by Jon Mills
Jack glared at him.
“Cosmo, just tell us what you found.”
“On the surface nothing is out of the ordinary. However, after replaying it multiple times I noticed someone showing an interest in your lady friend. Take a look at this.” He zoomed in on a section over Dana’s left shoulder, behind the monument. Then he hit play. “Anything stand out?” He stopped it, rewound and played it again. Then Jack saw it. Among the many faces in the Plaza that day, there was a Native man dressed in a cream-colored suit, white shirt, and a bolo tie. His skin was dark, weathered by the sun, and his hair slicked back into a ponytail.
“But there are hundreds of people there,” Tyson said.
“But only one looking her way. Watch it from the beginning,” Cosmo said before playing it back though from the beginning. He also zoomed in so the focus was at the top left corner of the video. “Watch as he comes into frame. He’s already looking at her. Even as he rounds the monument he doesn’t take his eyes off her. His positioning when she gets worried would place him somewhere about here.” Cosmo stabbed just off to the right of the screen.
Jack placed a hand on the table and leaned in to get a closer look as Cosmo backed up and zoomed in on the man’s face. It was grainy but clear enough that if he saw the guy again he might recognize him. “There are video cameras out front in the Plaza that may show if he followed her. Can you access them?”
Cosmo laughed. “Can I access them?” His eyes darted between Jack and Tyson. “They don’t call me Cosmo for nothing. I’m everywhere. Yeah, I can get you footage of that. I’ll pull the date of this off from the meta and see what I can get. I’ll need some extra time. Two days tops.”
“I need it by tomorrow,” Jack said
Cosmo stared back. “Then that’s going to cost you.”
“How much?”
Cosmo fidgeted in his chair. “Two grand.”
Jack fished into his bag and thumbed off what he asked for and dumped it in front of him. “Tomorrow.”
“You got yourself a deal.”
“In the meantime, give me a printout of that guy.”
Cosmo tapped a few keys and got up and hobbled over to the printer. “Whatever your lady friend has got tied up in, you might want to reconsider getting involved,” Cosmo said waiting for the printer to kick out the zoomed-in mug shot.
“Why?” Jack asked.
He pulled out the photo, held it up and tapped the tie.
“That bolo tie features a Toho Kachina doll. It’s not a good sign.”
Tyson laughed. “Oh Cosmo, you’re nearly as bad as my mother.”
“It’s no laughing matter. After I get this footage for you I’m done. That’s it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Tyson said, laughing and slapping him on the back. Cosmo didn’t look amused as he returned to his seat and took a hard pull on his blunt. Jack noticed his hands were shaking.
They gathered together what he had, and took the tablet back and said they would return in the morning for the footage. As they descended the steps outside, Tyson was still chuckling to himself.
“What is the Toho Kachina?” Jack asked Tyson.
“Oh don’t listen to him. It’s just Pueblo mumbo jumbo.”
“Tyson.”
He groaned as they headed for home. “A kachina is supposed to be a supernatural being. A spirit. There are like 500 of these spirits. The Pueblo culture has rituals that are practiced by the Hopi, Zuni, and other tribes. Some of the members of their communities will dress up in masks at these ceremonies. There can be kachinas for the sun, stars, thunderstorms, insects, and all manner of things. They aren’t worshipped but they are viewed as powerful beings that will bestow power on those who respect them. Anyway, you often see these colorful dolls sold in the marketplaces and stores around Santa Fe. It’s a sham. They are supposed to be an immortal being that brings rain, controls other aspects of the world and society and acts like a messenger between the here and the beyond. It’s all religious mumbo jumbo.”
“And the toho?”
“To the Pueblo people, the toho is a hunter kachina. It’s meant to steady the hunter and protect his territory. Cosmo believes in all of that kind of stuff. He’s a bit superstitious. Look, don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll find out there’s a good reason why this guy was there. In the meantime I’ll hand these photos of your gal around to a few guys and get them to put the word out on the street that you’re looking for her. Then, you and I… we need to get you ready for this evening. This fight is going to be off the hook. Make it through this and the sky is the limit, Jack.”
