I turned and looked. The same usher who’d taken my five bucks was leading a man and woman to their seats. She was about five five, with shoulder-length auburn hair and skin like fine porcelain. He was six one or two, maybe 190 pounds. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, trim hips. His hair was natural, short rather than long, and his skin was a rich brown. He was wearing a camel’s-hair blazer and brown flannel slacks. He looked like a professional athlete or a hot lawyer or an up-and-coming black businessman.

I said, “You’re sure?”

Danny Boy laughed. “Not your usual pimp, is he? I’m sure. That’s Chance. I hope your friend didn’t put us in his seats.”

He hadn’t. Chance and his girl were in the first row and a good deal closer to the center. They took their seats and he tipped the usher, acknowledged greetings from some of the other spectators, then approached Kid Bascomb’s corner and said something to the fighter and his handlers. They huddled together for a moment. Then Chance returned to his seat.

“I think I’ll leave now,” Danny Boy said. “I don’t really want to watch these two fools pummel each other. I hope you don’t need me to introduce you?” I shook my head. “Then I’ll slip out before the mayhem commences. In the ring, that is. Will he have to know I fingered him, Matt?”

“He won’t hear it from me.”

“Good. If I can be of further service—”

He made his way up the aisle. He probably wanted a drink and the bars in Madison Square Garden don’t stock ice-cold Stolichnaya.

The announcer was introducing the fighters, calling out their ages and weights and hometowns. Bascomb was twenty-two and undefeated. Canelli didn’t figure to change his status tonight.

There were two seats empty next to Chance. I thought about taking one but stayed where I was. The warning buzzer sounded, then the bell for round one. It was a slow, thoughtful round, with neither fighter anxious to commit himself. Bascomb jabbed nicely but Canelli managed to be out of range most of the time. Nobody landed anything solid.

The pair next to Chance were still empty at the round’s end. I walked over there and sat next to him. He was looking very intently at the ring. He must have been aware of my presence but didn’t indicate it if he was.

I said, “Chance? My name is Scudder.”