Chloe spoke up. “We met when I got off work.”
“At the Lounge?”
“Yes.”
Claire’s attention shifted from Chloe back to Kira. “Then what?”
Kira struggled. “I guess we decided . . .” She really couldn’t remember.
“How much did you have to drink?”
Kira looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.” What a pain in the ass. “I suppose I had a Gunfighter’s Long Island when I first got there.”
“OK.”
Kira turned to Chloe. “Then you got me the Angel’s Envy.”
Chloe looked embarrassed and addressed Claire. “It’s what we get each other after a win.”
“What else?” The question was for Kira.
Kira shrugged. “I really can’t . . .”
“You had another Long Island before we left.”
Claire responded with a small head twitch.
Thanks a whole fucking lot, Chloe.
Time to take control of the story. “Chloe wanted to play pool, so we took a driver to Ozzie’s.”
“Did you have any more to drink there?”
Kira spoke before Chloe could answer. “Just a couple beers.” Kira took the pack off her face. “We were there to play.”
Chloe slid forward on the sofa. “There wasn’t an open table, so we put down our quarters and said we’d play the winner. The guys said, ‘Sure.’”
Claire took a drink of tea. Her face emerged from the cup with a puzzled expression. “OK, so how do we get from that to one of them taking a swing at Kira and choking the life out of her?”
Kira made a helpless shrug. That was the fuzzy part.
Chloe glared at Kira again. “I didn’t see it start. I was up ordering cheese sticks when I heard this big commotion, and when I turn around Kira’s busted a pool cue over this guy’s head.”
Claire’s focus was entirely on Kira now. “So, what was all that about?”
Kira squirmed. “Look, I can’t remember, OK? He hit me pretty hard. You said that. But I’m sure he had it coming. He probably grabbed my ass while I was trying to shoot or something.”
Anger tinged Chloe’s voice. “He was like a foot taller than you and a hundred pounds heavier and he was pretty much all muscle.” Fear replaced the anger. “He could’ve killed you.”
Claire paced. “OK, so you went out after a match, got drunk, and picked a fight with a guy who could beat the crap out of you. Were you carrying?”
Kira nodded. “Oh yeah. Diana drilled that into us.”
Claire stopped, fixing Kira with a look of pure incredulity. “You’re a gunfighter, you’ve got a pistol, and you defend yourself with a pool cue?”
“I don’t know. I told you, I don’t remember this all that well.”
Claire sighed and shook her head. “So, tell me about your match today. Who was it?”
“Elaine Thomas.”
“What was she like?”
Kira tried for a flat, neutral tone. “About forty. Tall, thin. Tough target, but slow.”
“What was she there for?”
Kira stared at the floor. Memory pressed in. She took a deep breath and forced the words out. “Stage four ovarian cancer. TKC denied payment for the treatment. She said she’d die one way or the other.” Kira squeezed the cold pack. “I guess she must have put her pivot foot in the kill box, because she was still turning when the Wall came down. There was time to set up the shot and put the bullet right through her heart.” Kira’s voice caught. “It was quick.” Kira closed her eyes, but Elaine’s image wouldn’t go away. “Diana said she probably didn’t feel anything.”
Claire pulled up the ottoman and sat across from Kira. “Something tells me the part of today you want to forget isn’t hitting the guy with the pool cue.”
Kira looked up at the corner of the room. “It’s the same for her as anyone else. She had a choice. It’s legal. We . . . It’s sanctity of contract. It’s what everyone agreed to.” She trembled. “I did my job.”
Claire moved a little closer. “OK, now say all that again, but this time, look me in the eye and make it sound like you mean it.”
Kira gathered herself. It was a part, it was a role, it was a speech. She could play it.
Instead, something in Kira’s mind cracked, and she flopped back in the chair and pulled the ice pack over her eyes. Claire had no damn right to do this to her.
Claire stood again. “Tell me about the match before today.”