He nodded, and smiled. Fighting mattered very little to Jack. It was as easy as breathing to him. A daily occurrence when he was younger, and a requirement as he got older.
Chapter 14
The underground fight was set to take place in an eighteen-wheeler parked in a turnout on the west side of Santa Fe. Tyson had prepped Jack on what to expect. A large number of people. Alcohol. Music. Potential scouts, and those who might lash out if he acted smug about winning. “Whatever you do, don’t look at his corner after.” He seemed more nervous than Jack and he wasn’t fighting. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”
Jack nodded in the back of the cab on the ride out to the remote location just off Hyde Park Road. It really was the perfect spot. Most vehicles parked inside the woodland while the 18-wheeler was stationed off the road like many long distance truckers who stopped for the night or to catch a few hours’ sleep before continuing on.
“You got the money?” Tyson asked. Jack fished out a few hundred and handed it to him. “Now remember, if this goes well, Pope will want to set up another fight almost immediately. The numbers will go up. If you get lucky and we get into five figures, Pope may put up some of his own money to cover it but then his cut will be higher. Ideally we should try to put the winnings back, in that way you get to keep one hundred percent.”
“One hundred percent? You don’t want your cut?”
Tyson’s eyebrow shot up. “My cut?”
“You set up the fight.”
Tyson smiled as it dawned on him what Jack was saying. “You want me to be your manager?”
“You know the game better than anyone.”
He got this glint in his eye. “Manager. I like that. Why not? You got yourself a deal. Seventy-thirty. You get the seventy.”
“Fifty-fifty,” Jack said.
Tyson grinned. “Done.”
As the cab curved around the winding roads that fed through the Santa Fe National Forest, only the steady thump of tires rolling over asphalt could be heard. The cabdriver had the radio tuned into sports and was unaware of where he was taking them.
“Jack. This lady friend of yours, you known her a long time?”
He nodded.
“Where did you meet her?”
“Maine.”
“So you were close?”
Jack glanced at him.
“Have you considered the thought that she might have just upped and left?”
“It passed through my mind.”
“Cause I’m telling you women can be a little insane at times. My gal changes her mind from one minute to the next.”
“How so?”
“Ugh I don’t know. When I have money she’s as sweet as pie, the days I don’t, she acts like I’m the biggest loser on the block. I swear she suffers from schizophrenia.”
He gazed out the window as pine trees blurred in his peripheral vision. “Then why do you stay with her?”
“She believes in me.”
“You sure about that?” Jack asked.
He frowned and was about to reply when the eighteen-wheeler and a large number of people came into view. Tyson leaned forward and tapped the driver. “Just drop us over there.”
“Out here?” the cabbie asked.
“Yeah.”
He shrugged. “All right.”
After tossing the guy a few dollars Tyson led Jack through those who had gathered. The sound of mu
sic thumping could be heard from inside the truck’s trailer.
“Hey Tyson!” a guy shouted out. Tyson smiled and greeted people like he was the life of the party. Strangers eyed Jack and sized him up. As they made their way around, Tyson slowed and glared. Jack followed his gaze through the crowd to a gal who was leaning into some meathead and kissing the side of his face. She had long red hair, and wore too much makeup. She couldn’t have been more than five foot four. She glanced his way, muttered something to the guy and broke away slipping through the crowd. Tyson ignored her and walked on to the back of the trailer.
“Tyson. Tyson!”
“What do you want, Carla?”
“You fighting tonight?”
Tyson stopped and turned, his eyes darted to Jack and then her. “Really?”
“What?” She looked over her shoulder. “He’s a friend of my brother. His mother was in a car wreck recently. I was just consoling him.”
He scoffed.
