Hard Case: Boxed Set Books 1,2 & 3 (John Harding Books)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  I shook his hand gratefully. “Thank you. I’ll get your drink. Anyone else?”

  “I’ll have a double,” Grandma accepted, ignoring Tess’s open mouthed stare of shock.

  Alice raised her hand. “I’ll have a double too, John.”

  I thought, what the hell, I’ll bring out the Dark Lord I’d been entertaining Lora and Alice with for the last couple months. “The Dark Lord does not serve liquor to underage pixies!”

  Alice immediately giggled and clapped her hands. Lora busted out laughing because by now I had the Dark Lord down pat – voice, attitude, and scowl. I pulled him out sparingly but with very good results. Tommy hated him. He warned me already he’d cap my ass the next time I channeled the Dark Lord. I got mixed reviews from the rest of my crew depending on my timing. Apparently, there weren’t many Star Wars fans other than Lora and Alice in this group either. Cal laughed but shut up immediately when he got a Tess death stare burst.

  I went to get the drinks. I returned with a tray - sodas for Alice and me, doubles on ice for the other adults. Alice was regaling her audience with my Darth Vader act from Halloween. I had danced the robot in costume when we drew a crowd outside Porky’s Pizza on the way by. I had kids trying to follow me home. Alice got appreciative laughter from everyone. Even Tess couldn’t resist chuckling at Alice’s imitation of me. She had the robot down pretty well. I passed out the drinks. Tess took hers reluctantly. We toasted to good health. The next question of course ruined the new feel good vibe real quick.

  “He’s not staying here… is he?” Tess asked.

  I wasn’t, but Lora immediately went on the defensive. “What business is it of yours?”

  There were an immediate jumble of voices as Grandma and the two sisters began jawing at the same time. I decided maybe it was time for the Dark Lord to vacate the premises.

  I moved into the middle. “Hold on. Hold on. I’m not staying here. Everyone calm down. I’m going to take the limo back. Dev and Jesse have a gig in a couple hours. It was nice seeing you, Tess. Good to meet you, Cal. Nice meeting you, Ms. Connagher.”

  My leaving silenced everyone as I waved and walked toward the door. Alice followed. She gave me a hug and whispered she’d fix things. Good, now I needed an eight-year-old little girl to have my back. Lora looked a little fearful when I straightened from my Alice hug. She wrapped her arms around me with Alice watching for signs of ill will.

  “I’m sorry I chickened out on telling them. Every time I talked to them on the phone I was going to say something, but I lost my nerve. Please forgive me, Dark Lord.”

  Alice giggled of course.

  I reassured her because…well… like I said, I’m hooked. “No blood, no foul. As long as you’re not kicking me to the curb, I’ll survive.”

  “I’d kick them to the curb first. I love you.”

  I kissed her and turned to the door. “I love you too. Call me if it’s not good for me to show up on Thanksgiving. You’re officially off work until next Tuesday. Don’t fight the whole week. If you need a referee, I’ll send Jafar over.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Alice, I expect you to fill in for the Dark Lord if there’s any more fighting.”

  Alice immediately bowed her head. “Yes, Dark Lord.”

  I shut the door behind me, breathed a sigh of relief, and took the limo in to work. For the next couple days I endured complaints about my business skills without Lora, but with Thanksgiving holiday we mostly increased our limo/escort calls. Lora felt we should limit bond enforcement to me and Tommy like before so our regular clients would always know who was handling the skip. Tommy agreed so Dev, Jesse, and Jafar worked the limo/escort part with Jafar handling customer relations. I came in only if my language skills required it.

  The fights Tommy contracted we handled as a team for practice so my crew would be ready when the Dubai UFC fight came around. Tommy had contracted another fight for Wednesday night we didn’t let Lora in on. It was a sweet payday with Bonasera and Alexander giving us our upfront fee. Because of my notoriety on YouTube we’d been getting fight challenges from all over. Most offers were freebies looking for a name with no backing.

