The crowd’s roar drowned out most of the emcee’s introductions of Val and her opponent. She caught enough, though: “2018 Nutmeg League Women’s Featherweight Champion…appeared on Fox Sports, ESPN, and the UFC Channel…a record of nineteen wins, four losses, and two draws…hundred twenty-eight pounds…the pride of Hartford…Kalie…Walker!” Kalie ran through the door to wild applause, dancing around the ring, her hands clasped over her head, bobbing in rhythm to the music thundering overhead.
“Her challenger…appearing for the first time in MMA competition…a black belt in jiu jitsu and a defender of law and justice by day and night…standing five-six and one hundred twenty-four pounds, greet your local hero, Valorie…Dawes!”
Local hero? Why the hell—? Val shot Maya a puzzled glance.
Maya, wide-eyed, waved her in. “What are you doing? Get in there!”
Oh, right. She’d argue with Tank about her introduction later.
Val dashed into the ring, waving to the audience. She’d planned no crowd-pleasing dance, so she simply jumped up and down in place, clasping her hands together and shaking them all around. Even that small demonstration felt hokey.
Two things surprised her right away. One, the arena was sweltering, with hot, sticky air, smelling of sweat, stale beer, and salty food. The second was the antithesis of the first: a sudden cold blast rained down from a massive fan mounted above the overhead lights. The men in the audience roared their approval as the cold breeze took its predictable effect on her nipples, visible through two layers of fabric. Her opponent, wearing the bulky chest protector under her halter top, did not suffer the same reaction.
“Okay, ladies,” the ref said under the crowd’s roar, “let’s have a clean and fair fight. It’s only an exhibition, so three rounds, five minutes each. Shake if you want, then return to your corners and wait for the bell.”
Val offered a handshake. Kalie, though three or four inches shorter, stuck her face an inch from Val’s, glaring. Spittle flew into Val’s mouth when Kalie screamed something unintelligible, waving her arms and pounding her feet on the mat. The crowd cheered, and Kalie dashed to her “corner,” a designated area in front of her second, who stood outside the ring, visible only from the waist-up. Val spotted Maya on the opposite end of the ring and trotted over to her.
“She’s got kind of a following,” Maya said. “Keep your distance and try not to hurt her.”
“Me, hurt her?” Val shook her head. “I just want to survive.”
The bell clanged, and Val stepped toward the center, hands up in a defensive posture, knees bent, her weight forward on the balls of her feet. Kalie assumed an open position, feet flat, arms loose, striding at a fast pace in a clockwise direction, glaring at Val. She pounded her gloves together, then emitted a guttural roar and charged at Val, fists flying.
Val dodged the attack, parried with a left jab to Kalie’s temple, a glancing blow. That seemed to surprise her for a moment. Kalie moved in close, raining blows on Val. She mixed punches and kicks, jabs, and hooks and crosses, making no attempt to ward off anything Val might send her way in return. Just attack, attack, attack.
It worked, at least at first. Val defended most of the blows. The rest landed on her legs, shoulders, and midsection. She danced away to regain some distance. Kalie followed her, punishing her with an uppercut to the chin, a jab to the chest, then a roundhouse kick that forced her to stumble backward into the net.
“Get away from the net!” Maya shouted to her. “Don’t let her trap you there!”
Easier said than done. Kalie moved in again, slamming Val’s midsection with hard lefts, rights, elbows, and knees. When Val ducked and tried to spin out, Kalie landed another elbow to Val’s face. Without her mouth guard, Val might have lost a few teeth.
Val ducked her head and barreled forward, pushing her opponent backward and opening up some room for Val to fight back. She landed a kick to Kalie’s midsection and a hard uppercut with the heel of her hand her chin. That only seemed to anger her more. Kalie rabbit-punched Val’s raised fists into her nose, which already felt like hamburger, and she winced in pain.
That gave Kalie the opening she needed. She landed a right fist to Val’s temple, and despite the headgear, it hurt like hell. She stumbled, dizzy from the blow, and a kick to the gut dropped Val on her ass.
Kalie jumped on top, raining blows to every part of Val’s body, until somebody—a man, she presumed the ref—shouted “Back up, back up!” He pulled Kalie off of her and started counting: “One, Two, Three…”
If he made it to ten, the fight would be over. A rare, quick, humiliating loss.
