Fight Game - Debt Collector 11 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  Knives and guns were the immediate concern, and based on what he’d seen so far it appeared only one of them was brazen enough to carry, and since he hadn’t withdrawn it, Jack didn’t anticipate he would. It was nothing more than something to give him courage.

  It was rare that a group like this would rush in all at once, though it did happen. More often than not two of the bravest would shuffle in while the others would jump in when the threat was on the ground. But he had no intentions of taking this to the ground. Instead of attacking one at a time, it was easier to use their attacking force against them. A fast jab, a quick pull of the collar and he’d use one of them like a human shield, wielding him to take the brunt of the next attack while he front kicked the next in the nuts. In his youth he just went wild, throwing out punches and hoping to God that one of them connected with a jaw but he soon learned that was a surefire way to a hospital bed. Eddie had taught him how to avoid being swarmed, use his environment, and take advantage of his attackers’ own energy.

  “This is going to be a bad night for you,” one said.

  Jack scratched the side of his face, his eyes darting to the one clutching Tyson around the neck. “Well then, what are you waiting for?” The group hunched, readying themselves for a brawl. They glanced among themselves as if expecting someone else to engage; instead it only revealed their inexperience and lack of confidence.

  Finally, just like clockwork three of them lunged forward, furious and wild eyed. Jack stabbed the first in the nuts with the toe of his boot, ducked his head and let a punch scythe through the air above him while he rammed his fist into the second man’s solar plexus, then followed through by sweeping up his arm around his neck and thrusting him into the third guy who was trying to get at him. Out the corner of his eye he saw Tyson drop and drive his elbow into the armed man’s gut and begin to take care of business. That left only two able-bodied assailants. Unlike the first three who attacked, the second group parted to his left and right to make it harder. It didn’t. Jack anticipated them rushing him so he snapped out his leg, driving it hard into the kneecap of the one on his right while simultaneously jabbing to his left as the other came in. He ran straight into his meaty paw. Before they could catch a second wind, Jack grabbed the closest one to him and drove him into another one of the guys before launching a series of hooks and jabs, picking off the most able-bodied out of them all before pulling back and assessing the situation. Two of them were groaning and doubled over, one of them was helping his pal up and the fifth was out cold. Jack glanced over to Tyson who had the guy on the ground in an arm lock. He saw the man’s arm buckle just as it snapped.

  Taking his eyes off the two who were groaning for just a second gave one of them the advantage. He let out a yell and charged forward like a bull with his head low but it was the worst thing he could do. Jack came up with a knee and plowed it up into his face bursting his nose like a fire hydrant. The pain took care of the rest. He collapsed in a heap gripping his face. A few seconds of hesitation by the other three, a moment of consideration and they scattered leaving behind their pals who would spend the next few hours sleeping it off.

  He glanced back at Tyson who was up and brushing off grime from his clothes. On the ground the man was groaning, clutching his arm and cursing. Seeing he was out of trouble, Jack turned and headed back for his bag at the bar.

  “Hey, mister. Wait up!”

  Jack glanced over his shoulder but kept moving out of the lot and back onto the sidewalk. Tyson caught up with him, out of breath and pumped up with adrenaline. He stank of alcohol and was slurring his speech.

  “That was a ballsy move you pulled back there. Look, thanks, I appreciate the help but I could have handled it.”

  “Yeah, you seemed to be handling it real well,” Jack said tossing him a sideways glance.

  “Look, the name’s Tyson. Tyson Miles but most call me The Machine. Well, that’s my fight name. You fight?”

  Jack chuckled, and shook his head as they crossed the road.

  “Of course you do. No one picks off five guys the way you did without having some background in the sport. So… what are you, like a black belt?”

  “Nope.”

  “You run a gym?”

  “Nope.”

  They slipped past pedestrians and reentered the hotel. Jack made his way back into the bar. “But you’re from around here?”

