“I was wondering whether you got Jimmy any gigs recently.”

“You know that Katie told him to stop with the side gigs.”

“Yeah, I know that. I also know Jimmy didn’t always do everything Katie told him to do.”

Mason grunted at this and then turned his attention again down the field, where one of the duelists held up his hand to signal a break. Chad or whatever his name was called for the break, and the other duelist started to complain about it.

“These assholes, I swear,” Mason said.

“Come on, Mason. Tell me.”

“Are you working for the cops, Tony?”

“What kind of question is that? Obviously I am.”

Mason laughed at this. “All right. I mean, what’s your intention?”

“Mason, if they wanted to get you on the hook for something, you’d be in an interrogation room with some detective or DA trying to grill you while your lawyer sat next to you and you had that smug look you get on your face.”

“I don’t look smug.”

“You always look smug. You have resting smug face.”

“I don’t even know what to think of that comment.”

“My point is that the reason I’m here is they don’t care about you or anything you’re doing. It’s beside the point. What they want is to find Jimmy. So if you gave him a gig then it would help to know. So we can talk to them.”

“Except then they’d know you heard it from me. That’s bad for business.”

“They’re not going to know that, Mason.”

“Jesus, Tony. Think of who I work with. Think of what you’re saying. Of course they’re going to know.”

Down the field the duelist who had been arguing with Chad or whatever his name was yelled in frustration, pulled his sword back and ran Chad or whatever his name was through the gut with it.

“Oh, fuck,” Mason said, and started running down the field. I followed.

Mason got to the duelist as he was lumbering over to the one who had called for a rest and raised his sword, using both hands, preparing to strike the other, who had fallen over in a panic and was trying to crawl away. Mason shoved the attacking duelist, knocking him off balance and tumbling him to the ground. The sword, knocked loose, fell, landing almost silently in the grass. Mason picked it up. I went to the judge, who was sitting, holding his gut and babbling.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Mason yelled at the duelist, who was still coming to terms with being on the ground. “You stabbed the fucking judge?”

“Look, dude, it’s against the rules to stop—”

“The judge did something you thought was against the rules so you fucking stabbed him?” Mason roared. “You think that was appropriate?”