Written by Stephen F. Moloney
“Alright, there you go …” said Jeanie, carefully placing a glass of soda down onto the table in front of Kiko. “One Diet Coke.”
“Thank you,” replied Kiko, smiling politely.
“You’re very welcome, honey,” said Jeanie, smiling warmly back as she wiped her hand off her apron. “I’ll just go check on your food, ok?”
With that, Jeanie set off walking back across the diner floor – the heels on her boots tapping rhythmically off the tiles covering it as she moved – leaving Ray and Mustang, once again, sitting on their own with Kiko.
“So, uh … where was I?” asked Ray, looking to pick up where they’d left off in their conversation.
“I believe you were at the point where I had snuck out of the hotel,” said Kiko, calmly.
“Oh, yeah – thanks,” said Ray, now remembering, as he continued to sound as though he were trying to work out a particularly confusing ending to a movie he’d just watched. “So, after you snuck out of your hotel … that’s when you stole your security gu-…”
“Borrowed,” said Kiko, politely interjecting.
“Alright, ‘borrowed’ your security guards’ car,” continued Ray, adding her amendment to his rendition of what had happened. “And then you drove here … to get a burger?”
“Yes,” said Kiko, still sounding perfectly composed as she sat with ruler-straight posture and her hands neatly folded on the table. “I’d seen places like this online and in TV shows, and – seeing as this is my first trip to the United States – I wanted to see what the food was like.”
“And your mom or brother couldn’t bring you?” asked Ray, still trying to get to the bottom of this rather bizarre turn of events. “Or even one of your security guards, maybe?”
“My mother doesn’t trust western food,” answered Kiko, matter-of-factly. “Hence why she brought one of our chefs on this trip to cook for us; and, given my mother is the only one who instructs our security guards what to do, you can see how getting one of them to drive me here would have been … ‘problematic’, to say the least. As for Hiro? He’s been locked away in his room since we returned from the course to prepare for his match tomorrow with Ballas.” Kiko turned to look at Mustang, her brown eyes fixing him in place with a confident stare. “Speaking of which, congratulations on defeating Blackridge; I read my brother’s notes on him – he was a formidable opponent.”
“Uh …. t-thank you,” replied Mustang, stammering initially before, eventually, getting the words out in one piece.
“Does Hiro have notes on everyone in the tournament?” probed Ray, unable to help himself from deviating off-topic.
“He does,” replied Kiko, unphased, as she looked back at Ray. “Well … everyone except for you, of course,” she said, returning her attention to Mustang. “Apart from that video of you making that putt against Ballas and what his trainer could pick up from watching your matches today … you’ve proven to be something of an ‘enigma’ for my brother.”
“Is he annoyed by that?” asked Mustang, finally summoning the strength to fight off the spell he felt as though Kiko put him under every time she laid eyes on him.
“Mildly,” she answered. “I, on the other hand, just find it interesting.”
Before he could begin to feel like any more of a third wheel than he, suddenly, already did as Kiko and Mustang smiled at one another, Ray cleared his throat and spoke up. “Ahem … well, while I have no problem with you gettin’ your food and … you know … eatin’ it,” he began. “I hope you understand, Kiko, that I can’t, in good conscience, let you drive back to your hotel, right? It would just be too irresponsible on my part.”
As Ray was speaking, Jeanie arrived back at the table. She had a large, brown bag in one arm filled with Ray’s, Mustang’s and Travis’ orders, and in her other hand she had the meal that Kiko had ordered, ‘The Renée’ – a combination of a double cheeseburger and fries that Jeanie had promised would give her the most genuine experience of American diner food she’d been looking for.
“Now, that bein’ said, though …” continued Ray, as Jeanie quietly placed the bag down in front of him, and Kiko’s plate in front of her. “This don’t mean I’m lookin’ to get you in any trouble either. Ok, so what I’m thinkin’ is, you stay here, eat your burger – even get some dessert, if you want, they’re all really good here too; and, in the meantime, I’ll drop Mustang and our food off at our place, swing back here, then drop you and your car back to the hotel. No one has to know anythin’. I won’t tell your mom. What d’ya say?”
“I’ll even follow behind in my car so I can give you a ride back,” offered Jeanie, placing her two hands inside the pocket of her apron. “Or if you’d prefer to ride back to the hotel with me and let Ray follow us in your car, we can do that too.”
