Fixed Fight (Mike Chance series Book 2)

by E. Ivan Infante

  Mike went to his room and locked the door behind him. He scanned the place and could tell right away that housekeeping had come. The bed was made and fresh towels were on it. On the nightstand, there was a letter from the management. Mike didn’t bother to look at it. He was pretty sure it was about the hole in the carpet and the missing linens.

  There was a knock on the door drew and Mike went over. He leaned in close and listened. There was another soft knock.

  “Who is it?” Mike whispered.

  “Doc.” The old man’s voice was raspy.

  Mike let the Doc in and locked the door behind him.

  “It’s done?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah. Mitchell just came into the lobby with Jones and two frail looking winos that can barely muster. Jersey looks the part though. He looks like a fighter.”

  “He punches like one too. He knocked me for a few the other night. You see Frisby’s two?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah, I seen’em. They ain’t in their uniforms yet, but they look like a couple of rumblers. Your buddy Frisby knows some heavy people.” The Doc sounded worried.

  “Yeah.” Mike knew Frisby was no dummy. If Frisby was planning something, he would roll in heavy. Just like he was doing.

  “You’re giving me second thoughts.” Doc rubbed the crook of his elbow with his bony fingers.

  “Well, don’t share’em. This is the play. This is happening.” Mike didn’t sound forgiving.

  “Okay then.” The Doc smiled. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “You settin’ the place up yourself?” Mike liked how fast the old man had given up on his doubts and got back to business.

  “No, Frisby’s two rumblers are pitching in. They should be about done now.” The Doc turned and opened the door a crack. “I’ll see you.” He slipped out softly.

  As soon as the door had closed, Mike stripped and got in the shower. He dressed with an eye to details. He mismatched his socks and skipped a button on his shirt and left his collar ruffled. He checked his watch before he left the room. It was a little past eleven. He was right on time.

  Mike strolled into the hotel bar and looked around. It seemed like everyone in the place, except the barman, was in on the deal. Benny and Frisby sat in a corner booth with Dilworth. Mitchell and Jersey loitered awkwardly by the bar with the two fellows that Mitchell had brought to play the rich guys selling the land. They were winos putting on airs. One of the old men had topped off his outfit with a monocle. The other had a black polished cane with an ivory handle.

  When Mike got close, Benny jumped up and dropped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll put my man here up against anyone.” Benny turned to the bar. “Against anyone.” He repeated. Just like that, it was on.

  “He’s an old man.” Jersey scoffed. He stepped over to Mike and glared. “I’d take him right now, in the alley.”

  “Like hell you will.” Mike puffed up and stepped lively. Jersey raised his fists. Benny pulled Mike backward by his shoulder and stepped between them.

  “Here, here, boys. There’ll be plenty of time for that.” Benny amped up and slapped them both on the back.

  “I’d like to see it.” Dilworth chimed in, his eyes wide and glassy. He was hooked.

  By now Mitchell had come over. “Well, I don’t know.” He was full of energy. “We’re headed to a real fight up North. We just came here to sell you guys that land.” He spoke firmly and nodded at the winos that he had brought with him. They ignored him.

  “You have a point there, especially if there’s no money in it.” Frisby toned his words seductively. He was good.

  “I’ve got fifty thousand says he can.” Dilworth spoke up. His eagerness betrayed him.

  “If you lose, how you gonna pay for the land?” Mitchell almost broke character. A smile twitched on his lips.

  “I can send for more. It might take a couple of days.” Dilworth’s leg twitched and his knee bounced up and down like he was a teenager.

  “He’s good for it.” Frisby shrugged.

  “Jersey? You sure?” Mitchell asked his boxer with just enough trepidation to sell Dilworth.

  “Yeah.” Jersey glared at Mike. “I could beat him in my sleep.” He overplayed it a little, but Dilworth didn’t notice.

  Mike did and he leapt forward and cold cocked Jersey in the side of the head. The kid rolled well with the punch, but stumbled back. Benny grabbed Mike around the waist and held him, but Mike swung again anyway. His wild blow didn’t land.

