He shrugged. “Hey, I want my ticket out.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Oh, shut up.” Miguel wrapped one arm around her in a rough embrace, his lips grazing her forehead. “Just beat the fucker, okay?”
She took a deep breath. “Okay.”
There was another knock at the door.
Time.
Loup slid into the boxing robe Miguel held for her, easing her gloved fists through the wide sleeves. He settled it over her shoulders, knotted the sash loosely, and settled the hood atop her head.
“The fuck?” The MP who’d come to fetch them glanced from Kevin to Miguel, still clad in street clothes, at Loup, and finally the coach. “Sir?”
“Mystery contestant,” Floyd said laconically.
“Is this a joke?”
“No joke.” He pointed. “Let us weigh in.”
The MP turned to a companion. “Send someone to tell—”
“There’ll be no sending someone!” the coach interrupted him. “All the terms have been agreed to. I promised Bill Argyle the match of a lifetime, and I mean to deliver. Don’t get in the way of this, son. Don’t dash his dreams unless you’re prepared to bear the cost. Just stand back and marvel.”
He hesitated.
“Do it, boy!” Floyd barked.
“Okay, okay!”
The scales were in the spacious foyer. The uniformed official took one look at Loup and glanced up in surprise. “You can’t—”
Floyd nudged Loup. “Just do the weigh-in.”
She stepped onto the scales.
The weight marker dipped. The official slid it, then slid it again. He licked his lips. “Ah… I think it’s off.”
“Oh?” Miguel leaned over him. “Was it off when Ron Johnson weighed in?”
“No. No, but that was yesterday.”
“Must of been his twin, then. Doesn’t matter.” Loup stepped off the scale. “Are we good? You wanna test it?”
“Ahhh…”
Kevin McArdle gave a short, sharp whistle. “Loup! They’re announcing you!”
“We’re doing this.” Miguel steered her toward the door. “You do know they’re gonna laugh, kid? Right?”
“She doesn’t care,” Floyd said.
“I don’t care,” Loup agreed.
“Go.” The coach put his wrinkled lips to her ear. “Afterward, don’t trust, don’t believe. Whatever they promise, whatever they threaten, don’t believe it. Remember that they’ll say anything. But don’t fight them, either. It will only give them reason to continue. You’ll be all right sooner or later.” He shoved her. “Go! We’ll be right behind you.”
She went.
The crowd was massive, roaring. They didn’t laugh, not right away. The announcement of the mystery contender’s name hadn’t quite sunk in among the Outposters and it meant nothing to the soldiers. Most of them hadn’t even begun their rotation when Tom Garron had been alive. Lines of guards cordoned off the path to the ring, blocking onlookers’ views.
Then Loup climbed into the ring.
The crowd quieted, uncertain, seeing only a smaller-than-expected figure in a vivid blue robe. She pushed back her hood. It could have been a loose white kerchief slipping from her hair.
The soldiers in the bleachers erupted in howls of laughter, hoots of derision, and catcalls of disappointment. But among the Outposters in the square, there was a hush as her name went around, its meaning dawning on them.
They remembered Tom Garron.
And on the heels of that revelation, a second significance dawned. A girl in a blue dress; a girl in a blue robe.
“Santa Olivia!” someone shouted.
Others took up the cry. “Santa Olivia! Santa Olivia!”
On a platform ringside, the commentator was announcing Ron Johnson, but the cries drowned out his voice. In the VIP section of the stands, the general had risen, his face red and furious beneath his white hair. He made his way toward the ring even as Floyd entered behind Loup, while Kevin and Miguel went to take their places in her corner.
Loup glanced back the way she’d come and saw Ron Johnson paused in the cordon. He looked exactly as she remembered him, only a little older. He met her gaze, green eyes calm and unsurprised.
The general climbed into the ring. “What the fuck is the meaning of this, Floyd?”
“Match of a lifetime, Bill,” the coach said evenly. “Just like I promised.”
“Are you out of your mind? This isn’t a match, it’s manslaughter.” The general raised his voice. “People, go home! There’s not going to be a fight!”
“Hold on.” Floyd cleared his throat. “Army had some deserters a while back, didn’t it? Nineteen, twenty years? Real special folk. One of them was here long enough to leave a kid behind.”
