“Do you live here?” I said.
“No. I have a cabin up in Big Sandy. I’ll do some bird hunting this week.”
“There’s a river in Kentucky with the same name.”
“I suppose that’s possible,” he said. He looked at me like he was gauging worth. “Is Lynn beautiful?”
“Definitely.”
“Beautiful women make me fear death.”
I sat and studied on that for a while. Dying never scared me, but life does every day. I couldn’t tell him that, though. I wondered if he was sick with some disease, or maybe he was older than I thought.
“What’s your name,” I said.
“Jack,” he said. “Jack King. I’m in the deck.”
“I don’t get you.”
“A deck of cards.”
“Is that your real name?”
He gave the bartender the sign for more drinks. The older couple had quit smooching and seemed to be resting. Keno machines blinked in the corner.
“I’m a gambler,” Jack said. “I’ve been down to those riverboats in Louisiana for quite some time. I like to come up here and hunt and play a little poker.”
“Whereabouts do you play?”
“The Butte game goes all night.”
“Is that what you like?”
“The minute you sit down, you have to be willing to play for days. You could learn from that.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“You need to cowboy up.”
“I’m doing the best I can. It just don’t feel right to have your girlfriend out fighting for money.”
“I once had a girlfriend who worked as a dancer in a topless joint. It was the worst two weeks of my life, but she made a bankroll to choke a horse. We had a nice run.”
He twisted a heavy gold ring, and I noticed that he wore them on the last two fingers of each hand. He spoke without looking at me. “You never finished telling about that cop pulling you over.”
“Well, that’s when everything just went to hell in a handcart. The guy I borrowed the car from had stolen it. The cops held me in jail for three days until they found him. Lynn had to stay in a motel. When I got out, we pretty much blew the rest of our money at karaoke night downtown.”
Behind the bar was a glass window that looked into the deep end of the motel pool. You couldn’t see past the surface of the water, which made the swimmers seem headless. A pair of pale legs floated past the window and I recognized them as belonging to Lynn. She wore a black one-piece. I liked watching her, knowing she didn’t know I was there.
The older couple was working on another drink. He was singing to her, one of those old songs you don’t hear anymore, and I imagined Lynn and me still together at their age. Jack was right. Things were about to change.
“In your line,” I said, “you must learn a lot about luck.”
“I knew a gambler who ran into a losing streak for three months down in Reno. By the end of it, he’d sold his watch, ring, and belt buckle. He owed money to everyone he knew. He sublet his place and slept in his car. Then he sold his car and kept playing. Out of the blue he got so lucky he could piss in a swinging jug. Won a hundred grand in two days.”
“Wow,” I said.
I wondered if Jack’s story was about himself. He told it in a personal way, as if recounting the good old days.
“Tell me,” he said, “do people bet on these fights?”
“I don’t know.”
“Seeing as how you’re on the ankle express, I’ll give you a ride over there. Meet me in the lobby at six-thirty.”
He left and I wished I could go somewhere and start all over, which is how I’ve felt all my life. As soon as I get somewhere, I’m ready to leave. I finished my drink and went back to the room, where Lynn was sitting in bed. There was an intent look on her face that I’d only seen during the height of breakfast rush at the diner.
“Hey,” I said, “I got us a ride.”
“Borrow another car?”
“I met this guy who said he’d give us a lift. You’ll like him.”
“I’m not in a frame of mind to like anyone.”
“You don’t have to fight.”
“I don’t see any choice.”
“We can get restaurant jobs here. In a month we’ll be in Seattle.”
“I don’t care about Seattle,” she said. “I just want out of this hotel, this town, and everything else. I don’t care how.”
She looked at me like I was her enemy. I could see she wanted privacy so I stayed in the bathroom until time to meet Jack. I didn’t know if she was getting mad because she had to fight, or so she could fight. Either way, it gave me a bad feeling.
We met Jack in the lobby at six, and when I introduced them, she wouldn’t talk. We went outside to his car. I’d never been in a Cadillac before and it was not something I minded. I’ve heard they can go anywhere a pickup can go. We followed the Missouri River to a filling station with a store attached. I asked if he wanted me to gas it up, and he shook his head and went inside. Lynn stared through the windshield at a neon sign that glowed orange. I tried to think of something to say. Jack came back with two quarts of water, an energy bar, a box of band-aids, and a ballpoint pen. He made Lynn eat and drink.
We parked at the fairgrounds and walked across the lot to the arena. Jack was talking to her in a low voice, his arm across her shoulders like a coach. It was a nice night, the clear sky covered by stars like dew. At times I missed Kentucky, but never at night. When I couldn’t see the land out there, I forgot I wasn’t at home. Sometimes I wished it was always night.
We checked Lynn in, then went to the fighters’ area, which was just some metal chairs in the corner. The center of the arena held a boxing ring on a platform, surrounded by rows of people who’d paid extra to sit close. Along two sides were rising sets of bleachers. The lights gleamed above the ring. Jack used three band-aids to build a strip across Lynn’s nose, holding it open to get more air. He told her not to drink the water yet, and walked away. I sat beside her.
“You scared?” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “Jack said it was okay to be scared. He said if I wasn’t, there was something wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you.”
“I don’t want to get hurt.”
“The gloves are thick and the headgear covers you. Plus women wear that belly pad.”
“They’re still hitting you.”
“The time goes fast, Lynn.”
I looked away when I said that because it was a big fat lie. That round I fought was the slowest minute of my life. It felt like a month of Sundays.
“Whatever happens,” I said, “you just remember I’m right here and I always will be.”
She looked at me with an odd expression on her face, then stood and began to stretch. I walked to the concession stand. The arena was jammed with Indians and I looked them over carefully. They dressed like people in the hills at home — flannel shirts, jeans, boots, and work jackets — men and women alike. Quite a few wore glasses. I thought maybe Indians just had bad eyes, until I remembered that a lot of people at home wore glasses because they couldn’t afford contact lenses. I wondered if it was the same here.
The first bout had just ended. The fighters left the ring to sit with their families. Smoking was not allowed, but you could drink beer, and a few people were already staggering. A couple of young men gave me dirty looks for being white, until they saw my black eye. Then they said hello.
The guy who knocked me out stopped and shook my hand. He was a little bit drunk. His name was Alex. He wore a rodeo buckle and fancy cowboy boots. His long braids were tied together behind his neck.
“I lost the last fight last night,” he said.
“I didn’t see it.”
“Came all the way from Browning to find a man who hits as hard as my horse kicks.”
“Well,” I said, “ours was a good fight.”