  Mitchell’s suited-up winos laughed at the spectacle. One couldn’t stop and he laughed so hard that he lost his breathe, dropped to his knees, and threw up. A horrific stench of booze wafted up from the floor. The wino went back to laughing. The rest of the room started to clear out. A nearby waiter waved for assistance. There was none forthcoming.

  “I’ll see you in the ring. We’ll see who’s got it. We’ll see.” Jersey recovered from Mike’s cheap shot and played it up.

  Mike could tell the kid could hardly keep from laughing. Frisby acted upset and shot up out of the booth to hustle Jersey and Mitchell out of the bar. That left Dilworth alone in the booth with them.

  “You better hit him harder tonight.” Dilworth was having the time of his life.

  “Don’t you worry. That was just a tap. Tryin’ to dizzy him up.” Mike picked up the whiskey bottle and filled Dilworth’s glass, then took a swig for himself straight from the bottle.

  “He’ll be ready. He’ll kill him.” Benny patted Mike on the shoulder.

  Dilworth waved over the bartender and shouted. “Another bottle here, my good man.” Then Dilworth lowered his voice and got serious. “I’ll go down to the bank and get the money right after this bottle.”

  Hook, line, and sinker – they had him. Benny kicked Mike under the table. Dilworth didn’t notice. The waiter was distracting him with a new glass and a fresh bottle. Dilworth helped himself. Mike took a long look at Dilworth and his doughy weak chin and big eyes. There was a desperation in the tilt of his head when he talked about money. Dilworth was the guy not quite as smart as he thought he was. This was a common trait among every single mark that Mike had ever known. It was an inescapable fact of life: something for nothing gets nothing for something.

  The three of them sat there drinking for a while. Mike stopped after the first few swigs on the bottle. Dilworth had eyed him the first time and Mike didn’t want to risk any questions. After all, he did have to box that night.

  At some point Benny checked his watch. It was time to get the money, so Benny and Dilworth stumbled out of the bar. Mike followed along a few feet behind them. They left the hotel and crossed the town square to an old bank that hunkered down in the middle of the block like a predator in tall grass.

  Benny had chosen the bank because of its proximity to the hotel. He didn’t like a long walk. A mark could see something as they ambled along and their mind could wander and end up changing, not because they realized they were in the middle of a hustle, but for some other reason altogether. Sometimes they changed their minds just to change them and then it was over. Benny didn’t want to risk it. He had learnt this lesson a couple of year ago in Toledo and had taken his marks straight to the bank ever since.

  Mike stayed outside when Benny took Dilworth into the old stone counting house. Mike paced back and forth and watched the street and kept to himself. His thoughts got lost in violent daydreams. Blood all over the place: screams, snapping bones, and gunshots.

  Benny patted him on the back and Mike snapped out of it and whipped around in a hurry. Dilworth stepped back at Mike’s sudden movement. Dilworth had a white-knuckle grip on a briefcase. He might as well have been carrying a canvas sack with a dollar sign on it. Dilworth had no discretion.

  “Come on, tough guy. Let’s go get that out of your system.” Benny took Mike by the arm and led him away from the bank..

  “You’ll enjoy the fight, Mike. It’s an easy payday. Simple.” Dilworth called after them. He had gotten his confidence back and now he s
poke with the slight jaunt of someone who thought he knew what he was talking about.

  “Yeah, I got it.” Mike mustered a bit of the violence below his surface.

  Mike was in the grift now. Dilworth stopped in his tracks and hesitated for a minute. When Mike and Benny didn’t look back at him, Dilworth followed them even more intently.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Back at the hotel Benny and Dilworth went to meet Frisby. Mike headed for the location on his own. When he got to there, the Doc was standing in a corner reading the racing form and smoking a pipe. There were shills there already drinking free warm beer Frisby had supplied.

  Mike looked over at Doc who meet his stare and made the ‘crazy gesture’ by pointing at his head and rotating his index finger. Mike gave the crowd a second look. Some were indeed raving lunatics, but that was fine. They only had to watch a fight.

  “You ready?” The Doc put away his racing form and strolled toward the makeshift ring.

  “Yeah.” Mike walked to the ring too, but didn’t climb in. Instead he picked up jump rope he found on the mat and put it to work. The Doc took the hint and went back to his racing form.

