Fixed Fight (Mike Chance series Book 2)

by E. Ivan Infante

  “He might be better than the first boxer.” Benny answered for Mike.

  “He had better be better than the first guy, the first guy’s dead.” Mike cracked.

  The Doc thought that was pretty funny. He laughed out loud as he lowered himself into an old leather chair. It ensconced him completely and he took a long puff on his pipe before he started talking. “I got a call from Tony the other day. I guess the Admiral is what he’s calling himself now, and boy did he gave me an earful. The noises he’s making sound like real trouble. I told him to go to hell. He didn’t take it well.” The Doc didn’t sound scared.

  “Watch out. He might punish you for talking back.” Mike said.

  “He won’t touch me.”

  “Why’s that old man?”

  “Whores get pregnant.” Benny answered for the doctor. “Our old friend has the confidence of a useful man.”

  “Indeed I do.” The Doc held his hands palms up in a gesture of powerlessness to fate.

  Benny left the conversation and wandered over to a stainless steel operating table where several bottles, glasses, and a bucket of ice took up position. Benny turned over three of the glasses and filled them with whiskey. He downed his in one gulp, then walked over to his companions with theirs.

  Benny and Mike left the Doc and drove back down to the gym where they had met Jersey. It was a downhill trip all the way to the flats south of the city. By the time they got there, it was late and very few headlights prowled the dark. They parked across from the gym and Mike took note of the street. It was sparsely populated and poorly lit. There was only one dim bulb next to the back entrance of the grocery store. While he was looking at it, the back door opened and Lombardi came out.

  “Head upstairs.” Mike spoke quickly under his breathe.

  “Leave him alone Mike.” Benny pleaded.

  He was too late. Mike was already out of the car. Benny hurried after him. They jogged across the street. Lombardi didn’t notice them. He headed for the stairs up to the gym. Benny caught up to Mike when he had the Red 9 half out of his pocket.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Benny grabbed Mike’s gun arm and held it down.

  Mike could have brushed the little guy off, but he didn’t and Lombardi made it up the stairs to the gym. He never even saw them. When it was clear the grocer had gotten away, Mike spun on Benny to let the little guy have it. But stopped himself before he got started, there were bystanders on the sidewalk and across the street, too many witnesses. Benny had done him a favor.

  “Come on, Mike?” Benny asked again.

  Mike put the gun away. Benny patted him on the back and steered him up the stairs to the boxing gym.

  They stepped inside and the strong smell mix of antiseptic and sweat slapped them in the face. The gym took up almost the whole top floor of the building and every inch was being used by fighters and their hangers-on. The walls were covered in the kind of tilt-and-turn awning windows commonly found in warehouses. Many of them were open to let in the cold night air, but the cause was hopeless. The place was hot.

  In the center of it all, there was a ring with Jersey Jimmy Jones bouncing around in it wearing shiny red trunks. He shadowboxed and chatted with a paunchy red-nose drunk who bobbled nearby with a whistle in his mouth.

  Mr. Lombardi stood by the ring sucking on a cigar and Benny headed right for him. When Lombardi saw him, he broke into a big sharp tooth smile and offered the little guy a fresh cigar from his breast pocket. Mike couldn’t hear them over the noise of the training fighters, but he knew by his partner’s body language that Lombardi was making a nuisance of himself. Benny didn’t light the cigar. He rolled it around in his fingers and looked to Mike. Mike came over. Lombardi glared at him all the way.

  “You boys are late.” Lombardi sneered.

  Mike cold-cocked him. He knocked Lombardi out with a hard right shot to the face. The big guy crumpled to the ground. The whole gym stopped except the red-nose drunk with the whistle. He hopped out of the ring, kneeled down next to Lombardi, and shook the man back to consciousness.

  “What the hell?” Benny turned on Mike shaking his head in disgust.

  “I’m not taking any more guff off some second rate juicer.” Mike spat on the ground next to Lombardi.

  “You dumb bastard.” Lombardi came to and struggled to his feet. The red-nose drunk helped him.

  “You want some more?” Mike threatened.

