"Okay, so you want a scouting report on him?" I asked jokingly. "Thought you guys swapped tapes nowadays."
"Not a typical scouting report," Greg replied. "Instead, I was thinking maybe you could pay his gym a visit, and.... verify a rumor I've heard that his opponent has a bad left knee. Nothing too serious, especially with the magnitude of this fight, but something that might make him a step slow on his takedowns, and a bit more vulnerable to low kicks."
"That sort of info would be very helpful to a trainer, especially if his fighter has a pretty good kick," I said. "What's the pay?"
"Not a lot," Greg admitted. "Say, ten percent of our winnings on the action, and of course you can put your own money in if you want."
I shook my head. "Greg, you know I don't gamble like that. You know I normally handle more high profile stuff than this, but I'll be happy to give this guy a visit. You got his information?"
"Of course," Greg said, reaching inside his shorts and pulling out an envelope. "It's on this SD card. Also a small gift, thanks in advance."
I felt the envelope, and felt both the data card and what was most likely a prepaid credit card, one of the methods of payment I preferred. "Mind if I take care of it this weekend? I can give you a call Monday if you like."
"Probably better to do it tomorrow, I've heard this guy doesn't like to do gym work on weekends," Greg replied. "But Monday is great. Like I said, this fight has some serious implications. There's going to be guys from Vegas at the fight, and they've been giving us a few calls. If my boy up there can get an impressive win, he's got his ticket to the big leagues all ready to go. So, thanks man. Say, you want to get some work in? Just take it easy on the kid, he's no match for you."
I chuckled and stood up. "No thanks, Greg. You know my style doesn't match up well in the cage." Greg nodded his head in agreement, then offered his hand to shake. We shook hands, and I was on my way.
* * *
Mark
Heading towards the nearest RIST station, I made a snap decision, and took the University train instead of the Park train. Getting off, I headed back to the hospital, checking the ER. Dr. Green was still on duty I saw, although he looked like he was getting ready to leave. I melted into the background, and shadowed Green as he left to head to the parking lot. When he got into his car, I noted the license plate, and watched as he drove away in a cut-rate Lexus.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed a number from memory. "Hey, Luka? Yes, it's the Snowman. Listen, can you do me a favor and run a license plate for me? I'll text it to you. Yes, yes, I know you owe me one, and this makes us even. Just need his address. Text it when you get it. Thanks."
Chapter 10
Sophie
After our late lunch date, I didn't see Mark until the original day we had planned, Tuesday. Friday was packed with classes, while Saturday I worked a double shift at the tavern, and Sunday a double shift at the hospital. Monday Mark said he was busy with work all day, so I used the day to rest and just go to my morning class.
Sunday was the strangest shift I had ever done at the hospital. I had been dreading the shift, knowing it was sixteen hours with at least eight of them being with Dr. Green. Boy was I in for a shock when I came in.
First of all, Dr. Green was wearing an eyepatch when I came in, one of those temporary ones that we give out to patients who have had an eye injury. "What happened?" I asked Brad, who was manning the front desk.
Brad shook his head. "He says he walked into a door frame and smacked his eye a good one, but everyone knows he's full of it," Brad whispered, both of us taking glances to make sure Dr. Green wasn't nearby. He was safely across the ER in one of the exam areas, so Brad continued.
"He came in Friday night late, and they did X-rays on his head. If he ran into a door, he must have been doing it at a full on sprint, because he's cracked the hell out of his orbital bone. I think half the reason he has the eyepatch on is so that he doesn't freak out the patients with a swollen shut black eye."
"Jesus," I whispered, taking a closer look. On the edges of the bandage holding the eyepatch on his face, I could see some of the telltale yellowing of a fading bruise. "Any guesses as to what happened?"
"None at all," Brad replied. "He won't talk about it with anyone."
Our conversation ended, but for the rest of the day Green did everything he could to avoid me, passing me off to one of the other attending physicians, something he had never done before. When my duties required that I talk with him, he was almost painfully polite, never once using any foul language, nicknames, or even derisive tones. Instead, it was always "Miss White," and then passing me back off to the other doctors as quickly as he could.