Kira let out an exasperated sigh. Claire wasn’t going to leave it alone, and there was no way to get her out of the apartment; Chloe had called her. Kira didn’t move and responded in a monotone. “A no-show. Ryan-something. I scared the shit out of him with the Death’s Angel routine, and he left before we went to the changing rooms.”
“What did you do after that?”
“I took the Deep Rail up to Minneapolis. I had a friend with a part in A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum at the Chanhassen Dinner Theater. It was fun.”
“Did any of that fun involve drinking?”
“Bev doesn’t drink much. I think I had a glass of merlot with dinner.”
Claire nodded. “OK, what about the match before that?”
“Another no-show. He took the door in the changing room.”
“Afterward?”
“Chloe and I went out for pizza.”
Chloe brightened a little. “We ate at that deep-dish place.”
Claire cracked a smile. “That’s the only real pizza.” She turned her attention back to Kira. “Drinking?”
“Beer with the pizza. Maybe two.”
“The rest of the break?”
“We mostly hung around here. I had to look at some potential posters, and I did a vid chat with some fans.”
Chloe agreed, and Claire went on. “How about the one before that?”
Kira lifted the pack off her face and stared at the ceiling. “Adam Spector. His brains ended up on the back wall.”
Chloe jumped in. “One of the wards threw up.”
Kira shot a hard look at her roommate. They all could have done without that particular image.
Claire paused, as if making a mental note, and fixed her eyes on Kira again. “Afterward?”
“I went to a party.”
Chloe addressed Claire. “That was the one where she tried to sit in the window and chug a fifth of bourbon without choking. Then this second from Consolidated Trust dragged her back in, and she yelled at him.”
Kira sat up and scowled at her roommate. “He shouldn’t have grabbed me like that . . .”
Chloe’s voice rose. “It was a fourth-floor window. You could have fallen out and broken your neck.” Her face hardened as she looked at Kira. “He just put his arm around your waist and pulled you off the edge.”
“He made me spill bourbon all over—”
Claire quieted them and continued her questioning, going backward through Kira’s match schedule, asking about each opponent, the outcome, and what she did afterward.
“His name?”
“The Consolidated Trust guy—?”
“The next fight.”
“Oh. Grant Perkins. Middle-aged and pissed off about a claim for his boat.”
“A boat? He was willing to die for a damn boat?”
Kira pressed her face into the cold pack, which was now merely cool. “He was pretty adamant about it, yeah.”
“What happened?”
“Hit to the upper chest, and he went down on his butt.”
“Afterward?”
“Nothing. I had a couple drinks and went shopping.”
Chloe piped up. “That was when you fell getting out of the driver, twisted your ankle, and scraped your hand.”
God damn it, Chloe. Was this what being tattled on by a younger sister was like? Maybe she hadn’t missed much by not having siblings.
Claire took a big drink of tea, and then broke the silence.
“OK, I think that’s enough for yo
u to see the pattern.” She looked to them for confirmation. Chloe responded with a vigorous nod, while Kira rolled her eyes. Or rather, eye. Claire sighed. “When you kill somebody or hurt somebody on the field, you go out and get drunk and wind up hurting yourself. Can we all agree to that?”
The last question had the well-worn sound of something the speaker repeated too often. Claire’s gift for statistical inference meant she often saw things clearly that others saw only vaguely, if at all.
Kira threw the cold pack on the floor. “Look, maybe you’re right. Maybe I do take it out on myself when I shoot somebody. So the fuck what? Nothing’s more dangerous than being on the dueling field in the first place.”
Claire folded her arms across her chest. “Are you seeing a counselor? Diana should have given you a name after your first match.”
“She did, but . . .” Kira looked away. “I never felt the need.”
“Has Diana asked you about it?”
Kira snorted. “Diana asks me about everything—how much I sleep, what I’m eating, if I’m seeing anybody or not. Not that any of it’s her business.”
“It is her business—literally. But never mind that—has she specifically asked you about the counselor?”