“Look, I knew you were showing up here. Why would I be coming on to another guy?” She paused and looked at him, taking a hold of his arm. “Besides, he doesn’t have what you’ve got.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” Tyson said, not sounding very convinced.
“Heart. That’s why you’re going to the top. That’s why I sound like a broken record and keep asking about when you’re fighting.”
Tyson snorted. “And there was me thinking it was because of my connections with Pope, and the kickbacks I get.”
“As if.”
She smiled and leaned into him and gave him a kiss.
Jack shook his head. He’d seen it all before. The women that hung around to be invited to the parties, to get free drugs and booze, to have access to a better lifestyle than what they had. It was too easy to spot, and more often than not young guys like Tyson saw it but did nothing about it.
“Look, this is Jack. He’s a friend of mine. He’s fighting tonight.”
“Oh. You’re not fighting?”
“No. I’m managing his career. Ain’t that right, Jack?”
She shot Jack a look.
“So you’ve given up the dream?” she asked.
“Hell no, but while I’m waiting for Pope to come around I might as well make a little money on the side. And Jack here is the real deal.”
“Is that so?” She looked him up and down and he could tell if Tyson weren’t around she’d be all over him. He’d seen the same look in women’s eyes from his younger days. Fortunately Tyson could see the same thing. He yanked on Jack. “Let’s go.”
They continued on to the end of the truck.
Two brawny fellas dressed in leather and jeans were posted at the back of the trailer. “Hey boys,” Tyson said. They thumped on the outside and the doors unlocked and swung wide. A cloud of vape smoke poured out along with the stench of pot. It was lit up inside like a disco with people crammed in like sardines. Jack climbed the steps that led into the steel cage and squeezed through the masses. It was hot, sweaty and several fans had been installed above to circulate air.
About halfway down Pope greeted them. “Tyson. I see you showed up. You bring the money?”
Tyson handed it over and all over the place the crowd erupted, stabbing their hands in the air and waving cash around. Pope’s right-hand man Spike went around collecting cash while another person closed the doors. The clang echoed inside the steel chamber. Jack removed his jacket, and took off his shirt. He hadn’t yet seen his opponent. It didn’t matter. Short, tall, fat, skinny, muscular or athletic they were all the same. Each one had a weakness, a flaw they gave away within minutes of meeting them. At the far end of the trailer the crowd parted and he saw the guy, a short Hispanic, shredded and with a large tattoo of a dragon on his back. He turned and fixed his gaze on Jack. He cracked his head from side to side and limbered up by throwing out a few punches in the air, followed by a perfect high kick that he did twice. A smug smile crossed his face as if he thought this was going to be a breeze. Flashy. Jack had come across these types before. They would opt for style over speed. Eddie had taught him a long time ago that ego killed more fighters than anything else. The need to look good. The need to impress. That’s all that mattered to them.
The crowd backed up as a dwarf-sized fella stepped into the midst of them wailing like a chipmunk through a megaphone. After a brief introduction he took out a handkerchief and waved it between them. “Let’s go to war!”
Jack stood there as the Hispanic bounced on the soles of his feet edging closer. He shot out a leg and Jack shifted. Another followed and Jack smashed into it with both forearms. The guy felt the brunt force and knew this wasn’t going to be as easy as he had thought. He limbered up and bounced forward, the crowd moving with them to give more room in the confined space that was no wider than eight and a half feet.
His opponent shot out a straight punch to Jack’s chest and instead of moving, Jack let it strike him. He wanted to lull him into a false sense of superiority. The impact let out a dull sound and he stumbled back just a foot. The whooping and clapping of the crowd as they edged in for more followed a smile on his opponent’s face.
Jack hadn’t yet fired off one shot, causing Pope to offer a puzzled look.
