Page 67 of Liquids

Rig launches straight at the Razor, fists flying, not letting him recover for a second, and they wheel around in circles, the crowd roaring its approval. Rig never stops trying to take his legs out, landing punches, but suddenly he’s bleeding on his face, and a wave of hissing and booing starts. The referee pulls the Razor back and says something to him.

“He files his nails a certain way so he can rip skin with them. That’s why they call him the Razor,” the guy in front of Marni says.

“Holy shit,” the other guy says.

And sure enough, as they fight on, cuts start appearing all over Rig. The crowd is booing and shouting and gesturing at the referee, but he’s doing nothing to stop what’s happening.

“Hon, don’t squeeze my arm.”

“I can’t watch, Marni. I can’t. He’s getting ripped to shreds.”

“He’s won quite a few fights just tearing up his opponent,” the man in front of Marni says, smirking at his friend.

The first round finishes, and I think Rig had the upper hand. But Jake is clearly very unhappy, and several people, along with Jake, step into the ring to talk to the referee, who keeps shaking his head.

“He’s gonna get an-ni-hil-a-ted,” the man in front of Marni says.

Rig is sitting in the corner, head down as Jake talks to him, the small wounds all over him red with blood. My chest is like a vise. They have to stop this. I push Marni back and head along the row.

“Where are you going?” she says.

“They need to stop this. His skin … he’s bleeding all over, Marn.”

But when I get to the end of the row, a man in a suit is blocking my way. He shakes his head at me. “Everyone’s staying where they are,” he says. “No movement allowed.”

“I’m a nurse.” I gesture at the cage. “Someone needs to look at his cuts.”

The guy’s chin juts out. “We’ve got doctors on site.”

I gesture at the ring again. “Then where the fuck are they? I’m telling you, there’s too much damage to his skin.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” the guy says, and my jaw drops.

“You are fucking kidding me. I’m a fucking trained medical professional.”

June materializes behind me. “And I’m a doctor,” she says, narrowing her eyes, and yes, I’d forgotten that. Army Medical Corps. I remember her telling me about some of the men she treated who’d come back from Vietnam.

But the guy just scowls and says, “Ladies, you’re not going nowhere. Sit the fuck down before I throw you out.”

I look desperately at where Rig is and then at the size of the bouncer. I can’t exactly wrestle him to the floor and get past him, now can I? Even if I am fitter than I once was. A shrill piercing sound rips through the air, and oh Christ, it’s the whistle for the start of the next round.

23

BLOOD

If I thought the first round was bad, the next one is all-out war. Rig has the Razor on the ground twice, who gets more and more incensed and angry because, in fighting terms, he’s losing. Rig is doing a better job of blocking his fists. They’re both exhausted—you can tell from their body language. Then Rig manages to get him in a headlock, and the crowd hollers as they reel around and around, bouncing off the wire of the cage. I can see the Razor trying to dig his nails into Rig’s skin, and I flap my hands.

“Fuck. Fuck.”

June, who’s now standing next to me on the other side of Marni, takes one of my hands in hers and gives it a squeeze. How is she so calm? Well, I guess she probably saw men with body parts blown off in the war. I try and remember the worst things I saw in the hospital when I was a nurse, but thinking of gaping wounds and gangrenous feet doesn’t exactly help.

“How did that guy die that the Razor fought?” One of the men in front of us says.

What?

“Kicked him in the head and it burst a blood vessel, I think,” the other guy responds. “Bleeding on the brain.”

I suck in a harsh breath. And just as he says it, the Razor does a high kick that Rig tries to dodge and he almost manages it, but it glances off the side of his head, and he seems momentarily stunned as he falls against the wire of the cage. Oh fuck, oh fuck. They have to stop. My hands shake as I push past June to get to the end of the row again. But it’s almost as if the Razor can smell his advantage. He steps forward and punches Rig, somehow scoring right down his face. He smirks when he does it, too, and something runs cold in my blood. He’s actually going to kill him.