Fixed Fight (Mike Chance series Book 2) Read online

  Afterward Mike stood over the bundle and lit a smoke. He eyes darted about the shack looking for something, but the dim gas lantern that hung from the ceiling cast little light. Mike had to tramp around in the damp bloody sand and kick at the dark corners of the shack until he struck it with his foot: an anchor chain. It was so perfect for the job that Mike was sure Benny had left it there on purpose.

  It didn’t take long to roll the heavyweight up in the chain. There were metal clasps affixed to the ends of the chain and Mike secured them to each other. It all made a pretty tidy package. When he was done, Mike opened the door. Benny stood a few feet away facing the water and smoking. A bright moon hung in the sky above him.

  Mike called out. “You want to help me drag him out?”

  “Let’s go get the boat first.” Benny started walking toward the pier a short distance away. He didn’t look back.

  Mike hurried to catch up and walk alongside him. Halfway to the pier, Benny stopped and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. He looked him in the eye and said. “Never tell me.”

  Mike held his friend’s gaze, but didn’t answer. He had a hard time finding words. It was like his language got lost in the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. He liked Benny, at least he didn’t dislike him, but it was hard to for Mike to sort that stuff out with words. He hadn’t ever been able to do so, for anybody.

  “You gonna say something?” Benny reached up like he was going to poke Mike in the chest, then reconsidered.

  Mike spoke, but he was talking to himself. “I guess I better wash my hands.”

  With that, Mike headed down into the surf to clean himself. Benny followed, but didn’t get too close. And when the waves crashed, Benny scampered away from the tidewaters to keep his feet dry. Mike didn’t move. He didn’t care about his shoes anymore. They were covered in blood. Mike had even glanced at the dead man’s shoes before he wrapped him up, but they were too small. Mike had let him keep them.

  “Hey! You gonna talk to me.” Benny shouted over the waves.

  Mike finished washing his hands and dried them on his shirt. “Whadda we gotta talk for?” Mike played it hard.

  “You should’ve told me.” Benny came back at him harder. “If I had known you were this hot, I would have played it different. I had to use your name to get the word out about this action. You ran it before, people know you.”

  “I warned you. You knew to be down low.” Mike clenched his fists.

  Benny noticed. It didn’t stop him. “You didn’t tell me why.”

  Mike stood there and twitched. He didn’t answer. Benny left him like that and walked away. The little guy had taken things right up to the edge. He had figured Mike perfectly. Mike kicked at the sand for a second, then followed Benny in silence.

  When they got to the pier, they clambered onto it and walked out to the end. They had a little wooden rowboat tied there. The mooring was loose and the waves beat the boat against the pylons on the crest of every wave.

  “You ready?” Benny asked.

  “I hate this boat.” Mike croaked a little when he spoke. His throat was dry.

  “Then maybe you should try harder not to kill people.” Benny rolled his eyes, then climbed down a rope ladder attached to the end of the pier. He moved carefully and managed to climb into the boat without getting drenched.

  Mike came next and faster. He hopped into the boat and got soaked. Once he settled, they unmoored the boat and were away. Mike hunched over the oars and put his back into it. It was tough going. The rough surf picked them up and put them down and knocked them about. Water poured into the little boat on all sides. Benny bailed as fast as he could, but he barely stayed even.

  When they could see glow of the lantern in the shack window, Mike turned the boat landward and, after a few more hard tugs at the oars, they climbed the crest of a big wave and road it right onto the beach. They jumped out, but not before another wave came and doused them. Benny muttered under his breathe, trying to keep his clothes dry had been wasted effort. He had a rule against wasted effort. It was a personal one.

  Together Mike and Benny pulled the boat onshore, then pulled out their cigarettes and lit them. After a few puffs, Mike turned up the beach and headed toward the shack. Benny fell in line behind him. The red cinders of their smokes swung in synchronicity at the end of their arms. Back in the shack, the heavyweight lay wrapped up in canvas right where they had left him. By now, blood had soaked through and stained the fabric black.