  “Nope. Just passing through.” Jack headed over to the bar and motioned to the bartender who came over and handed him his bag. He’d left it with him for safekeeping until he returned. The bartender had been wary of taking it but Jack reassured him he’d return in a few minutes. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Hey, Tyson. How did it go?” Rob asked.

  He waved him off. “Piece of cake. I took care of business.”

  Jack raised an eyebrow.

  Tyson cleared his throat. “With a little help from this guy.”

  After collecting his bag he made his way out with Tyson in his shadow. He couldn’t shake the kid.

  “Look, can I buy you a drink? My way of thanking you.”

  “I’m good. Besides you smell like you’ve had your fill for the night.”

  “Ah man, c’mon. Hey so what brings you here to Santa Fe?”

  “Business.”

  “Yeah? You a salesman or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  Jack weaved in and out of tourists, heading for a hotel he’d looked up earlier to see if they had a room. It wasn’t a four star but if it offered a bed he’d take it. After the day he’d had, all he wanted was somewhere soft to rest his head. Tomorrow would be a new day and his mind wouldn’t be so foggy.

  “So where you staying?” Tyson asked.

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  He wasn’t sure if he would take a room at the next hotel or not.

  “Listen, it’s late. Chances of you finding a decent place at this time of night will be slim. Hotels are overcharging because of the festival and unless you want to wake up with bedbug bites all over you or someone slitting your throat you might want to consider other options.”

  “Like?”

  “Come stay at my place. We’ve got a spare room.”

  His reply caught him off guard. Jack snorted. “I can’t do that.”

  “Sure you can. You wouldn’t be putting us out. And I insist. After what you did back there. C’mon, man. My ma makes a killer breakfast.”

  “You still live with your mother?”

  “Ah, it’s temporary. You know… just until I get myself set up with a place. I have a few things in the works. A plan. I’ve got it all worked out. Five years from now I’ll be made. In fact you’ll see my name on billboards and ESPN.”

  “ESPN. Basketball?”

  “MMA. UFC. I’ll headline Madison Square Garden. You mark my words.”

  Jack chuckled and Tyson got in front of him and thumbed over his shoulder. “Look, I don’t live far from here. One night. I’ll introduce you to my ma.”

  Jack smiled.

  On one hand he would have preferred a quiet room, solitude, a place to think but on the other, meeting someone who was local might have its advantages. Perhaps he might know a thing or two. Jack looked across the road towards the dingy inn with a sickly yellow neon light that was flickering on and off.

  “All right. But just one night, and only if your mother is good with it.”

  He waved him off. “Ah she’ll be fine. She’ll enjoy the extra company.”

  They headed out of the Plaza east on Palace Avenue and walked for close to thirty minutes before they entered what Tyson referred to as a low-income neighborhood. Tyson’s mother owned a home off Gonzales Road; it was an ordinary suburb nestled into sandy foothills full of shrubs.

  “Doesn’t look low-income to me.”

  “It is if you can’t afford one of these homes. The only reason we have one is because my mom’s brother passed away recently. Before that we were living in the downtown but the cost of l
iving there is too expensive. We were going to get a place out near the airport but my work is in town and the buses only run at certain hours.”

  “What’s your mother do?”

  “She used to clean houses but she had to give that up when it got too much for her. So I’ve taken over. It’s only a couple of hours a day so I had to find other work. But between that, running errands for a guy I know, and training at the gym, it makes for a long day.”

  Jack nodded. “How long have you been training?”

  “Three years. But I only got serious about it a year ago. There’s big money to be made.”

  “On the amateur circuit?”

  “Underground.” He looked around as if making sure no one was listening but they were in the middle of nowhere. It was a dusty road, dark and there were only a few lights coming from homes cut into the hillside. “It’s illegal. Jeremiah Pope runs this event every other night. The location changes, and it’s got drawbacks but you can’t beat the money.”

  “Drawbacks?”