General Argyle drew a sharp breath, understanding. “You can’t do this.”
“You want a riot on your hands?” He pointed at the crowd. “Tell them.”
Loup watched Ron Johnson climb into the ring while the old men argued. The arc lights brought out the reddish tint to his close-cropped hair, at odds with his brown skin. He moved with economic grace, not trying to hide what he was this time. Their eyes met again in silent understanding.
“You’re his sister,” he said to her.
“Yeah.”
“I’m so very sorry. It was a terrible accident.”
“I know.”
The Outpost crowd was chanting. “Santa Olivia. Santa Olivia!”
Ron Johnson gazed out at the throng. “You know you’re fucked, right?” he said calmly. “Santa Olivia or not, they won’t let someone with your DNA run around loose.”
“I know.” Loup’s skin prickled. “You knew about me.”
His gaze returned to her. “I knew.” His voice dropped to an almost inaudible level. “Once this is over, I’ll try to help you if I can.”
“… violated every trust I placed in you!” the general was shouting.
“Damn straight I did!” Floyd shouted back. “You wanted to have it both ways, Bill, but when push came to shove, you stacked the deck! You put in a ringer against my boy! Her goddamned brother! When this is over, I’m willing to pay the price and so is Loup. But right here, right now, are you going to be a man and keep your word, or throw away whatever’s left of your integrity?”
General Argyle opened his mouth to reply.
“Sir?” Ron Johnson interrupted. “You did give your word.”
It deflated him. He looked at the chanting, weeping Outpost crowd; the soldiers clamoring for something, anything. He looked at Loup with tired, rheumy eyes. “You understand you’ll be taken into custody no matter what the outcome.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you’ll make it clear you’re coming voluntarily?”
“Yes, sir.” She nodded. “If you keep your word about the two tickets north.”
His mouth flattened into a grim line. “Dear God, you can’t possibly expect to win.”
“But if I do?”
He shook his head. “Santa Olivia, is it? I’m afraid you forfeited that right when you took up arms against the U.S. Army.”
Floyd snorted. “Arms? She threw a rock.”
“There were supposed to be two tickets,” Loup said. “You promised. I should be able to give one away.”
“To one of your conspirators?”
“I don’t know what that means. But I promised it to Miguel Garza if he’d help train me to fight.”
The Garza name gave the general pause; then he compressed his lips again and shook his head. “He protected a known felon.”
“Mig didn’t know.”
“Of course he fucking well knew!” he shouted at her.
The crowd noise grew louder
“Not for sure. No one did. I never admitted it to anyone but the coach,” Loup lied steadily. “Anyway, I’m here, aren’t I?”
Louder.
General Argyle cast his gaze heavenward.
“You always knew this day was coming, Bill,” Floyd said softly. “Somewhere, somehow. Here or there. And a part of you has always wanted it. Do the right thing.”
He lowered his gaze, his face grim. “Don’t presume on our friendship. I’ll allow the fight, but I’ll not tolerate blackmail. If this town threatens to riot, God help me, I will crush it. I won’t make any decisions on the other matter until after a thorough investigation into this goddamned Santa Olivia business. That’s as good as it gets. Take it or leave it.”
Floyd glanced at Loup.
She nodded reluctantly.
The general turned on his heel and strode toward the ropes. He uttered a brief word to the bewildered referee, climbed through the ropes, and paused at the announcer’s platform to bark an order before taking his place in the stands.
“All right!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the square, the volume turned all the way up to override the crowd noise. “Ladies and gentlemen, I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but we’ve got ourselves a fight!”
FORTY-NINE
I couldn’t get a guarantee, Mig.”
“It’s okay, kid.” He lifted Loup’s chin, smearing her face with Vaseline. “It was always a long shot.”
“McArdle, water,” Floyd said brusquely.
Kevin squeezed a stream of water into Loup’s mouth. She swished and swallowed.
“Mouth guard.” The coach shoved it in place. “Okay. Ready?” “Ready,” she agreed.
The bell rang.
They came out of their corners—quick, quicker than human. Not as quick as either could move. The crowd gasped.
The crowd didn’t matter.
They circled each other, each trying to take the other’s measure. Ron Johnson’s green eyes weren’t calm anymore. They were fierce and bright, eager. He essayed a few testing jabs, confident in his height and reach.