  Bonasera offered this one to Tommy because the guy had backing and was actually fronting our fee to Bonasera who tacked on an extra thousand to the guaranteed five. His backers wanted their fight fast tracked into UFC and figured a win over me would be just the match to do it. They had a cute gimmick too. The fighter’s cage name was Abdul the Terrible, The Syrian Slayer. We couldn’t find anything on him because supposedly he fought in Europe for big money. This would be his first fight in the states. They wanted the fight in New York but Tommy told them to take a hike. After I added to my status with the YouTube video fight with The Big O, the New Yorkers offered to come to Oakland. Tommy didn’t like not knowing what I was up against. They had offered it on real short notice but I told Tommy to take it and I’d come up with something the guy probably hadn’t seen yet from me.

  Chapter Nineteen: The Slayer

  Submission chokes were one of my specialties but I’d never showed off my other skills. Jujitsu holds on the hands, arms, wrists, and legs will submit a fighter just as efficiently as knocking them out. We had taken the fight two weeks prior. For those two weeks Dev and Jesse worked with me on my submission holds. I taught them some of the techniques I’d learned in Krav Maga classes with Mossad trainers overseas. Although geared to keep you off the ground, Krav Maga stresses striking and various holds such as arm bars, triangle chokes, and the guillotine. I’m mostly a striker, but I’m open-minded when it comes to winning.

  So that brings me to the present: fight night Wednesday. Lora called wanting me to come over for a drink when I was in the middle of gearing up for my earlier fight time. I had a little trouble declining without letting her know about the fight. The New Yorkers planned live telecasts back East and overseas for the Slayer fans that wanted to see Abdul fight without coming to a dirty warehouse in Oakland. I figured it couldn’t be bad publicity. Apparently Oakland’s political powers sanctioned our illegal set to because Tommy told me Earl, Enrique, and Jeff were all on the payroll for security. Bonasera and Alexander had wisely cut Alexi Fiialkov in for a taste.

  Jafar drove me to the fight where we’d be meeting the rest of our crew. He’d been going with me on the hard takedowns for Government Inc. Lucas and Casey had adopted him. Because he had language skills we all felt having him along on the pirate bait plan would be a plus. Denny agreed because he wanted Jafar trained for bigger things. Jafar wanted it all, but mostly he wanted Samira. She had returned home with her Father after speaking for several weeks to various Afghan groups. Jafar’s proposal for Samira’s hand in marriage was very well done. I thought he’d made a good impression on Badee Karim. We were waiting to hear about his final decision. Yeah, I know these two lovebirds were too young, but life is short. Besides, I missed Naji.

  “Why hasn’t Mr. Karim called, John?” Jafar asked me for about the hundredth time.

  “Why don’t we concentrate on how I’m going to survive the Syrian Slayer instead of popping off questions you already know I don’t have a clue how to answer?”

  “I’ve seen you working out with Dev and Jesse. Abdul’s in trouble.”

  The kid’s optimistic for a change. “Like always, maybe yes, maybe no. As to your pre-nuptial negotiations, I gave you a stellar recommendation to Badee. Samira’s in love with you and Badee isn’t the honor killing type so I like your chances.”

  “When I asked him for her hand in marriage he looked at me like my next destination would be my knees, a bag over my head, and a dull knife at my throat.”

  I chuckle. Yeah, he did. “Told you. Be patient. Let Samira work him over.”

  Jafar parked my old Chevy up from the warehouse about a block. I grabbed my bag and we walked together toward a very loud, raucous crowd filing into our dilapidated fight arena. It was only eight o’clock and a November chilling breeze blew in our faces. Tommy, Dev, and Je
sse met us halfway. They didn’t look happy.

  Tommy starts the ball rolling. “This Abdul looks impressive. We saw him warming up when we went in to check out the warehouse. I wish we could have seen him fight.”

  Jesse’s nodding in agreement. His ever present smile is not present. “He looks like Iron Man, John. The guy’s as tall as you and ripped like I’ve never seen out here. He reminds me of that UFC Champ Georges St. Pierre.”

  Dev laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “My condolences, dude.”

  Wow, maybe I should forfeit. It seemed like they were hiding something but I couldn’t figure out why they’d bother. “Hey, can we get on with this before you guys throw the towel in before I even get on the mat? Jafar here says I’m a cinch.”

  The three laughed at my using Jafar as a fight reference.

