Free Hook and Shoot by Jeremy Brown

if anything in here gives you the grapes to fight me.”
    He bounced up the steps and started doing jumping jacks. He wore running shorts and a sleeveless white shirt. He was lean, bands of muscle and sinew strumming under pale skin. I’d fought wiry guys before and didn’t enjoy it very much. They’re strong and have too many sharp points. As far as I knew I’d never sparred with a wiry trained killer, but I expected the same.
    I poked through the box, found some shorts and hand wraps that looked like they’d fit, a boil-and-bite mouthguard still in its package. No luck on cups or supporters. “No kicks or knees.”
    â€œThose are for girls anyway. You and I shall be pugilists today. Peek under the apron. Should be more gear.”
    I lifted the heavy draping and saw three storage tubs with no lids piled with boxing gloves, focus mitts, and headgear. I dragged them out. “This stuff needs air and sunshine, otherwise it breeds.”
    Burch ignored me and stretched his legs by bringing his toes up to the opposite outstretched hand. Once, twice, that was enough for him. He started wheeling his arms around. “We had a bit of fun in the SAS called the hooded box drill. You standin the middle of a dark room with a black hood over your head, and when you least expect it they pull the hood off and you’re faced with between one and three blokes set on ruining your day. Your job is to treat them likewise.”
    â€œBare knuckle?”
    â€œNah, small gloves and headgear with face shields.” He didn’t seem to appreciate the face I made. “How many press-ups can you do?”
    â€œWhat the hell’s a press-up?”
    He dropped to the canvas and started banging out push-ups.
    â€œOh. I don’t know.”
    â€œYou don’t know? Thought you trained.”
    â€œNot for a push-up contest.”
    I changed in the men’s room off the gym, white tile and indirect lighting with stainless fixtures and two shower stalls with frosted glass doors. The only color was a glass mosaic in the wall across from the sinks that showed a scene from the Trojan War, Hector getting dragged around the walls. Achilles looked slightly Asian, and there was a single blue tile in his black hair. I ran the mouthguard under hot water and let myself get upset over the fact that the second-best bathroom I’d ever been in was Eddie’s locker room shitter.
    When I came out Vanessa was sitting on a yogamat, her legs crossed at the ankles. She cheered my walk to the cage with a very quiet, “Yay.”
    I dropped my clean clothes in a heap onto the mat next to her.
    â€œBoooo.”
    Burch had his gloves and headgear on. He had to take his mouthguard out to whistle at my shorts. “He’s a big one, ain’t he, Vanessa? Watch out when he topples. He might take the fence down with him.”
    Eddie walked in wearing a thick black bathrobe, a phone pressed to his ear. “How soon can we get that done?” He rolled a finger at us to keep doing whatever we were doing.
    I put headgear on and found the biggest gloves in the bin, carried them up to the threshold. It’s not a casual act, entering a fighting cage to do work. I took a moment to show respect.
    â€œQuit stalling and get in here,” Burch said. “Water’s nice.”
    I stepped in and felt the cool grip of the canvas under my feet. Pulled the gloves on and tipped back into the fence, let it take my weight and bounce me upright. The gloves had thick wrist straps with Velcro. I used my teeth to tighten them.
    Burch was across the cage hopping from one foot to the other, his arms hanging loose. “Ready, sunshine?”
    â€œI’m ready.”
    Behind me Eddie said into the phone, “Hold on a second.”
    Burch said, “Vanessa, if you would be so kind.”
    â€œDing-ding.”
    Burch skimmed across, leading left. Decent head movement. I held my left hand up near my