Fixed Fight (Mike Chance series Book 2) Page 11

  Mike stepped inside and found himself in a dim hallway that led back into the bowels of the building. The only light in the hall came from an open door halfway down it. Mike could hear a hustle of people clattering and banging on the other side of the doorway. The hall might be empty, but the building was busy. In front of him, Benny and Mitchell made their way down the hall toward the light. Mike followed them.

  Mike caught up to Benny and Mitchell as they stood outside the doorway and looked through into the brightly lit storeroom. Young fellows in white uniforms and little white paper hats hurried back and forth trundling carts full of inventories. Others waved around little clip boards and did the checking up. Past the stockroom, there was a narrow glass walled office. The kid waited in its doorway.

  Mitchell, Benny and Mike walked across the room like lowlifes on parade. The workers gave them the side-eye and kept their distance. Mike didn’t like that. He felt disrespected. When they got to the door, the kid didn’t move. He held out his hand for them to stop. Mike didn’t like that either. Then his worries really picked up steam.

  Lombardi strolled out in a thin linen grey suit with a grip of paperwork under his arm and a cigar clenched in his teeth. He didn’t have the bearing of a grocer. He carried himself like a man who thought the world owed him interest.

  “Well, boys, looks like we meet again.” Lombardi sneered.

  Mike wanted to drop him on the spot, but Benny seemed to know that and stepped between them before anything could happen.

  “All right, pal. Let us talk to the kid. If he can do it, you’ll get your cut from him.” Benny smiled.

  “You bet I will.” Lombardi blew smoke in their faces, but he didn’t stick around. He strolled off into the storeroom where there was an employee bending over to read a label on a box. Lombardi kicked him in the ass. The kid scowled. He didn’t like his partner.

  The young boxer directed them into the office and led the way. The three of them went in after him. The room was narrow and the desk along the wall took up most of the space. The two chairs facing the desk barely fit. Benny took the best one and Mitchell perched on the edge of the desk. He left the other chair in front of the desk for Mike, but Mike didn’t take it. He stayed in the doorway leaning against the jam.

  The kid took down his hood and showed himself as soon as he sat down behind the desk. He was blond and blue-eyed and his face didn’t look like it had taken a punch. Benny squinted a little at the sight. He tried to place the kid.

  Mitchell knew him right away. “I’ve seen you around. Mark? Martin? What the hell do you call yourself?”

  “Jimmy Jones.” The kid crossed his arms. He was relieved someone had recognized him even though they had guessed the wrong name.

  “That’s right. You fought Mongoose Martin back on Thanksgiving. I saw the poster. You were going under Jersey Jimmy Jones. You won that fight, right?” Mitchell got up from his seat on the edge of the desk and sat in the other chair. He could tell Mike wasn’t moving from the doorway.

  “Yeah, I’ve won’em all. Three of ‘em since I got to California.” Jersey opened a desk drawer and took out a couple of handbills promoting his fights. He tossed them on the desk in front of Benny, then reached back into the drawer. His hands came out with rolling papers and tobacco. He set himself to making a smoke.

  “How long you been here?” Benny didn’t look at the posters. He steepled his fingers and stared over them at the Jersey.

  “Six month’s.” Jersey smiled big. He had a few teeth missing. Now he looked like a fighter.

  “How’d you hear about what we’re doing?” Mike stepped into the room with the Red 9 out.

  Benny flinched when he saw it. Mitchell shook his head. He was mad at himself for not seeing this coming. Jersey pushed his chair away from the desk and raised his hands in surrender.

  Jersey started talking. “Wow, take it easy, Big Fella. Relax, I got a good answer. I knew your other fighter. I’m friends with the Kid.” Jersey’s hands were steady. “I was friends with him anyway. We were training together last week and he told me all about it. He was doing it for his sister. Did he tell you that? Well, his sister is my wife. He made me promise not to tell anyone. That’s it. I swear it.” Jersey rattled off the words. “I don’t even know how you guys found me.”

  “Roger’s my brother-in-law.” Mitchell answered. His eyes were glued to the gun in Mike’s hand.