“I guess.”
“You know if she makes it mandatory, she has to report that. It can be part of a fitness assessment.”
Kira sneered. “Oh, come on. They aren’t going to force me out. Not with my record. They just signed me up for an extension, and they want to wring every win out of me they can get.”
“How many fights do you have left?”
“Four. But I’m negotiating another extension. I’m not quite where I need to be yet.”
Claire sucked on her teeth. “That’s not good. How many more do you need?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.” Who the hell did Claire think she was? She might be a second, even a TKC second, but she wasn’t Kira’s second.
Claire stepped closer. “Kira, for some people, the longer they do this job, the easier it gets. It’s like they get a callous on their feelings. For other people, it hurts more every time they pull the trigger, like a bruise that keeps getting hit. I think you’re in that second group, and I think you need to talk to somebody about that. What was the name Diana gave you?”
Kira responded with an irritated shrug. “Somebody-Davis. It’s on my handset.”
On a nod from Claire, Chloe rose and held out Kira’s handset.
“Go ahead and make an appointment.” There was compassion in Claire’s voice, but a hard steel undertone as well.
“It’s OK. I’ll do it. I just don’t want to do it right this minute. My head hurts.” Kira pulled the thoroughly warmed cold pack off the floor and put it against her face.
Claire and Chloe stood together, unmoving and staring at Kira.
Kira laughed. “Hey, you two should see yourselves. You look like you’re doing an intervention on an alcoholic.”
Chloe glanced toward Claire, who kept her eyes fixed on Kira.
Kira’s chest tightened. “Oh, come on. You don’t think . . .” She tossed the pack aside and stood. “No, I’m not, and you can’t come in here and act like . . .” A hollow, sinking sensation hit Kira’s stomach. Her mouth went dry.
Claire spoke. “For the record, I’d say you’re a problem binge-drinker rather than an alcoholic, but I also think that’s one of the first things you should talk to Dr. Davis about.” She nodded toward Kira’s handset, still in Chloe’s outstretched hand.
Kira took the device. “I can’t believe this. You’re acting like I can’t handle my life.” She raised the handset over her head. “I’m not going to do this while you stand there and watch me. I just won’t.”
Claire spoke again. “It’s not my job to run to Diana and report all this, but if she asks me what I know, I won’t lie for you.”
Chloe crossed her arms. “Same for me.”
Kira’s heart pounded, and her throat tightened. She had no choice, but it was just to get them off her back. She took the handset and tapped out an appointment request. Seconds later, Dr. Davis’s office scheduling ’bot responded with a confirmation. She turned the handset toward Claire. “There.”
She could tap the speaker button and spare Claire the trouble of reading the appointment. The display’s black text on white background, oddball font, and abbreviations would be hell on Claire’s dyslexia. But why shouldn’t she suffer a little? She sure wasn’t sparing Kira any embarrassment.
Claire leaned toward the screen, squinting. Kira let her struggle for a few seconds, then relented and pushed the read button. It’s not as if she had so many friends she could afford to burn one out of sheer spite. The handset quoted the appointment in its clipped, English butler voice.
Claire leaned back and relaxed. “Next Tuesday. That’s good.” She turned to Chloe. “Make sure she keeps it and call me if she doesn’t.”
“Don’t worry, I will.”
Kira ground her teeth.
Claire’s face became soft and full of sympathy. “I know that wasn’t easy, and what you’ve got ahead is harder, but it’s what you need to do. I hope you can see that.”
Kira managed a sharp nod. “OK.”
Claire took her purse off the coffee table, and Chloe walked her to the door. She left without saying goodbye.
When the door closed behind their friend, Chloe faced Kira. “I meant what I said about making sure you keep that appointment.”
Kira tossed the gel pack back in the freezer. “I know you did.”
Chloe watched her with sad eyes but said no more.
