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

by Jon Mills

  “Yeah, yeah, just hold your horses. Keep the engine running, we won’t be long,” Zach said as he made his way over.

  “Any luck with your source?” she asked.

  “He’ll look into it.” Zach paused for a second. “Wow. What a mess.”

  “That story Johnson wanted,” Kelly said turning around. “I think we’re on to something bigger.”

  Chapter 11

  “Why, you interested in fighting?” Tyson asked tossing his napkin down on his plate. Jack glanced out the window, his thoughts shifting to the spot he recognized from Dana’s video.

  “I didn’t say that. I asked how does someone get a fight?”

  Tyson chuckled. “If I knew that, I would be fighting. Pope is real particular about who he brings into the fold. He has trust issues. You know, with it being illegal and all. He mostly seeks out those who have some experience behind them. No point bringing in a couple of bums. You can stand outside any bar in this city and watch that for free. Nah, people want to see real fighters. But listen, if you’re interested I can put a good word in. Though don’t expect top dollar straight out the gate or even for him to say yes. You’ll have to prove yourself. Hell, he’s seen me spar and I’ve yet to get green lit.”

  Jack nodded.

  “So you never told me what you’re doing here, or where you come from?”

  “Colorado. I’m looking for someone.”

  “Oh yeah, who?”

  “A woman.”

  “Well that narrows it down.” He chuckled. “I can find you all types of women. Brunette, blondes, busty, curvy, what’s your poison?”

  “Not like that.”

  Although he was hesitant to show the video, Jack thought it wouldn’t do any harm for him to see what Dana looked like. Who knew? Maybe he had seen her. He bent down and retrieved it from his bag and fired it up. He started the video and hit pause and turned it. “You seen her before?”

  He squinted back. “Can’t say I have. I know a lot of people but this is a big city. But I recognize that spot,” he said turning and pointing to the monument. “That’s definitely the Plaza. So who is she? Your sister? Girlfriend?”

  “Ah doesn’t matter.”

  He went to put it away and Tyson extended his hand. “If you don’t mind. Maybe I can help.”

  Jack paused for a second then decided, what the hell. He handed it over and let him watch the video fully while he finished his breakfast. The smile on Tyson’s face soon left as he reached the end. He handed the tablet back and looked out the window again. “Listen, I have a few connections in the city, if you’ve got a photo of her I can pass it around. Maybe someone has seen or heard something. I can’t guarantee anything but it’s worth a shot.”

  Jack placed the tablet back in his bag. “That video is all I have.”

  “It’s in safe hands. We can take a snap from it and print it out. In the meantime I’ll take you down to Pope’s place and introduce you to him. He might hook up you up with a fight or a job, that’s if you’re planning on sticking around.”

  Jack nodded.

  “If you want I can even get a buddy of mine to take a look at that video. He has a real eye for the finer details, the kind of things people overlook.” He paused, waiting for a response from Jack. Jack wasn’t comfortable with passing it around but he was at a loss for where to go with it. Sure he’d learned something from the articles but that wasn’t much to go on. All he knew was she was looking into a few unsolved murders tied together by a killer’s signature. Jack agreed and after finishing up breakfast they left and headed over to a shady-looking apartment nearby. It was located in an area of the town covered in graffiti, about ten minutes’ walk from the Plaza. The apartment was above a run-down Laundromat.

  “You sure this is the place?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah. Wait here, he tends to get a little jumpy around strangers.”

  Tyson took the tablet from him and shot up a rickety old staircase on the side of a red brick building and banged on a black metal door. He looked down at Jack then yelled, “Yo, Cosmo, you in there? It’s Tyson.”

  He hammered against the door with a clenched fist.

  A metal slat opened and nervous eyes peered out.

  “Hey man, open up. I need you to weave your magic.”

