“Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” Miguel pointed at her with his cigar.
“I still want my end of this deal. I wanna call the shots, pick my matches. Coach says you’re making me a better boxer. So we’re gonna keep this up. You’re gonna get your head back in the game for my sake. Push yourself, push me. Your little sweetie-pie complains, you tell her you’re doing it for me. Deal?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Mig.”
“I’m not doing it for you.”
“Yeah, right.” She smiled at him. “But, Mig… if you’re anywhere near serious, you’ve gotta work harder outside the ring. Hit the treadmill, work the bags harder. Lay off the cigars and booze. You’re not in shape to go twelve rounds.”
He puffed on his cigar. “One good one’s all I need.”
“Miguel.”
“Lay off, freakshow.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
After her talk with Miguel, Loup found it easier to concentrate in the ring. Thinking about it in terms of helping him to train was like flipping a switch. Suddenly, she was able to push herself again.
Even if it was sort of a lie.
She told Pilar she’d promised to keep training with Miguel and that she’d promised not to make any decisions right away. Pilar accepted it, more or less.
“I bet Coach Roberts would pay you decent money to train a few of his best guys in secret,” she said. “That could be a real job for you, baby. One you’d like.” She licked Loup’s earlobe. “We could get an apartment.”
Loup squirmed. “It’s still living in slow motion.”
“Living with me?”
“Not you.” She shook her head. “Sparring with normal people.”
“Oh.” Pilar blew in her ear, smiled when Loup wriggled again. “It’d be nice, though. Nice big bed. No more getting carpet burn from fooling around on the floor of the choir room.”
“Yeah.”
“It sucks for you, doesn’t it? The slow-motion thing?” Pilar propped herself on one elbow. “Does it feel like that when you’re with me?”
“You? No.” Loup slid her hand around Pilar’s neck, pulled her down to kiss her. “Aside from the times I was Santa Olivia and training in the garage, you’re about the only thing that doesn’t.”
Pilar traced the full curve of her lower lip, gazing into Loup’s eyes. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be with someone like you?”
“I used to.”
“It might be amazing. Super intense.”
“I dunno,” Loup said. “You’re pretty amazing.”
Pilar smiled. “I’d wonder, though, if I were you.”
Loup folded her arms behind her head. “I guess I do. Not so much the sex, not anymore. But just what it would be like to be around people like me. To not have to work all the time to figure out what everyone’s thinking and feeling because it’s so different. To understand them. I think that would be nice.”
“That place in Mexico?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’d send you there if I could, baby.” Pilar leaned over and kissed her, her hair falling around Loup’s face. “Swear to God, I would.” Her expression was grave. “I could stand losing you if it meant you were happy.”
“Let’s not talk about it.”
“Okay, okay.”
Elsewhere in Outpost, Ron Johnson finished his tour of duty and was rotated out. Coach Roberts got the scoop on his replacement in the army boxing circuit.
“Big Irish kid named Terry Flynn,” he reported. “Southpaw. He’s got a couple inches on you, Mig. Struggles to make weight.” He eyed Miguel. “When’s the last time you weighed in, son?”
“We’ve given them a few pounds plenty of times!” Miguel protested.
“Doesn’t mean they’ll do the same,” Floyd said laconically. “So do you want the first shot at him?”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “I wanna see him in action.”
“Okay.” The coach nodded. “I’ll put in Bob Reyes, then.”
Miguel hesitated. “You think Bob’s got a shot?”
“Nope.” Floyd wrinkled his mouth. “But he’ll take it anyway, for the loser’s purse.”
“Good.” Miguel pointed at Loup. “I want you to watch the match with me, and I want to know exactly what you think.”
“I can tell you what I think right now, Mig,” she said. “I told you already. You need to hit the treadmill.”
He ignored her. “Can you fight left-handed?”
“Sure.”“Good. That’s the way we’ll do it from now on.”
“It’ll throw off her training,” Floyd commented.
“I don’t care. I’m making it part of the deal.” Miguel shrugged. “Hell, maybe it’ll be good for her. She can mix it up when the day comes, keep her guy off balance and guessing.”
Floyd looked thoughtful. “You may actually have a point, son.”
“I keep tellin’ you, I’m not stupid.”