  Lombardi stayed quiet. He moved away from Mike to where his burning cigar had fallen. He picked it up and kept to himself. The gym lost interest when the violence stopped. Soon everyone had gone back to work. Except for Jersey, he came over to the edge of the ring and draped himself over the ropes.

  “Nice right hand you got there.” Jersey nodded in approval.

  “Thanks. Where can I get my gear on?” Mike raised his bag to illustrate his point.

  “Straight back.” Jersey pointed towards the swinging double doors in the corner.

  Mike headed that way. Lombardi stood in his path and the grocer had to move to get out of Mike’s way. He did so quickly. When Mike had gone, Benny took Lombardi’s arm and started reassuring the bookie with soft words.

  Mike walked into a dressing room that was surprisingly clean. The tile sparkled and only a few stray towels littered the floor. Steam came from an open shower where two large pugilists were busy soaping themselves up. Mike found an empty locker and took it over. He undressed, taking a second to examine a large gash in his thigh that had only partially healed. He rubbed it gently and hoped it wouldn’t give him trouble.

  When he was dressed, Mike strolled out of the locker room. He wore the robe that said Elliot and white trunks underneath. The red-nose drunk with the whistle saw him and bent down to pick up a some gloves. Mike climbed in the ring and sat on a stool in the corner. The drunk brought the gloves over, but it took him a while to get them. Alcohol made him clumsy.

  When he finished , the drunk stepped back and announced. “Three minute rounds.”

  Mike got off the stool and bounced around to warm himself up. Jersey did the same. In the meantime, Benny had sorted out Lombardi and they perched together in the Jersey’s corner smoking cigars. When Mike was ready, he waved at the drunk until he got his attention.

  The fellow nodded, sipped once more from his flask, and took out his stopwatch. He ambled to the center of the ring and Mike and Jersey joined him there. The drunk waited for them to knock gloves and step back. Then he blew the whistle and started the stopwatch.

  Mike and Jersey circled each other a couple of times going around and around in the center of the ring. Mike broke out first. He faked a few punches, then jabbed. He kept Jersey back and moved him around the ring, but he didn’t lay a solid glove on him.

  Jersey kept his gloves up. He blocked with the occasional counter. One shot stuck Mike good in the ribs. Mike staggered back, then went back to working the jab. Jersey kept his distance. They went around and around. The drunk sobered up as the fight went on. The expectation of imminent violence cleared his brain. He put the flask away and leaned forward with his hands on his knees.

  “Come on. Let’s get it on. Take it to him, Jersey. Quit dancing. This lug can’t fight. Show him what you got.” The drunk was enjoying himself.

  Jersey made the drunk even happier. He got in another solid shot. He danced under Mike’s jab and thumped him with a right to the ribs. Mike bent forward. Jersey could hit. He could break a rib.

  “Knock him out. Show him you can do it.” The drunk screamed.

  Mike recovered and pushed Jersey away from a clinch. Jersey danced backward and wiped his nose with the back of his glove.

  The drunk kept it up his screeching. “Don’t let the lug breathe. Put him down.”

  Mike darted forward and punched the drunk in the mouth. The man fell back on his ass with a broken lip. Jersey stepped up and tried to take advantage of Mike’s awkward position. He was smiling as he took a big swing. Mike ducked under and kept up his jab.
/>
  Jersey bobbed and weaved and waited for an opening. He had the timing now. He stepped under Mike’s jab and took another shot at the same rib. He didn’t get there this time. Mike surprised him and stopped him cold with a short tight jab to the nose. Mike followed it with a left hook that knocked Jersey off his feet and back on his ass.

  “Woah! He got you, Jersey. This guy can fight.” The drunk looked at his watch. “That’s round one.” He blew the whistle and helped Jersey to his feet.

  Mike moved over to the corner where Benny waited for him. The little guy was clapping enthusiastically and wearing a big grin. Mike motioned to a canteen resting on a table near the ring. The little guy hopped down and got it and offered it to Mike. Mike opened his mouth and Benny poured the water in it. Mike spit some out, but swallowed most of it.

  “How’s it feel? The kid can box?” Benny offered more water. Mike shook it off.

  “Yeah. He can fight. It’ll look good when he goes down.” Mike had forgotten how much he missed boxing. He felt good.

