I wasn't sure what appropriate combat sport viewing attire was, so I dressed casual in a pair of jean shorts and a tee shirt. Manny looked casual himself when he showed up to pick me up in a nice pair of jeans and a novelty tee that had the words Combat Night printed across the front in some sort of kitschy action font. He looked super cute when I opened my door.

       "You ready?" He asked with a giddy little smile like a kid on the way to an amusement park.

       "I'm so excited." I wasn't, but I smiled wide for him anyway.

       He held out his arm. "Thanks for coming with me."

       I sighed all theatrically then grabbed his arm. "I'd do anything for you." I hope he knows that's hyperbole. I wouldn't eat asparagus for him. Or, like, go camping with him in the woods. That's where the bears live.

       The Veterans Memorial Arena sat on the edge of downtown right between I95, the Fairgrounds, and Altel Stadium. The Arena was host to three of the city's professional athletic teams: the arena football team, the ice hockey team, and the minor league basketball team. They also hosted concerts, monster truck rallies, Disney on Ice, graduations, and apparently various live fights. Not bad at all. Especially compared to Altel, the massive football stadium one baseball field over that was subsidized by the city and only hosted our local NFL team, the Burenville Cheetahs. There were an awful lot of mumblings in the taxpayer community about that, especially since ba-zillionaire Shawn Khan owned the team (and half the town if he had his way), but that's a story for a different time.

       Manny opted to park in the garage across the street—an honor that came with a fifteen-dollar charge, not that I'm counting. We were hella early so we got out and strolled idly towards our destination. Staggered crowds of fight fans came down every street as we walked, some of them excited, some of them withdrawn, and some of them half-drunk already.

       The actual arena looked unchanged since they built it when I was in high school. The large brick facility still looked somewhat new; from the shiny glass windows that covered the north side to the brick and concrete courtyard where the ticket booths still stood. The first time I'd ever come here was for a B2K concert my friend Rachelle had invited me and two other girls to for her birthday. I don't know if this fight will top the excitement I felt as a hormonal teenage girl drooling over gyrating boy band members but hey, I was still fairly hormonal so who knows.

       After getting our tickets taken and walking through the metal detectors, we were in. The crowd was absolutely massive in the downstairs lobby. They were loud too; the fervent chatter leant an electric charge through the air that almost got me excited too until I realized this wasn't a showing of Heathers: The Musical. Boo. But, hey, I was choosing to keep an open mind—maybe I'd love it. And if this crowd's hype was anything to go by, I might have fun at the very least.

       Manny glanced over the top of the crowd and toward the concession stand. "Should we get our snacks first?"

       "Yeah. I'm starving." I'd skipped lunch in anticipation of all the wonderful snack bar food I was planning to absolutely gorge myself on. Was it irresponsible? Yes. But damn it, what's the point of living if you can't destroy your body with processed trash every once in a while, huh? There's no commandment in the Bible that says you can't have nachos. Though, I think there was something about gluttony, I can't remember. I really should pay attention the three times a year I go to church instead of staring at the rafters and imagining myself as the lead heroine in a Victorian romance. What the hell would I even be doing in the Victorian era? Not getting romanced by a rakish Duke while wearing baller-ass dresses that's for damn sure.

       The line was long but there was still thirty minutes until showtime, so we fell in step behind a pair of chubby men wearing novelty tees. Manny was rambling about fighter stats or something while my eyes looked over the menu. I ended up getting a slice of pizza, the loaded nachos, roasted peanuts, and a beer because this seemed like the type of event that was better the tipsier you were. Manny ordered the buffalo wings, fries, a beer, and a burger that looked so good I was definitely taking a bite out of it later. Once he paid, he gathered up most of the food and we walked—carefully—to our gate and then down the stairs to our seats.

       Down in the arena they'd set up some sort of round ring that was encircled with a cage. Some crewmen were still setting everything up.

       Once we got comfortable, as comfortable one with no ass could get in hard plastic chairs, we spread our feast across our laps and the gorging began. I took a bite of my pizza, a little greasy but not bad, and watched as Manny took a huge, satisfying bite out of his gourmet burger.

       "That's looks good," I said as I eyeballed it. "Can I have a bite?"

       "Of course." He held the burger out for me like only a good boyfriend would.

       I leaned over and took the biggest bite I could. The perfectly cooked patty, the melty cheese, and the twangy sauce all melded together in my mouth. "Mmmm. Oh my God, that's sooo good." All that remained of his meal was a ravished husk of its former self. I wish I could say I felt bad, but I didn't.

       He looked at me, then the burger, then me, then back at the burger, then back at me. "Can I, uh...can I have a bite of your pizza?"

       I held my pizza as far away from his reach as I could. "No."

