difficult. Her skin is slick with sweat or oil.
The other girl-fighter is taller, more lithe. She wears a form-fitting grey suit. Her hair grows low on her brow in a widow’s peak. She has red irises.
‘Don’t be fooled by their youth!’ The megaphone man must imagine he’s in front of a full stadium, rather than a handful of saddos with gambling problems. ‘These girls know how to rumble!’
A different guy has taken up the vacant position next to me. He whistles loudly with two fingers up to his mouth.
‘All right!’ he yells.
‘What are they?’ I ask him.
He looks at me with surprised and bleary eyes. ‘Hellcats, man. You never seen a hellcat before?’ He lifts his head and screeches to the sky, ‘HOT LADIES!’
An air-siren goes off, and the two girls run at each other, colliding in midair. The guy next to me keeps whistling so piercingly I have to move. I kick through the dust, head down, pretending I can’t feel adrenaline tinglingalong my limbs. Why would Paul come to a place like this? And why wouldn’t he tell me about it?
‘Wolfboy!’ The call comes from the bleachers. I pick out a waving hand on the top step.
The bleachers are ancient and the wooden slats bend ominously underfoot as I make my way to the top.
‘Wolfboy, my man!’
Tony wears a loud purple shirt and a gold necklace. He pulls me in to clap me on the back. ‘I always wondered why I never see you here.’
‘First time,’ I say. Tony managed a cafe where Thom, Paul and I used to hang out, before the Darkness.
Tony whistles. ‘You’ve been missing out. I’m having a good night.’ He pulls a roll of cash from his shirt pocket. The chunky watch on his wrist flashes; so does the gold ring on his fingers. ‘I’m up two grand and counting.’
‘I didn’t realise gambling was such a big thing in Shyness.’
Tony puts the cash away. ‘Yeah, there’s the money side, but really people just like to see people beat the shit out of each other.’
‘People?’ I say. ‘Don’t you mean freaks? People like watching the freaks beat the shit out of each other.’
Tony punches my shoulder affectionately. ‘Don’t be a hater.’
I ignore that. ‘You ever seen Paul at these fights?’
‘Your skinny Korean friend? Yeah, sometimes. One time he got me to place a bet for him. But I haven’t seen him for a few months.’
The thought that Paul hasn’t told me about this makes me feel sick. He’s been hiding parts of his life for longer than I thought. Tony bends his head as a hulking man comes to whisper in his ear. He introduces us.
‘Wolfboy, this is the Gentleman. The brains behind all of this.’
I shake the Gentleman’s hand. Brains are not what first spring to mind. He’s at least a foot taller than me, barechested and hairy, wearing pinstriped pants held up with braces. What are they feeding these guys? He has a thick moustache and his hair is slicked back.
‘Pleased to meet you, Wolfboy,’ the Gentleman says in a polite bass. His meaty hands envelop mine. A mobile phone rings and Tony fumbles in his pocket. The Gentle man cuffs him over the head.
‘Tony, turn that thing down. You trying to deafen me?’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Tony walks away from us, with his phone stuck to his ear.
I turn back to the Gentleman. His gaze is disturbingly direct. ‘Wolfboy, I won’t beat around the bush. I came over to see if you’re interested in fighting for me. We could do with someone like you.’
‘Fresh blood?’
When the Gentleman smiles the sharpness of his teeth is terrifying. ‘You could say that. Hopefully there won’t be too much blood involved.’
‘I don’t think so.’ My eyes shoot off towards the lit-up cage where the hellcat bout is reaching fever pitch. I remember fighting Doctor Gregory’s henchmen on the rooftop in Orphanville. The crunch of bones under my fingers, the voltage rush and then, soon after, the nausea and guilt. ‘I’m not much of a fighter.’
‘With all due respect,
The other girl-fighter is taller, more lithe. She wears a form-fitting grey suit. Her hair grows low on her brow in a widow’s peak. She has red irises.
‘Don’t be fooled by their youth!’ The megaphone man must imagine he’s in front of a full stadium, rather than a handful of saddos with gambling problems. ‘These girls know how to rumble!’
A different guy has taken up the vacant position next to me. He whistles loudly with two fingers up to his mouth.
‘All right!’ he yells.
‘What are they?’ I ask him.
He looks at me with surprised and bleary eyes. ‘Hellcats, man. You never seen a hellcat before?’ He lifts his head and screeches to the sky, ‘HOT LADIES!’
An air-siren goes off, and the two girls run at each other, colliding in midair. The guy next to me keeps whistling so piercingly I have to move. I kick through the dust, head down, pretending I can’t feel adrenaline tinglingalong my limbs. Why would Paul come to a place like this? And why wouldn’t he tell me about it?
‘Wolfboy!’ The call comes from the bleachers. I pick out a waving hand on the top step.
The bleachers are ancient and the wooden slats bend ominously underfoot as I make my way to the top.
‘Wolfboy, my man!’
Tony wears a loud purple shirt and a gold necklace. He pulls me in to clap me on the back. ‘I always wondered why I never see you here.’
‘First time,’ I say. Tony managed a cafe where Thom, Paul and I used to hang out, before the Darkness.
Tony whistles. ‘You’ve been missing out. I’m having a good night.’ He pulls a roll of cash from his shirt pocket. The chunky watch on his wrist flashes; so does the gold ring on his fingers. ‘I’m up two grand and counting.’
‘I didn’t realise gambling was such a big thing in Shyness.’
Tony puts the cash away. ‘Yeah, there’s the money side, but really people just like to see people beat the shit out of each other.’
‘People?’ I say. ‘Don’t you mean freaks? People like watching the freaks beat the shit out of each other.’
Tony punches my shoulder affectionately. ‘Don’t be a hater.’
I ignore that. ‘You ever seen Paul at these fights?’
‘Your skinny Korean friend? Yeah, sometimes. One time he got me to place a bet for him. But I haven’t seen him for a few months.’
The thought that Paul hasn’t told me about this makes me feel sick. He’s been hiding parts of his life for longer than I thought. Tony bends his head as a hulking man comes to whisper in his ear. He introduces us.
‘Wolfboy, this is the Gentleman. The brains behind all of this.’
I shake the Gentleman’s hand. Brains are not what first spring to mind. He’s at least a foot taller than me, barechested and hairy, wearing pinstriped pants held up with braces. What are they feeding these guys? He has a thick moustache and his hair is slicked back.
‘Pleased to meet you, Wolfboy,’ the Gentleman says in a polite bass. His meaty hands envelop mine. A mobile phone rings and Tony fumbles in his pocket. The Gentle man cuffs him over the head.
‘Tony, turn that thing down. You trying to deafen me?’
‘Sorry, sorry.’ Tony walks away from us, with his phone stuck to his ear.
I turn back to the Gentleman. His gaze is disturbingly direct. ‘Wolfboy, I won’t beat around the bush. I came over to see if you’re interested in fighting for me. We could do with someone like you.’
‘Fresh blood?’
When the Gentleman smiles the sharpness of his teeth is terrifying. ‘You could say that. Hopefully there won’t be too much blood involved.’
‘I don’t think so.’ My eyes shoot off towards the lit-up cage where the hellcat bout is reaching fever pitch. I remember fighting Doctor Gregory’s henchmen on the rooftop in Orphanville. The crunch of bones under my fingers, the voltage rush and then, soon after, the nausea and guilt. ‘I’m not much of a fighter.’
‘With all due respect,
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