Fixed Fight (Mike Chance series Book 2)

by E. Ivan Infante

  Mike sat back. Frisby had gone back to talking twice. Maybe they were going ahead with it. Mike relaxed a bit, stared out the window, and smoked. He watched the warehouses and red brick loading docks blur past. There were cars and people everywhere. Activity all around them. It drove Mike crazy. It was time for a cull.

  Frisby steered the Cord onto Figueroa. It was one of the few passenger cars on a road packed with trucks loaded down with boxes and bound for the harbor. Mike liked the look of it. He could make a living bumping into those trucks and knocking things off. He wondered if Benny would want a piece of that action. He leaned forward to tap him on the shoulders and talk about it, then reconsidered. Benny sat in the front seat leaning against the door and staring out the windshield. He could have passed for dead, except he occasionally took a drag on his smoke.

  Mike didn’t pay his partner much attention after that. He kept his eyes on Frisby. The nervous veneer had dropped away completely. He was composed and efficient. Frisby had the bearing of a real pro. Mike went back to looking out the window. He felt good about their chances.

  The buildings thinned out a bit, then the traffic did and Mike started seeing signs for USC. The college was off to the right. On their left, the Coliseum loomed. They made good time. Frisby veered the Cord 810 in and out of the trucks. He almost never hit the brakes. When they got to 41st street, Frisby turned at the last second. Mike and Benny had to grab their door handles to steady themselves. The tires squealed, but held.

  Frisby slowed down after the hard turn, then pulled in front of a truck so it blocked them from the view of any cars that came around the corner. Frisby pulled a little automatic out of somewhere fast. He was left-handed. Mike packed that fact away. He might need it. Benny shifted in his seat, but Frisby ignored him. The gun was for any car that might be following them. After a minute, no one came so Frisby turned around and faced them.

  “No one following. No one behind.” Frisby had put the gun away somewhere without them noticing. “Just making sure, you know. We can’t have them busting in on our logistical operation…logistical operation.” He said the last two words like he had just learned them and wanted to try them out and break them in.

  They pulled away from the curb and kept going down the block. They saw no other cars or people. It was eerie. In Mike’s experience, the streets in Los Angeles were rarely so empty. Frisby took one more turn and, halfway down the block, pulled into the driveway of a one story Craftsman. It squatted in the middle of a large treeless lot. It hadn’t seen any fresh paint in a long time and the overgrowth around it looked like heaven for rats. Frisby parked in front of a detached wooden garage in back.

  “Hop out.” Frisby hopped out of the car. He moved fast.

  Benny and Mike got out and stood nearby as Frisby unlocked a chain on the garage and opened it. It was dark and empty. The inside was painted black and any gaps between the slats had been filled with tar. Not a ray of light got in and their wandering eyes couldn’t see much. Frisby caught Mike giving the place the once over and smiled. Mike nodded and walked away. Frisby watched him go and sized him up. He shook his head when he was done. Whatever he had considered, Mike was too big for it.

  Frisby got back in the car and drove it into the garage. Then clambered out, locked the car, closed the garage, and locked it too. It was a smooth routine and he headed for the house as soon as he was done with it. Benny and Mike followed him up the steps to the back door. The wood planks sagged and creaked underfoot as they climbed them. Frisby ushered them inside with the wave of his hand.

  He came in after them and shut the door. When he did, it got pitch black inside and Mike jerked spasmodically. It was hard for him not to lash out and grab Frisby just to know where he was. With effort, he stayed calm. He heard the scratch of a match being struck and the sulfur tip flared up, brightening Frisby’s face from below. He looked demonic for an instant, then he put the match to the wick of a lantern that had somehow appeared in his hand. He turned the old fashioned instrument all the way up and the darkness was beaten.

  Frisby walked to the middle of the room and placed the lantern on a solid oak table decorated with carvings of half-nude Greeks getting physical. There were high backed chairs scattered around it and Frisby invited them to take seats with a motion of his hand. Then he pulled a chair far back from the table and sat himself. Benny joined him, but Mike took a look around the room before he moved. The place was nice. To his left, there was a fireplace mantle made from polished river rock. It had three heavy leather chairs arranged in front of it. Behind them, a thick gold accented Persian carpet stretched itself out on the floor.

