"She got a temper, don' she?" a man said, leaning over and nudging him with his elbow. He knit his brow and looked at the man with a scowl that usually made anyone else shiver.
"Yea, she does," he said slowly, looking at the man. "She work for you?"
"Ha! I wish! 'Sfar's I know, she ain't work for nobody. Can't nobody control 'er," the man was fat with thick, hairy arms and a few rotten teeth. "I bet on 'er every time though. She won me this here tooth!" The man gestured to his gold cap with a deep chuckle.
"I got $500 on her now," he said. He watched her movements. She seemed to anticipate every swing and every duck. She hit with frightening precision and he knew that ribs were cracking under her fists. He used to do that to people. It felt like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, during moments like this, he missed those days. The aimless wandering made him feel at home with his missing memories. He knew he wasn't missing anything during those days.
"Shoot, I got my mortgage runnin' on this fight and—there it is!" the man roared. He pulled out of his reverie in time to watch the man fall, lifeless, to the floor. The girl spit and dragged her arm across her mouth and scowled at the crowd roaring above her. She paced the ring, reminding him of a caged animal. She needed to get out of here. Even though she wasn't contracted by someone else, she worked for all of them. He pushed forward and grabbed a bookie by around the collar and tugged him sharply.
"Gimme the money," he growled. The bookie nodded quickly, searching his pockets for the money he owed him. Once he handed him the cash, he shoved him and pushed back through the crowd and out the door. He was going to find her. He shrugged his leather jacket on and stepped into the cold night air. The sharp intake of air made his lungs frigid and he decided quickly which alley he would wait in. He turned and crunched over the broken glass and gravel, pulling a cigar from his jacket pocket. It was a full moon; he'd have to find somewhere to hide. He lit it in mid-stride and waited in the shadows, the back door of the bar clearly visible. Hiding in the shadows was a skill he assumed he'd acquired in another life. Because he knew he was good at it. And he knew he'd have to be to wait for her. Another fight or two and she'd be stumbling out in the air herself. He looked down at his boots and puffed his cigar, waiting.
"Whadda ya want?" someone asked. He didn't look up. She was quick. And he was almost sure he could hear a growl resonating deep in her frail chest. "I don't owe nobody money so if that's what ya want, fuck off." She turned on her heel and crunched over the gravel. He watched her back as she searched her pockets for a light. His cigar had burned out almost an hour ago.
"Need a light?" he asked. He didn't yell or holler; it came off more of a whisper. Yet, she stopped in her tracks, shoulders hunched. He knew it. She turned and stared at him for a moment before striding back across the gravel, fists clenched and a cigarette dangling between her lips. He pulled out his lighter and flicked it in front of her. She leaned into the flame and sucked on the cigarette. She blew the smoke in his face before walking away again. He ducked out of the alley and stepped lightly a few yards behind her. She gave no indication that she was aware of his presence. He walked behind her until she flicked the butt of her cigarette into a puddle. He heard the faint sizzle. She seemed to be wandering aimlessly. He couldn't make sense of her movements or her walking pattern. Finally, she stopped walking. They stood in front of a vine-covered house. He surveyed the property from a distance, noting the broken window panes and the rotting porch steps. She turned and stared at him. He stepped from the shadows but didn't say anything. There was something about her, something…bestial.
Then, he heard it. That low, resonating growl tickled his ears a second time. He was certain it was emanating from her. And then his sharp nose picked up the scent. Masked by her trail of cigarette smoke, he hadn't picked up her scent. She smelled like the cold air and honeysuckle. The whole property, he noted, even from this distance smelled like her. Then, without further recognition of his presence, she turned and disappeared behind the house. He leaned against the brick wall providing his shadowy cover. He couldn't go back. Not yet anyway. But obviously his presence wasn't wanted here. That growl wasn't a pleasant, teasing one. It was a threatening one. And he knew that even though she was small, she could take him. And so did she.