  “All right, All right.” Benny directed Mike. “Calm down. We can figure out how we got here later.” Benny turned to Jersey and got down to business. “You done anything like this before?”

  Jersey kept talking. “Yeah, I done this before. Remember Big Bill Grace up in Portland? I’m from Portland and he took me under his wing when I was a kid. I saw you once at the track up there. I must’ve been about ten. That was you, right? In the white hat on race day? You remember that day. Old Bill thought the world of you. When I got older, he walked me through a couple of promotions and we did the fight twice. In Oregon, the first time, and then once for a mining tycoon in Wyoming. That one was a big operation. Big Bill cleaned up. You can send a telegram to him up in Portland if you don’t believe me. He’ll be at the track. He’s always at the track.”

  “Big Bill is always at the track, ain’t he?” Benny looked over at Mike.

  “Every day I knew him.” Mike nodded his approval.

  Mitchell spoke up. “Well, I’ve never heard of any Big Bill, but I believe this kid. Let’s stay civilized for crying out loud. Roger says this kid is good and Roger doesn’t have any motives except the straight money. He’s too soft for them.”

  “Come on, tell your pal to put the piece away. He’s making me nervous.” Jersey lowered his hands and put them flat on the desk.

  Mike didn’t wait for Benny to tell him anything. He put the gun away, stepped forward and took the tobacco from under Jersey’s nose. He made himself a cigarette. The room watched him and the air cleared. Then Benny broke the silence.

  “You can go down?” He asked Jersey. “You know how to sell it? You ready for afterward? You won’t be able to fight for awhile and you’ll never fight again as Jersey Jimmy Jones. You get that part right?”

  “I got all the parts. I know how they go together. Remember the Kid’s sister is my wife. Now that he ain’t getting’ the money, I gotta get it. Then me and the wife are goin’ back to live with their mother out in Arizona. She’s gonna need us now even more that her son is dead, fellas.” He paused to lay the blame at their feet, then kept going. “Anyway my wife needs the desert air and she says I can get a job in a machine shop out there easy. I figure that’s fine by me. I don’t wanna lose anymore teeth.” Jersey smiled and showed his gapped choppers one more time.

  “Fine by me.” Mitchell got out of his chair and stepped towards the door. “Let’s discuss the details later. I need a drink.”

  Mike didn’t budge and Mitchell couldn’t get past him, so Mitchell stood there unsure of what to do next. Mike looked to Benny for guidance. The little guy nodded and Mike stepped back. Mitchell left the room shaking his head and muttering under his breath.

  “We’ll need a place for you guys to work out.” Benny got up to leave.

  “We can do that upstairs after hours. Mr. Lombardi has the key. He’s got an interest in the gym.” Jersey cracked his knuckles.

  “Mr. Lombardi have an interest you?” Mike stepped back into the doorway and blocked it again after Mitchell passed.

  “Yeah he’s got an interest in me. He’s got an interest in this grocery too and a lot of other things. Maybe even got an interest in you that you don’t know about.” Jersey winked at Mike.

  Mike didn’t like that. His eyes got wide and he clenched his fists.

  “Easy Mike.” Benny stepped in front of Mike and shook Jersey’s hand. “We’ll see you upstairs. After midnight?”

  “Fine by me.” Jersey answered.

  Benny pushed Mike gently out the door. Mike didn’t object. He went quietly. They met up with Mi
tchell on the sidewalk outside the grocery. Mitchell led them across the street to a lonely red brick building with empty overgrown lots on either side of it. A sign above the door spelled out Club Room in bright red neon. Mitchell walked fast. He was thirsty.

  The building looked better up close than it did from far away, because there was a design made of dark red bricks that stood out when you got near it. Mike stopped and stared at it for a while. Mitchell ignored it and went inside directly. Benny stopped and held the door open for Mike.

  “Come on.” Benny commanded.

  “Sure. I’m coming.” Mike peeled his eyes off the bricks and did as he was told.

  Inside was dim. The bar was a long and narrow affair. It ran along one wall and had a dirty mirror behind it. Tattered red leather barstools faced it and booths ran along the other wall. Between them, there wasn’t much room for walking.

