“Yes. Because everyone who fights, even the winners, have the living hell beaten out of them. Broken bones, tendons shredded, gouges, eyes out of their sockets, all of that. None of them are going to the hospital to get themselves taken care of, are they? First rule of fight club, and all that.”

“So, what? The dispatcher just shoots everyone at the end of the fight?”

“That’s the standard operating procedure, yeah.”

“They don’t need a dispatcher for that. They could just give a gun to a flunky.”

“These guys use dispatchers for the same reasons they drive fancy cars and pay for bottle service in clubs.”

“As status symbols? You have got to be kidding me.”

“There are other reasons. But, yup. That’s a big one.”

“How much could a dispatcher get for this?”

“Five hundred a night, plus tips.”

“Tips? Tips?”

“If everyone was dispatched safely, you’d get a hundred dollar tip. Or more.”

“Tell me you never did this sort of shit.”

“I’m offering a hypothetical.”

“Hypothetical my ass, Valdez. Tell me you never did this.”

“I never did this.”

“But you’ve done things like this.”

“I’m going to plead the Fifth from this point on, I think.”

Langdon looked disgusted. “What about Jimmy Albert?”

“What about him?”

“Did he ever work one of these hammer fights?”

“I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

“So, yes.”

I spread my hands, placatingly. “I never said that. That’s your assumption.”

Langdon glowered. “Why?” she finally asked.

“Why do this stuff?”

“Yeah.”

“For the money, of course. Why do you think?”

“So this shit doesn’t bother you.”

“Private gigs? No,” I said, and then held up a hand because I could see Langdon about to go off. “Most private gigs aren’t like that. Most of my private gigs are things where I’m hired by rich people to attend polo matches or sailboat races, so if they fall off a horse or a boat I can get them home safely. Last weekend I went skydiving so I could dispatch this guy if his parachute didn’t open. Ninety percent of all the private gigs I have ever done are like that.”

“But then there’s that other ten percent.”

“Well, it’s like I told Katie. I don’t do those anymore. I got out of it.”

“Because it stopped being fun to watch poor black men beat each other’s brains out and then shoot them in the head when they’re done.”

There was no good way to answer that. “Something like that,” I allowed.

“You mentioned that you and Jimmy Albert went ‘bowling,’” Langdon said. “Then tonight Katie Albert mentioned something about your ‘bowling team.’ I guessing your team didn’t actually go bowling, did you?”

I shook my head. “No, it was an actual bowling team at first. Me and Jimmy and Judd Montgomery and Mason Schilling.”

“You were all dispatchers.”