“Got it. And the answer’s still no. Besides, there’s no guarantee I’ll win.”
“No.” Dee gives me an over-the-top used car salesman’s smile. “We’re looking for a guarantee that you’ll lose.”
I burst out laughing. “You want me to throw a fight?”
“Shhh!” Dee looks around dramatically. We’re standing in the shadows between two buildings, and no one seems to notice us.
“It’ll be great,” says Dum. His eyes shine with mischief. “After what you did to Boden, the odds will be so far in your favor when you fight Anita—.”
“You want me to fight a girl?” I cross my arms. “You just want to see a cat fight, don’t you?”
“It’s not just for us,” says Dee defensively. “It’ll be a gift to the whole camp.”
“Yeah,” says Dum. “Who needs television when you’ve got all that water and laundry suds?”
“Dream on.” I shove through them.
“We’ll help you get out,” says Dee in a sing-song cadence.
I stop. My brain runs through half a dozen scenarios based on what he just said.
“We can get the keys to your cell.”
“We can distract the guards.”
“We can make sure no one checks on you until morning.”
“One fight, that’s all we ask.”
I turn to look at them. “Why would you risk treason for a mud fight?”
“You have no idea how much I’d risk for an honest-to-God mud fight between two hot women,” says Dee.
“It’s not really treason anyway,” says Dum. “Obi’s go
“Why?” I ask.
“Because he wants to recruit you and that guy you came with. Obi’s an only child, and he doesn’t understand,” says Dee. “He thinks keeping you around for a few days will get you to change your mind about leaving us.”
“But we know better. A few days of singing patriotic songs ain’t going to convince you to abandon your sister,” says Dum.
“Got that right, brother,” says Dee.
They touch fists in a fist bump. “Damn straight.”
I look at them. They really do understand. They’d never leave each other behind. Maybe I have a genuine ally. “Do I really have to do this silly fight to get your help?”
“Oh, yeah,” says Dee. “No question.” They both grin at me like mischievous little boys.
“How do you know all this stuff? About my sister? What Obi’s thinking?”
“It’s our job,” says Dum. “Some people call us Dee-Dum. Other people call us Spy Masters.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down dramatically.
“Okay, Spymaster Dee-Dum, what did my friend bet on the fight?” It doesn’t matter of course, but I still want to know.
“Interesting.” Dee arches his brow in a knowing fashion. “Of all the things you could have asked when you found out we deal in information, you pick that one.”
My cheeks warm despite the frozen peas on my jaw. I try not to look like I wish I could take back my question. “What are you, in kindergarten? Just tell me already.”
“He bet that you’d last in the ring for at least seven minutes.” Dum rubs his freckled cheek. “We all thought he was crazy.” Seven minutes is a long, long time to get hammered by giant fists.