That didn’t sound so bad. Ending it fast, while she could still walk and breathe, would give her more time to gather intelligence on the Incels…
She glanced up and found Gil in the audience. He’d promised to come, and kept that promise. That filled her with warm confidence.
Then she saw the look on his face. Of worry, and sadness, and what she read as surprise and embarrassment. Her heart sank, and anger rose within her. Anger at herself for her awful performance.
Next to Gil, her old partner, Rico Lopez, appeared to be enjoying her humiliation. Next to them sat a very frightened-looking Shannon O’Reilly and her old boss, Travis Blake.
Her friends and colleagues showed up for her. But she hadn’t shown up for them in the ring.
No. She couldn’t let them down. Losing was one thing. Getting her ass stomped, reflecting so badly on the department, was another.
Why, oh why, did they introduce her as a cop?
“Six…Seven…”
She lunged to her feet with a roar, and the ref caught her.
“Let me see your eyes,” he said.
She stood still, staring at him.
“How many fingers?” He held up his hand.
“Three,” Val said. An educated guess.
The ref shot a dubious glance toward Tank, now standing at the edge of the ring. Tank made a rolling motion with his hands, mouthing: Keep it going.
“Okay, let’s go,” the ref said, and got out of the way.
Val moved in more aggressively, landing a few shots and deflecting most of Kalie’s, who seemed lower-energy after the knockdown. The bell rang moments later, and Val trotted over to Maya.
“If this keeps up, I won’t last two rounds, much less three.” Val accepted a squirt from a water bottle. She couldn’t help but think the fight was a mistake, and not worth whatever meager benefits Petroni hoped to obtain from it.
“Go with your strengths,” Maya said. “Jiu jitsu. Turn her momentum against her. Also, use your longer reach—try not to let her get too close. Keep your defenses up. You’ll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say.” Val recalled Maya’s admission that she’d lost her only fight.
The advice made sense, though, and she followed it. When Kalie rushed her, Val took advantage of her open stance and landed some inside kicks, employing a few defensive moves to execute some hard takedowns. She even used a new kick that Tank demonstrated earlier that week, landing a painful shot to Kalie’s ribs that slowed her down and made her cry out in pain.
The crowd, though, was having none of it. Their boos and complaints reached a fever pitch when Val let Kalie get back up after her third takedown. “Go for the kill, bitch!” someone shouted. “Take her out!”
Val ignored the taunts. Kalie’s heavier, more compact frame gave her an advantage in any sort of close-up wrestling-style fight. Val had already learned that the hard way.
So had Kalie. She countered one of Val’s spinning kicks with a rush tackle that splayed Val onto the mat and wrapped her legs around Val’s neck. Kalie twisted her body left and right while landing rabbit punches to Val’s ribs. One slammed her left breast, and once again she regretted not wearing the chest protector. Val rolled out of the headlock, but Kalie held her with both arms around the waist, slamming her knee into Val’s ass, driving her face into the mat. Kalie grabbed Val’s ear, twisting it, and the ref shouted something about a foul, and Kalie released her grip. They wrestled there for a solid minute until the bell rang, drawing more boos and jeers from the audience.
Exhausted, Val dragged herself back to Maya for another shot of water. Kalie seemed unfazed, trotting over to her second and grinning at the crowd.
“Last round,” Maya said. “I think the score is pretty close so far, especially after that late penalty. You may even be ahead. If you can repeat what you did in the second round and avoid any fouls, you’ve got a good chance for the win.”
Val nodded and glanced at her opponent. Kalie seemed to be engaged in a heated conversation with her coach. She focused on her opponent’s lips, trying to read them. She thought she made out a few words: “Why don’t it count?… Okay then.”
“I think Kalie agrees that she’s behind.” Val felt the opposite, but what did she know?
Kalie began the third round more conservatively, keeping her distance, holding her fists up and tight. Twenty, thirty seconds ticked by, with neither woman mounting much of an attack.
The booing grew more vocal. “Somebody throw a goddamned punch!” a man shouted. “Are you women or pussies?” screamed another, drawing a round of laughter.
Kalie turned toward the heckler, shot him a middle finger, and the crowd cheered.
