“They’re fucking idiots, is what they are. But they’re rich and they’re stupid and that works for me. Hey! Chad! Or whatever your name is!” The judge turned to look at Mason. “Let’s get this going! And tell them I’m charging extra if I have to dispatch one of the seconds!” Chad or whatever his name was nodded and tried to get the attention of the others.

“Do you actually charge extra?”

“For dispatching anyone else but the duelists? Hell yeah. Additional risk.” He motioned to the kids now getting their act together on the green. “And the thing about college kids is they’re rich but they’re cheap. You have to get them to pay up front otherwise they try to weasel out and turn dorm room lawyer on you. So everyone pays up front. Two fifty each for the duelists, one hundred for the seconds. The judge I don’t charge. They don’t usually die.”

“Usually.”

“There was one time at Wheaton College. Bad thrust. Judge got it in the eye. Real fuck up.”

“I bet the guy who did it felt bad about it.”

“Yeah, for about two seconds. He just stood there gaping. Then the other duelist took the opening and pretty much hacked off his arms.”

“Is that legal?”

“‘Legal’ is a very fungible term for this sort of thing, Tony. You know that.”

“They’re ready!” Chad or whatever his name was yelled to Mason. Mason fluttered his hand as if to say, okay, fine, whatever and then turned his attention back to me. “But I don’t think you came to the fabled Midway at the UofC to talk to me about dueling, did you?”

I smiled. “What, you don’t think I would want in on this?”

Mason shrugged. “It’s in the financial demographic you like to work in. But it’s more into the gray area, legally, than you’re comfortable with anymore.”

I watched as the two duelists, yelling, crossed the field and started whacking swords together. “Probably,” I admitted.

“It’s too bad. It’s a growing field.”

“Dueling.”

“Yes. But I was thinking more of the gray areas.”

“I’m doing all right.”

“Suit yourself. But don’t pretend I don’t know you did it, once.”

“I’m actually here because I wanted to ask you about Jimmy Albert.”

Mason glanced over to me, then back down the field. “What about him?”

“He went missing yesterday afternoon.”

“Did he.”

“Signs of a struggle in his apartment. Blood on the rug. That sort of thing.”

The clanging of the swords lessened as the two duelists, clearly inexperienced with sword fighting, and possibly exercise, slowed down. The seconds hovered, unsure of what they were supposed to be doing.

“If you’re asking if I know anything about it, obviously I don’t,” Mason said.

“I didn’t think you did.”

“Then why are you here?”