  “You wanna drink?” Frisby asked.

  “Scotch?” Benny sat up in his seat. He would take anything, but he always put Scotch out there for openers.

  “In the kitchen, maybe.” Frisby pointed towards the back of the house, but made no indication that he was moving. Frisby was a piece of work.

  “I’ll get it myself.” Benny exhaled, stood up, and crossed the room. He passed under a broad arch that divided the front of the house from the back and disappeared behind a swinging door.

  Mike sat down across from Frisby, but didn’t say a word. Frisby had a smile plastered on his face and his right hand rested nervously on his knee. Periodically, he checked a gold watch that dangled from a chain pinned to his vest. Finally Benny came back with a crystal decanter of Scotch and a set of matching glasses on a black walnut tray. He set the works down in the middle of the table and poured three quick doubles.

  “Ice?” Mike picked one up.

  “No. Sorry about that.” Frisby answered. “No time to pick up supplies.”

  They took their glasses off the tray and revealed its decoration, a hand-painted depiction of a Japanese pagoda next to a lake. The reflections of cherry blossom trees shimmered on the surface of the water. A samurai sat in the shade by the lake. Another snuck up behind him with his sword at the ready. It looked like he had the drop on him, but the seated samurai could see the reflection of his attacker in the water. Mike couldn’t take his eyes off of the tray. He needed to know what happened.

  “Tell me where we are, boys.” Frisby took a deep swig of his drink, then put it aside and rest his hands flat on the table palms.

  Benny looked at Mike. Mike kept his attention on the tray. Benny took the hint, cleared his throat, and started talking.

  “We lost the Kid this morning. I might as well tell you that right off because you already know it. So there’s that. We also might have a problem with his people and, of course, there’s the people that killed him. They’re a problem too.”

  “The Judge.” Mike interjected. He threw the name at Frisby to gauge his reaction.

  The tall man didn’t flinch. He reached into his vest pocket and took out a long gold cigarette case. He opened it and pulled out a thin brown cigarillo. He rested it delicately on his bottom lip, then lit it with a gold lighter that had somehow materialized in his hand.

  “I heard of him.” Frisby spaced out his words. “Even saw him once standing in a corner of the Opera House, trading smiles with the swells. I was passing through Denver on my way to Kansas City at the time. I’ll tell you one thing, he sure looked the part.”

  “He looks it and he’s got the lines down pat.” Benny smoothed out his words and acted silky. Frisby didn’t take to it, but Benny kept it up. “We can stay a few steps ahead of him. We can stay a mile ahead. There’s no reason to think this promotion isn’t solid. It’s a good deal all around. You hear me? I mean, there’s a couple of angles we can work to get a fighter.”

  Frisby showed Benny the palm of his hand to shut him up and it worked. Frisby turned to Mike. “Why don’t you straighten him out? Ain’t that your line?”

  “I’m working on it.” Mike answered.

  Frisby leaned back in his chair. For the first time, he looked on the brink of jumping ship. “Well, I could work my mark a couple different ways. Maybe you boys and your fixed fight ain’t the way I
want to go. After all, this Judge claims that action from what I understand.”

  Benny spoke up. “You already put a lot of time in on the tools. You say your man seems primed for this game. He wants to play it. That’s what you said.” Benny could feel Frisby slipping a little. He didn’t blame him. They were a couple of murders in on this one already. Things were off to a bad start.

  “I don’t like this Benny. I came a long way.” Frisby tapped the ash off his smoke with the long index finger of his left hand.

  “You came out here following your mark. You’re not traveling to do us a favor.” Mike snapped as he edged closer to the edge of his seat. “You said he was a fan of the fight game. You wanted to run this fix.”

  Frisby shrugged his shoulders and cracked open a fresh grin. “Sure, let’s go. I’m still in, but you boys have work to do and I don’t show my face until you do it.”

  “You can sit in this house and relax. I’ll sort it out. I’ll sort them all out.” Mike trailed off.

