Part 29 (1/2)

Kaminski catches me square on the nose, and my whole body jolts loose, my grip weakens, and he rolls out and clambers to his feet, foot raised to stomp-kick my gut.

”Chance!” Ca.s.sie shrieks. I'd know her voice anywhere.

I roll, Kaminski's heel smacks the mat, and I sweep a whirling kick at him, but he hops it!

I jump to my feet, blood streaming from my nose, leaving splatters of crimson all over the grey mat.

The ref looks like he's about to stop the fight, get the blood cleaned up when Kaminski launches himself forward.

I sidestep his grab-attempt, crack him with my left right on the chin, and he goes down hard.

Now the ref stops me, pushes me up against the chain-link cage.

”Stop!” he bellows. He motions for someone to get into the cage and wipe up the blood, and then he starts to attend to my nose.

”It's broken,” he tells me, but I already knew that.

I pull out my mouth guard, and get in the ref's face.

”f.u.c.k you. I had Kaminski on the mat. You may have just lost me this fight.”

”No blood, boy,” the ref says, jabbing a finger at me. ”Once you spring a leak, we got to fix it up. It's the rules down here.”

”Stop the f.u.c.king bleeding, then,” I say. ”And don't f.u.c.king get in my way again.”

He takes a nasal spray from his pocket, jams it up my nostril and soon I feel an ice-burn on the inside of my nose. The bleeding stops. He filled my nostrils with glue.

”You'll need to use your mouth to breathe now.”

”I got blood congealing in my throat,” I tell him.

Kaminski has gotten to his feet now, and watches us. I hold the cup of water the ref hands me with my left hand, and down it, dislodging the sticky glob of blood at the back of my throat.

Kaminski's eyes are on my hand. He's still confused.

Good.

”Chance!” Ca.s.sie cries from beside me. She pushes her fingers through the chain-link, and I grip onto them for a moment.

”I'm fine.”

”No, it's not that!”

I look at her, eyebrow raised. Some kid is still wiping the blood off the mat.

”Kaminski, he's favoring his right leg now, but he's right-handed, right? He should be putting his weight on his left!”

I turn, peer at my opponent, and realize Ca.s.sie is right. G.o.d d.a.m.n it that girl is quick. I must have hurt his leg when I took him down to the mat.

I turn to Ca.s.sie. ”Good eyes,” I tell her.

”Beat him,” she says. ”Kick his f.u.c.king a.s.s.”

”Can you see his moves?” I ask her.

She nods. ”No. But I can see which side he puts his weight on.”

”Call it out,” I tell her. ”If you think I'm misreading.”

”Okay,” she breathes, eyes never leaving mine. ”But what if I'm wrong.”

”Don't be wrong.”

I pop my mouth guard back in, and nod at her.

The ref starts the fight again, and Kaminski and I dance around each other. He's grinning at me, like he thinks he's got me.

His stance tells me he's prepared for a right-jab-left-cross.

He's prepared to fight a lefty.

But I'm going to switch my stance at just the right moment, and he's going to miss it.

He thinks he's got me...

...I've got him!

Chapter Thirty Four.

Time slows.

I watch them fight in the cage in slow motion.

Chance ducks, dodges, dances, then throws counters.

Kaminski is on the attack, playing Chance's left hand, but his weight is still off, he's still favoring the wrong leg.

They twist and turn in the cage, and I see each foot come up and down, see each bead of sweat drop off their body, fall slowly to the mat.

I see Kaminski's weight s.h.i.+ft. The weight transfers to his left heel. Instinctively, I know he's going to push off it, use his right foot as a pivot, and swing his left leg at Chance.