Dad picks up a fork and knife, squeezes them both in his hands until his sausagey fingers go white. “We couldn’t have asked for a better opponent.”
I look in mild horror at Dad’s gleeful expression, the excitement he has at the prospect of a fighter that not only matches up well with Duncan, but could beat him. Hurt him.
“I could lose, you know,” Duncan says, his voice gravelly. “You’re the bank, you take all the risk.”
Dad points his knife at Duncan. “But you won’t lose. You’ll win. I know it, I can feel it. You’re a better fighter, Duncan. You’re tougher up here.” He taps the sharp steak knife to his temple. “We’ll get you ready for this one. The fight is in four days, and tomorrow I have some pro scouts flying in. They’ll go over all of Manic’s favorite moves with you, so you can learn to counter them.”
I can see from Duncan’s disinterested expression that he’s not particularly impressed by this idea. How much he has changed since the beginning. At first, he wanted to fight, wanted to make a name for himself. He was determined to do something.
But now… now each fight feels perfunctory. The passion is gone. Duncan knows that to everybody, he’s just a gladiator. Most gladiators were forced to fight against their will.
He meets my eyes for a moment, and I nod at him, telling him silently, I know.
“What, you afraid, boy?” Dad asks, glowering. His whole demeanor has changed, and his eyes might as well have turned red, and he might as well have sprouted horns from his forehead.
“I’m not afraid,” Duncan says. You’d be hard-pressed not to believe him, the way he says it so casually. “Once I beat Manic, though—”
“There will be a few fights left, don’t worry. I know for a fact Falcone is scouring Mexico for a fighter, and one of the other families has connections in Russia and they are looking there. There will be a few more big time guys they’ll bring in, ex-pros and the like. You’ll still have work. Then, once that well dries up, we just move to another. The pros. I’ll get you into the biggest legit tournament and you’ll run the gauntlet and come out on top. I’ll put down numbers so large in just one event we’ll make enough to live like kings for the rest of our lives. With something like UFC, it’s not just national betting. It’s international betting. We’re playing with money from all across the world. Think about it, your children, their children will be set for life!”
Duncan remains non-committal, though, and I decide it’s my turn to speak.
“How good is Manic?” I ask. When Dad opens his mouth to speak, I silence him with a wave of my hand. “I’m talking to Duncan.”
My ears are burning, and I know Dad is staring bullet holes through me, but damn it, I get to speak at this table.
“I know him mostly by reputation,” Duncan says. “I’ve watched a couple of his fights, that’s it. He’s hard and fast, likes to get dirty on the mat.”
“What do you mean ‘dirty’?”
“He’ll tap your balls.”
“Can’t you wear a cup?”
“He pulls other cheap shit, too. Stuck his finger in a guy’s ass once.”
I frown in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, yeah,” Duncan says. “That’s part of his reputation. It’s not that uncommon, anyway. Just a moment’s distraction, he locks you, submits you, and then doesn’t stop. He’ll tear your arm from your socket even after you tap-out. Manic’s a little crazy.”
Dad butts in now: “When you’re on the mat, anything can happen. Just submit him fast. No need to draw this one out. He’s too big of a name. He’s been the top fighter in Canada for nearly a decade. But you’ve got the younger body! He may be strong, but he lacks your sheer athleticism, something only I know about. I’ve seen you squirm out of leg holds in ways that would have professional instructors asking for your secrets.”
I watch Duncan as he seems to weigh the idea in his head for a moment. Soup is brought in, but none of us start eating.
“Fine,” he says. “Let’s do it.”
I narrow my eyes at him, kick his foot under the table. “Duncan, are you sure?”
“I can beat him.”
“Yeah, you might win the fight, but what could you lose in the cage?”
“An eye is always a possibility, especially with Manic.” He grins at me, as if doing so can make my worries just evaporate away.
I fold my arms. “I don’t like it. If people are already lining up to bet against Duncan, despite every win he’s notched, then there must be something about this Manic guy. If he fights dirty, they’ll no-doubt be whispering in his ears to do so.”