Frank lit a cigarette. Dressed in a tank top and skimpy satin shorts, Delta's curvaceous figure was impossible to ignore. "You know Doc Pendelton, right?"
Tammy, an equally tantalizing dark-complexioned brunette, shook her head. "Christ, not him again."
"Afraid so."
"Got an extra butt?" Delta asked. Frank lit one and handed it to her. She inhaled deeply, her eyes never leaving his. "What's that prick pulling this time?"
"He's threatening not to pass Dean."
"I wouldn't pass the fat bastard either," Tammy laughed, still straddling the bench. "Imagine trying to find his dick?"
Frank looked at her. "You're such a prude."
"So what's the deal?" Delta asked.
"We're fucked without him."
Delta glanced over her shoulder at Tammy, who offered a subtle, if not bored nod, then turned back to Frank. "Let me guess. You promised the good doctor a chance to conduct a couple of thorough examinations, right?"
"What can I tell you?" Frank said, a nervous laugh escaping him. "He's got me by the balls."
Delta arched an eyebrow. "Lucky guy."
"Maybe so, but it hurts from where I'm standing."
"It's supposed to hurt, sugar."
"Can you help me out or not?"
"Anything for you, Frankie." She playfully squeezed his thigh. "Just make sure we're on the Christmas list, okay?"
Frank slipped his arm around her waist and she immediately shifted her full weight against him. "Not a problem."
Crushing her breasts against his chest, Delta looked up at him like an innocent waif. "You're just the sweetest little thang."
"I love dementia in a woman. Especially when it's coupled with nymphomania."
Delta winked. "It's worse than you think."
"I'll bet it is." He kissed her on the forehead and headed for the door. "Thanks, ladies."
Pendelton was waiting for him in the hallway. Frank forced a smile and approached him like an old friend. "We're all set here, Doc. You should've seen their faces when I told them you were working – "
"Cut the horseshit, son," Pendelton cracked. "When do you need them?"
Frank cleared his throat. "They don't wrestle until after the intermission. That's at least an hour from now."
"Then I can take my time?"
"As long as you need."
Pendelton pulled a form from his bag and handed it to Frank. "Tate's all set."
"God bless ya, Doc."
He looked at Frank, his eyes dark. "God's got nothing to do with it, son." Pendelton pushed open the door and stepped into the locker room.
Frank found Charlie and Vincent standing in the entrance to the gymnasium watching the fans as they slowly began to arrive. "The early birds landing already?"
"You look like you're about to have a stroke," Vincent said, only just noticing him. "What are you doing?"
"I'm working, what the hell's it look like I'm doing?"
Charlie elbowed Vincent in the side playfully and motioned to two teenage girls who had stopped to ask one of the security people where their seats were. "Get a loada these two."
"I swear to God," Vincent chuckled, "girls did not look like that when I was in high school."
"Maybe you should go see if you can help them find their seats," Charlie said. "Tell the one with the cute little ass I'd be more than happy to let her use my face. It's the best seat in the house."
Vincent moved across the gym and immediately struck up a conversation with the two young women. Charlie and Frank watched for several seconds without speaking. "That sonofabitch is unbelievable," Charlie laughed. "Has he always been like this?"
"I can't remember him any other way."
Charlie started back to the locker room. "Come on, let's throw the state boys outta there and make sure everybody's all set. You took care of that thing with the doctor, right?"
"Yeah. Throw an extra hundred in Delta's envelope."
"Gotta love that broad."
Frank stopped him at the door. In the year that they had been working together there had been dozens of parties on the road, but the women always remained segregated from the rest of the troupe. Several stories circulated about Delta and the various partners she worked with, but no one seemed to know for sure what really went on behind closed doors with most of the female wrestlers. "Have you ever partied with Delta or any of the other girls?"
Something in Charlie's expression revealed he'd been asked that same question countless times. He smiled with his eyes before answering. "Nope, never have."
"She swings both ways, right?"
"Most of them do."
Frank looked around to make sure they were alone. "How come you never hooked up with her?"
"I don't shit where I eat." Charlie laughed lightly, as if to himself. "You know even though most guys play around on the road, I don't. I couldn't give a shit what other people do, but I decided a long time ago I wouldn't fuck with Delta and those broads. I can't afford to let them hold anything over me, know what I mean? And neither can you."
Frank shrugged. "I was just curious."
"Delta likes to play games. You think she don't know how hot she is? You think for a minute she doesn't know she can get you hard just by looking at you a certain way? Sex is her whole fucking act, Frank. She started out as a stripper – same thing with Tammy. Delta even did a few porno flicks in the early eighties, a copy of one of them circulated around the business a year or so ago. I got one at home if you ever wanna check it out." Charlie lit a cigarette and draped his arm around Frank's shoulder. "If you're really looking for a good time, you should check out the party me and the wife are throwing. The weekend after we get back from Indiana we're having some people over. Luther and his wife will be there, and a few other couples. If you want, bring Sandy. You can stay over. Or come by yourself. Either way, we'll have fun."
"Sounds good." Frank smiled. "Thanks."
They entered the locker room and ran directly into two of the state officials. "Everything's all set," one of them said. "We're ready whenever you are."
Charlie glanced at his watch. "Ten minutes."
While they continued talking, Frank made his way around the room, stopping to chat with most of the wrestlers. Luther was lying across one of the benches relaxing. Frank sat next to him. "Are we cool?"
"We're cool."
"Who's the man?"
"Larry."
"He and Dean are working the prelim."
"Yeah, opening bout," Luther said through a lengthy yawn. "You said you wanted the marks whipped from start to finish. We're giving them a bloodbath."
"Is this the kid's first time?"
"Second. First time live."
"He gonna be all right?"
"Better be."
Frank looked around. "Where's he at?" Luther pointed to the rear of the room where the toilet stalls and sinks were located.
He found Larry O'Leary, a twenty-year-old who worked as Private Sean Powers, American Hero, slouched over a sink with a small razor blade in one hand and a roll of white athletic tape in the other. Frank lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. "How's it going, brother?"
Larry stood up straight, rising to his full six-foot two inches. "No problems here, boss."
In the business, fan favorites were known as babies; those who were booed for a living were labeled heels. Part of O'Leary's gimmick was to run to the ring wearing camouflage fatigues and waving the American flag to the strains of Springsteen's Born in the U.S.A. The crowds went wild and rooted for him with a nearly fanatical zeal. With his boyish good looks, sandy blond hair and big blue eyes, Larry was a baby many believed had the potential to become a major star. But he had only worked live shows for six months, and although Luther Jefferson had personally trained him, Larry was still relegated to the opening slot.
"You all right?" Frank asked softly. "You're looking a little tense."