“Yeah, exactly,” agreed Ray, enthusiastically. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, that’s what’ll happen.”
“And you promise you won’t tell my mother?” asked Kiko, somewhat apprehensively, as she sounded her young age for the first time since opening her mouth back over at the counter and revealing she had flawless English.
“You have my word,” swore Ray, lifting up his right hand as if he were being inaugurated.
“Then, in that case … ok,” agreed Kiko, before reaching her hand across the table for a handshake. “We have a deal, Mr. Thackett.”
“Delighted to hear it,” replied Ray, getting over his initial surprise at seeing Kiko initiate a handshake by gently grasping her daintily-sized hand with his calloused mitt. “And, please, call me, Ray.”
After bowing her head just a touch to acknowledge what Ray had said, Kiko brought her hand back over to her side of the table and laid it down alongside her plate.
“Want some company?”
Having come from completely out of nowhere in only the seconds-long silence which had descended over the booth, Ray, Jeanie, and Kiko all turned and looked at Mustang, who, considering what he’d just asked, looked impressively calm.
“Excuse me?” asked Kiko, her answer borne more out of an attempt to buy some time to process Mustang’s offer as opposed to not having correctly heard what he’d said.
“Would you like some company?” he asked, repeating himself with the addition of a few extra words for clarity’s sake. “You know … while you eat?”
“Uh … yes … that would be … cool,” replied Kiko, now taking her turn to do some ‘spell fighting’ as she smiled nervously and tucked her long, black hair behind her ear.
“Cool,” smiled Mustang, trying his hardest not to reveal just how excited he actually was at hearing Kiko’s answer before looking up at Ray. “Is that alright with you?” he asked, eyes widening slightly to let him know there was really only one answer he was looking for.
“Well, jeez, I dunno, kid …” answered Ray, more than a touch hesitantly. “I mean, it’s been a long day, and with tomorrow as-…”
“Ray, can I speak to you for a second?” said Jeanie, cutting abruptly across him mid-sentence. “Over by the register?”
“Uh … yeah, sure,” replied Ray, taken slightly aback at how Jeanie was acting all of a sudden, but sliding out of the booth, regardless.
Having followed her across the diner to the register, as requested, Ray came to a stop in front of Jeanie. “Was there a problem with my card or somethin’?” he asked, completely unaware as to what Jeanie had actually wanted to speak to him about. “Cause I have cash on me if that hel- …”
“What the hell are you doing?!” hissed Jeanie, interrupting Ray once again.
“I wanna say ‘offerin’ to pay in cash’ …” replied Ray, mirroring the volume of her voice somewhat. “But, somehow, I get the impression that ain’t the right answer, so why don’t you just tell me what I did?”
“You were gonna say no to Oscar staying and eating with Kiko!” snapped Jeanie, continuing to keep her voice down so as to avoid being overheard by Mustang and Kiko, who were now chatting quietly and sharing some of her fries. “That’s what!”
“Well … yeah, obviously!” said Ray, as if flabbergasted at the thought he’d be considering any other answer.
“What do you mean ‘obviously’?!” replied Jeanie, shocked at how assured Ray appeared in his answer. “They’re just two 14-year olds who want to hang out, what’s the big deal?!”
“Well, first of all, exactly what you just said,” stated Ray, making his opening argument. “They’re just two 14-year olds; they’re a way too young.”
“And if we were talking about them getting married or … I dunno … applying for a mortgage?! Then, sure …” said Jeanie, dismissively. “But we’re not. It’s just eating burgers together. Next?”
“Well …” said Ray, trying to regroup. “How about how Kiko came to be here in the first place, huh? Sneakin’ out? Stealin’ a car? I mean, she could be a bad influence on the kid.”
“Is that really a point you wanna try and hang an argument on when we’re talking about Oscar, of all people?” asked Jeanie, giving Ray the opportunity to back out of the hypocritical corner he’d just walked himself into. “Or do I need to remind you why you called him ‘Mustang’? And, spoiler, it’s not because he really liked horses.”
“Alright, fine!” whispered Ray, realizing that particular argument was, indeed, a dead end. “But how ’bout this one: she was sayin’ after you left to go check on her food that her brother has notes on everyone in the tournament except for Mustang, right?”
“Ok … so?” said Jeanie, not sounding as though she was seeing what the big deal was.