  “Yeah, well Jafar didn’t see this guy yet, or our new arena, or a few other little hitches we have from the Slayer’s backers. We’re just trying to warn you,” Tommy said.

  That sounded ominous. What new hitches? I guess I’d see soon enough. I speeded up the pace. “Man, T, you’re really getting to be a downer lately in the fight game.”

  “That’s because we need you in our real business and not in intensive care.”

  There were grunts of agreement from my crew. See, this is why whenever a guy acquires a lucrative business or something tangible in life, everyone around him figures he’s got too much to lose in a risky venture. They forget all about how the guy got there by taking chances. It’s that bunker mentality. I keep striding toward the warehouse.

  My crew falls in around me. I can almost sense them eyeballing each other behind my back. “Let’s do it. I have to make it to UFC in Dubai, and I won’t be getting there ducking good paying fights. You guys know the score with my other job.”

  We reach the warehouse entrance and Pete McCormick’s at the door with Earl backing him up as he takes money in. They see me and stop everyone for us to pass. I notice Earl’s not smiling either. He gives me a little salute like I’m on my way to the gas chamber.

  “Good luck, John, you’re goin’ to need it.”

  “Gee thanks, Earl. The drinks are on you at the Warehouse after, right?”

  “If you can still swallow, partner.”

  I point at him as I go by. “I’m holding you to it.”

  Inside, I stop in stunned amazement. They’d reworked the entire inside of the warehouse. Scrubbed out and painted, the place no longer exuded desperation. It was still barren but for a brand new fight-cage and bleacher seats around it. Professional lighting had been added. Now, I’m getting confused. Where the hell did they get the money to do all this for a backstreet fight with illegal betting? I whipped around looking at my buddies… my crew… and they’re staring right back at me… waiting.

  “Okay, guys, the warehouse gets a facelift. Bonasera, Alexander, and probably Fiialkov get a cage and bleachers. And what does old Long John Silver get?”

  Tommy shrugs. “He gets hosed. There will be five, five minute rounds, with one minute rest in between, just like a UFC championship match.”

  Oh crap. “This can go the distance and I can lose on points then?”

  “Yep, and before you ask, no, I was not told anything about it. We waited for you to see this place for yourself. Abdul’s backers from Europe want this bad. They had the place revamped with state of the art lighting and cameras. They’re making a ton of money overseas on this using some agreement Al Jazeera has with the FAA. No mention will be made about illegal betting. They brought three judges along and we got no one on the panel any of us ever heard of. I don’t know what to tell you, John. I’d say let’s walk but we’d probably need all three Oakland PD to draw on the crowd and fire for us to get out in one piece.”

  “Gee, this is exciting, guys. How much are we all in on this, Tommy? I know you told me the bets had to be made in advance.”

  “I got twenty-five on us.”

  “I’m only in for a couple grand, John,” Devon says. “I made more than that when you blasted the Big O. Don’t worry about it. With a strange ref, I just don’t want you getting buried in there.”

  Jesse smiled finally. “Easy come, easy go, brother. It ain’t your fault we got set up. Speakin’ of setups, here comes Bonasera now.”

  Bonasera ran up with his hands moving in placating fashion and fear on his face. “I know what you’re thinkin’, John. Ray told me he called Tommy and gave him the whole picture before you agreed. I only found out now he never told you guys anything about this.”

  I look toward where Bonasera came up to us from. Ray Alexander is smilin’ and pointing at me. “I thought you guys were happy with ‘The Big O’ fight, Jim.”

  “Ray lied about not betting on Okoye. He dropped twenty large on the fight which wiped his profits out for the match and put him in the hole. I’m done with him after tonight. You did right by us. Ray’s got a hard-on for you and he can’t let go. He knows you can’t walk out, John. I’m sorry.”

  I smiled while still making eye contact with Ray the Rat. Some folks don’t ever learn. “Does Ray have money on Abdul?”

  Bonasera hesitates, glancing back at his supposedly ex-partner. “I think he went all in on it, John.”

  “If I’m destined to get my ass kicked tonight, who the hell covered Ray’s bet?”

  “Same guy who took him on the Okoye fight: Alexi Fiialkov.”

