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Logan
says as I answer the phone.
    “Hello?” I speak.
    “Hey.” It’s Ash. “Are we still
going to that boxing match tonight?”
    “MMA, actually,” I tell
her. “But yeah. Doors open at eleven and it’ll probably go until one or two in
the morning.”
    She sighs. “All right,”
she says. “I told you I’d give it a chance.”
    Ash has been sharing some
of her concerns about what I do. I think if she just goes to a match, she’ll
see how much time and training these guys put in. She’ll see that we’re not
just a bunch of thugs trying to beat each other senseless.
    We are that, too, I
guess, but that’s not all we are.
    “You won’t regret it,” I
tell her.
    “I wish I had your
confidence,” she says. “Are you still picking me up?”
    “Yeah,” I tell her, “but
we’re going to want to go there on foot. Too many cars around an abandoned
building and a fight’s going to stick out like a broken nose. Worse still, if
the place gets raided, you’re never going to be able to get to your car without
being arrested and if you abandon it, they’ll just run the plates and track you
down.”
    She’s quiet.
    “That almost never
happens, though,” I tell her. “We’re careful about where we set up and who we
tell about it.”
    “Okay,” she says. “I’ll
see you a little before eleven, then.”
    She doesn’t sound very
excited.

 
 
    *                     *                     *

 
    Ash seems nervous as we
approach the building where tonight’s matches are to be held, but she’s still
putting one foot in front of the other.
    “I don’t get why you guys
don’t just join a league or something,” she says. “It seems like that would be
a safer approach.”
    “You’ll have a hard time
finding someone that doesn’t want to join up with UFC or Pride or any of the
others,” I tell her. “That said, there are probably about as many people who
come here in the course of a year as there are active professionals in MMA. Not
everyone shows up on the same night, but you get the idea.”
    We get to the door and a
tall man in a black suit holds up his hand.
    “What’s up, Big D?"
I ask him.
    “Private party,” he says.
    “Snooker,” I tell him.
    He nods and moves out of
the way so we can enter the building.
    As we pass D, Ash
mutters, “I’m still skeptical about all this, but I have to admit it’s pretty
cool you guys have your own password-enabled guard at the door.”
    “I’ve got to prepare you
for something,” I tell her.
    “What, the possibility of
being sprayed with someone else’s blood?” she asks, a little pale.
    “No, you don’t have to
worry about that,” I tell her. “Just don’t stand in the first row or two and
you’ll be fine. Even if some does manage to get on you, everyone who fights
here has to have clean blood test results from within three days of a given
match or they aren’t allowed to fight. We’re careful about that sort of thing.”
    I may be fighting a
losing battle here.
    “What I’ve got to prepare
you for,” I tell her, “is the volume. These things can get pretty loud.”
    We enter the building,
this time a foreclosed house without any neighbors for a quarter mile, and we
make our way through the empty space to the stairs. The basement is large,
open, unfinished. Everyone’s congregated where the family room was supposed to be.
    “This feels weird,” Ash
says. “I don’t think I’m really comfortable here.”
    “The fights haven’t even
started yet!” I exclaim, drawing the attention of the group.
    “Why are they staring at
us?” Ash asks in a near-whisper.
    “It’s fine,” I tell her.
“Let’s just pick a good spot to watch and I’m sure you’ll blend in just fine.”
    I appreciate the fact
that she got dressed up nice for tonight’s festivities, but I probably should
have told her that these gatherings aren’t exactly formal. Personally, I think
she looks great in her short,