“So,” continued Ray, as if he were about to reveal the crux of the dastardly plot potentially afoot. “If the kid beats Skip tomorrow and Hiro beats Byron, then that means the pair of them would be playin’ each other in the final. So what if this …”. He gestured subtly off over his shoulder in the direction of the booth. “Is all just an act?! You know, an effort to try and trick the kid into revealin’ his tactics so Hiro can get an edge?!”
“You know what?” said Jeanie, suddenly sounding deathly serious. “I think you might be onto something with that – she could definitely be a spy.”
“Really?” asked Ray, caught completely off-guard by her response. “You actually believe me?”
“Of course not!” sniped Jeanie sarcastically, snapping out her hand and hitting Ray with a playful slap into the mid-section. “Because to do that would mean I’d be agreeing with the sleep-deprived ramblings of someone who, clearly, hasn’t gotten a proper night’s sleep in two days!”
Though his face screwed up like he completely disagreed with her premise, Ray knew, deep down, that Jeanie was probably right – he just wasn’t ready to admit it yet … because he hadn’t slept properly in two days.
“Ray, it’s golf, ok?” continued Jeanie, looking to hammer home her point. “Like, what tactics could Oscar possibly reveal to her? ‘Oh, by the way, if I end up you’re playing your brother, I’m gonna try and get the ball in the hole in fewer shots than him – don’t tell him, though’. I mean, talk about groundbreaking!”
Slowly, Jeanie’s sarcasm-soaked words began to cut their way through the dense fog which had descended over Ray’s brain in the last 48-plus hours.
And they made perfect sense.
“Ok, it’s really sweet that you’re worried about him – it is,” said Jeanie, keeping her train of thought going, but softening her tone. “And, look, I know you’re, like … literally, brand new to this whole ‘guardian’ thing – but if I might make one suggestion? I know Oscar is a good golfer – like, really good – but always remember he’s a ‘kid’ first and foremost. And I’m not saying you haven’t been doing that – far from it. But … well, just don’t forget it, alright? Because helping him win this tournament – as crazily high as the stakes might be – or any other tournament he might play after this, isn’t gonna be the marker you’re judged by to show whether or not you’ve done a good job with him; in fact, it’ll be a lot more boring than that. It’ll just be how much of a normal life you managed to give him.”
With her words still sinking in, a gently smiling Ray just nodded at Jeanie before turning around and walking off back across the diner. Once he got to within a few steps of the booth, whatever hushed conversation had seen the pair of them quietly laughing was quickly put on hold as Mustang and Kiko watched Ray arrive back at the table. Instead of sitting down, however, Ray merely grabbed the bag with their takeout in it and started to unfurl the top of it.
“What are you doing?” asked Mustang, confused as to what exactly was happening as he watched Ray reach his hand inside the bag.
“Well, you don’t want your food to get cold, do ya?” he replied, flatly, pulling Mustang’s neatly wrapped order of the bag and sliding it across the table to him.
“Wait, so does this mean -… ?” said Mustang, his brain, excitedly, putting together what he thought was happening.
“I’ll be back in an hour … hour and a half, tops, alright?” said Ray, cutting across Mustang to let him know he was, indeed, saying he could stay and eat with Kiko, without actually saying it. “And, here …”. Ray reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulled out a slightly crumpled fifty-dollar bill, and tossed it down onto the table. “Dinner’s on me, Kiko – get yourselves some dessert too while you’re at it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thack-…” said Kiko, before catching herself. “I mean, thank you, Ray – that’s very generous.”
“Yeah, thanks, Ray,” added Mustang, smiling appreciatively up at him.
“Ah, don’t mention it,” replied Ray with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if a touch embarrassed. “Now, go on, have fun – I’ll see you kids later.”
With that, Ray picked up the bag with his and Travis’ food left in it and went about making for the door of the diner.
“Nice work, Thackett,” said Jeanie, smiling brightly as Ray ventured back near the register.
“Ah, well … you were right,” replied Ray, coming to a stop and turning back around to glance over at the booth. Mustang was already happily tucking into his food – ‘The Bayou BBQ Burger’, which was, essentially, the same as Kiko’s except with the added additions of smoked bacon, pulled pork and, of course, ‘Renée’s’ famously delicious barbeque sauce – and trying hard to remember his table manners as he laughed at something Kiko had just said.