       "No? It's only fair."

       "Okay, fine." I held the pizza out to him. "But promise you won't take a giant revenge bite—no!" I watched helplessly as he devoured most of it in one titanic bite.

       He laughed; his mouth full of pepperoni. "How you like that?"

       "You dick!" I laughed.

       "Don't be dramatic. I only ate half like you ate half."

       I waved it in his face. "Half! This is crust! You left me a slice of crust!"

       "You openly challenged me. I had to display dominance."

       I took a bite of my crust. "Well, you definitely bested me this time, but watch out, I tap back."

       "Oh, I can't wait."

       We spent the rest of the prelude laughing and tearing up the nachos and wings. All the food was gone but the beer and peanuts by the time the show was ready to start.

       Then, the lights went down. The strobes came up and tinted the arena a deep crimson red. Someone hit the smoke machine, an electric guitar struck a chord, and then the announcer's voice echoed through the air:

       "Live, from the Veteran's Memorial Arena...sponsored by North Florida Sports...iitttt's Commmbaaat Nigghhtt!"

       The lights came up, the pyrotechnics began, and the crowd became frenzied.

****************

       Fighting is not for me. I can appreciate the elaborate set up, the MC, the light show, the showmanship, but there was no part of me invested in whether one fighter won or not. But man, the theatrics did work to excite the crowd, which had only gotten more riled up the longer it went on. Too bad the only thing keeping me from drifting off was the noisy cheers of the mob and the sweaty hard bodies beating each other to a pulp below. And the hard bodies were starting to bore me. That was quite the task. It was nice to see Manny happy though. Especially since he'd been so dour this last week with whatever's happening at work.

       "Scooby, did you see that shit?" He yelled over the roar of the crowd.

       "I did." I mean, I didn't since I was busy thinking about literally everything else in the world, but I imagine someone got hit particularly good...or something.

       "That was fuckin' crazy!"

       I smiled. He was so hyped. "Totally."

       In between cheering like a madman he'd tried to explain the difference between lightweight and heavyweight and professional and amateur and everything in between but I wasn't following. There wasn't much of a thrill for me, it just looked like a bunch of men and women playing at war. I had no judgment for how any other person wanted to spend their free time on this floating rock called Earth, but I couldn't care less.

       Just when I thought I'd die of boredom the announcer introduced the next fight. I think this was the fifth or seventh one, I don't know...

       "Standing at six foot two inches and weighing one hundred and ninety-one pounds, all the way from Miami, Jett Massey!" The announcer paused to let the crowd cheer. Jett Massey walked up the steps and into the ring. "Standing six foot three and weighing a hundred and ninety-five pounds, coming to you from right here in Burenville, Felix Rosario!"

       Ro swaggered into that ring like a gladiator about to slay a lion. The crowd went crazy but Manny was calm.

       "There's my guy." I said.

       He looked bored. "This should be quick."

        Down in the ring, the opponents walked forward, tapped hands then backed up. The ref stood between them looking from one to the other. He said something to them, then he threw a signal and they moved toward each other like two dancers about to waltz. They came together, hands up. Massey went in first with a low kick that connected with Ro's thigh. Ro jabbed forward, caught air. Massey went in for another kick, but Ro blocked him and returned a kick of his own. Massey stumbled back a bit but caught himself.

       Manny sat forward, suddenly intrigued.

       "What is it?"

       He narrowed his eyes. "He's good..."

       Massey took a swing. Ro hopped—left foot, right foot—then he spung and kicked. Massey caught it in the shoulder. He stumbled. Ro went in. There was a flurry of movement so fast I couldn't keep up, then they went down. They tangled together on the mat like mating snakes. They twist like that for a while—Massey struggling with his head caught under Ro's arm. The ref moved in. They broke apart. The announcer called it, round one for Rosario.

       The two fighters got in position again. The ref signaled. They danced together. Jab, jab, kick, swing, duck, jab, and then one hit so strong Massey dropped like a sack of bricks. When he tried to stand, he wobbled back down. Knockout. Massey was down. Round two for Rosario.

       Manny's mouth fell open. "Whoa! That's the best he's ever fought!"

       I watched Ro and Massey set up for another round. "Does he usually not win?"

       He shook his head. "No. Pretty much never. He's a mediocre fighter, with mediocre stats. This turnaround is insane."

       I turned to look at him. "How insane?"

       "I saw him last year. He lost most of his matches. And I'm pretty sure he was in a lower weight class."

       "Hmm." Ro and Massey exchanged blows down below. In another couple of rounds Ro would be heading back to the locker rooms. "I'm gonna get another beer. You want one?"

     Manny didn't take his eyes off the fight. "Yeah. Thanks."

