“Oh, boy.” He scrunches his wrinkled face. “Pup’ll get you right. C’mon here.”
“Who spending real money? I ain’t fuckin with nothing under a hun dun! Real spenders to the front, please! Stop insulting me with these lil’ bitty boy ass wagers!” A loud-mouthed boy elbows his way through the crowd, shaking a wad of money while holding a pencil, paper, and his sagging jeans up by the waist.
I don’t really understand much of anything coming out of anybody’s mouths except for the amounts of money they shout and “Pup.”
“Pup up next!” somebody murmurs from behind me.
Rich is on everybody’s brains as they scurry around, scribbling in their tiny notepads and hollering about wagers.
A twenty-dollar wager is an insult.
A fifty-dollar wager is enough to start a conversation.
And a hundred-dollar wager is enough to get a handshake.
I try to keep my eyes on Smitty’s plaid button-down as he leads me deeper and deeper into the crowd by my wrist, but I can’t look away from each face I pass.
I think I see Mr. Copeland in a back corner with a Kangol covering his eyes, and I swear Lorenzo brushed past us in a daze with that cast still on his arm. There are others I think I recognize, like Old Man Hester, and one of the janitors who cleaned the Public Affairs building at Lockwood.
The hair on the back of my neck stands when I spot Arnez in the front of the crowd with her arms crossed even thoughshe said she didn’t care about Rich anymore. Smitty speeds up, elbowing his way through a group of older men until we’re right next to her.
He lifts my wrist, nudging me her way. “You lost something, didn’t you?”
Her nostrils flare. “She should learn to keep up.”
My heart beats fast.
“What the fuck is wrong with you? You left me!” I holler over the music and voices.
“You shouldn’t have even said anything to that boy! You shouldn’t say anything to anybody in here!”
An angry throb pushes against my temples. I close my eyes and try to shake off the pounding music, smells, and all the bullshit being thrown at me.
I need out.
I pry my eyes open. “Where is Rich?”
She points past me, and I turn around, following the direction of her finger. He’s there on the other side of the garage, wrapping that same tape she took from his house around his wrists.
My stomach jolts as if I didn’t just see him less than twenty-four hours ago.
I search his face for the man Arnez says he is, but I can’t find him. All I see is the man who made love to me last night—the one who likes to hold me and listen to my darkest secrets. The one who cried while inside of me because deep down he’s just that tiny little scared boy who followed his daddy around everywhere.
His eyebrows dip as he pulls his wrist to his mouth and rips the excess tape with his teeth. He spits it on the ground.
I step forward to rush toward him, but get yanked back.
“Don’t!” Arnez yells over the music and murmuring crowd.
“I need to talk to him! You said I could talk to him!”
“We came too late. You have to wait until he’s done! You can’t just run into the pit! Are you craz?—”
“Next up! Pup vs. Primo! Clear the pit!”
I recognize Lucky’s raspy voice over the intercom.
“Last call for wagers at the cashier’s window. Remember—no more side wagers over a thousand, folks! You get caught, you get put out. Also, if you love your fighter, tip your fighter. Leave all tips at the cashier’s window, please. Donotput money into fighters’ hands!”