  Mike went over to the body and took a hold of it. He looked to Benny for help, but his partner shook him off. Mike snarled and dragged the body outside. Benny stayed behind and kicked sand at the blood stain on the floor until it was covered.

  Down in the surf, Mike loaded the body on the boat all by himself. Benny didn’t show up until Mike was pushing the boat out against the waves and then the little guy clambered on board in such a way that made Mike’s job even more difficult. By the time Mike sat back down at the oars, he was soaking wet.

  He rowed out about a hundred yards, then rolled the body over the side all by himself. Benny didn’t help at all until they got back to the pier. That’s when Benny finally pitched in. He moored the lines. He tied them tight, then climbed up the rope ladder. Mike was right behind him.

  Before they got back in the car, Benny returned to the shack and changed into his back up clothes. A white shirt and black pants combo that he kept hanging from the rafters in a cheesecloth sack. They were his clothes for when things got bloody. He had started keeping them around when Mike got to town. The clothes were threadbare and wrinkled, but they were clean and dry.

  Mike wasn’t so lucky. He drove back to Los Angeles in wet clothes while Benny sat next to him and picked his toes. As they got closer to the city, the traffic picked up. The crowd gave Benny courage.

  “That big fella sure was trouble.” Benny started up in an offhand way. “I’m a little surprised you took him so easy.”

  “Oh yeah.” Mike knew where this was going.

  “Yeah.” Benny shook his head. “I mean, it’s hard to get the drop on a guy like that. If you can get a handle on a guy like that, you can get some information. If you had just waited a little longer before you killed him, we could have found out about where they were staying. We would’ve had a better chance of seeing them coming.”

  “I’ll see them coming.” Mike grumbled.

  “Ya sure? Cause it seems to me that they’re the ones doing the seeing.”

  Mike threw his cigarette out the window. It burst into orange sparks on the road behind them. “You think we’re not still on? You think they’re that far ahead of us? You think Frisby’s dead?”

  “Not Frisby. He’s a sharper through and through.” Benny answered. “He’s been too slick since he was a kid throwing pratfalls in front of carriages. It would be hard for even the old Judge to touch him.”

  “You ever fake a seizure to get out of a bill? You might be good at that.” Mike tried to change the subject.

  Benny held up his hands up for Mike to look at. “I don’t need those skills. I got these hands. What you’re talking is clumsy. I ain’t clumsy.”

  Mike took his eyes off the road to take a look at Benny’s hands. They were tiny and scarred-up, but they were steady and hard as iron. Mike didn’t really need to look. He had seen this pal’s hands in action plenty of times.

  “Don’t mean to insult you.” Mike said.

  Benny turned away and stared out the window at the moonlight shimmering on the Pacific. “Don’t worry. I can’t be insulted.” He said it too quietly for Mike to hear.

  Mike turned his attention back to the road. He drove fast weaving recklessly through the traffic. The only hiccup came when a cop prowled up to them at a stop sign. Benny shifted when he saw the law: there was a lot of blood in the car. Mike stayed calm and stared straight ahead.

  When they pulled away, the cop fell in behind them. Mike slid the Red 9 out of his pocket and placed it in his lap. Benny sat u
p with a start. Two in one night was one too many for Benny and he turned pale and shaky. He lit up a smoke in the hope it would give him courage.

  Mike didn’t flinch. He drove steady. The cop did too. He stuck with them for a while, then turned off and drove into one of the dark coastal canyons that crouched alongside the highway. Benny exhaled and slumped down when the cop gave up on them. Mike took the Red 9 of the seat and stuffed it back in his pocket.

  Shortly before sunrise, Mike pulled off the highway and headed up into Hollywood. He turned onto Melrose and then Van Ness and stopped in front of a large white building with the words Polar Palace on a big sign over the entrance. Under it, there were smaller signs offering skate rentals and detailing the hours of operation.

  “Skate rental?” Benny spat the words out. He wasn’t one for skating.

  Mike shut off the car. He sat back in his seat and looked over the building. He took its measure. It was a flimsy wood structure, a pile of tinder stacked up with nails in it. The rink didn’t look open. There was a sign over the door that said the hour was too early.

