Rigged

by Jon Grilz

  Charlie took a slow pull from his cigarillo and tapped the ash. “The Baker?” he asked.

  He could see the look in the two men’s eyes as they looked at each other again, confused, like they weren’t sure if they’d already mentioned The Baker or if they’d just said too much. It was Jimmy that made the first move, trying to move too far too fast, his fist winding up from ten feet away, his feet shuffling clumsily as he threw an overhand right. Charlie stepped to the side and planted a right hook to Jimmy’s jaw; it wasn’t that hard of a blow, but it was enough to put him on his butt.

  “That was ugly,” Charlie laughed, feeling the need to goad the two. His patience only went so far, especially when it came to half-wits who seemed to be okay with the idea of rape. Something inside him just begged to taunt, and Charlie felt more than willing to comply. “People don’t appreciate boxing as an art anymore. It’s the sweet science. Too many people watch that mixed martial arts and throw wild punches, tripping over their own feet, no real power.”

  Petey looked down at his brother, who was doing his best to scramble to his feet like a person who’d just tripped in public and didn’t want anyone to see. After weighing his options for a moment, Petey figured he should take a shot. Unexpectedly, he tried to throw a kick, since his brother’s punches hadn’t worked too well. Charlie promptly popped him with a jab to the nose and watched Petey stumble back with his hands on his face, trying to hide the inevitable tears that came with being hit square in the nose.

  Charlie shook his head. “Ali, Tyson, Sugar Ray, Chavez, De La Hoya, Hopkins, these guys will go down forever as champions and greats—guys who fought forty, fifty, a hundred times. Meanwhile, these modern-day cage fighters go a whole career with only twenty fights. What’s that about? A bunch of franchised savages, that’s what”

  Jimmy staggered to his feet with a wobble and moved forward again. Charlie sidestepped and hit him with a clipped uppercut, right under the chin. He could feel and hear Jimmy’s teeth click together.

  Charlie shivered. “It’s like nails on a chalkboard.”

  There was a groan as Petey managed to get to his feet, with blood trickling out of his nose and pooling at the top of his lips.

  Charlie held out a hand, “Petey, I can do this all night. I haven’t even broken a sweat yet. You boys sure you wanna go ten rounds?”

  Petey paused again, but Charlie was pretty sure it wasn’t because of him; there were police sirens in the distance. Charlie couldn’t be sure, given the fact that it was four in the morning, but there was a pretty good chance that the cops were headed to the fight in the back of the strip club.

  Charlie looked back at Jimmy and Petey, who scurried off at the sound of the siren. For a moment, he was proud of himself for standing up in Dee Dee’s honor, but that thought faded as he cursed himself and kicked at the dirt. “Shoot,” he said to no one, “I shoulda asked them where this Baker lives.”

  A few officers walked around the club, doing their best to look good in their blues for the few girls still hanging around, not shy about showing off so much skin to badges. The head bouncer said he hadn’t witnessed anything and told Nikki that the camera out back hadn’t worked all winter, probably because of the cold. The owner hadn’t ponied up the cash to get it fixed, as he paid bouncers to take care of any problems out there.

  Nikki stood there as a uniformed officer took notes. She wasn’t particularly interested in doing the legwork on a strip club fight, but working nights meant doing some dirty work. It was all part of her job. It was with no small amount of surprise that she saw her partner walk into the club, looking as if he hadn’t slept in days, wearing the same suit he’d worn the day before. “What are you doing here, Boss?” she asked.

  Perez rubbed the back of his neck and told her he’d had trouble sleeping and was on his way to get an early breakfast when he saw the lights and figured he’d check it out.

  “That simple, huh? You see cherries and you check it out?” Nikki looked around with a coy smile. “There sure are a lot of half-naked ladies around here.”

  “That’s more than enough Sergeant,” Perez said and walked around the floor of the club.

  Nikki told the bouncer that the officer would take down the rest of his report, then followed her partner to the other side of the room. The place was all pink and red, as if someone had puked up 1970s Las Vegas and called it décor. “You think it’s Charlie?” she asked, cutting to the chase. The thought had crossed her mind as well.

