"When it's over, somebody takes that belt out of there. I don't care who."
Mason laughed for real, throwing his head back, delighted. "Deal."
He was not finished. He took her by the elbow, walked her three steps toward the desk phone, and pointed her face at the lens. "Say it out loud, so there's no crying about it later."
"I agree to the terms," Gianna said. "Three of them, one at a time."
"And when you lose?"
"I leave, and I don't come back."
"Louder."
"I leave, and I don't come back."
He let go of her elbow like he was dropping something he had finished with on the bench.
The clinic women had not sat down. One of them had her coat on already. Another was filming, and her hand was shaking so badly the picture would be useless. Tanya Burke was not filming. Tanya was writing down the time on the back of her parking receipt, and under the time, she wrote three names.
Jake Dawson came out to the middle of the mat and walked a slow circle around Gianna, looking at her feet. "Where'd you train, sweetheart? YouTube?"
"My grandfather's garage."
"Oh, no." Jake put both hands on his head. "Oh, that's worse."
The laugh went around again; it was thinner this time. Near the door, an older man in a work jacket picked up his gym bag and walked out. He shook his head the whole way to his truck. He did not look back at the building, and he did not come back the following week, or ever.