While Val shared the sentiment, she also kept her wits and took advantage of the distraction. She moved in and delivered a hard punch to the woman’s cheekbone, snapping her head back and forcing her back a few steps. Val followed up with a quick series of chops and punches, left-right-left, and for whatever reason, Kalie seemed unable to defend herself. A kick to her unguarded calf, followed by a smash to the girl’s gut, and Kalie doubled over. Val smashed an elbow into Kalie’s nose, and her opponent’s eyes lolled to the back of her head. She landed in a heap, unmoving.
The ref moved Val away and counted to ten in a loud voice. He checked her pulse and breathing, then stood and extended his arms forward, criss-crossing them several times overhead before raising Val’s arm high in the air.
Fight over.
Val waited until Kalie rolled to her knees and the ref helped her to her feet before exiting the ring. She barely heard the crowd noise, caught only a glance of Gil’s and Shannon’s faces beaming with pride and applauding. She trotted back through the door to the practice area, passing Stevie Ray and his opponent, waiting their turn. Didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Just sat on the bench by the door, trying to catch her breath, not having a lot of luck.
Kalie entered a few minutes later, wearing an expression of anger mixed with dejection. She pointed a gloved hand at Val and said in an even, determined voice, “Next time, biotch, you mine.” She punched her fists together twice, spit on the floor in Val’s direction, and trudged off to the locker room.
Maya appeared out of nowhere and sat next to her. “Don’t mind her. She’s a sore loser because, well, she doesn’t have a lot of practice doing it. But look at you, girl! You won! Great job.” She side-hugged Val.
Val endured the hug for a few moments, then wiggled free. “Thanks. I thought I was getting my ass kicked. Then, poof, she stopped fighting, it seemed. I don’t get it.”
“You got some good shots in and stunned her, I think.”
“She had me reeling,” Val said. “What changed?”
“That’s how these fights go sometimes,” Maya said. “You should feel good about it! You won your first fight. Not many people around here can say that.”
“Exhibition. And it felt like one. In the worst way.” Val recalled the hooting and catcalls when the cool air washed over her breasts.
“So? You beat a champion. That’s pretty awesome. I’m honored to be on your team. Trust me, this is a big deal.”
Val smiled, Maya’s enthusiasm beginning to rub off on her. “Okay. I guess I’m just a little tired and beaten up. That’s exhausting, and we didn’t even go the full fifteen minutes.”
“Wait until you go five rounds,” Maya said, laughing. “Well, I suggest you give Kalie some space in the locker room—let her finish before you go take your shower. Relax and enjoy the win, okay?” She clasped Val’s hand in a victory salute, then sauntered off with her cell phone pressed to her ear.
Val peeled off the top of her fighting uniform, nearly crying out in pain. Raising her arms like that alerted her to every sore rib and muscle in her torso. Even her breast ached where Kalie had landed a hard punch. Next time, she’d find a chest protector that fit, and wear it.
The crowd again grew loud, and Val glanced up at the monitor. A blond-haired man was getting pummeled on the mat by his dark-haired opponent, who punched his head repeatedly to the floor. The look of anguish on the blond man’s face made Val wince and pity him. Like Stevie, he seemed to fill the role of punching bag for Tank and this odd MMA community.
Except for one person. The tall, black-haired woman with pale skin remained glued to the monitor. She cheered on the few occasions when the blond man landed a decent punch, but winced throughout most of the fight. Definitely a friend of his, or at least a fan. When Val tried to make eye contact, the woman looked away.
Fine, biotch.
Kalie left the locker room toward the end of the bout, which got even more one-sided and cringe-worthy. Val welcomed the opportunity to escape into the showers before Stevie Ray reappeared. He, too, lost a lopsided fight. The last thing he needed was for Val, a victorious woman, to bear witness to his humiliation.
After removing her towel and soap from her locker, Val checked her cell for messages: congratulations from Gil and Shannon, and a missed call from Beth. She pressed “call back,” but it went straight to voice mail. She texted: Fight’s over. What’s up?
No response, so she proceeded to the showers. When she returned, Beth’s reply remained visible on the screen: Nothing big. Wanted to talk. What fight?
Oops. She hadn’t told Beth about the MMA bout. Martial arts thing, no biggie. Call tonight?
The instant response: Tomorrow’s better. For now, I wanted to confirm: You’ll be there Monday, right?
The appointment at the clinic. Val shivered. After the shooting at Safe Haven, the prospect of Beth heading to an abortion clinic seemed an ominous choice.