  “Let’s go. That’s time.” The drunk shouted. A crowd had gathered and he was playing to them. “All right, let’s see if you boys can stay on your feet for a whole round.” He yelled and then blew his whistle.

  Jersey charged into the ring. He wasn’t grinning anymore. He came right at Mike. Mike stood his ground. Jersey attacked with a flurry. Mike tried the jab to keep him off. Jersey got inside it right away and hammered several quick shots into Mike’s belly.

  Mike absorbed the blows, but the effort took something out of him and he went for a clinch. Jersey pushed him off easily and tossed him against the ropes and went back to work on the inside. Mike protected himself well, but he felt the ones that got through. Jersey kept punching until he tired himself out. Mike took a chance and tried to push Jersey off him.

  The kid didn’t move much and he stepped forward to go back to work on Mike’s stomach. Mike knew that was coming and he caught Jersey with a left hook. Jersey spun around twice and hit the canvas hard. He was out.

  The drunk ran over and took a knee next to the kid. “You all right? You hear me?” He shook Jersey by the shoulders. The kid didn’t move. Benny ducked under the ropes and ran over too. He glared at Mike the whole way. Mike shrugged with his gloves. He hadn’t meant to hit that hard.

  Benny took a knee next to the body. He reached out and rolled Jersey over. Blood poured from the boxer’s mouth. Benny froze. The drunk turned pale. Then Jersey started laughing, so did Mike.

  “How was that?” Jersey asked.

  “I told you I didn’t hit him that hard.” Mike said.

  “Where’d you get that blood?” Benny stood up and reached out to help Jersey to his feet.

  Jersey didn’t answer right away. He had to wait to catch his breath from laughing. “From Lombardi. This afternoon.”

  Benny helped Jersey up. They turned to include Lombardi in the conversation, but the grocer was gone. He had seen enough.

  “That was great. Great.” Benny nodded enthusiastically. “But you’re gonna have to work on the build up.”

  “I’m not worried.” Jersey answered. “Your friend is a little too slow to hurt me.”

  Jersey hopped out of the ring and went to a sink on the wall to clean himself up. The drunk went with Jersey and helped him get his gloves off. Benny and Mike leaned against the ropes and waited for them.

  “How’s it feel?” Benny gave Mike the once over.

  Mike shrugged. “I feel good. Kid’s right. He’s fast. Good fighter.”

  “How’s the leg? It hurt?” Benny motioned at the knife wound in Mike’s thigh.

  “A little, but it’s fine.” Mike flexed his thigh to prove his point.

  “Still sorry about that.” Benny shrugged.

  “Feel sorry for the other guy.” Mike muttered.

  Benny took the hint and got out his cigarettes. He lit one and gave it to Mike. He put it between Mike’s lips. Jersey climbed back into the ring and the drunk helped him put his gloves back on. When they were done, Benny took the smoke from Mike’s mouth and Mike joined Jersey in the center of the ring. The drunk took a couple swigs from his flask and blew the whistle. Mike and Jersey went back to work.

  Benny didn’t stick around to watch. He hopped out of the ring and sauntered across the gym to a long table in the corner near the showers. A poker game had started up and several boxers and trainers sat behind little piles of coins and stray bills. Benny nodded at them to ask if he could join in. They nodded back a yes and he sat down.

  In the ring, Mike and Jersey worked hard trying out different combinations. They made it look real. The drunk hovered at the edge of the ring and barked advice. It turned out he had some experience and he let them use it. When the fight went well, he nodded his approval and took sips from his flask. Every few minutes he’d yell. “Round.” And Jersey and Mike would take a short break and chat about their choreography. When the drunk called time again, they would start all over from the beginning.

  Benny walked away from the poker table an hour or so later. The other players were glad to see him go. Benny had damaged their bank rolls, but not too much. It had been too easy and he got bored with it before he cleaned them all the way out. He came back to the ring in time to watch another solid exchange that ended with Jersey face down on the canvas and Mike standing over him gasping for breathe. Benny climbed into the ring and brought Mike a towel.

  “What time is it?” Benny asked the drunk with the watch.

  The drunk slurred his answer. “Time for me to get some sleep.” He was hitting the flask again and he didn’t lower it from his beak as he spoke.

