by Mia Gold
Since they couldn’t shake hands with the brass knuckles on, they gave each other a dap. The metal wrapped around their fists clacked together. The Freeport Fighter pushed on her fist. Ruby allowed her arm to give an inch.
Her opponent gave a little chuckle and returned to his corner. Ruby did too.
Bob Marley still stood there, like he thought he was her manager or something.
“Go in hard and fast. He’s overconfident,” he told her.
“Like you were.”
The thug ignored that. “Do good, baby. I got a lot of money riding on you.”
She was about to tell him thirty dollars wasn’t a lot of money, then remembered where he lived. An image of the orphan girl flashed through her mind.
The emcee stepped out of the ring. Ruby raised her fists, spreading her legs a little and standing on the balls of her feet. Her skin already had a sheen of sweat. Her heart beat fast.
But while her body was nervous, her muscles remained relaxed, her mind keen. Focused.
Don’t think in a fight, her dad used to say. Only react. Now’s the time for all that training. Now’s the time for your reflexes. No fear. No second-guessing. Fight!
The bell rang. The Freeport Fighter danced out of his corner, showboating for the crowd. His eyes still carried that cockiness, although he now watched Ruby’s every move as she came out of her own corner, giving herself plenty of room to maneuver.
Her opponent danced around a little more, circling her, bobbing in and out, trying to test her reflexes. Ruby didn’t react. She knew a series of feints when she saw one. This guy was in no hurry. She slowed her own reactions down, made it look like she was reacting to his moves half a second too late.
Ruby suspected the more observant people in the crowd had started jeering. She didn’t hear them, though. She didn’t see or hear anything that didn’t involve the man in front of her.
The Freeport Fighter got more aggressive in his moves, lunging forward only to draw back at the last moment. Ruby kept to the center of the ring, hands up, focusing on defending her head, ready to strike.
The moment came. The Freeport Fighter danced back a little further than usual, and turned to raise a metal-encased fist to the crowd.
But he did not turn the whole way, and he kept his back foot in position to support him if he lunged at her in a strike.
The next instant, that strike came. He spun around and lunged, sending a vicious right cross for her face.
Ruby was already ducking low, her leg lashing out to give him a hard kick to his knee.
It connected with a smack, the bare ball of her foot making a direct hit on his kneecap.
Ninety-nine men out of a hundred would have dropped right there and not gotten up for five minutes. The Freeport Fighter merely stumbled, jerked his head back to avoid the roundhouse kick that Ruby sent for his face, and got into a defensive position.
Ruby faced him again, her estimation of this guy going up. He could take damage, could shrug off hits that would send other fighters to the mat. He didn’t have technique, he telegraphed his moves, but he could go the distance and now he was on his guard. The cockiness and showboating had vanished.
And all he had to do was last long enough to get one glancing blow to her head.
He moved forward, covering himself by going on the offensive with a series of jabs. Ruby circled back, keeping out of reach. He was still slow on his feet, and not trying any kicks. That knee strike had taken its toll.
But for how long? She needed to finish this while he was still slow.
Ruby lashed out with a front kick. The Freeport Fighter ducked back to get out of the way, half stumbled because of his weak leg, and Ruby followed up with a second front kick that got him square in the chest. He grunted and stayed standing.
They used to call them Iron Men in the old boxing days. Dad told her once. They soak up pain like a sponge soaks up water. You’ll never defeat them by just piling on damage. They’ll outlast you. So you got to go for the joints, the weak areas in every person’s body. A man may be able to withstand punishment better than anyone else, but no one can withstand good, solid physics.
Joints, Ruby thought, as she ducked back from another flurry of jabs aimed straight for the part of the body she couldn’t let get hit. I got to go for the joints. But how can I do that when he’s got the reach on me?
The answer came when she ducked quickly to the right to avoid an advance and as he turned, the Freeport Fighter let his guard down for one second.
Ruby darted in and landed a punch on his right elbow. Her opponent winced but managed to counterstrike with a left to her ribs.
It was only a glancing blow, but with the brass knuckles added to the punch it sent a shock of pain through Ruby’s side. She took two steps back, keeping her guard up. The Freeport Fighter, face twisted with pain and fury, came after her.
She gave him a hasty front kick to the chest, more to stop him than to hurt him, and danced around again out of reach.
The Freeport Fighter advanced once more, throwing a killer haymaker with his left that went wide. Although righthanded, he now favored his left, showing Ruby had done some damage.
As soon as the metaled fist passed safely by, missing her face by inches, she lashed out at his left elbow, connecting with a crack loud enough to be heard over the shouts of the crowd. The Freeport Fighter brought up his right arm to protect himself and scuttled back, lashing out with a front kick to make Ruby keep her distance.
He’d gotten over his knee injury in record time.
Ruby circled him like a jungle predator coming in for the kill. The Freeport Fighter kept both arms close against his front. Ruby could see her hit against his left elbow had been more effective than the one against his right. He couldn’t even lift his left arm up fully to protect his face.
That was an advantage. Ruby ducked in, feinting with her left to bring up his right arm, then lashing out with her left.