  He dropped his head. “A friend of mine was put in the hospital two days ago. He’s in a coma. The doc said he might not come out but there’s a chance…” he trailed off as he sighed heavily. “Anyway, that’s the cost of the fight game. One day I’ll go pro and I won’t have to deal with any of that crap.”

  “So why take the risk if your goal is to go pro?”

  He laughed. “You know how many people in this city want to go pro? It’s not easy. There’s a lot of red tape you have to get through, fighters you have to knock down to catch the attention of scouts. And we rarely get them out this way. Those that do are looking for the cream of the crop and I haven’t even had a chance to show my worth.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not ready. Well that’s what Jeremiah said.”

  “Jeremiah?”

  “My boss. Jeremiah Pope. He runs the fight circuit around these parts. He’s helped a number of upcoming fighters get to the big time. The guy is an asshole and yet he’s my ticket out of here.”

  “Why not just move away? Go to a city where there’s better opportunity?”

  Tyson chuckled. “It’s not as easy as that. That shit costs money. I haven’t got that. Besides, we’re already living a hand-to-mouth existence as it is and…” he trailed off again as if something heavy was weighing on his shoulders. He went quiet as they left the road and traipsed through shrubs and cut through the back of homes. A barking pit bull slammed against a fence, and Jack noticed several winos drinking out of brown paper bags.

  “Here we are,” he said opening a gate into a small patio at the back of a house. “This is home. It’s not much but it’s a roof over our head.” He led him up to an old adobe flat-roof structure that had views of the Jemez Mountains from the front and the Sangre from the backyard. “Hey, Ma, I’m home.” Tyson fumbled with the lock on the back door then gave it a hard push and the weathered door opened. Stepping into the kitchen he crouched down to greet a small Pekingese dog who scampered over wagging its tail. “Shit.” Tyson pointed to a puddle of yellow nearby. “The dog is getting old, pissing all over the place.” He shook his head and called out to his mother again. “Ma, the dog pissed again in the kitchen.” It began sniffing at Jack’s ankles and he reached down and petted it before following Tyson in.

  Tyson wandered over to the fridge and yanked it open. Jack caught a glimpse inside. It was practically empty except for a carton of milk, a head of lettuce, three beers, a chunk of cheese and what looked like the leftovers of pizza.

  “Hey, you hungry?”

  “I’m good.”

  Tyson pulled out a beer and handed it to him. He twisted off the top as his mother entered the kitchen. She was black, early sixties and had tubes going into her nose and snaking behind her to a portable oxygen tank. She dragged it in looking tired and worn out by life. Jack smiled but she didn’t return the gesture. “Who’s this?”

  Tyson got theatrical as he came over with a beer in hand and placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “This is…” He then realized he hadn’t asked him his name. Jack wasn’t keen on using his real name so he replied with, “Jack Weslo.”

  “Jack Weslo. He’s a friend of mine. He needs a bed for the night. I said he could stay here.”

  “Tyson, a word please.”

  Jack immediately sensed her mistrust.

  She turned and shuffled out into the hallway. Tyson tossed up a finger to indicate he would just be a second and walked out. Their voices carried even though they were speaking low.

  “Where have you been?”

  “Working.”

  “How did you get that cut on your lip? Have you been fighting again?”

  “No, Ma, I took a stumble.”

  “You been drinking?”

  “A couple. Look, it’s just for one night.”

  Jack heard her groan. “I don’t like it.”

  “One night. C’mon, cut me some slack.”

  He heard her grumble.

  “Love you, Ma, thanks.”

  Tyson returned and winked. “You’re golden.”

  Chapter 8

  Kelly’s digging into Dana Grant’s background had paid off. Although the HR department of the Chronicle held nothing, and the landlord from her last apartment couldn’t offer a lead, a source of Zach’s down at the post office had. The forwarding of mail was a common procedure when someone moved, however, that kind of information was private and only kept in the system for a year. It had been fourteen months since she’d vacated her position at the Chronicle without giving notice. The sudden departure and the timing of her involvement in the Zodiac case had only fueled Kelly’s suspicion.