  That makes sense. Alexi’s playing with Ray’s money. It’s notable Fiialkov gambled on me last time out even though he was having second thoughts about me going up against his boy Rankin. “Okay, Jim. I’m sorry ain’t going to cut it. Tommy went even odds because he didn’t know about this setup.”

  “I…I’ll throw in five large more out of my end.”

  “Ten would be a more sincere apology… but alright, I’ll play this hand out. Is the ref a setup too? It won’t be much of a fight if Abdul owns the ref along with the judges.”

  “He supposedly worked the MMA circuit in Europe and Japan. I don’t know him. You’ll get a fair shake from the judges though, John.”

  “Bullshit. We both know if this fight goes the distance I’m toast.”

  Bonasera wisely kept his mouth shut.

  No use keeping the fans waiting. “Show us where you want us to set up.”

  “Follow me.”

  Abdul and his retinue were across the way at the cage door closest to the back. He was dancing around throwing punches with a very nice hooded black robe on, emblazoned with twin crossed scimitars on the back in red. His crew stood circled around him. A guy with longish black hair and short beard waited inside the ring with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore black pants and black, short sleeved shirt. He looked competent enough to referee the fight, but boy did I miss old Jack Korlos tonight. The ref doesn’t have to do much to turn a fight. The panel of judges sat stone-faced in between Abdul’s end and mine at a raised table. They looked like paunchy, executives in dark suits, ties, and badges.

  I stripped down to my worn, navy blue gym pants and put on my gloves with Tommy silently helping me with the gloves. The crowd’s big and noisy in spite of probably paying a hundred and up for seats. I’m getting a lot of catcalls and dire predictions of doom. I know my usual followers wouldn’t pay fees like they ginned up for tonight’s new arena so I have even less fans in attendance. You can bet these folks all lost money on me, including many of Oakland’s political hierarchy sitting in the ringside seats I figured they got to look the other way tonight. A microphone lowered on a boom so the referee could intro us and pick up sounds from the fight. He announced me first in English with a very slight Arabic accent so Tommy popped my mouth-guard in and I entered through the cage door held open by one of Alexander and Bonasera’s grips. He closed it behind me as the crowd booed.

  When the ref announced Abdul, he leaped through the door and up on top of the cage with his right fist pounding upwards, roaring something unintelligible. The crowd went wild. I had to hand
it to the guy. He knew how to play a crowd. Abdul jumped down after a few moments, his feet and hands moving in a blur. The referee motioned us to the middle. Abdul immediately jutted forward toward me threateningly. I went into a defensive stance, moving to keep the playacting clown in front of me while guarding against some kind of sucker punch. Abdul’s hair was black stubble that matched the three days’ growth on his face. Big as me and chiseled in a way only really good steroids can make you, it explained my crew’s uneasiness about the Syrian Slayer. He had the enlarged head, wild-ass dark eyes, and growling countenance of a guy who’d been doing them for a while.

  I kept in guarded position until the referee finally got his cue from the puppet-masters to end the preliminaries. He quickly motioned the Slayer to calm down. Abdul kept hopping slightly, punching downward, while trying to scare me with his monster-menace stare. I listened to the referee going through the actual UFC litany of rules in English and Arabic. When he finished he asked if we understood. We both indicated we did. The referee backed us up and started us.

  Abdul stuck his gloves out in a motion meant to show good sportsmanship when two honorable opponents tap gloves before getting it on. Not having fallen off the proverbial fruit truck that morning I stuck my gloves out to tap his and immediately launched backward when the Slayer tried to head butt me. I spun, whipping a heel around and under his rib cage. I heard the whoosh of air when I connected. Oh baby, Abdul did not like that one. I was already back in full guard, watching the Slayer try to hide the pain while sucking air into his lungs. The referee stopped the fight and took a point away from me for a low blow. My corner went nuts, screaming out insults for me. Even the crowd quieted on that call. I didn’t say a word. I’d lose no matter what if this went the distance, and I knew this guy couldn’t stop the fight. The ref gave Abdul as much time needed as if he’d actually been kicked in the nuts. He needed it because my heel kick woke him up from steroid land. His corner screamed at Abdul in Arabic which they didn’t know I understood, telling him to stick with the plan.