  “Don’t you?” Perez asked. “Fight in the parking lot of a strip club, and the description sounds like the Wheelers. A little déjà vu if ya ask me, like what went down at Shirley’s Bar. I bet the guy at the door saw some guy in a porkpie hat. Maybe it even had something to do with that lady friend we saw him with at the diner.”

  “I ran his prints off that coffee cup, just like you asked,” Nikki said, intentionally not giving her partner the results, making him draw it out of her.

  “And?”

  “Nothing,” Nikki said. “No hits anywhere. Clean as a whistle, as far as we know.”

  Perez gave a little sneer and plopped down on one of the furry looking couches. “I don’t buy that. Maybe he hasn’t been picked up for anything yet, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s no coincidence that a meth lab blows up right after this guy shows up in town, in a trailer park where his friend was found dead.”

  “It was a meth explosion, Boss. Sometimes it happens.”

  “Sure, and if the trailer had just exploded, that would be one thing, but somebody tied those boys up. There’s more going on here, and I know this Charlie Kelly’s involved somehow,” Perez said. “Did you follow up on the tumbler?”

  “Yep. I went around to the local shops and ranges,” Nikki said.

  “And?” Perez said, his voice edged with annoyance at having to pry answers out of her.

  “None of the local ranges or shops sell the make and model we found in the trailer.”

  “A surrounding town maybe,” Perez said, defiant in his assumptions.

  Nikki had to play along, as she knew her partner might be right. After all, he had more experience than most of the guys on the force and had worked in a lot tougher of places than Bluff Falls, North Dakota. “You think it could be a rival gang, that maybe they sent him here to send a message?”

  Perez’s leg began to bounce on the floor, and he looked anxious and tired at the same time. “Maybe, but Damon is no one to mess with. He’s smarter than the other dope pushers I’ve come across. I’m more worried that this Charlie is some kinda wildcard, and if he is, he’s getting in over his head, whether he knows it or not. A guy like that is dangerous to civilians as much as anyone else.”

  Nikki sat down on a chair across from her partner. “There is another option,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve got some friends,” Nikki said, her voice low. “They’re in the military, and they might be able to help us do a more, uh…thorough search for Charlie Kelly. Maybe they can see if he has military ties. Fingerprints didn’t turn up a military record, but you never know…”

  Perez gave a slight head shake. Only once before had Nikki ever mentioned using her military connections to look into someone, and Perez gave her that same look, like he didn’t want to be involved, or maybe he was concerned that she might get in trouble. Either way, Nikki was sure it would be a better way to go than just relying on the usual databases. If the guy knew about explosives, that could mean he’d had some training from good ol’ Uncle Sam.

  “All right,” Perez finally said. “Go ahead and talk to your friends, but keep this low profile. The last thing I need is a buncha NSA or FBI suits around town getting their feathers in a bunch because your Army friends asked the wrong questions.”

  Nikki smiled, wanting to tell him he worried too much. She knew there was no harm in what she was doing. What was the worst they can find out about a guy with no record anyway?

  Chapter 12

  The
knock at the door sounded more like a casual tap, as if someone walking by had just absentmindedly drummed on the side of her trailer. Dee Dee opened it and was a little surprised to see Charlie there. Even though he’d managed to get between her and those two hillbilly-looking jerks in the parking lot, she hadn’t expected to see him again; she’d been sure that Charlie wouldn’t want to see her anymore.

  “Hey,” Charlie said, gazing at her with those soft brown eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” Dee Dee said, trying to sound casual and not too excited to see him. She hated that she always acted like a doe-eyed schoolgirl around him, this stranger she hardly knew, but she couldn’t help it, because Charlie talked to her so nicely and treated her differently than any other guy ever had.

  “Can I come in?” Charlie asked.

  Dee Dee stepped to the side and let a smile slip out. When Charlie returned the smile and gave her a little peck on the cheek, she closed her eyes for just a moment, basking in the feel of his soft lips tenderly kissing her. She melted a little when Charlie did things like that, when he made her feel like what she thought normal must be like. To have someone in her life that liked her just as much—if not more—when her clothes were on as when they were off. She offered Charlie a drink, and when he asked her again if she was okay, she told him once again that she was fine.

