There was a protocol to the circuit, a tacit order of deference and precedence as elaborate as that of a Man- darin court. It didn’t matter that Deke was hot, that his rep was spreading like wildfire. Even a name flyboy couldn’t just challenge whom he wished. He had to climb the ranks. But if you flew every night. If you were always available to anybody’s challenge. And if you were good. . . well, it was possible to climb fast. Deke was one plane up. It was tournament fight- ing, three planes against three. Not many spectators, a dozen maybe, but it was a good fight, and they were noisy. Deke was immersed in the manic calm of combat when he realized suddenly that they had fallen silent. Saw the kickers stir and exchange glances. Eyes flicked past him. He heard the elevator doors close. Coolly, he disposed of the second of his opponent’s planes, then risked a quick glance over his shoulder. Tiny Montgomery had just entered Jackman’s. The wheelchair whispered across browning linoleum, guided by tiny twitches of one imperfectly paralyzed hand. His expression was stern, blank, calm. In that instant, Deke lost two planes. One to de- resolution gone to blur and canceled out by the facilitator and the other because his opponent was a real fighter. Guy did a barrel roll, killing speed and slip- ping to the side, and strafed Deke’s biplane as it shot past. It went down in flames. Their last two planes shared altitude and speed, and as they turned, trying for position, they naturally fell into a circling pattern. The kickers made room as Tiny wheeled up against the table. Bobby Earl Cline trailed after him, lanky and casual. Deke and his opponent traded glances and pulled their machines back from the pool table so they could hear the man out. Tiny smiled. His features were small, clustered in the center of his pale, doughy face. One finger twitched slightly on the chrome handrest. “I heard about you.” He looked straight at Deke. His voice was soft and shockingly sweet, a baby-girl little voice. “I heard you’re good.” Deke nodded slowly. The smile left Tiny’s face. His soft, fleshy lips relaxed into a natural pout, as if he were waiting for a kiss. His small, bright eyes studied Deke without malice. “Let’s see what you can do, then.” Deke lost himself in the cool game of war. And when the enemy went down in smoke and flame, to ex- plode and vanish against the table, Tiny wordlessly turned his chair, wheeled it into the elevator, and was gone. As Deke was gathering up his winnings, Bobby Earl eased up to him and said, “The man wants to play you. “Yeah?” Deke was nowhere near high enough on the circuit to challenge Tiny. “What’s the scam?” “Man who was coming up from Atlanta tomorrow canceled. 01′ Tiny, he was spoiling to go up against somebody new. So it looks like you get your shot at the Max.” “Tomorrow? Wednesday? Doesn’t give me much prep time.” Bobby Earl smiled gently. “I don’t think that makes no nevermind.” “How’s that, Mr. Cline?” “Boy, you just ain’t got the moves, you follow me? Ain’t got no surprises. You fly just like some kinda beginner, only faster and slicker. You follow what I’m trying to say?” “I’m not sure I do. You want to put a little action on that?” “Tell you truthful,” Cline said, “I been hoping on that.” He drew a small black notebook from his pocket and licked a pencil stub. “Give you five to one. They’s nobody gonna give no fairer odds than that.” He looked at Deke almost sadly. “But Tiny, he’s just naturally better’n you, and that’s all she wrote, boy. He lives for that goddamned game, ain’t got nothing else. Can’t get out of that goddamned chair. You think you can best a man who’s fighting for his life, you are just lying to yourself.”
Norman Rockwell’s portrait of the colonel regarded Deke dispassionately from the Kentucky Fried across Richmond Road from the coffee bar. Deke held his cup with hands that were cold and trembling. His skull hummed with fatigue. Cline was right, he told the col- onel. I can go up against Tiny, but I can’t win. The colonel stared back, gaze calm and level and not par- ticularly kindly, taking in the coffee bar and Best Buy and all his drag-ass kingdom of Richmond Road. Wait- ing for Deke to admit to the terrible thing he had to do. “The bitch is planning to leave me anyway,” Deke said aloud. Which made the black countergirl look at him funny, then quickly away.