  Soon afterward, Jersey and Mitchell showed up. Mitchell had a black satchel in his hand. Mike stopped with the rope and went over to meet them. Mike knew the bag held the convincer. It was probably all boodle. Mitchell had been cheap so far.

  The two winos that trailed into the gym behind Mitchell were proof enough of that. They weren’t quite as drunk as they had been that afternoon, but they were still pretty deep in their cups. The one with the cane found a chair and collapsed into it, while the other leaned against the wall to keep himself from falling over like a cut tree.

  Frisby, Benny, and Dilworth strolled in next. Dilworth gripped his briefcase and looked nervous. Benny must have already told him it was bare knuckle. Dilworth hadn’t taken that well and he lingered in the doorway for a long time. Finally he came in and let Benny steer him to a ringside seat.

  Mitchell wandered up to them there. Mike did too, but he stopped short. It wasn’t his place to talk about the money. Instead he climbed into the ring where Jersey was already shadowboxing around like he owned the place. The kid had a solid sweat going and he looked a little crazy. Mike started thinking they might pull this off.

  Doc climbed into the ring with them and waved them to opposite corners, then leaned out over the ropes and spoke to the gamblers. “You boys make sure you’re right with the money. Pick someone to hold it. I know you boys pretty well. Maybe this new fellow ought to be the man.” The Doc threw his voice to the back of the gym so even the two old winos could hear him. Everyone was putting on a good show.

  “It’s all right if my friend here holds it?” Benny pointed at Dilworth.

  “I don’t know. I might prefer the ref hold it.” Mitchell spoke haltingly. He looked to his partners for permission. Only one of them acknowledged that any words had been spoken at all.

  “We gonna shut that door or leave it open?” Dilworth’s voice cracked.

  “Relax. It’ll be fine.” Mitchell snarled. “You want out?”

  “I’m in. I’m in.” Dilworth sounded rattled.

  Frisby glared at Mitchell. His tone had almost blown it.

  “Close the doors.” Mitchell shouted at his winos. He was scared of Frisby.

  The wino that could stand wandered over to the door and shut it. He looked for a latch to lock it, but he didn’t find one and he gave up easy.

  “Good?” Mitchell asked them.

  “Yeah, fine.” Dilworth was the only one that answered.

  “What about the money?” Mitchell blurted it out.

  “Let him hold it.” Frisby pointed at Dilworth and looked at Mitchell like he was ready to knife him.

  “I don’t care who holds it, but we should check it.” Dilworth showed a little spine.

  “No problem.” Benny shrugged.

  Mitchell and Benny traded bags and checked them. Then showed them to Dilworth. This moment made all the difference. Despite all they had done to keep Dilworth in line, he seemed to waver. Mike thought for sure he was going to ask for a count. Mike could see the Doc was sweating a little. He was thinking that too. Even Jersey slowed down a little with his shadowboxing.

  When Dilworth nodded his assent, the whole room did their best not to exhale at the same time. It was wasted effort. Dilworth would never have noticed. He was distracted by the money. He watched as Benny reached in and put all the money in one briefcase. Benny fumbled a little with the money. He sold it good.

  Now two worthless boodles were in the briefcase. The real money had been light-fingered out by Benny and stashed into an oversize pocket in his suit. Benny handed Dilworth the briefcase and Dilworth sat down ringside with it and slid it under his chair. When he looked up, he smiled for the first time since he had walked into the gym. He thought he had it all.

  Doc turned away from the money men and walked to the center of the ring. He took a stopwatch out of one pocket and a whistle out of the other, then motioned for the fighters to come to him.

  “You boys ready?” Doc asked. They both nodded and Doc looked away from them to the gamblers. “You boys ready?”

  It was an unnecessary question, but it was a nice touch. He had his attention focused on Dilworth. It flattered him. Dilworth had regained some nerve now. He hadn’t looked back at the exit for a while.

  Doc turned back to the fighters. In a loud clear voice, he said. “I don’t care if this is a clean fight or not. The rounds will be three minutes long. We keeping going until only one of you is left standing.” He put the whistle in his mouth and got ready to start his watch.

