Valeria, standing near Stryker in the cage, was using a wet towel to wipe the blood off her face and neck and chest.
“THAT WAS ONLY THE BEGINNING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! CHANCE’S BLOOD DID LITTLE MORE THAN WHET THE APPETITE OF THE GLORIOUS ... AND VERY THIRSTY ... VALERIA!”
She dropped the towel to the ground. One of the helpers hurried in to retrieve it.
“WHO WOULD LIKE TO GO NEXT?”
Leaning forward, Rusty looked past Lee and said to me, “Was that bitchin’, or what?”
“Pretty cool,” I said, and suddenly wished Slim could’ve been here to watch it with us. She would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing this woman wipe out a Marine. Also, I would’ve liked to have her sitting beside me. Lee on one side, Slim on the other.
I supposed she was probably sitting in her Pontiac, listening to the radio.
Or maybe listening to Bitsy. I could just see the poor thing sitting in the front seat with Slim, crying her eyes out, sobbing her tale of getting pounded by her brother....
Why didn’t I stop him?
Slim would be shocked and outraged by what we’d done. And sympathetic toward Bitsy in spite of the names the girl had called her.
“YOU! YOU THERE. YES, YOU.”
Stryker’s tinny, amplified voice startled me, tore me out of my daydreams and planted me in the present.
I saw a man climbing down the bleachers across the arena from us. He was a skinny guy, bald on top, and wearing glasses. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old, but he dressed like a codger in a white polo shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts, knee socks and loafers. He sort of laughed and waved at the crowd as he made his way down to the arena.
“Here’s a sure winner,” Lee said.
Rusty and I laughed.
Down in the arena, he kept his shirt on and signed Vivian’s clipboard. Then she led him up the stairs and through the doorway of the cage.
Stryker asked his name. The gawky man leaned close to the microphone in Stryker’s hand and said, “I’M CHESTER.”
“Go, Chester!” yelled someone in the audience.
Grinning, he nodded and waved.
“READY TO TAKE ON VALERIA?” Stryker asked.
“OH, WELL, SURE.” He shrugged. “CAN’T SEE WHY NOT.”
“THAT FIVE HUNDRED DOLLAR PRIZE MUST LOOK AWFULLY GOOD TO YOU.”
“IT AIN’T HAY,” said Chester.
Rusty leaned forward. “This guy’s a goner.”
“WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEAVE YOUR GLASSES WITH OUR BEAUTIFUL ASSISTANT?”
Chester shook his head. Into the mike, he said, “I’LL KEEP ’EM ON, THANKS.” Stryker started to pull the mike away, but Chester grabbed it and pulled it close to his mouth.
“YOUR GAL HERE, THIS VALERIA, SHE’S A FINE LOOKING WOMAN. A GUY’D HAVE TO BE NUTS TO GO IN THAT CAGE WITH HIS GLASSES OFF.”
With that comment, he won the audience. The grandstands erupted with laughter and cheers.
I looked at Valeria. She had her eyes on Chester, and didn’t crack a smile.
Stryker was chuckling, though. He patted Chester on the back and said, “BEST OF LUCK, MY FRIEND.”
Chester bobbed his head, grinning.
“ANY QUESTIONS?”
“NOPE. JUST LET ME AT HER.”
Stryker walked out of the cage and trotted down the stairs, his spurs jangling. At the bottom, he hauled out his stopwatch. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” he announced, “LET THE CONTEST BEGIN!”
Valeria planted her hands on her hips and stared at Chester.
He stood there, arms hanging by his sides, and studied her. He didn’t even try to be sneaky about it, just ogled her, his head moving slowly up and down. After doing that for a while, he wiped the back of a hand across his mouth.
Nervous-sounding laughter ruffled through the crowd.
Chester looked around, grinning at his audience. Then he leered at Valeria, raised both hands to chest level, and flexed his fingers as if honking her breasts.
That bought him wild laughter and cheers ... along with a chorus of boos.
Smirking, Valeria walked toward him. She moved slowly, her back arched, arms by her sides, as if offering to let him squeeze more than just air.
He pointed a finger at himself and mouthed, “Me?”
She nodded.
He reached out, actually clutched the red leather cups and squeezed them. He squeezed them a couple of more times, turning his head and mugging for the audience.
“I bet he’s a ringer,” Lee said.
“Huh?” I asked.
“Someone they planted in the audience. He can’t be for real.”