A foot to her midsection left her gasping for air and staggering back. Her opponent had tried a trick of his own.
A roundhouse kick came straight for her face. Desperately Ruby dodged back. That dodge turned into a stagger, the stagger into a stumble, and the next she knew she was on the ropes.
The Freeport Fighter came at her with a vicious side kick. Ruby dodged, and took the blow on her ribs instead of her gut. Against she doubled over, wincing in pain. Her opponent wound up for another roundhouse kick.
With the last of her strength, Ruby launched herself off the ropes and, with all the strength she could muster, landed a straight punch to his kidneys just as he was spinning.
The brass knuckles made a direct hit on the nerve center. The Freeport Fighter fell like a steer in a slaughterhouse.
He fell spinning, thanks to the momentum of his kick. Instead of hitting Ruby’s head, he ended up hitting her in the legs. Ruby fell right next to him.
She got up quicker. Just as her opponent raised himself on one elbow, his face still lowered to the mat, Ruby leapt on his back.
Back in the days when she had been a fighter, she would have hugged him close, pinning his arms and using the weight and leverage of her body to keep his face grinding into the mat. She didn’t dare do that now in case he hit her in the head with an elbow.
So instead she sat down hard on the small of his back, hoping to injure that kidney a bit more, and raised her fist for a hammer blow.
What she should have done was deal a series of swift hammer blows to the back of his head. Not even an Iron Man, immune as he was to normal physical pain, could stand such an onslaught for long. It would be the quickest, safest way to end the fight, and it was what the crowd howled for.
But she just couldn’t do it. Not with her hands wrapped in metal. It would split open his scalp, send blood everywhere, maybe even crack his skull.
Instead she brought her fist down on the space between the spine and the right shoulder blade, thudding into thick muscle, hoping to bruise it into immobility.
The Freeport Fighter bucked like an unbroken horse, trying to get her off him. He flung up his left elbow. Ruby just managed to block it and struck again, this time at the same spot behind his left shoulder. As quick as she could, she dealt rapid-fire blows to his shoulders, alternating with each blow.
She got four or five good strikes in before the Iron Man beneath her shucked off the pain enough to come back with another attack.
Again an elbow strike, and this one came quick and by surprise straight for her face. Desperately she brought her arm up to block, ducking her head to the side.
Not enough. The Freeport Fighter’s elbow glanced off her cheek and temple.
Stars flashed before her eyes. The roar of the crowd faded in and out like an air raid siren. Ruby felt like she was falling.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
An elbow to the sore spot in her ribs snapped her out of it. Ruby was still riding the Freeport Fighter like a cowgirl, her legs clutched around his sides. He was desperately trying to buck her off, his weakened arms being of little help, unable to coordinate any proper elbow strikes or even to lift himself up and toss this pesky woman off his back.
For a moment all Ruby could do was to hold on. She tried a hammer blow to his shoulder and missed, striking his scalp and cutting it. Wincing, she tried to focus and struck again. This time she hit, stopping an elbow strike before it even really got started.
She struck again. And again, working up to the same rhythm she had before. Her opponent flailed around, working his legs to try and flip her, but with Ruby bearing down on him all he managed to do was spin in place. Ruby kept up the hammer blows. Left. Right. Left. Right. The Freeport Fighter weakened. The spinning slowed. No more potentially lethal elbow strikes came at her.
The Freeport Fighter tapped out.
Ruby sobbed with relief and self-disgust, standing and stepping away from the broken mess on the floor.
But then as she tuned out of the fight and tuned into the rest of the world, another feeling washed through her.
The crowd was cheering. They were cheering her.
All those victories in the past. All those titles. All those cheering crowds in Vegas, New York, London, Rome. She looked out and saw not a grimy disused warehouse in a Caribbean slum, but a floodlit arena and television cameras. The crowd transformed from squalling illegal betters to adoring fans. In her corner, her father cheered her on.
She raised her fist in triumph.
“Team Wayne!”
“We won!”
Something wet dropped on her face. Ruby blinked. It wasn’t Dad standing in her corner, but a cheap thug in a Bob Marley shirt waving a fistful of money he had just won.
Won from her victory.
Another drop of wetness landed on her face from her still upraised fist. She wiped the spot with the back of her hand and looked.
Blood.
Her opponent’s blood, from that lone strike against his head she hadn’t even meant to land.
She looked down at the nearly unconscious human being on the mat and nearly threw up. His team picked him up and led him out of the ring, his aging coach glancing over his shoulder at her with an appalled look.
Then her hand was being raised again as the emcee lifted it up. “We have a winner!”
A bit of the pride returned, mingled with guilt.
Time to get what I came for. Time to justify this by solving a murder.
Ruby stepped out of the ring.
Bob Marley jumped up and down in front of her.
“That was amazing! I knew you could do it! I made a stack!”
“Out of my way before I knock you out too,” Ruby snarled.
She made her way for the King. One of the guards intervened and took off her brass knuckles. Ruby had forgotten she still had them on. She winced to see how bloody they were.
The guard stepped aside and Ruby approached the throne. The side where the Freeport Fighter landed a good kick throbbed with pain. She suspected he’d cracked one of her ribs. She hurt in half a dozen other places too.
