Chapter 10: The Real Fight

I did not say anything.

I took the ledger out of my jacket and slapped it against his chest.

He caught it with both hands.

"Read it," I said. "Out loud."

He did not open it.

"I know what it says."

"Then say it."

"I paid Dutch to fix your fights."

His voice was low and steady, and his eyes never moved off mine.

"Three years. Every bout. I paid him to find men who would go down, and to keep them off your face and your ribs."

"Why?"

"Because you were fourteen, and you were in a cage."

"You left me at a truck stop."

"Yes."

"And then you bought me a record."

"Yes."

"You had no right."

"No," Perry said. "I didn't."

The honesty of it made me want to hit him harder.

"Come with me," I said.

I turned and walked back down the stairs.

After a moment I heard his footsteps behind me.

In the cellar, I took him by the sleeve and pulled him across the concrete to the cage.

The door was gone, so I just stepped over the sill.

"Get in."

"Thora..."

"Get in, Perry."

He climbed in, slowly.

His coat was dripping, and he stood on the mat without touching the ropes.

I took off my jacket.

I peeled the tape from my split knuckles and dropped it on the mat.

Then I stood in front of him in my gym clothes with my fists up.

"You're going to fight me."

"I'm not going to fight you."

"You've been paying men to lose to me for three years. Now you can lose to me yourself."

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