Page 9 of Liquids

I laugh. God love Marni and her drive and optimism. “Have I told you you’re a genius?”

“Tell that to my boss, the asshole.”

Marni works as a PA to a guy who runs a construction company and has been sleeping with him on and off for a couple of years now, probably alongside whatever she’s doing with Angelo.

“What’s he done now?”

She waves a hand. “His stuck-up wife was in with his kids. I want to tell her he’s fucking me so bad. Tell her all about what he does with me that gets him off. Ruin her fucking perfect little life.”

I hear this a lot, too. “What she say to you?”

“Oh, nothing. She just kept asking me for shit: coffee, to take the children to the bathroom. She was all over George like she has the best marriage on the planet. When she does not.”

“Sorry, honey.”

“You think I’d be used to it by now.”

We lurch around for a few more minutes, and I’m about to start talking to her about the downsides of married men, and unreliable assholes in general, when we top a rise and see lights in the distance.

“Oh yeah,” we say in unison, then dissolve into laughter.

She takes a hand off the steering wheel, high-fiving me as my heart warms. Maybe we will have a fun night tonight.

“Angelo said it’d be a way out of town. Cops are getting savvy about the usual locations. They’ve had two fights recently where the police turned up and ruined it. People were pissed, he said. Marco, too. He had to return a lot of betting money.”

“Why do we need a decent guy when we have this, right?” I say, sweeping my hand toward where we’re heading, and she snorts at me.

When we reach the top of the hill, the lights are behind a thicket of trees. Cars are parked in a line along the rutted track, so we drive farther on, finding a space at the end, climbing out and shuffling around to the trunk. I grab a coat as Marni holds up a pair of boots for me.

“For kicking any pricks,” she says, and I laugh.

Flasks of vodka in hand, we head off over the field. Officially, no alcohol is allowed at fights, but everyone brings it, and you can always find someone who’s got something stashed in their car.

When we get there, the headlights of several pickup trucks are shining on a circle of grass surrounded by a huge crowd of mostly men, talking and laughing, bottles of booze clasped loosely in their fingers.

“Oooo,” Marni squeals and rubs her hands together. “This is going to be amazing!”

The breath of the guys next to us rises up white in the air, and one or two of them turn around to study us with interest.

“Shh! Don’t attract attention over here, remember?” I say, but Marni just loops her arm through mine and squeezes my hand.

Cold seeps down my neck into my coat. This crowd is bigger than I’ve ever seen; only one or two women mixed in among the rising testosterone. Suddenly, three guys push through the crowd and reach the edge of the circle, and the one in the middle takes off an overcoat to reveal tight shorts and a vest top and starts to dance on his feet. A yell booms from the other side, and a large man—who looks vaguely familiar and who I’m sure I’ve seen fight before—pushes through at ninety degrees to where Marni and I are standing.

“Come on, you fucker!” he shouts, and he charges.

The two sidekicks melt away, leaving the small guy dancing on his feet as the big guy runs toward him. He waits until he gets close, really close, and steps to one side. But the big guy flings out an arm and catches him across the face, jerking his head back, and then reels immediately around to come back at Dancing Guy again, fists flying, feet kicking out. No holds barred.

“Decent pot tonight,” the man standing beside me rumbles.

“Yeah. That fighter came down from Chicago. For the cash, I’m guessing. Marco’s been jonesing to attract some bigger names down here,” the man on the other side of him says, taking a long swallow from his flask.

“There are some serious bets on.”

“I’m betting on the local guy.”

The other man chuckles. “Are you mad? No way he’s going to beat some guy from Chicago.”

I glance at Marni and catch her eye, and she leans in, grinning. “Told you. Big bets. Big money. I wouldn’t mind someone spiriting me away to the Windy City.”