       Now was my chance. Was I going to get snacks? Yes. Was it my first priority? Well... Far be it for me to let such an opportunity slip by. And if I wasn't above cornering David Howell at a funeral, I wasn't above cornering Ro at his job. I wiggled my way past the other patrons sitting fixated on my row then made my way up the stairs and back toward the lobby.

       The problem was finding my way 'backstage' in this massive contemporary colosseum. I'd planned ahead and checked the stadium's website for a map but most of them were only seating charts, so I was going to have to wing it a little. I walked down to the ground floor and wandered past signs identifying gates, elevators, executive suits, ATMs, first aid, guest services and restrooms—so many restrooms. Eventually I found a small sign pointing toward the locker rooms. If Ro was in the middle of his match, and each match was three to five rounds, I had just enough time to meet him back there—

       "Hey. You getting those snacks?"

       I jumped. My heart raced. I turned around ready to fight but it was just Manny. "You scared me!"

       He stared down at me. "Sorry. I came to help you carry them."

       "It was just a couple of beers..." And also I was two floors down from ours seats and had passed three concession stands.

       "Okay, fine. I came to help you get to the locker room."

       "How did you know—"

       He rolled his eyes. "I know you."

       I wonder if he was following me again. He does that sometimes when he worries...but then again, he probably really did guess I was going toward the locker rooms and followed the signs. Either way I didn't have time to care about it. "What about the show? Won't you miss it?"

       "There's only a couple left. No big deal."

       I nodded. "I thought maybe I could talk to him after his fight." Maybe he'd be more pliable than he'd been at the gym.

        "You know there's security down there, right?"

        "Uh, right..."

       "So, how were you planning to get back there?"

       Look at him asking questions I had no answer for. "Umm...I'm gonna...charm the pants off the security guard."

       "Okay." He started walking toward the locker rooms. "I'm going with you, though."

       It's not like I could stop him. Besides, in my experience it was usually good to have backup. "Okay, then."

       We continued our pilgrimage into the belly of the stadium. The further we went the less fans there were. Some employees were scurrying around, but they didn't really pay us much attention. I was starting to think this would be easy until we rounded the bend and I saw the tall, muscled security guard standing watch right by the doors that read Locker Rooms.

       I sized him up. He was bulky enough to be one of the fighters. His shoulders were as broad as a brick wall. His gut probably big enough to sustain two men at least.

       I turned to Manny. "Okay. What if you made a distraction?"

        He frowned. "You trying to get my ass kicked?"

       "No, just something to draw him away from the door."

        He looked over security with a scrutinizing eye. "Uh, I don't think anything will get that dude away from the door short a bomb scare."

        "What if you flashed your badge?"

        "I don't have it on me, and if I did that would be highly unethical."

       Apparently, I'm dating the only non-corrupt cop in Florida. "What if I bribed him?"

       "That could work. We could try that before I set a bomb at least."

       Fair point. We walked toward the guard with purpose. As we drew near, he stared down with bored eyes. "No fans past this point," he said.

       I stepped forward. "How 'bout twenty dollars?"

       He eyeballed me then sighed. "Fifty."

       I dug a fifty-dollar bill from my wallet. "Deal." Before he grabbed it, I pulled back my hand and motioned between me and Manny. "This is for both of us."

       He shrugged and took the bill. Clearly, they don't pay him enough.

       Behind the doors was a long corridor with plain white walls and harsh florescent lighting. The people we passed gave us an uninterested glance every now and then but otherwise kept moving. They probably reasoned that if we got past security, we belonged here so no one questioned us. About halfway down the hall we came upon two doors on either side. The door on the left read Men's Locker Room.

       I strode towards the door, but Manny grabbed my hand and gently tugged me back. "Whoa. You can't go in there."

       "But I came all this way to talk to him."

       "I know, but I think I'd be stupid if I let you walk into a men's locker room."

       I cocked my head. "But it's potentially the perfect place to corner him. Cornered animals talk."

       "They also fight." When I stared him down he sighed, "Look, I'd agree if he was the only man in there but he's not. And as soon as one of them sees you, they'll just call security anyway."

       That was a good point actually. "What do you suggest?"

       "That we just wait for him here. He has to come out sometime."

       It kills me to admit it, but he's right. Going in there's just going to draw unnecessary attention. Sometimes the best plan was to proactively attack, and sometimes it was to wait for your prey to come to you.

       And come to me he did. We spent all of five minutes waiting before he flew out of the locker room in some old sweats and a black hoodie; his hand still stuffing his clothes into his backpack. When I called out to him, he jumped and his bag slipped off his arm and onto the floor. The silken athletic shorts he'd worn during the match spilled out; with it a small black case clattered to the floor right by my foot.

