“No,” Rapp said without twitching.

“No,” Hurley howled with a veiny throat. “You call me sir when you talk to me, or I’ll stick my boot so far up your ass you’ll be chewing leather.”

A fleck of spit hit Rapp in the face, but he ignored it. He’d figured something like this would happen. He’d already taken a look around and hadn’t seen any others, so this was probably his best chance. “Sir, permission to speak?”

“I should have figured,” Hurley said with a sigh. He placed his hands on his hips and said, “All right, Ivy League. I’ll give you this one chance to say your piece. I can only pray you’re going to tell me this was a bad idea and you’d like to go home. And I’ve got no problem with that,” he added quickly. “Hell, I’ll drive you myself.”

Rapp grinned and shook his head.

“Shiiiiit!” Hurley drew out the word as he shook his head in disgust. “You actually think you can do this?”

“I do, sir.”

“So you’re really going to waste my time.”

“It appears so, sir. Although, if I may … I suggest we speed things up a bit.”

“Speed things up?” Hurley asked.

“Yes, sir. My guess is once you step in the ring with a man you can probably figure out inside about twenty seconds if a guy has enough talent to make it through your selection process.”

Hurley nodded. “That’s right.”

“I don’t want to waste your time, so I say we find out if I have the goods.”

Hurley smiled for the first time. “You want to take a run at me?”

“Yes, sir … so we can speed things up.”

Hurley laughed. “You think you can take me?”

“From what I’ve heard … not a chance in hell.”

“Then why are in you such a hurry to get your ass kicked?”

“I figure you’ll do it sooner or later. I’d rather do it sooner.”

“And why’s that?”

“So we can get on with the important stuff.”