ellie Laredo o
r having Katie Barthedoor’s fingers on her chest for an eight count didn’t seem to compare. Even the match in which Florence of Italia put Tonda out with a sleeper hold in 45 seconds; none of it seemed nearly bad enough to cause the dead look in Daniel’s eyes. Eyes, she realized, which were once much brighter when they were framed in fabric and pride.

  They’d stopped walking. She put her hand on the side of his face and kissed him softly on the lips. He returned the kiss, just as soft, his hand over hers. They stayed for just a moment, then she backed away. “I’m…I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why.”

  He smiled. “I think because…” He closed the gap between them and took her right hand in his left. “You have a luchadora’s heart. And I think because…” He squeezed her hand a little. “You have known loss.”

  He wasn’t talking about wrestling any more than he had been when he told her about losing his mask.

  Daniel brought his face close to hers. His hand wandered up toward her cheek.

  Vicky’s lips parted, ready to receive his mouth with hers.

  But she thought of her little George — and how he must have looked when he realized she was never coming back — and she fell against Daniel Relampago’s chest with both forearms, her face buried against her knuckles as she broke down in the middle of Circular de Morelia.

  Twenty-seven hundred miles from where she last saw her son.

  EIGHTH FALL

  Juan Carlos Gonzalez had a potato face, a pumpkin body and a voice Vicky wanted to drink through a straw.

  He stood, wrapped neatly in a tailored navy blue suit, outside the ring alongside one of the corner posts. Mammoth and his opponent for the night, a small but stocky wrestler in a red mask called Boca De Incendio, stood in the ring dressed, apart from the Mexican’s mask, in gym clothes.

  Vicky, Dick, Daniel, Mickey and a burly luchador in a sweatsuit and gray mask called El Acorazado, Mickey’s first opponent, stood on the concrete floor around an adjacent ring post. Vicky made sure to keep Daniel to the side of her face with the cascade of Veronica Lake-style hair over it.