  Zach emerged from a brown side door at the USPS building off Evans Street with a smug expression on his face. “Boom. I got it. Now who’s your daddy? Huh?”

  Kelly extended her hand eager for the address but Zach pocketed it.

  “Uh-oh, not so quickly. Now how about that drink?”

  “Zach, we don’t have time for your games, Johnson is expecting something of significance by next week. Now give me the damn address.”

  “Anyone tell you, you look hot when you’re frustrated?”

  She rolled her eyes and sighed, shifting her weight from one foot to the next.

  “And did anyone tell you, you’re a dick?” She turned to leave.

  “Yeah, actually they have,” he said strolling down the concrete steps. Three large USPS vans rolled past them. “Look, there is a bar across the street. I’ll share with you what I know about the case.”

  “You don’t know anything, Zach. It was Dana who wrote up the article.”

  Kelly’s long cream-colored trench coat flapped in the breeze. It had been raining for the better part of the day and had only let up twenty minutes ago.

  “Oh, but I worked alongside her. If anyone knows Dana, it’s me.”

  Kelly cut him a glance. “Forget it. What I need to know I’ll find out from her.”

  She heard him jog up behind her and fall in step. “You do know this is probably a waste of time. Here’s what I say we do. We take advantage of this opportunity, book a five-star hotel and first-class tickets to Colorado and…”

  Kelly stopped walking and gave him a hard stare. “Colorado?”

  He suddenly realized he’d let the cat of out the bag. He wagged a finger in her face. “Ah, but you still need the rest of the address. Searching for her there would be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

  He was right. She had no choice but to go and get a drink with the creep. Kelly grumbled. “Ugh. Let’s make this quick,” she said dashing across a slick road heading for a brewery called Speakeasy Ales and Lagers. Inside was a cozy, laid-back atmosphere with a stone bar, metal stools and sofas pressed up against the walls around the room. There were roughly ten people inside listening to low ambient music.

  They took a seat at the bar and Zach ordered two beers. He scooped a handful of nuts into his mouth and scooted his seat closer to hers. “So wha
t’s your story?”

  “I already told you.”

  He laughed. “No, I meant you. I don’t see a ring on that finger of yours. I would have expected a fine-looking woman like you to be hitched by now. So has he not popped the question?”

  “There is no he.”

  “Ah, I see. So what’s her name?”

  She frowned. “Why do you immediately assume I’m a lesbian?”

  “Well you’ve kind of got that vibe.”

  “And by that you mean?”

  “The short hair, the I hate men vibe. I bet you even have one of those feminist stickers on the back of your car. Am I right?”

  He picked pieces of nut from his tooth then sucked the end of his finger.

  She blew out her cheeks. “Geesh. You really are good at reading people.”

  “I know. It’s an art form,” he said tossing more peanuts in his mouth and slapping his lips. She considered telling him the truth but if he did think she was a lesbian maybe he would stop coming on to her. The bartender set two Samuel Adams in front of them, and Zach slid a twenty-dollar bill across the table. “And don’t forget the change.” The bartender narrowed his eyes at him as Zach turned away, completely oblivious to his insult. He sniffed. “But here’s the thing. I can cure all of that.”

  She shook her head. “Cure what?”

  He pointed at her. “You know…”

  Kelly wanted to just let it slide but she couldn’t. “You know, Zach, it’s 2018. A woman can be whatever the hell she wants today.”

  “I know, my landlord is getting a sex change next year.”

  She groaned and took a sip of her beer looking the other way. It was embarrassing to even be associated with him. She couldn’t stomach the thought of spending another minute with him let alone a couple of days. And sharing a hotel? Forget that. She’d rather sleep in a hostel surrounded by thieves and predators. The barman returned with Zach’s change and he took a look at it and pocketed it all without leaving a tip. He grabbed the bowl of nuts off the counter and got up. “Let’s get cozy on the sofa and I’ll fill you in on what I know about Dana.”