The date for the prize match was set. It would take place in six weeks. Loup began sparring left-handed with Miguel. When she went about her chores at the gym, she watched Bob Reyes preparing for his bout and felt bad for him. He was a nice guy—a greens-keeper and a family man, one of the ones Tommy had called the Real Men. He could have used a left-hander to spar against, but there wasn’t anyone in Floyd’s stable. She thought about Pilar’s suggestion, tried to imagine a life in which they shared an apartment with a nice big bed and Loup worked with Coach Roberts to make his boxers better.
The part about Pilar and the bed was nice.
Everything else felt hollow.
“It’s not fair,” she said to Miguel during one of their talks.
“What’s that, kid?”
“Life.”
He laughed. “You just figuring that out?”
“No.” Loup shook her head. “It’s bugging me, that’s all. Bob’s had his ass kicked a dozen times and he’s gonna get it kicked again because he’s got four kids and the army pays him shit wages to keep the golf course nice.”
“Bob should of kept his dick in his pants after two,” Miguel said. “Or worn a goddamn rubber.”
“He shouldn’t have to. He likes having a big family.”
Miguel shrugged. “That’s life.”
“Here, yeah.” Loup waved one hand. “All the jobs are shit jobs. Work for the Garzas, work for the Salamancas. Bouncers, waitresses, garbage haulers. Work for the army. Caddy, cut grass on the golf course, clean bathrooms at the base, work on the reservoir.”
“It’s a living.”
“It sucks,” she said. “And no one knows we’re here.”
He shrugged again. “Yeah, it does. But whaddya gonna do about it?”
“Me? Nothing, I guess. I’m fucked no matter what happens. But you could, Mig. If you win a ticket out, you could do something about it. Tell someone.” Loup cocked her head, considering. “You are smart, a lot smarter than anyone thinks. You could figure out a way.”
“Oh, hell no!” Miguel said in disgust. “If I win my own ticket out, me and Danny are pulling up stakes on the Garza empire and heading north to see forests and oceans and cities, and wallow neck-deep in fast cars and pussy. And if you win a ticket for me, I’ll do it alone. I’ll sign any fucking thing the army asks and keep my mouth shut.”
Loup gazed at him. “You sure about that?”
He looked away. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Keep me out of your crusade, Santa Olivia,” Miguel muttered. “I’m nobody’s goddamn hero.”
“You could be.”
“I’m not.”
The night of Bob Reyes’ prize match the weather was cool and crisp. Autumn in the desert, a big sky full of stars. Free beer and a fight; Outpost was happy. Soldiers filled the stands; Outposters thronged the square. Loup went with Pilar, who kept a tight grip on her arm. The announcer introduced Bob Reyes.
“Hey!” Ringside, Miguel gave a sharp whistle. “Over here.”
An aisle cleared, closed behind them.
“Nice,” Miguel said absently, gazing at Pilar’s breasts. “You’re Sam Ecchevarria’s kid, right?”
“Um, hello?” She pointed at her eyes. “Up here, loverboy.”
He grinned. “Honey, you flaunt it, a man’s gonna look. Hey.” He cuffed Loup on the shoulder. “Here he comes. Pay attention.”
Loup tuned out the announcer, concentrating on Terry Flynn’s entrance. For some reason, she’d imagined him as a redhead like Kevin McArdle, but he wasn’t. He had fair skin, close-cropped black hair, and pale blue eyes, and he moved with easy grace. He was a big strong guy, confident in his skill. Everything about him said he wasn’t taking this match seriously.
Everything about him said he didn’t have to.
“Hey, he’s kinda cute,” Pilar offered.
Miguel peered down at her. “I didn’t think you swung that way.”
Pilar sidled closer to Loup. “Not lately, no.”
“Fuckin’ waste,” he observed without malice. “So? Tell me, kid.”
“It isn’t gonna be pretty,” Loup murmured. “This guy’s good and he knows it.”
The bell rang for the first round.
They watched Terry Flynn pound the hell out of Bob Reyes. Up and down the ring, working him systematically. Bob pretty much just covered up and took it, essaying a feeble offense, waiting to collect his paycheck. Pilar clutched Loup’s arm hard, wincing at every blow that landed. When the bell rang, she relaxed her grip slightly.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Loup smiled at her. “You did that the night Tommy had his first big match, remember?”