  Jack heard multiple locks click and the door opened. A stringy-looking Mexican fella came out wearing a thin white muscle shirt, baggy jeans and Nikes. His arms and neck were covered in tattoos, his hair was spiked with frosted tips and he wore a red bandanna around his forehead. A joint hung from the corner of his mouth; smoke spiraling up the side of his face. Tyson greeted him with a street handshake and chest bump. “Been a while.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Heard about Nicky. Sorry man, that shit sucks.”

  Tyson nodded and glanced at Jack. Cosmo followed his gaze. “Who the fuck’s he?”

  “Ah, he’s cool, man. He’s a friend of mine.” Tyson held up the tablet in front of his face. “Look, I need you to print off several copies of the woman on this video and scan it and see if there is anything unusual, maybe someone who looks out of place.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s all aboveboard. I’m just trying to help my buddy find this woman. So can you help?”

  “It’ll cost you.”

  “Man, I got you those tickets the other night for free.”

  Cosmo studied Jack at the bottom of the staircase. “All right. Leave it with me and check back later.”

  “Good man.” Tyson patted him on the arm and started heading down the steps then stopped and looked back up. “Oh, and don’t you go showing that around.”

  Cosmo took a big hit on his doobie and blew out a cloud before ducking back into his apartment.

  “You sure you can trust him?” Jack asked.

  “Cosmo? Yeah, I’ve known him since I was a kid. He has a few screws loose up top but that kid is as loyal as they come. You’re in good hands, Jack. C’mon, let me show you the gym. You’re gonna love this place.” Tyson bounced on the balls of his feet. He was clearly enamored by anything related to fighting. They took off down the sidewalk, crossed the street, cut through a few back alleys where morning parcel deliveries were being made. On the way they passed by several street bums and Tyson exchanged waves.

  “You know a lot of people around here,” Jack said.

  “Ah, not that many but you see the same faces after a while.”

  Pope’s Gym was sandwiched between a bar and a greasy spoon restaurant. A large graphic decal with the words Jeremiah Pope’s Ultimate Fitness was plastered across the front of the windows, with the image of a couple of fighters in combat stances. There was a knot of guys outside with gym bags over their shoulders talking among themselves. They acknowledged Tyson with a nod as he and Jack entered.

  Instantly the smell of perspiration and worn leather brought back a flood of memories. Jack had spent the better part of his early years hanging around the Pig’s Ear watching boxers work up a sweat. This place was no different except it incorporated much more, wrestling, boxing and all facets of mixed martial arts. The measured beat of skip ropes, and the thump of heavy bags being struck made the room come alive. Over the speakers music blared out. They passed a reception area where two gals were helping a family through the process of signing up. There were a couple of leather couches against the wall and a table with an array of fighter magazines fanned out.

  They walked down a waxed corridor full of UFC posters with 4-ounce gloves encased behind glass and shiny tournament belts on either side. It was there to inspire, to fill the minds of the hopeful with dreams of grandeur. Everyone wanted the fame, the glory and the money that came with being a champ but few were willing to put in the hard work to get there. Jack recalled all types of men and women that used the gym back in the day, the wide-eyed quiet ones, the talkative loudmouths, and the muscle heads. Everyone talked the big game and entered with swagger. He’d seen the numbers rise then drop after a couple of weeks w
hen the novelty of being a fighter wore off, or a hard punch to the face knocked sense into them. Everyone wanted to be at the top but only a few had the dedication, drive and willingness to sacrifice it all. And even then there were no guarantees. It was a game of inches as much as it was skill, speed and accuracy. Oh there were many that were certain they were as good as Joe Frazier or Muhammad Ali, many that said they would be the next big thing only to find themselves days later on their ass reconsidering the future. Those ones would slip away quietly avoiding humiliation, others would hang in longer only to quit when they knew how many years it required, or an injury or a loss knocked them down a peg.

  It was a ruthless sport that chewed fighters up and spat them out with broken bones, sprained muscles, damaged brains and downtrodden hearts. That’s why he never got involved. He had no need to. Gafino paid him good money to fuck people up, and most of the time they didn’t even know what had hit them until it was over.

  It was like entering a ring with a blind man.