  “You ever been here?” Mike asked.

  “Nope. I’ve only heard of it. Why?” Benny sat up in his seat. He knew Mike was up to something.

  “The Judge is a strange old bird. He likes to skate. He never misses a chance. He says he played hockey when he was a kid when someone notices his missing teeth.” Mike opened his door.

  “You getting out? What for? You think he’s there now? The place isn’t even open.” Benny scoffed.

  Mike ignored his partner and got out, but he knew Benny was right. There was no way the Judge was here now. He liked to skate with an audience. He liked to do spins like that fellow Shipstad that they called ‘The Human Top.’ Mike had seen the Judge do it once. It was impressive if you cared for that kind of thing. And some people did, the Judge sure got the crowds gasping. Mike had seen them.

  Mike took one more look around the outside of the building. He double checked for any sign of the Judge. There was none, so Mike gave up and got back in the car.

  “Let’s get some sleep. I’ll come back tonight.” Mike started up the car again.

  “You can’t sleep at my place. Lo won’t have it.” Benny said.

  “You take orders from a Chinaman?” Mike growled. He had planned on sleeping in the back of Benny’s bar.

  “He’s scared of you.” Benny said it fast like he was tearing a band-aid off a kid’s knee.

  “He’s scared of me or is he scared of what I might see you boys doing?” Mike regretted it as soon as he said it. The whole thing was none of his business.

  “You’re the one who ain’t got a dame to stay with.” Benny snapped back.

  Mike didn’t have a response.

  After a long silence, Benny shrugged and kept talking. “I think you should head downtown. You know the Richelieu?” Benny lit another smoke for emphasis.

  “The hotel on Grand? Where Mitchell is the house dick?” Mike could tell from his partner’s gestures that Benny had a plan.

  “We can get you a room there. You’ll have a pair of eyes looking out for you.” Benny’s eyes narrowed and he peeled a thin smile back from his teeth.

  “And you’ll have a couple more eyes on Mitchell.” Mike nodded. He liked the idea.

  “Got another special bonus for you. I’m pretty sure his brother-in-law works the concessions at your little ice rink there.” Benny nodded his head in the direction of the Polar Palace. “That’s how I heard about it. I bet Mitchell can make an introduction.”

  “Now you’re talking.” Mike said.

  “You can take Third.” Benny pointed Mike in the right direction. “It’ll take us right into downtown.

  Mike started up the car and followed Benny’s directions. Benny changed the subject once they were rolling. “You have about six days before we make our play. Everything is already in motion.” Benny slouched back in his seat. “You gonna be able to handle this Judge by then, get him off our backs, on your own?”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Mike plucked the cigarette from Benny’s mouth.

  “You better. We have a fight to fix.” Benny lit himself another one.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Hotel Richelieu was a wooden Queen Anne perched near the top of Bunker Hill. The hotel had a large veranda running along the front and round bloated turrets at each corner. The place was a hive of activity. There were guests mingling in front on the sidewalk waiting for a cab. There were almost too many for Mike to feel comfortable. He put his hand back on the gun in his pocket. He didn’t like his chances of picking a hitter out of this crowd.

  “Park in front.” Benny could read Mike’s mind. “It’s safe.”

  Mike took his partner’s word for it, but parked a little past the entrance to create more distance from the minglers. When Mike switched off the car, Benny turned to him and signaled with his palm that Mike should wait, then he hopped out. Mike sat back and relaxed a little. He understood why Benny made the approaches on his own. It was easier to get people talking without a big hard-face like Mike hovering in the background.

  Benny trotted up the walk and bounded up the stairs. He tipped his hat to the ladies on the veranda and disappeared inside. Mike kept his eyes on the crowd behind him, but relaxed a little and took out his cigarettes. He flipped open the pack and felt around with his fingertips. There was only one smoke left. He didn’t put off lighting it. He would get more in the hotel, then smoke and nap until dark. He would need the rest. Tonight he was going hunting.