  “That kind of thing happen to you before?” Charlie asked. He stood close to her, eyes filled with concern that he tried to hide.

  “What?” Dee Dee asked. “A customer wanting more than just a dance?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Yes, it’s happened before,” Dee Dee said flatly, then didn’t say another word about it. The last thing she wanted to do was reminisce about that time years ago, before she got a job at the good Vegas clubs. That sweet-talker, not quite as smooth as Charlie, had turned out to be someone else entirely.

  Charlie tilted his head in a way that showed he could see in her eyes that she didn’t want to talk about it, so he didn’t pry. “I just wanted to stop by to make sure everything’s okay, that those two didn’t follow you home or anything.”

  Dee Dee kind of appreciated the fact that Charlie was so protective, but it felt constricting somehow. “I can take care of myself,” Dee Dee said, suddenly feeling defensive, since Charlie had stirred up memories she’d worked hard at laying to rest.

  Charlie just smiled. “I know you can, darlin’. You’re a fighter. I can see that. Still, I needed to be sure, for my own peace of mind. I hear there are some rough characters around here.”

  “No one I can’t handle,” Dee Dee said, trying her best to sound sure.

  Charlie nodded as he walked over to the leather couch and sat down. “Those two guys mentioned a name, Damon. They made him sound like some kind of boogieman.”

  Dee Dee stiffened at the mention of the name, and the reaction wasn’t lost on Charlie.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked.

  “No,” Dee Dee said. “It’s just that…well, I’ve heard that name before.”

  “And?” Charlie asked. “Is he really the boogieman?”

  Dee Dee shook her head. “I’ve known guys that work for Damon. I don’t really know him or anything. I mean, I’ve seen him at the club once or twice, but I hear he stays outside of town. Some of the girls who used to work at the club knew him or his guys, before oil got to be such big business around here.” Dee Dee didn’t dare say it out loud, but she knew those girls weren’t pretty enough to keep their jobs once the money rolled in. “Some of them hung around as waitresses or whatever, at least the prettier ones, but they eventually all disappeared. This one girl, Sherry, used to hang around with him, but she’s gone now.”

  “What happened to her?” Charlie asked.

  Dee Dee shrugged. “I heard she got hooked on meth pretty bad. Then one day, she just didn’t show up for work. I really don’t know where she went, and I don’t wanna think about what might have happened. Most of those guys are dealers or something, and they scare me. You never know what they’re gonna do, like that shit in the parking lot.”

  “Why don’t you go to the police if you know something or have suspicions? Maybe they could find Sherry and use her to get to Damon.”

  Dee Dee stopped pacing around the room and looked at Charlie, who was still calmly seated on the couch. He looked casual, like always, with that little scruff on this face and his hair matted down and back from wearing that hat all the time. He seemed very normal, very average, like she could have met him before and just not remembered, but something in the way he was talking didn’t seem casual or normal at all. She raised her eyebrow at him.

  “What?” Charlie asked.

  “You sound…funny,” Dee Dee said.

  “What do you mean?” Charlie asked, his composure not changing at all. He didn’t look nervous or shift in his seat, and Dee Dee figured he made for a hell of a poker player.

  “You’re new around here. Why are you so interested in the police and this Damon guy?”

  Charlie tilted his ear to his shoulder, and his mouth gave a little tick to the side. He breathed slowly through his nose, releasing a thick sigh. “Why don’t you just ask me what you really want to ask me?” he said.

  “Are you a cop, Charlie, or some kind of fed? DEA or something?”

  Charlie looked hurt. It wasn’t a sad, puppy dog look that would have been over the top and pathetic, but something in his eyes seemed to drop and retreat away from her. “I’m not sure if I should ask why you think that or if I should ask how you could think that.”

  Dee Dee didn’t remove her stare from Charlie. She didn’t move, as she wanted to see what his next move was going to be. If he stormed out or acted really hurt, she’d know he was playing games, like some high school kid manipulating his girlfriend into feeling bad. Dee Dee didn’t like that Charlie hadn’t answered the question and had, instead, just shifted the focus back to her. “Just answer the question,” Dee Dee demanded, crossing her arms and standing her ground.