       "Sorry." I dropped down to grab it; the latch popped open. Inside were two carefully stored needles along with two vials. "Is this your insulin?" I asked as I held it out for him.

       "No, it's steroids." Manny said from right behind me.

       "Hey!" Ro snatched the case out of my hands then looked around to make sure no one else saw. "Keep your voice down."

       It all clicked then. "That's what Noah had on you. He found out about the steroids, didn't he?"

       The mention of Noah jogged Ro's memory. "You're that private investigator."

       "You're damn right I am."

       He shoved his stuff back into his backpack. "I told you, I didn't have nothing to do with that dude's murder."

       "Really? 'Cause I imagine if the right people were to find out about your little habit, that'd about ruin your career, wouldn't it?"

       He stared at me for a moment, the wheels in his mind turning over his options. "What do you want?"

       "I just want to talk."

       "Okay, fine." He took a deep frustrated breath then huffed it out like an angry dragon. "Just, not here."

       Ro grabbed at my arm to try to forcibly lead me out, but Manny pushed him off. "Back off. She can walk."

       They stared each other down in silence. I held my breath. A fight was the last thing I wanted. Manny was a good-sized dude but the roid monster was gigantic and the last thing I wanted to see was Manny get hurt trying to defend my honor. But to my relief Ro grimaced then nodded at Manny and started walking down the corridor and toward an exit sign glowing in the distance. We followed a ways behind, the three of us in silence.

       At the end of the hall Ro pushed his way through a door and we were outside in the dark, under a blinking overhead light just behind the stadium. Security was patrolling near that door too, so Ro led us about halfway through a back parking lot that was devoid enough of listening ears that he was willing to talk.

       When we were suitably alone, he turned back to us and stared down at me with cold eyes. "You have to promise not to tell."

       "I'm not here to crush your little fighting dreams. You shoot straight and your secrets safe with me. No payoff required."

       His mouth pressed into a thin line. "What do you want to know?"

       "Did you meet Noah that Friday?"

       He sighed. "Yeah. Around six pm. We met so I could give him the money."

       "You hit him?"

       "...Yes."

       "Why?"

       "I just..." He looked away. "I didn't have all the money. He started making threats. I started swinging."

       "Where were you really last Friday night."

       "I told you, I had a fight."

       "After the fight." Noah got murked sometime early Saturday morning. That was plenty of time for Ro to fight, kill Noah, and have a solid alibi. "Your matches were over by ten. Where were you after that?"

       He swallowed. "At work."

       "You were at work?"

       "Yeah. I have bills like everyone else."

       "Where exactly is this job?" I said job like it was a made-up word.

       "I work the night shift at Publics." He looked away when he said that. Not because he was lying but because he was ashamed to have to do grunt work while his MMA dreams got off the ground. "I stock the shelves. I'm there every Friday from ten to six."

       "Except last Friday, right?"

       He scowled, clearly annoyed. "I had a match, so my co-worker covered for me. Once that was over, I went in."

       That's a pretty good alibi if it's true. "Can anyone collaborate?"

       He nodded. "My boss. My co-workers."

       "Got a number I can call."

       "And have people know I'm being investigated you and the police? Hell no." He checked the time on his phone. "Look, I got to get to work. I'm late." He turned to go.

       "One more question," I called after him. "How did Noah find out about the steroids? He hack you?"

       He shook his head. "No. He hacked the plug." So, there was a drug dealer out there whose list of contacts had been compromised too. Noah must have scanned that list looking for a mark. Unfortunately, he didn't realize that Ro isn't professional but amateur and therefore only had amateur money.

       When he was gone, I wrapped my arms around Manny's neck and gave him a smooch for the ages. "What was that for?" He asked.

       I smiled. "You were about to get your ass kicked for me."

       He frowned at the memory of Ro gripping my arm. "He shouldn't have grabbed you like that."

       "My hero."

       "I hope you got what you needed."

       "Mostly. Except for his alibi." I let go and stared in the direction Ro had gone. "Show's pretty much over now. I guess we can go."

       "Or." A ripple of mischief washed over his features. "We follow him."

       "What?" Was he seriously trying to help me right now?

       "You need confirmation that he was working last Friday night, right? So we follow him. See if this alleged night job at Publix is real."

       "Tonight would be my only chance to do it...but we'll never make it back to your truck in time."

       "We will if we run. And since the show's still going most of the traffic will be light!"

       I raised an eyebrow. "Run?"

       He took my hands. "Come on, Scooby. Where's your sense of adventure?"

       "I need to eat your burgers more often." I thought it over. This was a good chance to find out if his job really existed..."Alright. Let's do it."