“It’s my job to give the kid as normal a life as I can,” continued Ray, looking back at Jeanie. “So, that’s what I’m gonna try and do.”
“And I’m sure you’ll do a great job,” said Jeanie, placing a reassuring hand on Ray’s arm.
“But, uh … you’ll … you know …” whispered Ray quietly, shifting somewhat uncomfortably on his feet as he glanced quickly between the booth and back to the counter.
“Yes, I will keep an eye on them,” said Jeanie, finishing Ray’s sentence for him. “Now, go on! Take some of your own advice and get that food home before it gets any colder! I’ll see you later.”
“Thanks, Jeanie,” said Ray, making a point of standing up straight and locking eyes with her as he picked up his takeout. “Really. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” replied Jeanie, somewhat quietly, as if the manner in which Ray had just spoken had hit that little bit differently.
After exchanging a slightly longer-than-usual look between one another, Ray forced himself to snap out of his temporary stupor. “See ya later,” he said, smiling warmly.
With a smile of her own and a small wave from Jeanie seeing him off, Ray turned around and began to make the few steps needed to reach the door of the diner. As soon as he laid his hand on the actual door handle, however – the metal it was made from cold to the touch – the sound of Kiko laughing loudly at something Mustang had, obviously, just said caught Ray’s attention. He looked back down towards the booth. Just like it had sounded, Kiko was, indeed, trying her best to suppress a belly-laugh as a smiling Mustang, with his burger still in hand, continued to animatedly tell whatever story it was he’d been recounting – and Ray couldn’t help but smile to himself.
After a second or two, though, that smile quickly faded as his face set into a more contemplative expression. With everything he’d just been talking about with Jeanie, about him trying to give Mustang as normal a life as possible and what that, inherently, meant about what Ray, himself, could offer in terms of consistency and stability, the thought of what Mustang could do for him had never entered his mind. But as he watched him sitting down opposite Kiko, laughing and joking about something or other, it suddenly dawned on Ray that he could, indeed, learn a thing or two from Mustang.
Because here was a kid who wasn’t afraid to take a chance; who didn’t seem to ever let the idea of things ‘not working out’ enter the equation and stop him from going after something. And if, for whatever reason, things didn’t work out? He’d just dust himself off and go again. It was like how he played golf: see the shot, take it on – no matter how high-risk it might be – and go again. Was this subconscious attitude down to his rather turbulent childhood? More than likely, Ray figured. And whilst that was something he knew he’d have to keep an eye on going forward, right now the only thing Ray was thinking about was taking a leaf out of Mustang’s book and taking the shot he’d been putting off for years.
With his hand still grabbing the handle, Ray whipped around from the door and looked back towards the counter.
“Hey, Jeanie?” he said, attempting to get her attention.
“Yeah?” she replied, looking up from tidying the drawer of the register.
“Do you wanna get a drink with me sometime?” he asked.
*
“And?!” probed Maggie, desperate to know what Jeanie’s answer had been like she was engrossed in a soap opera. “What did she say?!”
“She said ‘yes’,” answered Ray, rather bashfully, but his fondness for the memory bringing a smile to his face nonetheless.
“Yeah! Way to go, Ray!” cheered Maggie, unable to resist snapping out her hand and hitting him a congratulatory punch into the arm. “And I know that’s hit number three, but the sentiment was in the right place, so I stand by it!”
“Well, consider the sentiment appreciated,” laughed Ray. “Though, for the sake of full transparency, let the record show that I would happily take bein’ pinned down by enemy fire with only a water pistol in my hand if it meant I wouldn’t have to go through another few seconds like those between askin’ her out and waitin’ for her answer again! I mean, talk about brutal!”
Having weaved it through the artery-like network of paths which marked the route they’d taken from the 10th, Ray pulled the UTV back into the rough off to the right-hand side of the 14th hole and sped through it until he reached the fairway; bringing them to a stop, eventually, at the top of the hill which looked down towards the green.
Though she’d seen where they currently were when standing on the balcony of the LaFleur Suite, nothing could have prepared Maggie for the majesty of the view which, suddenly, lay before her. The manicured fairway stretching off down the slope away from where they were parked, cambering ever-so-gently to the left like a lazy stream. The green at the bottom of the hill – flanked either side with walls of bulrushes – jutting out into the large lake beyond; the sheer drop off the rear of it making it look like an infinity pool. And then, right the way across the lake – perched on the hill above the 18th green – was the clubhouse, overseeing everything like the grand ole’ lady of Crescent Creek that she was.