  “No, darlin’. I’m not a cop or DEA,” he said, his voice hanging in the air. “Why would you ask me that?”

  Dee Dee felt like she was on her heels. She didn’t think she was wrong to ask; it seemed a fair question, considering how suddenly Charlie had shown up in town and how he said all the right things and acted in all the right ways, like some knight in shining armor. But now he’d asked about Damon. Why? She started to wonder if she was sabotaging herself, just looking for something wrong because things felt right—a feeling she wasn’t at all accustomed to. Dee Dee tried to explain herself in a strong, sure-of-herself way, without blubbering our sounding weak. It wasn’t easy with Charlie sitting so patiently on the couch looking at her, no anger or fear registering on his face whatsoever.

  “I mean, what else am I supposed to think?” she asked.

  Charlie listened to her ramblings, then reached up and gently touched the back of his head, with just the tips of his fingers. “Three months ago,” he, with his fingers still on the back of his head, “I started to get really bad headaches, worse when it was sunny outside. My vision started to blur. It was weird, and I worried that I was going blind. I guess it’s normal to think anything other than a tumor, like some kind of denial of the worst-case scenario. I went to the doctor, and he ran a ton of tests. I remember sitting across his desk, looking at all his medical certificates on the wall behind him. He had my results in front of him, but he kept texting someone. It made me think things had to be okay, because what kind of an asshole would sit there text-messaging someone if he had bad news to tell me, his patient?” When he saw that he had Dee Dee’s full attention, Charlie took his hand away from the back of his head and propped his elbow on the arm of the couch, resting his head against his hand. “He finally put down his phone, and I can still hear what he said to me. ‘Okay…Mr. Kelly, is it?’ I can still picture him looking at the file, his face clouding over. When he spoke again, he had that fatherly tone in his voice, as if he really
cared. He explained where the tumor was and told me that surgery wouldn’t remove it all. He ran through a list of grave-sounding options and recommended I see an oncologist, a specialist. Then, as calmly as if he was giving me the weather report, he said, ‘At best, I’d say you have six months to live, Mr. Kelly.’”

  At that moment, Dee Dee’s shapely legs turned to jelly, but as badly as she wanted to sit, she simply couldn’t move. Her eyes didn’t move from Charlie’s mouth; all she could do was watch as he formed the words that made her hurt inside.

  As if anticipating her unspoken, “Oh my God! What’d you do?” Charlie went on, “I guess I did what alcoholics do. I took stock of my life, recalling all the people I’d done wrong and the people I wanted to see at least once more before my grand farewell. I decided I needed to see Kay again, she was important to me once, albeit a lifetime ago. I needed to see someone from that part of my life.” Charlie paused, and Dee Dee thought she heard the words stall in his throat, but a second later, he went on, pretending it was all okay. “I finally found out she was living here, so I made the trek. I’ve been a different person since the doctor. I don’t rush people when they talk, and I don’t stand idly by when I know something should be done. When I see something I like,” he said, pausing to look not only at Dee Dee, but into her, “I don’t let who I am and what’s wrong with me get in the way. I just want to live and do what I can with the time I have left.”

  Dee Dee didn’t move for what felt like a year. When she could finally get her muscles to cooperate, she walked over to the freezer and pulled it open. She took out a bottle of vodka and poured herself a glass. She added a splash of orange juice from the refrigerator and took in down in three quick, very unladylike gulps.

  “If this Damon’s such a scary guy, I couldn’t do anything even if I wanted to. But I’m sure the police can do something,” Charlie said.

  Dee Dee coughed from drinking so quickly; the cold chill in her throat and her forehead like when she ate ice cream too fast when she was little. “Like the police would care what some stripper says. They treat us all like whores. This one girl at the club went down there to report abuse, and all they did was grill her about drugs. They wanted her to wear a wire and get information for them. They only care about solving cases, not about victims or endangering anybody. They’d wanna put me on a witness stand and make me testify, like I’d be safe after that. Plus, how do I know they aren’t crooked, maybe on the take, being paid to give Damon information? In some little bum-fuck towns like this, they’re all dirty.”