  Mike and Jersey nodded their assent and Doc blew the whistle. Jersey lunged forward and clobbered Mike right off the bat. Mike stumbled back, dropped to one knee, and got angry. The kid almost knocked him out. Mike stayed down for a second and got up slow. He wobbled to his feet, raised his fists, and bobbed and weaved.

  Jersey followed him around the ring. At certain points, it looked like he was smiling. Mike swung hard when he saw that. It made him angry. He didn’t connect with anything solid, just a glancing right a few times. It wasn’t believable.

  Jersey moved a little slower. Now Mike connected with a strong shot that knocked the young guy back. Mike moved to grapple with the Jersey, but the kid recovered his balance, shoved Mike away and unleashed a furious combination of body blows that caught Mike unprepared.

  By the time the whistle blew, Mike was out of breathe. In his corner, Mike spit water and tried to pull himself together. Benny acted as his corner man, hovering over him and rubbing his shoulders.

  “Don’t blow this. Don’t blow this.” Benny rattled the words into Mike’s ears.

  When Doc blew the whistle, Benny picked Mike up and shoved Mike him toward the center of the ring. Mike opened the round as hard as he could, but he couldn’t connect. Jersey was better than Mike. In a straight fight, Mike would have been a dead man. Mike knew it and he didn’t like it. He tried harder.

  A quick right hook forced Jersey to the left where Mike had a hard shot waiting for him. The kid stiffened up and stumbled back. It was too early for the kid to go down, but Mike forgot and closed hard. Benny hung on the edge of the ring, his eyes wide. He could see Mike drifting away from the plan. He looked over at Frisby. The skinny red head smiled. He didn’t ruffle.

  Mike came on strong and pressed his advantage. He missed. Jersey ducked under the attack and counterpunched with a hard hammer to the ribs. Mike felt his ribs crack and his knees buckle. Jersey came on to finish him, but the whistle saved them. It was perfect. Dilworth was out of his seat cheering.

  Benny jumped into the ring and helped Mike to his stool and gave him a big swig of water. When Mike spit it out, he sprayed Dilworth who was standing up close to the ring. Dilworth didn’t care. His eyes were wild. He looked as if he had been fighting. He offered a flask to Mike, who took it and drank and gave it back. Dilworth sat back down. He reached u
nder his seat to touch the bag and make sure it was still there.

  Round three got underway in a hurry. Jersey charged right at him, but Mike stood his ground and the blows that the kid landed glanced off Mike’s shoulders. Mike clinched and tossed Jersey aside. The kid bounced off the ropes, regained his balance, and came right back at him.

  Mike got lucky. He jabbed at Jersey as he charged in and stopped him cold with a hard shot to the nose. Mike followed up with a hook that flew wide over the kid’s head. Jersey ducked under and tapped Mike on his ribs again. Mike went blind with pain and dropped to a knee.

  The Doc stepped forward to intervene, but the kid snuck in another shot and Mike hit the mat. The Doc started to count. The old man didn’t waiver even though the plan looked to be in jeopardy. He was a pro and that got Mike to his feet. The Doc helped him up and winked at Mike as he have him the brief check before the action started again.

  Over the old man’s shoulder, Mike could see Jersey smirking. Mike pushed the Doc away and charged. Jersey slid away from him and connected again with a straight shot to the jaw. Mike felt it and the whistle saved him again. He collapsed back into his corner. The whistle reverberated in Mike’s ears. It didn’t sound quite right. Mike shook his head. He was seeing double.

  Benny helped him stay on the stool, but there was no massage or water this time. Instead, Benny got in his face.

  “Come on.” Benny spat the words. “You’re letting him look too good. Hit him hard.”

  “Kid too good.” Mike could barely speak.

  “Hit him!” Dilworth pawed at his shoulder screaming. “Hit him!” Dilworth didn’t offer the flask this time. He held it close to his mouth and suckled it like a nipple.

  Benny helped Mike to his feet and pushed him back into the ring where Jersey was waiting with another shot to the ribs. Mike blocked it. Jersey launched another flurry, but Mike blocked them too. Then Mike saw his chance. He staggered the kid with a shot to the face.