It was stunning.
“So, if you asked Jeanie out then …” queried Maggie, clearly teeing up another question as she took in the view. “How did that make things when you came back later to pick up Mustang and Kiko? Like, was it … I dunno … awkward or anything?”
“Naw, it didn’t make things awkward,” said Ray, he, too, allowing his eyes to wander out over the lake. “Mainly ‘cause after she said ‘yes’, we decided not to say anythin’ ‘bout it to Mustang. So, when I came back later, the two of ‘em rode with me in Kiko’s car – the pair of ’em chattin’ like a pair of birds on a powerline the entire time; we dropped her off at the hotel; and then Jeanie dropped us back to the trailer park as planned.”
“And Mustang didn’t … you know … pick up on any ‘signals’ bouncing back and forth between you and Jeanie, no?” probed Maggie, digging for the scandalous gossip her brain was now craving.
“Hah! Are you kiddin’?!” laughed Ray, taking his eyes off the lake and looking over at Maggie. “The kid was so pumped up after droppin’ Kiko off, he didn’t shut up from the second he sat into Jeanie’s car all the way back to the trailer! Talkin’ ‘bout how ‘Kiko said this’ and ‘Kiko said that’; and ‘Kiko’s so cool’; and ‘did you know she speaks two other languages as well?!’. I mean, honestly, I’d be surprised if he even registered that Jeanie was actually in the car! So, as far as keepin’ things under wraps? We were good.”
“So, were you glad in the end that you’d listened to Jeanie?” asked Maggie, smacking a tiny fly that had made the foolish mistake of landing on her leg. “You know, by letting Mustang stay and eat with Kiko?”
“Yeah, I was,” replied Ray, without a second’s hesitation. “I think it wound up bein’ a good distraction for him, you know? I mean, he hadn’t shown any signs of bein’ nervous about the tournament since before he’d gone and spoken to Kretschko on the 1st tee that mornin’, so I didn’t really expect him to suddenly start overthinkin’ things anyway, but … well, at the same time, he was still human – and, as Jeanie had reminded me, a kid. So, as far as I was concerned, anythin’ that could keep his mind preoccupied and stop him from thinkin’ ‘bout the next mornin’ and Skip Devereaux? I was all for.”
“And what about you?” said Maggie, her voice loaded with intrigue as she grinned at Ray.
“What d’ya mean?” he replied, confused as to what exactly she was asking.
“Had you stopped thinking about Skip?” she clarified, the same grin still spread across her face.
A smiling Ray made a noise that was part exhalation, part laugh as he turned his gaze back out over the lake. Having been mirror-still when they were out on the balcony, the surface of the water was now starting to look a little less tranquil as the ever-strengthening breeze licked across the top of the lake, stirring up wave after wave in its path.
There was no denying it now. There was rain coming.
A still smiling Ray turned back to look at Maggie.
“What do you think?” he said, confidently.
*
“Am I gonna have to take that off you to stop you eatin’ all of it before you even tee off?!” joked Ray, pointing at the bag of trail mix Mustang had been steadily grazing from since they left the range.
“Hey, it’s not my fault there’s chocolate chips in here …” said Mustang, as he distractedly fished another fistful of trail mix out of the bag and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Gimme that!” laughed Ray, snatching the bag out of his hand and shoving it back into the pocket on his golf bag where Mustang had first raided it from. “And here …” he continued, producing a bottle of water from the same pocket and holding it out towards Mustang. “Start workin’ on this.”
Mustang took the bottle and, after twisting off the cap, began to take a long drink from it as instructed.
With the luxury of having had actual time at his disposal, Ray had organized the schedule for that morning to be a whole lot different to that of Saturday’s, which had seen them rocking up to the Creek haggard and running on nothing but sheer adrenalin after their all-night, cross-country dash through four different States. So, as a result, following a highly productive morning wherein they’d had a home-cooked breakfast back at the trailer park – courtesy of Travis cooking up a storm in the trailer Ray had rented out for him using some of the money he’d won from Mr. Denby – and gotten through, practically, the entirety of their warm-up before Hiro, Byron or Skip arrived at the range to start loosening out, Ray and Mustang had found themselves where they currently were, waiting on the 1st tee, with a full ten minutes to spare before 9 o’clock.