  “Good. That’s settled then. Now, show us what you’ve got and let’s talk through it from the start.” Benny said.

  Frisby stood up from the table and ducked under the arch and went into the kitchen. He came out carrying a heavy leather suitcase and he lay it carefully on the table and opened it with a flourish.

  “This here’s our sucker, a real sucker.” He said as he reached into the suitcase and took out a sheet of newspaper. It wasn’t the front page; it was from somewhere in the middle, but you could tell the paper was the Kansas City Star. The name was printed along the top of the page. Taking up the top left quarter of the paper, there was a small profile photograph of the same chubby, pale young man they had seen at the fights. The name Barney Dilworth was printed under the picture.

  Mike read the name and shook his head. “Where’d this guy come from? He step out of a serial?”

  Benny took the paper from Mike and took a long look. “You know. This guy looks too dumb to be promoted. A mark needs some ambition. What you say, Frisby?”

  Frisby leaned forward in his chair, eager to talk about it. “You’d think he’d be too dumb. I mean, you’d think so from looking at the picture. But no, I’ve been on him for six months. Six months. Worked several angles with him, letting him taste the action, he wants something for nothing all right. He wants it. I’m waving it under his nose.” Frisby took the paper from Benny and put it back in the suitcase. “You’re gonna be my brother-in-law, here’s the documents.” Frisby took out a large brown envelope and handed it to Benny.

  “It’s all here?” Benny opened the envelope and peeked inside.

  “What do you think?” Frisby sounded offended. “I got contracts, titles, insurance, surveys, the works.” Frisby dug back into his tool kit. “I even have a volume of your book.”

  Mike raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. Frisby took a thick leather book from the briefcase. It had the title REAL ESTATE LAW stenciled on the front cover. He handed it to Benny. Benny put down the envelope, took the book, and cracked it open. His picture stared back at him. Frisby had bound the book with a small etching of Benny on the inside cover.

  “Can I keep this after we’re done?” Benny sounded delighted at the prospect of being an author.

  “Of course.” Frisby closed up the suitcase.

  Benny put the book down and turned his attention to the envelope. He fingered through its contents, took out a document, and handed it to Mike with a one word description. “Deed.” He said.

  Mike checked it over. It was for the piece of land that they were puffing up to Dilworth. The sucker wouldn’t know what hit him. Next Benny handed Mike an advertisement from a paper out in Riverside touting the property as 10,000 beautiful acres and a ‘can’t miss deal!!!’ Next came a phony newspaper clipping about a group of businessmen buying a lodge by the lake. After that came another phony article, this one about the drowning death of one of the businessmen.

  “That’s why they’re so torn up. Friend died. Gotta sell the land.” Frisby spoke up as Benny passed the article to Mike.

  Mike and Benny nodded in unison. That was one of the key parts of the deal. That justification always sold it, then the switch came and their focus turned to the boxing. It always ended with the boxing. Benny finished sorting through the papers, slid them back into the envelope, and dropped it into the outside pocket of his coat. With his other hand, he took a small envelope from his inside pocket and slid it across the table to Frisby.

  “Train tickets?” Frisby leaned forward and hovered his hand over the envelope.

  “Yeah, in case we don’t talk again until Riverside.” Benny answered.

  “You gonna solve this situation with the boxer?” Frisby didn’t wait for an answer before he picked up the tickets. He was in on this no matter what.

  “Don’t you worry about a thing.” Mike reached out and grabbed the decanter off the tray. He poured himself another shot.

  Frisby kept an eye on him. “I don’t worry too much about anything.” Frisby slid his hand into the pocket where he kept his gun. “There’s a taxi stand at the end of the block, at the west end of the block.” Frisby pointed at the door.

  “Taxi stand. Taxi stand.” Mike said it twice with emphasis.

  “You’ll find it.” Frisby stayed cool. He didn’t acknowledge the mimicry.

  Mike and Benny got up from the table. Benny shook Frisby’s hand and left. Mike lingered. He stood in front of Frisby and squared up to him. Frisby didn’t rattle. He was a pro. He sat there staring back until Mike gave up and walked out.