The shooter wouldn’t attempt another attack so soon, would he?
She replied: Of course.
And then she resolved to call her friend on Sunday, as requested, and do her best to talk Beth out of it.
Val didn’t get her wish to avoid contact with Stevie Ray before leaving the gym.
She dressed as quickly as her sore muscles would allow, knowing that Gil would wait for her. He’d expressed dutiful support for her decision to participate, though he admitted he wouldn’t care to stay for the remaining bouts. She tried to sneak out without being seen, but timed it wrong. Stevie Ray spotted her right away, cooling off on a bench in the practice area and getting bandages applied by a balding, thin man everyone called Trainer Tim.
Nobody in this place went without a nickname. Val wondered what they called her out of earshot.
“Valorie!” He waved her over. “Nice win out there.”
“Thanks.” She opted to shield his dignity by feigning ignorance. “How’d your bout go?”
He surrendered a wry smile and pointed to the lacerations on his face and body. “Not so well. Hey, Tim, I’m good for now, okay?”
Trainer Tim shrugged and shuffled away with his first aid kit.
“So, will you be back?” Stevie Ray wiped sweat away with a small towel. “We have bouts every Saturday and sometimes weeknights.”
“Not sure,” Val said. “I’m pretty sore. I’ll sleep on it, see how my body feels tomorrow.”
“Give it time.” Stevie’s smile faded. “It can take a few days to get right again. It’s a hell of a rush being out there, isn’t it?” He mopped his brow again with the towel.
“Yeah…I don’t know. We’ll see.” She took a step toward the exit, then stopped when she recognized the pattern printed on Stevie Ray’s hand towel. It was an alien face with a single “antenna,” like the one she’d seen on the T-shirt earlier and on the IncelNation website.
Stevie, noticing her staring, cocked his head. “Something wrong?”
“No, nothing’s wrong,” Val said, her words rushed. “I’ve seen that drawing before, and I’m trying to place where.”
“Oh, this?” He glanced at it and slung the towel over his shoulder. “It’s a men’s club thing I sometimes hang with. Men supporting men, that type of thing.”
“Oh.” She smiled to hide her growing alarm. “So, a woman-free zone.”
“Something like that,” he said. “In terms of meetings and stuff, yeah. It’s not like we exclude women from our activities altogether.”
Val, surprised, cocked her head. “Oh? Women join in and, what? You let them cook and clean for you?” She smiled to convey that she was joking. A little.
“Sure, if they wanted to,” Stevie said in all seriousness. “Or, if they wanted to support their husbands or boyfriends or…I don’t know. Support the cause, I guess.”
“The cause?”
Stevie reddened a bit, wiped his brow again. “Men learning how to…ah, assert themselves? Do you like assertive men, Miss Dawes?”
Val, sensing a verbal trap coming, cleared her throat, searching for words. She also caught the “Miss” rather than “Ms.” reference, which told her a lot about what he meant by ‘assertive.’
“Well, my boyfriend is pretty assertive.”
“Maybe he’d be interested, then,” Stevie Ray said. “Does he fight? He’s a cop, too, right?”
“He is. However, I’m afraid his fighting days are over, at least recreationally.”
“Too bad. Well, I support you guys. Law enforcement, I mean,” he added in a rush. “Keeps our society from sliding into chaos. If the woke crowd ever gets their way, that’d make your job impossible, wouldn’t it? They want to let criminals walk, legalize drugs and prostitution…”
“It’s impossible already,” Val said, trying to draw him out more.
“Law enforcement guys are role models,” Stevie said. “If men took more personal accountability, we’d see less crime.”
“Only men?”
“Yeah, women too.”
“Okay. That makes some sense.”
“And,” Stevie continued, excitement building in his voice, “if more guys like your boyfriend joined the group—well, a lot of guys would welcome that.”
“If he was interested,” Val said, improvising, “where could he learn more about your group?”
“Uh…I’d need to talk to him, you know, one-on-one. Or maybe have—uh, our higher-ups to do it. I’m a nobody—a peon.” Stevie’s head drooped, his gaze averted.
“I’ll check with him, then, and see if he’s interested. Thanks.” Val headed for the exit. She peeked back as she reached the door.
And caught Stevie Ray cold, staring hard at her ass. What was with these guys?
She might not mention that to Gil.