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and he was instantly nauseated. Unconsciously he loosened his grip and the werewolf broke free. Lenny grabbed Tozzi’s elbow and pulled him away.
    â€œTomasso! What the hell did I tell you? I told you not to do nothin’ unless you absolutely had to. Isn’t that what I said? What the eff is wrong with you?”
    Tozzi was rubbing his jawbone. “What’re you, blind? Walker took a swing at Mr. Nashe.”
    â€œI don’t want to hear about it. I told you these guys know what they’re doing.” Lenny pointed with his greasy pompadour at the fighters standing toe-to-toe. They were barking at each other, but they weren’t throwing punches. Gonsalves was shouldering his way in front of Walker, andEpps’s manager was trying to do the same. It definitely wasn’t enough interference to keep them from slugging it out if they really wanted to. Lenny was right. This was all for the cameras.
    â€œYou know, Tomasso, you’re more trouble than you’re worth. I’m gonna have to have a little talk with Mr. Nashe—”
    â€œAbout what, Lenny?” Russell Nashe was suddenly standing over Lenny’s shoulder, grinning around his big buckteeth at Tozzi. Sydney was standing next to him, a head shorter, even in heels. She was grinning at him too.
    â€œHe messed up, Mr. Nashe. I’m sorry. I told him to stay put and let the fighters do their thing for the press, but no, he had to jump right in there. This guy’s got a hard head, Mr. Nashe.”
    Nashe nodded, still grinning. “Hard head or not, I have to thank this man. Dwayne wasn’t supposed to throw any punches—he knew that. Christ, my face would’ve had a big hole in it if he’d had a chance to follow up on that right with a left hook. You did the right thing, Mike. Good work.”
    Tozzi looked down at the tough little bowling ball who just stood there steaming, saying nothing. He was the gutter ball now.
    â€œOf course, if he had hit you,” Sydney said, “the story would’ve moved out of the sports section and onto the front page. That’s the kind of publicity money can’t buy. Too bad.”
    Nashe stopped grinning for a moment. “You’ve got a point. A punch in the nose could’ve increased the pay-per-view subscriptions by at least ten percent. Jesus, Mike, you just lost me a couple of mil.” Nashe stared at him as if he were serious. Then the stupid grin came back. “Just kidding, Mike, just kidding.”
    â€œI’ll bet.” Sydney rolled her eyes and laughed that high-pitched titter of hers. There was just a hint of sarcasm in her laugh, just enough to let her husband know that shemight’ve enjoyed seeing “Pain” Walker knock his famous front teeth down his throat.
    The confrontation at the podium was degenerating into jeers and catcalls from the supporting players. Walker and Epps had been separated, and now they were just glaring at each other as their managers leaned into the microphones set up on their respective tables and shouted at each other. Each time Epps’s manager made a typically outlandish claim concerning his man’s physical superiority and divine calling, Walker’s manager overrode him with the champ’s signature line: “When ‘Pain’ Walker talk, people better be list’nin’.”
    When Tozzi turned back, Sydney was whispering something into her husband’s ear.
    â€œOkay,” Nashe said, “no problem. Lenny and Frank can take care of things here. Mike, you go with my wife. She’s got an appointment upstairs with some new decorator or something.”
    Tozzi nodded. Sydney was grinning at him like a cat. He suddenly became very aware of the condom in his pants pocket, sort of radiating in there like uranium.
    She looked up at her husband. “I’ll see you later?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’ll give you a call.” His attention was on the