  A grim looking bartender stood nearby in a sleeveless tee with his back to them. He was rearranging booze bottles on a low shelf behind the bar. The sparse selection made his efforts a transparent ploy to ignore the customers. Mitchell slid into the last booth. He took the side that faced the door. Benny slid in across from him. Mike didn’t join them. He ambled up to the bar.

  “Hey, bud, we could use three glasses and a bottle.” Mike rapped hard on the sticky wood with his knuckles.

  “Could ya now?” The bartender glimpsed Mike in the mirror glowering at him. He paused as if to consider whether or not to worry, then shook his head. He was too tired to muster the energy, so he reached under the bar for some glasses and a tray.

  “Whiskey.” Mike insisted.

  “Sure thing, bud.” The bartender got a bottle from the shelf behind him and put it on the tray with the glasses.

  Mike slapped a fiver on the bar, picked up the tray, and took it back to the booth. When he got there, Mitchell took the bottle off the tray before Mike could put it down. Mitchell poured everyone doubles, then put the bottle down and drank his in one gulp. Right away, he poured himself another. Mike and Benny took their time sipping.

  “Listen, I think Jersey’s gonna be fine.” Benny had a tinge of the salesman in his voice. He leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

  “Don’t smooth me, we don’t have a choice.” Mitchell wasn’t in a buying mood. “We’ll take him because we have to.”

  Mike stayed quiet, but shrugged his shoulders. He concurred. Benny took note and smiled a little too himself.

  “What about your man?” Mitchell took another sip. “How’s he gonna take it?”

  “Don’t you worry about Frisby. He’s a right gee. He’s been working this sucker for months and now he’s got him. He won’t back out.” Benny stayed smooth.

  “Why don’t we just brace the money. Hit him after he calls for it at the bank. Have Mike here put him down?” Mitchell slurred his words a little. He was closing in on drunk.

  “No, no, no, were not droppers.” Benny shook his head. He loved the action as much as the money. “We play this out. He’s established already.”

  Mike liked this house detective less every minute. If Mike had his druthers, it would be Mitchell getting dropped. Mike shifted in his seat and moved his right hand off the table. Benny saw the move and didn’t like it.

  “Relax, Mike.” Benny didn’t even look at his partner. He kept eye contact with Mitchell. “He’s established at a bank in Riverside. We gotta go there anyway. Our partner put some time in. Everything is ready.” Benny took a drink.

  Mitchell kept up with the questions. “You guys couldn’t think of a better place than Riverside?” Mitchell reached to pour himself another.

  Benny moved quick and snatched the bottle away. “Riverside works fine, Mitchell. It’s out of the county. The law’s a little slow out there.” Benny slow poured Mitchell another drink, then nodded at Mike. Together they got up and slid out of the booth. Mitchell stayed where he was.

  “You wanna another bottle?” Benny put the whiskey down in front of Mitchell. Mike was already halfway to the door.

  “Whadda you think?” Mitchell didn’t raise his eyes off the table.

  Benny motioned at the bartender for another, then left Mitchell alone and followed Mike outside. They lingered on the curb and lit smokes.

  Benny turned to Mike and smiled. “You gonna shoot this guy, too?”

  “Try and stop me.” Mike answered.

  Benny patted Mike on the back. “Come on, Mike. You put that out of your head. You can’t pile up partners in our business. People talk. Trust is essential. Just hold up your end. Make sure this punk Jersey knows what he’s doing in the ring. Spar with him. Make it real.” Benny exhaled hard. He was finished talking.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  An hour or so before midnight, Mike crept up the alley behind Benny’s saloon carrying a small bowling bag stuffed with athletic gear that he had stolen from a locker room near his hotel. He wore his favorite piece of the loot: a tattered red boxer’s robe with gold trim and the name Elliot in black letters on the back. Mike had left Elliot unconscious on the floor.

  A Lincoln Model K idled behind the saloon and Mike crept toward the passenger door. When he got close, he stepped out of the dark and ducked down to look inside. Benny sat behind the wheel looking nervous, but not surprised. He saw Mike coming.

  “Where’d you get that gear?” Benny saw the bag when Mike slid into the seat next to him.

