3
“I’m not doing this, Frankie!” I barked as he shoved boxing gloves onto my hands.
“I told you before, you won’t get hurt. Just take a dive like we practiced and we’ll get paid five thousand dollars. Do you know how many sunsets and margaritas that will buy? Think of sculpted volleyball players glistening with suntan oil and sweat . . . or toned surfers in skintight rubber. We need money for all those sights and sounds. Just get in there and drop as she swings. Make it look real, otherwise we don’t get paid . . . and there’d probably be a lawsuit or two. Not to mention, you’d look like an idiot.”
“Refresh my memory; how did you get this gig? I’m not a boxer, and I’m banned from Lost City Casino.” I scanned the Lost City main events room, praying a security guard would spot me and escor
