The Inheritances Game (Jameson Hawthorne)

The Boxing Ring

The ring at the Devil's Mercy was smaller than a modern boxing ring andmarked off with coarse, fraying ropes that whispered of another time."You shouldn't stay for this," Jameson told her as he clocked the waythe first two fighters climbed up onto the platform: bare-chested, no shoes,no gloves. He had told her the same thing when he mentioned going back, she refused to leave him alone here.

"On the contrary." Rohan appeared beside them, dressed in black. Thetuxedo should have looked formal, but he wore no tie, and the first fourbuttons on his shirt were undone. "She should stay." His dark eyes metCatalina's. "Place a bet or two." 

"Wouldn't I be wagering against the house?" Catalina asked. Tonight wasthe third night, and she still had nearly two hundred thousand pounds tolose on the tables, per their deal. 

"I like to think you are the house, but consider your fee paid in full." Rohan smiled; his expression far toorelaxed for Jameson's liking. "The third night was really more of aninsurance policy on my part."In other words: Whatever fish the Factotum had been after had alreadytaken the bait. Paid the levy, Jameson thought, the words snaking their waythrough his brain. Joined the club. 

And now, Rohan's concentration was elsewhere. On the Game.The Devil's Mercy was even more crowded tonight than it had been thenight before, as if the entire membership had turned out—men as old astheir nineties and as young as their twenties, a few women but not many. 

"Who should she bet on?" Jameson threw out the question to drawRohan's attention away from Catalina. 

The Factotum turned toward the ring and the men inside it. "Can't youtell?" The two were evenly matched in size but moved differently. "I'll giveyou a hint: The one with the lighter step is one of our house fighters." 

With those words, Rohan strode toward the ring, the crowd parting forhim like magic. Rohan hopped up onto the platform but stayed outside theropes. "You have two minutes to finish placing your bets," he announced. Atrick of the space—or his voice—made the words seem like they werecoming at Jameson from all sides. 

He tracked Rohan's progression as the Factotum walked the outsideedge of the ropes. You never lose your balance, do you? That was theimpression that Jameson got, that Rohan would have moved with the sameliquid grace across the edge of a skyscraper."For those who are joining us tonight for the first time or after a longabsence," Rohan said with a flourish, "a reminder of the rules. Matchesconsist of an indeterminate number of rounds. A round ends when one ofour fighters hits the floor." A cheer went up. "The match ends," Rohancontinued, "when the person who hits the floor doesn't get up." 

In other words, Jameson thought, his focus intense, his heart rateaccelerating, the only ways for a match to end are for a fighter to yield orbe knocked unconscious."No gloves." Rohan smiled again. A warning smile. "No rings. Noweapons of any kind. No mercy."The crowd echoed the words back at the Factotum. "No mercy!"Rohan turned to the fighters in the ring. "As ever, if your face showsevidence of the fight, you'll be expected to find a way to recover discreetly.If you are unable to do so, the Mercy will be happy to provide assistance."That sounded less like an offer than a threat. 

Rohan jumped backward, landing on the floor below. "You may begin." 

The first fight went three rounds, the second only one. The third match—between two house fighters—lasted the longest. Jameson ignored thebloodshed, the roar of the crowd, the raw brutality of the fighters and themercenary glints in their eyes. He focused instead on the blank spaces.The moves the fighters didn't make.The openings they left.The areas in the ring and around their bodies untouched by the blur ofmotion, by elbows and fists, feet and knees and heads.The fractions of time that passed between moves.Weaknesses—and the ways they compensated for them.