  “We done?” Jersey asked from where he sat on the canvas. He started to take his gloves off before they answered.

  “Yeah, we’re done. We stick with the jab, hook and then you go down. The rest we play straight. You got it?” Mike held his gloves out and Benny pulled them off.

  “What round you guys thinking’?” Jersey asked.

  Mike looked to Benny.

  “Six.” Benny climbed between the ropes and hopped out of the ring onto the polished concrete floor of the gym.

  “You can make it, old man?” Jersey asked Mike with a smile.

  “Yeah, just don’t hit me too hard or I’ll kill you for real.” Mike answered.

  Jersey’s smile faded. He didn’t think that was funny.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Benny and Mike got back to the Richelieu in the wee hours of the morning. When they strolled in, they found Mitchell sprawled in a chair facing the door with his hat pulled down over his eyes as usual. This time he wasn’t watching; he was asleep. Benny and Mike crossed the lobby and stopped in front of him. They loomed over him looking down at the top of his hat. His body shifted a little as he breathed. The smell of liquor on his breath hit them like a punch in the face.

  Mike stepped forward, but Benny stopped him and tapped Mitchell on the shin with his foot. Mitchell shot up out of the chair with a start. Before he was set on his feet, Mike shoved him back down with a palm to the chest.

  “What the hell?” Mitchell got hot and sprung up again.

  Mike pushed him down again. “Stay put, bright boy. Don’t crowd your luck.”

  “Go to hell.” Mitchell spat back, but he didn’t try to stand up again.

  “Settle down, pal. Settle down the both of you.” Benny stepped up and leaned forward to lower his face close to Mitchell’s. Benny was short and he didn’t have to lower himself much. He started friendly. “How ya doin’ Mitchell? Sorry for the trouble, but we need you to pay attention, this is important.”

  Mitchell didn’t listen. He pulled a flask from his pocket and started sipping. Benny snatched it away from him. “You shouldn’t be drinking so much.”

  “I’ll do what I want.” Mitchell growled.

  Mike reached out to grab Mitchell, but Benny stopped him again. “I know you do what ya want.” Benny stayed nice. “But we need you to pay attention, because listen, this is i
t, we like this kid Jersey. We’re gonna do it. Frisby meets the mark at the Hollenbeck tonight.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Mitchell knew, but he was going to make them say it.

  “How much you get from Lombardi?” Mike pushed Benny aside.

  “Easy Mike.” Benny didn’t try to force his way between them.

  “How much?” Mike insisted.

  “Go to hell.” Mitchell had given all the ground he had. Now he was defiant. “You’re a god damn louse. I’ll…”

  “…you’ll just patter.” Mike interrupted. “Until you don’t.”

  Mitchell tried to stand again. This time Mike didn’t shove him, he stomped on his toes. Mitchell fell back into his chair grabbing his foot with both hands.

  “All right. Cut it out. Am I still in or what, Benny?” Mitchell looked past Mike.

  “You’re still in, but Lombardi’s angle comes out of your end. Understand?” Benny looked at Mike who nodded the okay as soon as he could tell where the words were going.

  “Yeah, I gotcha.” Mitchell sounded bitter.

  Benny and Mike left Mitchell and walked past the front desk toward the stairs. The desk clerk watched them cross the lobby. He had a grin on his face and his cheeks were red from laughing. He had gotten a real kick out of watching Mitchell get put through the ringer. Mike looked over and the kid snapped out of it and got back to work. When they got to the stairs, Mike went straight up.

  Benny stayed on the first floor and threw some words at Mike’s back. “Listen, Mike, it’s gonna be morning soon. Frisby’s gonna have the mark here and he’s gonna wanna have him established fast. We’re gonna have to go out to Riverside right away.”

  Mike stopped halfway up the stairs and turned to answer Benny. His partner looked smaller than usual standing on the bottom step.

  “What’s your point?” Mike asked.

  “How much time will you need?” Benny wrung his hands.

  “Any day now. I’m goin’ out there again tonight. He’s gotta show up soon. He loves to skate.” Mike answered. He knew the Judge had feelers out all over town and might find them first. Benny knew it too and it wore on him.