Hurley stopped near the entrance to the barn, took a long drag off his cigarette, and began to loosen up with a few side stretches and shoulder rolls. He was not expecting much of a fight, so after a quick calf stretch he took one last puff off his cigarette, stubbed it out against the sole of his boot, and entered the barn. The new recruit was standing in the middle of the mat wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Hurley gave him the once-over. He was fit, just like all the others, but there was a certain casual, relaxed posture that he found offputting.

“Shoulders back! Eyes front and center!” Hurley shook his head and mumbled some incoherent words to himself. “I don’t have time to babysit.” He bent over and took off his boots and socks and set them neatly at a ninety-degree angle at the edge of the mat, socks folded on top. He took off his sunglasses and set them on top of the socks. Stepping onto the mat, he asked, “Rules?”

Rapp didn’t flinch. “That’s up to you, sir.”

Hurley bent back, continuing his stretching, and said, “Since no one’s here to monitor this little ass kickin’ I suggest we keep it civilized. Stay away from the balls and the eyes, and no throat strikes.”

“Choke holds?”

“Absolutely,” Hurley grinned. “If you want it to end all you have to do is tap out.”

Rapp shook his head.

“Fair enough.” Hurley caught his first glimmer of something he didn’t like. There was no sign of tension on the kid’s face. He looked as relaxed as a schmuck who was about to play a round of golf. Two possibilities presented themselves and Hurley liked neither. The first was that the recruit might not be the little mama’s boy that he thought, and the second was that he might be too stupid to know he wasn’t cut out for this line of work. Either way, he might have to waste more than one day of his valuable time trying to drum him out. Hurley was shaking his head and muttering to himself when he realized there was a third possibility—that the kid actually might have the goods.