On his way out he stopped to talk to Chance. The girl with the auburn hair sat forward and rested a hand on the fighter’s glossy black arm. Chance and the Kid talked for a moment or two, and then the Kid headed for his dressing room.

I left my seat, walked over to Chance and the girl. They were standing by the time I got there. He said, “We’re not staying for the main bout. If you’d planned on watching it—”

The top of the card matched two middleweights, a Panamanian contender and a black boy from South Philadelphia with a reputation as a spoiler. It would probably be a good bout, but that wasn’t what I’d come for. I told him I was ready to leave.

“Then why don’t you come with us,” he suggested. “I have a car nearby.” He headed up the aisle with the girl at his side. A few people said hello to him and some of them told him that the Kid had looked good in there. Chance didn’t say much in reply. I tagged along, and when we got outside and hit the fresh air I realized for the first time how stale and smoky it had been inside the Garden.

On the street he said, “Sonya, this is Matthew Scudder. Mr. Scudder, Sonya Hendryx.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, but I didn’t believe her. Her eyes told me she was withholding judgment until Chance cued her in one way or the other. I wondered if she was the Sunny that Kim had mentioned, the sports fan Chance took to ball games. I wondered, too, if I would have pegged her for a hooker if I’d met her in other circumstances. I couldn’t see anything unmistakably whorish about her, and yet she didn’t look at all out of place hanging on a pimp’s arm.

We walked a block south and half a block east to a parking lot where Chance collected his car and tipped the attendant enough to get thanked with more than the usual degree of enthusiasm. The car surprised me, just as the clothes and manner had surprised me earlier. I was expecting a pimpmobile, complete with custom paint and interior and the usual wretched excess, and what showed up was a Seville, the small Cadillac, silver on the outside with a black leather interior. The girl got in back, Chance sat behind the wheel, and I sat in front next to him.

The ride was smooth, silent. The car’s interior smelled of wood polish and leather. Chance said, “There’s a victory party for Kid Bascomb. I’ll drop Sonya there now and join her after we’ve concluded our business. What did you think of the fight?”

“I thought it was hard to figure.”

“Oh?”

“It looked fixed but the knockout looked real.”