At first Gordon seemed taken aback by Fiona’s idea. Then momentarily thoughtful, his eyes darting about in their sockets. And then suspicious, his brow scrunching together.

“Okay… Fiona,” Gordon clasped his hands against his midsection, “you want me to ask Miss Deguara to let you be ringside for the match that will decide who you face in the next round? After winning your own match tonight thanks to outside interference?”

Gordon paused for a moment, holding unblinking eye contact with Fiona for clear emphasis. Kendra tucked her hands in her pockets and chewed on her bottom lip. In the short lull of the conversation the thump of what was undoubtedly someone’s entrance music could be heard through the walls. The next match would be starting soon.

“Listen, I need to go…” Gordon said looking over his shoulder, “I’ll… email you or something in a few days.”