The restaurant doesn’t have a staff shower, which has always felt like an oversight to him. Not that it’s standard to have one, but everyone who works in a place like this leaves at least smelling of all the flavors and aromas from a full day’s work. And God forbid you have to go to a meeting or some semi-formal event afterward—you’d need to douse yourself in perfume.

  That’s what Eddie thinks every time he steps out of the restaurant’s small storage room, turned into a changing area for cooks and waiters.

  He’s put on his black hoodie and jeans. Aside from the smell, there’s no sign now that just moments ago he was slicing and seasoning over ten kilos of vegetables while listening to Barney’s dumb jokes or keeping an eye out in case Cork popped up from somewhere.

  It’s quiet outside the restaurant. Groups just finishing their dinners are waiting for taxis to take them home. Eddie looks around but doesn’t see anyone. He scans for a stare fixed on him to recognize who it might be. He wouldn’t be surprised if Cork was just messing with him.

  He feels the car keys in his pocket and heads toward his car. He’s almost there when a long, black car pulls up right behind his. At first, he doesn’t pay attention. But when the window rolls down and he hears Rex’s voice, it all clicks:

  "You’re riding home a little fancier tonight, friend."

  Rex steps out of the car himself. He hasn’t changed in years. Still the same broad-shouldered, lean, but sturdy man as before. And at least a head taller than Eddie. He walks stiffly, almost like a robot, limping slightly on one leg, but when he reaches Eddie, he hugs him much harder than Eddie expects. He pulls back and grips Eddie’s wrist.

  "You’ve lost a little weight, but there’s time…"

  "Are you…"

  "Good old Cork didn’t tell you who it was, huh? I told you we go way back. Come on, get in."

  "Maisie’s waiting, Rex. I need to get home."

  "I’m not kidnapping you, Eddie. You’re offending me. Didn’t we agree to meet?"

  "I was just about to turn you down."

  "Come on, you’ll turn me down over a glass of wine." Rex holds the door open. Eddie gets in. It smells like leather inside, and there’s a driver up front who doesn’t say a word. Rex settles in beside him.

  Rex gives a signal, and the car starts moving, slowly passing Eddie’s Cadillac.

  "How’s Cork? Did he ask about me?"

  "No." Eddie answers quickly. "I figure he’ll ask tomorrow. He’s not one to let it slide."

  "I should visit him one night. You guys cook good?"

  "The best in the south district."

  "I don’t know." Rex rests an arm on the car door. "Over time, I’ve narrowed it down to two places to eat—Bill’s breakfast spot near my place. The best cheese pastries in the world. I could eat there for years, I’m telling you, Eddie. Yeah, it’s not the cleanest spot—drunks stumble in to sober up, old timers hang around, or homeless folks—but they cook so damn good."

  Eddie’s a good listener and lets him talk. He doesn’t even know where this place is. And he can’t wait for this thing with Rex to be over.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "The other’s a pizza joint right by the pier."

  "I know it." Eddie jumps in. "But there…"

  "I know what you’re gonna say. Slices, cheap prices. Let me tell you something else. When it comes to fast food, Eddie, look where the kids hang out most. That place always has lines of kids. Kids are the biggest gluttons. And if they’re flocking there… who am I to argue? The pizzas are damn excellent."

  It’s odd for a guy like Rex to hit up places like that. Compared to them, Cork’s restaurant might as well have a few Michelin stars. If it came up again, Eddie wouldn’t hesitate to brag about it to Rex.

  The driver slows down a bit, makes a sharp right turn, and two massive iron gates open in front of him. He eases into the courtyard of a two-story house near Bratley’s south beach. Suddenly, lights flick on from every direction, illuminating the yard like it’s daytime. The driver stays in the car while Rex gets out. Eddie follows.

  The house’s doors are open. Rex walks in, Eddie trailing behind. After a short hallway, they step into a huge living room with a fireplace so pristine it looks like a decoration. In the center is a massive table, and at the far end, a counter with a small kitchen behind it. Rex heads straight there.

  "Sit wherever you like."

  "Is it new?" Eddie asks. "Last time we met…"

  "Last time I was in an apartment, but I left that to my daughter. I’m fine with less." Rex returns with an unopened bottle of wine and two glasses.

  "Less?" Eddie looks around.

  Rex sits across from him on the other side of the table. It’s quiet—no music, just the faint rustling of someone in another room. Eddie guesses it’s the driver doing something.

  "So, Eddie. What’d you decide?"

  "Look, Rex, this thing…"

  "Fifteen thousand dollars. Rory Flint’s people upped the price."

  Fifteen sounds even better. Definitely better than ten thousand.

  "Do they even know who I am?"

  "No. Rory’s after a win, Eddie. They’re predicting a bright future for him, but he can’t flop in front of the agents."

  "There’ll be agents?"

  "You didn’t think we’re doing this for nothing, did you? Rory needs to take the step to outgrow Bratley. For that, he needs a solid opponent and to show his best."

  "And that’s me?"

  "No, Eddie. They picked me to choose. And for me, you’re the best fit. Look, I could call up Edgar, Stanley, even Ernest right now."

  "They’re still fighting?" Eddie’s genuinely surprised to hear the names.

  "Yeah. Your old buddies still show up at the gym. Unlike you. They even take on cheap gigs at random village fairs. They win there, but no one keeps score in those places."

  "If they’re in shape…"

  "Eddie, I want you. Who’s the best agent you know?"

  Eddie thinks. A bunch of names flash through his mind. Even ones he’s dreamed of representing him.

  "I mean agents around here. Don’t throw out some big-shot names." Rex catches him.

  "You." He doesn’t say it to suck up. Rex really is the best around.

  "Then if you don’t trust me, who do you trust, Eddie?"

  "You know I respect you, Rex. If you told me, I’d fight right here. In the middle of your living room." It’s Eddie’s turn to talk. "But I’ve got a kid. And a wife."

  "A wife who’s holding you back, right? Do it for Theo, Eddie. Not for Maisie."

  "We’ve had this talk already."

  "Fine, I’ll stop." Rex raises both hands and leans back. "Alright, you win. At least come to the gym for one training session. I’ll talk to Cork."

  "No. I don’t want Cork finding out."

  "So you’re in for the training?" Rex grins and keeps going. "You’ll see Stanley. He was your pal back in the day, right? He’s at the gym every day. I even offered him a start as a trainer."

  "He doesn’t want to face Rory?"

  "Eddie!" Rex emphasizes his name again. "I could grab some kid off Bratley’s streets, and they’d want to face Rory. But there aren’t many like you. Fifteen thousand dollars, Eddie. That’s almost your yearly pay at Cork’s." Rex downs his second glass. "I’m at the gym all day Saturday. Better come in the afternoon."

  "We could’ve had this talk in the car."

  "Wanted to show off the house, friend." Rex winks and whistles. Almost instantly, the driver pokes his head through the door.

  "Take our friend home. His wife’s probably worried about him."