“Pretty big crowd, huh?” said Mustang, lowering his voice after downing a good quarter of the bottle of water. “You know, even compared to yesterday?”
“Yeah, I guess …” replied Ray, taking a cursory look at the crowd surrounding the tee-box as if he hadn’t really noticed it until Mustang had brought it up (even though, in reality, he’d been doing a mental headcount since the moment they’d landed on the tee). “It’s to be expected, though – the Sunday of this thing always draws the biggest crowd.”
Mustang just nodded his head in reply as he lifted his bottle of water back up to his mouth and took another drink. Before he could begin to try and allay the nerves he thought might just be starting to set in for Mustang, a hushed ripple of excitement began to rush through the crowd from off behind Ray that, immediately, garnered his full attention.
Because he already knew exactly what the cause of it was.
Or, more specifically, who the cause of it was.
Following the unprecedented crowds that had descended on the Creek the previous day, as soon as Byron Ballas’ quarter-final match with Corey Samberg had moved to the back 9, Bill and his crew had set about roping off each of the tee-boxes in anticipation of similar numbers turning up for Sunday’s play. And, sure enough, as he turned around and looked down the length of the narrow path cutting through the bulging mass of humanity surrounding the 1st tee like a river after boring its way through a canyon, that’s where Ray saw him. The man everyone was suddenly nudging whomever they were with and whispering, “That’s the guy! That’s him!”. The man standing in the way between Mustang and a spot in the final later that afternoon. The first – and, to date, only – black winner of the Memorial Matchplay.
Skip Devereaux.
Having only caught glimpses of him in passing the previous day, and only very briefly laid eyes on him that morning up at the range, this was Ray’s first proper chance to get a look at the defending champion – and, unsurprisingly, he was looking his usual impressive self. Standing at a similar height to Ray and adorned with the same kind of broad-shouldered, naturally athletic physique – albeit his was in considerably better shape than what Ray’s was – Skip, with his perfectly tailored clothes, handmade leather golf shoes and expensive-looking Rolex strapped around his wrist, looked more like a fully-fledged pro golfer as opposed to the most highly sought after defence attorney in the state of Louisiana that he actually was.
“Well, if it isn’t Ray Thackett,” he said, greeting Ray warmly and flashing his pearly-white teeth as he and his caddie stepped onto the tee. “The Caddie Master himself.” He landed in front of Ray and took off his sunglasses before reaching out his hand for a handshake. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ray.”
“As it is you, Mr. Devereaux,” replied Ray, politely, as he grasped Skip’s hand with his own and exchanged a firm – though, not overly so – handshake. “I’ve been an admirer of yours for a number of years now …”. Ray lowered his voice to a whisper. “And especially so after last year’s final,” he quipped, devilishly.
“Well, first of all, call me ‘Skip’ – ‘Mr. Devereaux’ makes me feel like I’m in court! And, secondly, last year’s final was particularly fun, I’m not gonna lie!” he replied, lowering his voice as well and, once again, flashing that brilliant smile of his. “Though, if I’m to believe what I’ve been hearing about this young man here …” he continued, suddenly turning his attention down onto Mustang, who’d been waiting quietly in the wings as Skip and Ray had been speaking. “It seems like I’m gonna have my work cut out for me if I’m to have any chance of making it to this year’s final.”
“That’s the plan,” replied Mustang confidently, any and all signs of the nerves which appeared to have set in just moments earlier either after vanishing or just expertly hidden beneath a mask of bravado.
“Awh, so the rumours are true, huh?!” smiled Skip, glancing excitedly at Ray. “He does have some fight in him!” He looked back down at Mustang. “Well, I like the confidence, kid …” he said, reaching his hand out for a handshake. “May the best man win, alright?”
Mustang looked down at Skip’s hand and then back up to his face so that he was looking him dead in the eye before reaching out and taking up the handshake. As he’d become accustomed to the previous day with Kretschko and Blackridge, Mustang felt Skip’s far larger hand envelop his own – a tactile reminder of just how big a challenge he was about to face.
“May the best man win,” said Mustang, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact with Skip as he repeated his sentiment back to him.
“My man …” smiled Skip, continuing to shake Mustang’s hand before gesturing loosely around at the crowd with his head. “Now … how ‘bout we give these folks a show, huh?”