Dragon boy whipped out a roundhouse nearly taking off a few heads of spectators. Jack ducked and slammed his fist into the soft, flat part of his leg and then followed with a spinning back punch to the side of the guy’s temple. It struck him so hard that his head rattled and his eyes teared up. He lunged forward throwing punches clumsily at Jack, his movement slow and sloppy, more theatrical than effective.
Jack parried a blow by grabbing his arm and yanking him in and driving his forehead into the man’s nose. It burst and blood and snot streamed down. Before the guy could get his bearings, Jack fired off a front kick into his chest knocking him back into a line of spectators. They acted like a soccer net grasping him and thrusting him back out only to have Jack’s meaty fist collide with his face. The guy buckled and Jack dashed around and looped his arm over his neck and began to choke him. The crowd jeered and all the while Jack stared at Pope. He kept constant pressure on the throat. His arms locked together. Squeeze too hard, too long and it would cut the oxygen off to the brain and he would die. That wasn’t his goal. He waited until he felt the guy’s body go limp and then he released him. He could still hear him breathing when he rose to his feet. Some in the crowd went wild, others groaned. Tyson went berserk, bouncing around flipping the bird out, making it clear why those guys had jumped him earlier. Though it didn’t last long. He clasped hold of Jack and cut a path through the crowd.
“That’s it, get out of the way. Let the champ through.”
The music died.
“Tyson. He’s not done!” Pope yelled.
Both of them looked back with a confused expression. The Hispanic was still out; a few of his team holding him glared at Jack. Pope sauntered over, a look of glee on his face. “Nice work. Nice. But I’ve got to give the crowd their money’s worth.”
“There are another four fights,” Tyson said.
“There was. Two have just dropped out. So I’m short a man. I figure your guy here made short work of our friend over there so he should have no problem taking out the next two. How about it…” Pope waited for a name.
“Jack. Jack Weslo.”
“Mr. Weslo. You want to walk away with hundreds or thousands?”
Tyson threw up a hand. “With all respect, Mr. Pope, he’s just fought.”
“I’m not asking you, Tyson.”
“Well I’m managing him.”
Pope cast him a look of disbelief. “Huh, fancy yourself as a promoter, do you?”
“Just give me a moment.” Tyson pulled Jack to one side, away from Pope. “You don’t have to do this but the opportunity to walk out of here with a considerable amount is on the table. It’s your call.”
Jack nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Tyson slapped him on the shoulder and smiled. “Let’s go to w
ar!” he yelled turning and giving Pope the thumbs-up. There was a brief intermission, alcohol was served to spectators and Jack eyed Pope talking on the phone. Jack and Tyson waited outside getting some fresh air while others looked on in awe of the unknown fighter.
The anticipation for the next fight was high.
As the odds were revealed, Tyson was surprised to see they were against Jack.
That’s when he found out why.
What Pope had forgot to mention was that Jack wasn’t going to fight the next two men one after the next. He would fight both at the same time.
“That bastard! He keeps changing the rules. It’s shit like this that put Nicky in a coma. I’m calling it off.”
He turned to go speak with Pope when Jack stopped him. “Tyson. Leave it.”
“But…”
“It’s okay.”
Tyson stared back at him, shaking his head. “I’m not being held responsible.”
“You’re not.”
Jack patted him on the back and made his way back inside the trailer. Two, three, it was all the same to him. In many ways when he was up against more he felt as if he had the advantage. Fighters in a group thought differently. They assumed they had the upper hand and so they became sloppier with their decisions. It slowed them down. Revealed preemptive strikes and made them more susceptible to the unexpected.
The fight was over before it really began.
Jack knocked the first guy unconscious with one hell of a punch, then caught the others guy’s foot and twisted it until the ankle broke. The sound of bone snapping and the man’s wailing sent a clear message. This wasn’t his first rodeo and Pope might want to rethink before asking again.
Jack purposely ended it fast knowing that Pope expected it to be drawn out, bloody and violent. He was sure Pope bet on the other two and had made the decision to have two opponents rather than one simply to show dominance.