  Tyson led him into the main gym with thick blue mats on the ground, a professional octagon cage in the far corner, state-of-the-art fitness equipment and multiple speed and heavy bags hanging from the rafters. The sound of automatic timers, the snorts of sparring partners and the thud of fists striking bags dominated. Jack scanned the faces that stared back. It was a mix of white, black and Latino using the place and a variety of ages but mostly guys in their mid-twenties, full of spunk and moxie.

  “Hey Mr. Pope,” Tyson hollered over the ruckus of sparring.

  Jack was keen to put a face to the name. His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met Gafino. He’d heard his name on the streets. He saw the fear in people’s eyes when he was mentioned in conversation, and the way young guys envied him. Watching Tyson was like seeing himself young again. Maybe it was because of that he found himself tagging along when he could have walked away.

  “You’re late. The package is in my office. Spike here will tell you where it has to go.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ll get right to it. Um, Mr. Pope, a friend of mine here came into town and well you said you were looking for new blood. I think I’ve found what you’re looking for. My man here can throw down with the best of them.”

  Pope looked Jack up and down. His brow furrowed.

  “He’s from Colorado. You haven’t seen anyone fight like this. He took down five guys all by himself. Without breaking a sweat. It was incredible.”

  Pope eyed him skeptically. “Is that so?”

  Tyson walked over to Jack and wrapped his arm around him pulling him in closer. “He’s the real deal. Anyway, I said you might be able to hook him up with a fight. I mean you’re short a fighter, right? Now that Nicky is out of the picture. Or unless you want me to fight.”

  “You’re not ready,” he said referring to Tyson without taking his eyes off Jack. Pope sniffed. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You think you might be able to give him a job?”

  “Depends. What you got to offer?”

  “He could train the fighters. Me for instance.”

  Pope rolled his eyes. “You still owe me money for training here.”

  “I was sparring with Nicky. He needed someone to hold mitts.”

  “Don’t bullshit me,” he said looking at him then glancing at Jack. “Diego,” he yelled out to a fighter across the room who was beating on a bag. “You need someone to warm up with?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pope looked at Jack. “Well? What are you waiting for? Let’s see what you’ve got to offer.”

  Tyson got all excited. “Oh you won’t regret this, Mr. Pope.”

  “Yeah, yeah, just get that package out now.”

  “Will do.”

  Jack removed his jacket and took off his shoes, placing them off to the side of the room. Tyson headed into the office and returned with a large parcel in his hand just as Jack headed into the octagon with a brawny fella. The cage door closed behind them and someone tossed over some 4-ounce gloves. Jack slipped into them as Pope and Spike got close to the outside of the cage. Out the corner of his eye he saw Tyson lingering by the door waiting for the action to begin.

  No sooner had Jack secured the gloves than Diego charged at him. The battle began. Diego fired a shin kick but Jack stepped back causing it to miss. Automatically he tried dropping a bomb on him with a right hook. Jack countered it with a maneuver that sent Diego slamming backwards to the canvas. Diego used the back of his hand to wipe blood from his lip. The look of surprise on his face matched that of Pope.

  “All right. Lucky punch,” Diego said bouncing back up and moving lightly on the toes of his feet. He attempted a roundhouse kick but Jack just stepped in, latched on to his leg and drove an elbow down into his knee followed by a backhand to the face.

  Diego casually got back up again. Jack showed no fear or apprehension as he came at him again. However, as Diego swung, Jack expertly avoided the blow. Diego tried again and again and again — but Jack was too fast. Frustration masked Diego’s face, followed by embarrassment. It wasn’t Jack’s intention to humiliate him but the kid made it too easy. Jack dodged punches and ducked kicks and blurred every attack like a whack-a-mole. Out of breath and reacting emotionally Diego lunged forward for one final attack before Jack ducked and brought up his arm, clotheslining him against the ridge of his forearm. Diego hit the ground and it was lights out.

  “Yeah! That’s my boy!” Tyson yelled.

