He chewed slowly, watching my face. “You do not get to his level of ring generalship without some fire in the belly. That is what wins fights.”
“Fire is one thing,” I said. “Bruises on a woman are another.”
Thomas stopped tapping his clipboard. He leaned across the table, his shoulders squaring under his gray sweatshirt.
“Listen to me, old man,” Thomas said. “Dustin is the best prospect this city has seen in ten years.”
He leaned closer, his breath smelling of garlic and black pepper. “Whatever is happening in his personal life is his business, and you need to mind yours.”
“He is twenty-four,” I said. “She is twenty-three.”
“And you are out of your depth,” Thomas said, picking up his clipboard and sliding out of the booth. “Get out of my way.”
I walked three blocks down to the Oakridge post office to check my business box before the afternoon mail went out. The air outside was bitter, carrying the scent of dry leaves and road salt.
My boots clicked on the worn tile floor of the lobby. The room was empty except for an elderly man sorting through circulars by the trash can.