Then she saw something that made her forget all her pain and disgust.
There was no room for either of those sensations, no room for anything other than fear.
The King had her phone unlocked and was scrolling through it.
“Hey! Get out of that. How did you do that?”
One of the armed guards stepped to get between her and the throne.
The King only laughed, expressing the arrogant mirth of the powerful and entitled.
“No big trick. Come here and I’ll show you.”
Ruby hesitated, mistrustful.
“Don’t worry. I won’t make you sit on my lap or nothing.”
The guard stepped aside. She moved a couple of steps closer, darting a glance to the left and right to check the King’s bodyguards didn’t try anything.
He held up her phone at an angle to the light.
“Check this out. Look at it from the side. A bit lower. See how your finger leaves a mark? Dead giveaway. You make your pattern in an L that comes back on itself. It can go one of two ways. Easy.”
“Huh.”
Who thought this guy would be educational?
“I don’t like people looking at my phone,” she growled.
“Who does?” the King says with a shrug.
Ruby held out a hand. The King smiled and handed it to her. She tried to take it but he held it in a tight grip. She pulled harder. The King chuckled and let it go.
“So you going to hold up your side of the deal?” Ruby asked.
“Of course! I looked through your photos and saw the tourist you’re looking for. Also saw that monkey. He’s your pet?”
“Sort of a communal pet.”
“Too bad you didn’t have any naked selfies. Mmmm-mmm!”
“How about we skip the sexual harassment and get to your end of the deal.”
The guards shifted, obviously not used to hearing anyone talk back to their self-style monarch.
The King stared at her for a moment, stony-faced, eyes invisible behind the shades. Ruby tensed.
Me and my big mouth.
Suddenly, the King belted out a laugh. “Oh, I like you. It’s going to be great having you as a fighter here.”
“I only came for one fight, so I could learn what happened to that man.”
“The latest photo on your phone, the one sent to you by someone named Elaine? Yeah, I saw that. I saw that she’s paying you good money too. She loaded? She must be if she’s staying at the Coast of Dreams.”
“Was he here?” Despite the guns all around her, Ruby was having trouble keeping patient with this joker. She had fantasies of snatching that crown off his head and sticking it somewhere painful.
The King nodded. “He was. He came two nights in a row.”
Ruby looked around. Another fight had started and the crowd roared its excitement.
“There are a lot of people here,” she said. “How can you recognize him? Did he do something to stand out?”
“Big spender. I always remember big spenders.” He summoned one of the guards. “Give my man here your phone with his picture on it and he’ll go around and find the bookie who served him. He can tell you more. In the meantime, we can watch the fights together.”
“You’ve had my phone long enough,” she said, then turned to the guard. “Give me your number and I’ll send you the pic.”
The guard glanced at the King, who gave an amused shrug, then did as she asked. Once he had the photo, he walked off. Another guard came up with a plush footstool that he set in front and a bit to the side of the King. Ruby moved over to it and sat. She felt tempted to stand instead of taking a subservient position next to this guy. The case, however, was more important than her pride.
The King snapped his fingers. A man in a butler’s livery came up.
“Would you like something to drink, madam?” he asked. “Rum? Champagne?”
“Water.”
“Would you l
ike something to eat as well?”
Ruby suddenly realized she was hungry. She didn’t trust her stomach to hold anything, though.
“Water will be fine.”
The guard took his time finding the bookie, and Ruby had to endure two fights while she waited.
The first was an untalented slugfest between two huge men who reminded her of Concrete, that thug and would-be rapist she had crippled an hour before. The two guys slammed away at each other, missing as much as they hit, and it was difficult to see who would come out on top.
Ruby noticed Bob Marley in the crowd cheering and jumping up and down. It didn’t look like he had placed a bet.
After a grueling couple of minutes, Ruby’s disgust at the whole scene growing with each thud of fist on flesh, she caught a detail. One of the fighters, the slightly taller one, was slowing with his responses. He still kept up his guard, and he still threw some good punches, scoring solid hits, but instead of trading blows one for one with his opponent, it was four for his opponent’s every five. Soon, she could tell, it would be three for four.
Bob Marley noticed it too. He rushed over to a bookie and placed a bet. A moment later the bookies called a change of odds. The bookies had seen the taller fighter slowing now too. If Bob Marley had waited ten seconds longer, he would have gotten less favorable odds.
This guy knows what he’s looking at, Ruby thought.
The fight continued, the shorter man gradually wearing down the taller. The odds kept tilting in the shorter man’s favor. Bob Marley was practically dancing now, confident that the bet he had placed on the shorter man would come out on top.
That got confirmed when the taller man staggered. A moment later he was on the ropes. A few seconds after that he tapped out and it was all over. Bob Marley jumped up in the air three times and rushed over to the bookie to collect his winnings.
The next fight was announced, an MMA fight, more interesting to Ruby than the boxing of the previous match. Despite her nervousness at sitting in such a place, and the queasiness she felt at watching so much blood being spilled on the mat, she found herself following the match closely.
Bob Marley did not. He went to the bar and ordered a glass of Bahamian Gold.