Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Heavy Hand is an older dude—thirties, maybe—with a shaved head and black eyes. He’s wearing sweat shorts and a white tank top. He proudly proclaims he comes from Brazil and then proceeds to do a little capoeira demonstration that forces me to cover my mouth to hide my smile. It’s not that I don’t believe him, it’s just kinda… I dunno. Predictable? But just as I think this, his foot is right there in my face, grazing past my nose, the wind from the feigned strike blowing back against my forehead.
I point at him. “Noted.”
He points back and winks.
Carwash comes over to me with his hand extended. He’s a giant black dude, leaner than Muzzle, but taller too. His accent is easy and Southern. “Nice to meet ya.” That’s all he says and it comes out quiet. Not like he’s shy, more like something practiced. Like he’s not into meeting new people, but he realizes that making nice is part of the game. I like him immediately because he doesn’t show off the way Heavy Hand did and I’m kind of a quiet man myself. I already know that if Carwash and I are ever left alone in a room together, we don’t have to say a word.
Finally, Dog gets to the young guy. “This is Snake Eyes, the youngster in our group.”
“Fuck you,” the guy growls. He takes a moment to sneer at Dog, but then he directs it right at me. He looks like a gangbanger, but not the same old-school kind as Muzzle. He is cocky, and, I predict, stupid. He lifts his chin at me, narrowing his eyes down into slits. “Come by my gym someday, cabrón. I’d like to see what you’ve got.” He even talks like a gangbanger. “Give you some pointers.”
Dog snaps at him, “Shut the fuck up, Miguel.” Then he looks at me, rolling his eyes. “Don’t bother with that piece-of-shit gym. It’s nothing but the back of an upholstery shop.” He slides a glance over to Miguel, and I have to force myself not to smile. “His uncle owns it, not him. And if it were any good, he wouldn’t be here.”
Dog lets out a breath, like this little fucker gets on his nerves all the time, and then introduces me. Even though he doesn’t even know me. “Boys,” he says. “Meet Eason, a.k.a. Dead Eyes. Straight out of the Ring camps.” Which is a lie, it’s been seven years, but whatever. “He’s here for the girl.”
I nod at them and get right down to business. “How many of you knew her?”
Dog steps forward, obviously the leader of this little team. “Just me and Heavy Hand were around back then.”
“I saw her fight once.” We all look over at Kill Bill. “I wasn’t on this team, obviously, but I was coming up as part of Sandman’s crew. I was there the night she got through round three. Was a real trip, man, watching a little girl kick that dude’s ass. What was his name again?” He directs this question to Dog.
“Rough House, or somethin’ like that. He never came back.”
Everyone, including me, laughs.
But then Heavy Hand is talking. “She was legit, man. I couldn’t believe my fuckin’ eyes. And small!” He does a little woo-wee here. “She called herself Hurricane somethin’. But we called her Honey B.” He knocks Dog with an elbow, winking at him.
“Yeah. It’s funny too,” Dog says. “We had this conversation on the rocks yesterday. She didn’t like Honey B, but Hurricane was just plain stupid. I told I told her we were gonna call her Storm.”
“And you’re sure she’s the girl from the poster?” This is the first time Davis has spoken since we arrived. He didn’t introduce himself and I wasn’t gonna do it for him, so everyone but me kinda looks at him suspiciously now. “I’m Davis.” Then he nods to me. “Eason’s trainer.”
The guys nod and one or two of them make a little grunt of acceptance.
“I’m sure.” We look back at Dog. He’s got his arms crossed and his chin raised, like Davis’s question was a personal attack or something.
I nod at Davis and he unrolls the poster as I say, “Take another look before you commit. Because it’s very important that we do not get the wrong girl.”
“Why?” That’s the kid again. Miguel, Snake Eyes. Who isn’t a kid—he might even be older than me—but he’s definitely the youngest one of this group. “Why’s it so important that you get it right?”
“Because I have things to discuss with this girl. Things no one would know about but her.”
“Ring camp things?”
I nod to Dog. “That’s right. Ring camp things.”
Dog walks over to Davis, takes a good long look, then gazes back at me. “That’s her. I’m sure of it.”
Davis rolls the poster back up and I let out a breath of relief.