  Benny waited outside and together they made their way down the street to the taxi-stand. Benny shook his head and muttered under his breath as they went. Mike ignored him, but he heard the words ‘crazy’ and ‘dangerous.’ Mike simmered. He knew what was coming. And, sure enough, Benny started in on him when they got to the taxi stand.

  “You better not go off when we’re on the hustle. What’s wrong with you? I saw the way you were looking.” Benny lit a smoke.

  “Relax.” Mike reached to take it from him, but Benny moved away and kept it out of Mike’s reach. Mike nodded and smiled grimly. Benny was serious. Mike took out his own pack.

  “I admit it. I thought about taking the quick score.” Mike said.

  “Why didn’t you?” Benny asked.

  Mike shrugged. “I would’ve had to kill you too.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  It took a while for a taxi to come to the stand. This neighborhood didn’t want the traffic and the hacks seemed to know it. When a machine finally showed up, the driver stopped short of the stand and didn’t pull over. Benny and Mike had to step off the curb and jog up to the cab. As they got close, it started to roll forward like the driver had gotten a good look at them and changed his mind. Benny didn’t let him go. He grabbed the door handle of the moving car and jogged along. The driver gave up, slowed down, and let them get in.

  “Where you boys headed?” The driver had a hand on the door handle like he was thinking about jumping.

  “We don’t know for sure. Head back into town for starters.” Benny made nice. He held out a pack of smokes to the driver. There was one half-out.

  “Sure thing.” The drive gave up a half-smile in exchange for the cigarette. After he lit it, he started off again.

  Benny and Mike settled into the back seat. While they drove back to town, the sun went down and a fog rolled in and it got hard to see. The weather turned chilly. Mike shivered. He didn’t have a good coat. Everything was back his apartment and he wasn’t going back to The Ashton until he had sorted things out. The cold reminded him of Colorado.

  Mike leaned forward and spoke to the driver. “Take me to the Polar Palace.”

  The driver didn’t change direction. He looked back at Benny for guidance. The little guy nodded ‘okay,’ so the driver slowed down at the next corner and turned.

  A few minutes later, when the Polar Palace came into view, Mike leaned forward and put his hand on the driver’s sho
ulder. “Stop.” The cab pulled over. Mike sat back and turned to Benny. “What’re you carrying’?”

  Benny reached into his jacket, took out a beat-up .38 revolver, and handed it to Mike. “Maybe three or four in it. You should check.”

  “I will.” Mike popped the cylinder open and checked the revolver.

  “You wanna get the hell out with that? I don’t want a firearm in my car.” The driver turned all the way around in his seat to face them. “I have half a mind to call law and let them now about you fellas. Flashing guns around and talking tough. I don’t like it. Get the hell out and move on.” The driver had guts.

  Benny turned a little pale. He could tell where this was going and tried to head it off before it got there. “Sure, he’ll get out.” Benny nudged Mike toward the door. “Come on, Mike. Cabbie doesn’t mean it. Do you Cabbie?” Benny put his hand on the driver’s shoulder. “Tell him you don’t mean it.”

  “I meant it. I mean what I say.” The cabbie didn’t back down.

  Mike closed the cylinder. It clicked loud and drew everyone’s attention. “You only got three bullets left in here.” Mike told Benny.

  “I could’ve sworn it was four.” Benny nudged Mike toward the door again. Mike didn’t move.

  “Three.” Mike raised his hand and shot the cab driver in the face. The driver saw it coming and his eyes were wide when the bullet blew off the bottom of his jaw. The concussion from the shot blew out the windows and a mist of blood and gunpowder choked their breath.

  Benny and Mike stumbled out of the cab. Benny fell to all fours on the sidewalk and puked. When he was done, he pulled himself together and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

  “Feel better?” Mike asked.

  “Go to hell.”

  “You heard him. He was gonna report us.” Mike cleaned the blood and brain from his face with the palms of his hands, then wiped them on his trousers.

  Benny watched Mike with disgust, then examined his own jacket. It was covered in blood, so he took it off and threw it into the cab. “You gonna take care of this?” Benny composed himself.