The Brick Yard by Carol Lynne Page B

from the fans in Indianapolis. In the dark and dirty warehouse Ray Bruno had secured for the tournament, the audience seemed to cheer more for the anti-hero. The place reeked of onions, which he knew from experience was body odor and whatever had died in the warehouse before the cage was constructed.
    Worse, instead of hiring off-duty cops to handle the crowd, Bruno had gone cheap and pulled his own guys in. Stupid fuck. He overheard the man beside him talking on his cell phone.
    “Yeah, give me two hundred on the Ice Man,” the man said. “That fucker’s gonna tear this place up!”
    Dray’s gaze went back to Lucky, who was jumping in place, shadowboxing with a determination on his face that didn’t bode well for his opponent. It was obvious Lucky was pumped, and Dray knew the crowd had a lot to do with it. It was also obvious the Ice Man didn’t have fans in attendance—at least not ones who would openly cheer for him. He glanced at the pinhead beside him. Lucky may not have had the hearts of the crowd, but they definitely knew who was going to win.
    Lucky climbed into the bright white cage. Unlike a lot of promoters, Bruno chose the color white specifically to showcase the crimson that would spill from the fighters throughout the tournament. By the time a winner was declared, the entire floor of the cage would be red with blood.
    The bell rang and Lucky stepped up to his no-name opponent. The sonofabitch had been taunting Lucky for the last ten minutes. Lucky said something to his competitor and stood his ground.
    Lucky threw a single punch, aimed at the asshole’s nose and the jerk who’d been full of himself only seconds earlier fell flat on his back, out cold.
    “Yeah!” Dray cried, pumping his fist in the air. He turned to the pinhead. “That’s the way to do it!” he shouted in excitement.
    Smiling from ear to ear, the pinhead retrieved the phone from his pocket and started dialing.
    Dray leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. He couldn’t stop grinning as the referee lifted Lucky’s arm over his head. Lucky still had one more match before they could go home and Dray could show him just how proud he was.
    Lucky stepped out of the cage and immediately went to Brick’s side. He wrapped an arm around the old man and disappeared into the crowd with Flint following. Dray waited, praying that Brick was okay. He dug out his phone and held it in his hand, waiting for a call.
    Instead of a call, Flint appeared in front of Dray. “Lucky wants you. He’s in the locker room.”
    Dray nodded, pulled his baseball cap lower on his forehead and followed Flint out of the main part of the building and down one of the darkened hallways. “Is it Brick?”
    Flint shrugged. “I guess so. Brick keeps telling Lucky he’s fine, but Lucky keeps arguing the point.” He glanced over his shoulder at Dray. “I think they’re both wrong.”
    “How’s that?” Dray asked as Flint stopped in front of a door.
    “Brick’s the same as he was earlier today. Nothing’s changed. I think the real problem is Lucky. I think he’s so focused on Brick that he can’t concentrate on anything else. This last match wasn’t a big deal because the guy was a fucking joke, but the pretenders will be weeded out within the next two days.”
    Dray took a deep breath. “Is this a shared room?”
    Flint snorted. “It’s more like a closet, and, no. Lucky worked that into his deal with Bruno. He didn’t want anyone around if Brick had trouble.”
    “Okay. Keep an eye on the door and don’t let anyone in,” Dray instructed. He entered the room to find Flint’s description accurate. There was room for three chairs, a small cooler, and Brick’s bag of supplies.
    Brick and Lucky both looked up at him from their seated positions, but it was Brick who spoke. “Would you tell this wiseass that I’m perfectly capable of being out there?”
    Before Dray answered, he took a moment to study the rise and fall of the old man’s