  Before Mike had finished the smoke, Benny came back out of the hotel. He stayed on the veranda and didn’t come back down to the car. He waved for Mike to come in, then disappeared and went back inside. Mike got out of the car just as the last of the sidewalk crowd was getting into a taxi and driving away. Mike waited and finished his smoke. When they were gone, he went up the walk to the hotel.

  Mike stopped in his tracks as soon as he entered the lobby. He took a look around. The room was small and full of puffy leather furniture. Half-dead potted plants were scattered around like wounded soldiers taking cover. The desk clerk, a skinny tow-headed kid with a big gap between his front teeth, leaned on the front counter and stared him down. Mike’s damp stained clothes caught his eye. Mike mustered a smile, but the clerk had no use for it.

  Mike ignored the kid’s rudeness and looked past him for Benny. It took until his eyes adjusted to the dimness before he could make out Benny standing in a dark lounge in the recesses of the hotel. He had his back to Mike. In front of Benny, a tall big man stood with his arms akimbo. There was a bulge in his jacket about the size of a .45. Mike noticed that the desk clerk was waving at the man with exasperated fury. The fat man regarded the clerk with stone faced dismissal.

  Mike strolled around the desk past the clerk and came over to where Benny was standing. When he got there, the man greeted him with a smile and an extended his hand.

  “Mitchell.” The man smiled. “House Detective.”

  “Mike.” Mike shook hands. He had almost introduced himself to Mitchell as someone else, but he couldn’t be sure whether or not Benny had already told Mitchell his name. If he had, it would look bad to say something different. Besides he liked the name Mike. He wanted to keep it around for awhile.

  Mitchell shook Mike’s hand with enthusiasm. “Benny told me what happened, but don’t worry. I’ll set you up in a room. You can get your key at the desk and go on up anytime, unless you boys want to take a drink in the bar and talk about it.” As he spoke, Mitchell shook his closed left fist like he was jiggling change in it. It was a strange habit.

  “Talk about what?” Benny shifted nervously.

  “You know what.” He motioned at Mike. “Your partner here looks like a real bruiser, but his laundry’s showing. You’re gonna need to sweeten my end of the deal.” Mitchell gave them a grim smile. He was serious.

  “You must have your ears real low to the ground.” Benny spoke through clenched teeth.
r />   “God damn it.” Mike glared at Mitchell.

  Mitchell knew enough about Mike to want to lighten the atmosphere, so he gave a hearty laugh and clapped Benny on the shoulder. He guided him toward the bar at the back of the lobby. “You sure you boys don’t want a drink?” He slow-pitched the question a second time.

  “Sure.” Mike spoke up. “Why don’t we have a drink and you tell me what you want so I can decide how far to drop you?”

  “Easy, Mike.” Benny waved Mike back.

  “You’re free to try anytime, tough guy, but first let me tell you what I got on offer. Maybe you won’t mind the deal.” Mitchell didn’t sound scared.

  “Remember the Polar palace, Mike.” Benny talked fast.

  Mike shifted from one foot to the other and made everyone nervous. Benny fidgeted and Mitchell jiggled his hand like crazy. Finally Mike answered. “I’ll take a whiskey rocks. He will, too.” He thumbed in Benny’s direction.

  Mitchell smiled. “Come on, bar’s through here.” He gestured toward some black-lacquered swinging doors.

  They walked over and entered a poorly lit bar. The naked bulbs in the ceiling barely illuminated themselves and Mike had to squint to see and that made him dizzy. The strong smell of fried fish didn’t help much either. It hit him like a punch in the face. The odor wafted off plates that rested on a ledge behind the bar under a heat lamp.

  A heavyset bartender, with a nose so red he looked like a clown, picked up one of the dinners and dropped it in front of an old toothless guy who sat at the bar in a robe and pajamas. The interaction was smooth like a tradition. This old man had eaten this same dinner many times before.

  The bartender broke away from the old man when he saw Mitchell. “Good morning, brother.” There was a soft lilt to his voice. The word ‘brother’ grated on Mike and made him twitch. He wasn’t sure why.