  Pope glanced over his shoulder at him and Tyson went quiet. Pope stared at Jack, then looked at Diego. “All right. You’ve got yourself a fight. This evening. I’ll give Tyson the location.”

  He motioned to a couple of guys to head in and help Diego while Jack ripped off the gloves and exited the cage. Tyson came bouncing over and slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Holy crap, do you know who you just dropped?”

  Jack shrugged.

  “A guy with eighteen wins on his record. He’s never lost.”

  He glanced back. “Well now he has.”

  Chapter 12

  Jack Winchester had made a name for himself in the small town as a handyman, at least that’s what the publisher at the local newspaper had to say. Kelly was keen to find out more about him and since house fires usually drew the attention of media, she’d got in contact with the Telluride News. Adam Murray had been placed in charge of covering the story and writing up the article that was featured on the front page, roughly a week ago. A quick search of the archives on their website and she was beginning to get a clearer picture of what had taken place. While she left Zach to scour through the ashes for anything of significance, she’d arranged to meet Adam at a quaint coffee shop on Colorado Avenue. She’d arrived a few minutes early so she could gather her thoughts and jot down a few questions.

  The bell above the door let out a shrill and she looked up.

  A couple of young girls came in followed by her man.

  Kelly recognized Adam by his headshot from the website. He was a black man, wearing a blue plaid shirt, dark pants and hipster glasses. He was five six, maybe a hundred and fifty-five pounds and in his late twenties. He had clean-cut afro tapered hair with unusually pale blue eyes that made him stand out. He wore a smile, and appeared to know several in the store as he nodded, and waved.

  Adam cast a glance around the room and Kelly raised a finger. He asked for a dark black coffee before weaving his way around tables over to her. She’d taken a booth in the far corner; somewhere they’d have some privacy.

  “Ms. Armstrong?”

  She extended a hand and nodded.

  After a brief greeting, Adam sat down at her table directly across from her and laid down a light brown laptop bag.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said.

  “It’s not a problem. How are you enjoying Telluride?”

  “Haven’t seen much of it but what I have so far, it’s beautiful.”

  He clasped his hands together and glanced around. “Yeah, it has a
lot of charisma.”

  A waitress came over and handed him his coffee.

  “Thanks, Elle.” He took a sip and set it off to one side. “So you mentioned you were from the San Francisco Chronicle looking into the disappearance of Dana Grant, was that right?”

  Kelly nodded. “She worked for us before she came here. Her departure was abrupt you might say. I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the Zodiac killings that happened a year and a half ago.”

  “The copycat killer. Yeah, it made national news. That was quite some investigative work by your city.”

  “Dana’s son was one of the murder victims.”

  His jaw went slack. She could already see headlines for articles spinning in his eyes. Every reporter was the same. They were always on the hunt for a meaty story, and intrigued by anything they might have overlooked.

  “I wasn’t aware of that. That would certainly make a person want to up and leave.” He stared back at her. “You don’t think the fire was something to do with that, do you?”

  “I’m not sure. What I’m interested in besides finding Dana is her boyfriend Jack Winchester. I gather that’s who he was?”

  Adam’s brow furrowed as he reached for his drink. “I wasn’t aware that she even lived there until I spoke with a few people here in town. We got word of a raging fire about a week ago and I was called out in the night to record it, take photos and then write up a piece on it. Usually when these kinds of things happen, the family is either found inside dead, or they managed to escape. No one was there. Jack, specifically, wasn’t around and even for a few days after, he didn’t show up. Let’s put it this way, it was very unusual.”

  “So they never found a body inside?”

  “I followed up with a friend of mine who works for the fire department, it was clean.”

  “Did they say how it started?”

  “Electrical malfunction. Nothing unusual.”

  “But Jack eventually showed up?”

  “Well that’s where it gets interesting. Apparently, and don’t quote me on this, he showed up a week later at the police department asking about her whereabouts. Unless he was lying, he didn’t have a clue. He was away on some trip when the fire started.”