Jack eventually shrugged. "Sure, that's the prize to the winner, even if the winner isn't Big Mario." He once again gave Ryan a cool once-over. "You'd do just as well as anyone for what I have in mind."
"What's the girl look like?"
The laughter faded from around Jack's thin lips. "All of my girls are beauties. Haven't you been satisfied by what you've seen here so far tonight?" he asked, his cadence and tone reverting back to the easy drawl of a southern gentleman.
Ryan gave a small shrug and watched the money rapidly changing hands at the betting station. "They're all right. But if what you've got upstairs is nicer, you should speak up.
You said you like to motivate Big Mario before a match. Don't I deserve the same treatment?" He acutely felt Jack's assessing gaze on him and wondered if he'd gone too far.
"And what'd motivate you?"
"I don't like blondes or redheads. Only brunettes do it for me. Dark hair, dark eyes."
"Is that right?" Jack murmured. "Well, you're in luck, son, because I have the most stunning brunette in five states waiting most patiently upstairs for the victor to join her in bed. Eyes like liquid midnight and skin so white, soft and smooth it'd make a grown man want to weep. I've got some fine fun planned for the man who breaks this beauty in. I want to see some real action in that bed upstairs. Get the picture?" Jack asked, tapping his hand on Ryan's chest and giving him a shrewd, knowing look.
Ryan gave a closed mouth grin to hide his clenched teeth and raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was a passable expression of lechery.
"Don't get your hopes up, though, kid," Jack said.
"Why's that?"
"It'll never happen. Because that's your opponent." Jack pointed with his cigar to the entrance of the room. Diamond Jack laughed when he saw Ryan's eyes widen in shock.
"Still, you promise to make it interesting, kid, even if it is just an interesting slaughter."
ELEVEN
Ten minutes later Ryan could hardly hear himself think the din in the Sweet Lash had grown so loud. He carefully folded his coat and placed it on the floor of the platform just outside the ring. His tie and shirt soon followed. He glanced at the pile of clothing and frowned, knowing his gun was in there. He really didn't have anywhere else to leave the items, though, and there were more pressing matters to consider at the moment.
Ryan crawled through the ropes, testing their tautness and strength with a casual strum of his fingers. The men had drawn them sufficiently tight and tied them off on the four steel posts at the corners.
A tinny bell rang. Ryan batted his knuckles together twice in a habitual gesture. Strange to feel his own skin and bone. Big Mario and he were expected to fight bare-fisted.
Considering how much this crowd loved blood, he shouldn't have been surprised.
Ryan swallowed through a dry throat as he moved to face his opponent. A liquid-like, knee-weakening sensation sunk through him and it took Ryan a moment to recognize it as pure, unmitigated fear—fear for Hope if he didn't succeed in beating Mario.
No sooner was he aware of the emotion than he pushed it back to the periphery. Ryan knew what unbridled fear and anger could do to you in the ring.
Jesus Christ, was it his imagination or had he seen Chicago World's Fair posters of Big Mario posing as one of the many oddities on the circus-like atmosphere of the Midway Plaisance? Mario was a behemoth. A freak of nature, as far as Ryan could tell. The bald Algerian towered perhaps six inches over Ryan's six feet four. He wore a thick black mustache beneath a curved hook of a nose. The abundant hair at his upper lip almost covered a vicious-looking slash of a mouth. Muscle bulged on his shoulders, chest and arms, but he'd started to go to fat on his belly and back. The guy was thick everywhere, the sheer bulk of him being what had stunned Ryan when Jack pointed out Big Mario's entrance several minutes ago.
No wonder they claimed Mario could stop a carriage in its tracks. He looked about the weight of one of the steel-clad vehicles. The guy probably had in excess of 150 pounds on Ryan.
He was slow, though, Ryan reminded himself, trying his best to still his racing heart.
Ryan'd have to take advantage of his slothlike movement.
Mario lumbered forward to meet him at the center of the ring. He planted his big feet and came to a complete standstill, making it easy for Ryan to maintain the perfect distance.
The giant looked confused by Ryan's limber footwork. He swiped at him with the biggest paw Ryan'd ever seen in his life. Ryan avoided the punch with an almost negligible fade of his torso.
Difficult not to miss a huge, slow-moving target like that.
Mario took several more wide shots, which Ryan avoided with ease. The crowd jeered the big man's ineffective efforts. Since Mario was so cordial about leaving his big body as exposed as the desert to the wind, Ryan got in a few punches into the midriff.
Mario snarled in annoyance and came at him throwing a barrage of punches, most of which Ryan managed to either avoid, duck or minimize. The giant's technique was sloppy, so Ryan had no difficulty landing three tight jabs to Mario's midsection while his opponent continued t
o throw wide. The guy may have accumulated some flab on the gut, but he was solid as a rock beneath it. Still, he could tell by Mario's grunts and widening eyes that he'd aimed well.