  Before Mike could answer, the saloon’s back door opened and Lo stepped out. He was barefoot and shirtless and his skin glistened. In each hand, he carried a big wire cage packed so tight with squawking chickens it was impossible to tell one bird from the other. Lo handled the cages gracefully. He hopped down the stairs, opened the back door of the car, and slid the birds into the backseat.

  When he finished, he passed by the driver’s side and ran a finger along Benny’s forearm as a goodbye. Benny glanced over to see if Mike had caught the gesture. Mike pretended like he hadn’t.

  When Lo had gone back inside, Benny put the Lincoln in gear and pulled away from the bar. He drove down to Wilshire and turned left. On the boulevard, it was start and stop. It took a while to cross town and, by the time they started up into the canyons, a heavy mist had rolled in. The Model K had it’s top down and the temperature was dropping. The chickens didn’t like it, but Mike didn’t mind.

  The road got steep as they drove into a dead-end box canyon where the doctor’s house perched on stilts in heavy undergrowth. When they arrived, the moon was lost in the mist and it got real dark when Benny shut off the lights. They got out of the car and used lighters to find the stairs up to the house. Benny left Mike to wrestle with the chickens, so Mike opened the back door and grasped around blindly for the handles to the cages. It took him a second to get a grip on them and pull them out. As soon as he moved them, the chickens started up again with the squawking.

  Mike followed Benny up the stairs When they got to the door, it opened before they could knock. Doc Hansen stood there in a long red night shirt. He had a bush of white hair and big toothless smile. He stepped back and let them in. The Doc motioned for Mike to put the wire cages on the dining room table, then he shut the door behind them.

  “What the hell are you boys doing, shooting your fighter before this thing even gets started?” Doc Hansen followed close behind Mike.

  “I didn’t shoot him.” Mike said.

  “Sure you didn’t.” The Doc shook his head in disbelief.

  “He didn’t.” Benny failed to sound convincing.

  “I don’t believe you either.”

  “We got another fighter.” Mike said. “And I didn’t shoot the first one.”

  “Sure you didn’t.” The Doc walked to the table and examined the caged chickens.

  “We had no idea they were gunning for us. Now we know.” Benny had a singsong to his voice that was meant for Mike.

  “Who’s they?” The old man shot back.

  “You just take care of the chickens.”

  “Sur
e I will.” The Doc opened the cages and let the chickens bolt out and run about the house flapping and clucking. After a second, they settled down and Doc turned back to Mike. “How you gonna handle this Mike?”

  “I’ll handle it. You handle the chickens.” Mike answered.

  Benny tried to change the subject. “Those chickens gonna be enough?”

  “Yeah, plenty.” The doctor motioned at the birds with a broad sweep of his arm. “Might even have some left over.”

  “Well, keep’em alive until the last minute. It’s better when it’s fresh.” Benny said.

  “Don’t tell me my business. I know what the hell I’m doin’.” The Doc was touchy. He got hot easy. “You boys better keep one thing straight. In my mind, it’s you that can’t be trusted.” The Doc glared at Benny and thumbed in Mike’s direction. “Especially him.”

  “I gotcha, old man, I gotcha, just take it easy. Let’s have a drink.” Benny headed deeper into the house toward the living room.

  Mike and the Doc followed him. They weaved their way through a house crowded with old discarded medical equipment. The Doc repaired the stuff and shipped it out of Long Beach every other month. Rumor was that he sold it somewhere down South and got paid in powder. Mike had asked the old man about it one night when they were drinking. The Doc had given him no answer.

  Mike walked over to the couch and cleared off a pile of chrome trays with a sweeping motion of his hands. The trays clattered to the ground and Mike sat down in their place. Benny stayed on his feet.

  The Doc noticed the damage to Mike’s hands. “You want me to look at that?”

  “No, it feels okay. Maybe later if it hurts after tonight.” Mike gave his mitts the once over. They felt all right.

  “This the first time you’re gonna fight him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s your instinct?” The Doc pulled a pipe from his pants pocket, blew it clean, and packed it with tobacco. It took him a while. Apparently, this simple operation required complex deliberation.