Despite the pain building in her chest, the lump in her throat, and exhaustion covering everything, Kira managed to keep it together long enough to extract a fresh pack from the freezer and make it out of the kitchen. Once in her room, she locked the door, embraced her pillow, and sobbed.
Chapter 25
Kira stood in Firing Point Three, her back to the target, waiting for the start signal. The chime sounded, she pivoted, planted her foot, pulled her toe inside the firing line, and drew, focusing on the movement of her right arm. The sights stabilized, and she fired. Last round of the set. She checked the clock. Chloe’s twenty-eighth match would start in less than five minutes.
Kira called up the results hologram, which presented a comparison between her arm movements and an idealized, “most efficient” model. She’d kept her deviation from the model in single-digit territory and shaved almost a tenth of a second off her average draw-to-hit time. She keyed up the target results. Though not important for this particular drill, they looked OK, too.
A warble sounded from her handset, letting her know match coverage was about to begin. Kira buzzed the specialist she was working with. “Hey, Mike. This is Kira. I’m going to take a break. Chloe’s up.”
A couple seconds of silence followed. Probably Mike checking her results.
“No problem. Let me know when you’re back at it. Same drill on the left hand.”
“Sure thing.”
Kira placed her pistol in the rack, pulled the ear protectors down around her neck, and grabbed her purse and water bottle. Past the outer door, Kira found only a handful of open tables in the break area. She spotted an empty one out near the edge, plunked down in one of the chairs, pressed her earpiece into place, and projected the video feed from her handset onto the wall.
The image showed the administrative area for the match. Diana and a ward tested a gun belt, pistol, and sensor. Across the centerline, the other second and ward concluded their examination of the ammunition. Tests complete, the judge asked for the seconds’ consent to continue. Kira shifted in her chair. The other second was a Guild professional, and that was never a good sign. The chyron identified him as Jacob Carver, the same guy who’d coached her opponent when she got hit. Kira took a sip of water, relieving the dryness in her mouth.
Chloe emerged, and flashed her hand signals—I’m nervous. Opponent prepared.
In r
eply, Diana signaled the field was OK, and the second was a first-rate professional. She also gave Chloe a warm smile and a final signal—control the Wall.
No way to know what bit of intelligence Diana based that recommendation on. Faced with a longer-legged and well-trained opponent, exploiting the “last foot in the kill box lowers the Wall” rule made sense. Although Diana might be doing nothing more than calming Chloe’s nerves by giving her something to focus on.
Chloe’s opponent emerged—an athletic, gray-haired man dressed in a smart, fitted dueling tunic. He conferred briefly with his second, breaking it off when the judge rose and called for attention. They rolled through the rituals of consent and equipment checkout, and the Wall went up.
From a perspective above and behind the judge, the cameras watched the combatants march to the start point and turn back-to-back. Once they were in position, the vid went to split screen, showing the track of each combatant from a vantage point above the Wall, but at a low enough angle to show their bodies rather than the tops of their heads.
Both of them departed from the strikeline, Chloe veering to her right and the citizen veering to his left, but not quite as far. The citizen entered his box first and executed a smooth turn and draw. Camera perspective shifted, now watching from above and behind him as he faced the hologram’s featureless expanse. He swung his gun along with his eyes, his only display of poor technique so far.
Chloe planted her pivot foot on the edge of her kill box and executed her turn, bringing the Wall down when her traveling foot landed inside the boundary. She spotted her opponent before she completed her draw and brought her gun to bear. He swung his gun toward her, and both weapons fired.
The citizen staggered back, clutching his chest. Chloe jumped, but remained standing. When the EMT pointed to her, she shook her head. The tentative win light flashed on Chloe’s side.
Kira let out a long sigh and sagged into her chair. Chloe was another step closer to being done.
Kira burst in the apartment door, bearing a pint of Picket Fence Dairy Raspberry Ripple ice cream she’d picked up on sale. It would make a good victory gift for Chloe, substituting for a glass of Angel’s Envy. “Look what I got—”
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