The Last Coffee Shop

Chapter 21: Don't You Look Good in Red

The Commodore and Mads were silent the whole way down to the prep room. As they left the lift, a company of six black-coated guards fell into rank around them, escorting them to the last door in an empty, white-walled hall. The guards remained outside, but Leroy opened the door for Mads and followed her in.

Graynard stood at a large panel of tinted glass - a viewing window - facing away from them. The room had mold-stained gray walls and smelled like acrid sweat and old socks. Mads noted scattered weights, thin mats, and a lifting bench, all which explained the smell.

Graynard turned as the door snicked shut behind them. "Well," he said, scratching his right beard. "This is a mess." He looked Mads up and down and sighed. "Shoes?"

Mads flushed, but she held her head high. "I don't want them."

Graynard turned his gaze on the Commodore. "At least you could have given her something that fits?"

Leroy glanced down at Mads, his eyes flicking over her clothes. "That wouldn't stop her from dying."

Mads scowled. "I'm here to prepare, gentlemen, so give me any instructions, and then leave me alone. Please."

Graynard gave Leroy a surprised look. "Commodore?"

Leroy shrugged. "You heard her. Give her the rules and make sure she's hydrated. You have until the next bell."

He turned to Mads. "Here." He handed her clean wraps for her hands, pulling them from one of the inner pockets of his black coat. "A courtesy, at no cost. Miss Capot, I'm not allowed to be impartial, but I admire your spirit. And unlike the Wolf, I'll be watching."

Mads tried to tell herself that this man was dangerous, but she couldn't help but like him. She grinned at the Commodore and took the wraps. "Hopefully I'll give you a good show."

Commodore Leroy just shook his head and left the room.

Graynard sighed. "Well, this is a stinking pile of space debris you've landed us in." There was no malice in his voice, just weary resignation.

Mads sank into her favorite stretch routine. "I think we both know I'm not really to blame," she said, as she let her body fall into the familiar patterns.

Graynard was silent as Mads stretched. He watched as she threw several punches and practiced her footwork. He said nothing when she wrapped her hands and shook off her overshirt.

He didn't speak until the second bell started ringing. The sound was tinny and harsh over whatever speakers were hidden in the dank prep room.

Mads sighed and wiped the traces of sweat off her forehead. "Rules?"

Graynard waved his hand at the viewing glass. "Come look."

Mads walked over to stand beside him. She saw a dark arena filled with bare metal stands. A few of the benches had faded cushions, which seemed to designate better quality seating. Centered in the space, illuminated by rusty, hanging lights, was a large cage. The inside of the cage had a padded floor, and there was a long table set up in front of the cage itself.

It was bleak, ominous. Mads shivered, and closed her eyes. She couldn't let herself think too much.

Graynard placed a many-fingered hand on Mads' bare shoulder. "The rules are few and simple. Three rounds. No weapons. If you are knocked out in the first round, it's a draw and has to be redone. You have to make it two rounds before you can try to yield. The first one to 'yield' loses, if the opponent accepts the loss. If no one yields, the fight continues until one fighter is incapacitated or dead."

There was a rap at the door. "Time," announced a muffled voice.

"Coming," snapped Graynard.

"What happens if your opponent doesn't accept your yield?" asked Mads, her voice sounding faraway.