Hell on Earth

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  Jack chuckles audibly in the hushed silence following Rankin’s threat while stepping away and drawing out his sap in a split second. “Let me know how that works out for you, Bluto. You don’t stop when I tell you to I’ll crack your head open like a giant walnut.”

  Rankin lunged towards Jack but his handler leaped between them, his hands up in pleading fashion. “Don’t do it, Van!”

  “I settle with you another time, gramps.”

  “Yeah, you do that sonny boy… you just do that.” Jack backed over to a spot near the edge, splitting the distance between the two of us. The crowd noise picked up, knowing the fight would be starting momentarily.

  Jack looked over at me and held up his hand. “You ready?”

  I nod and Jack repeats the gesture at Rankin. He growled and made as if he were going to bull rush me the moment Jack gave us the go. Tommy gave me a pat on the back and stepped away.

  Chapter Six

  Rankin Fight and Aftermath

  Jack gestured downward with both hands clapping together. “Get it on!”

  Rankin runs at me, waiting until the last instant to lower his head for the takedown. My knee smashes his nose to bloody pulp on the way down. Blood sprays everywhere when we hit with me twisting out from under after absorbing the painful landing. Rankin’s up bellowing and spitting blood instantly when he can’t keep me trapped under him. The crowd’s screaming but it’s a dull roar in my head.

  Rankin launches a flurry of kicks and punches, buying time to recover from my knee. He shouldn’t have charged. He gambled I wouldn’t want to risk a knee shot while going down. His busted nose will screw up his wind. I barely block a roundhouse kick to my head when he catches me a glancing blow to the temple that feels like a jackhammer. I duck down and throw a left hook under his rib cage. Rankin grunts and breaks off the attack, backing away while keeping his hands up. I don’t follow, but oh yeah - I felt that one connect right down to my toes. If it had been anyone else that body shot would have ended the fight.

  Spittin’ blood, he comes at me with a new sense of caution. I would have pressed the attack after I hurt him with the left but my head’s ringin’ like the bells at Notre Dame. God knows what that right he threw would have done if it hit flush. Rankin fakes another roundhouse kick with his right leg. I take the bait and he drops down for the grapple too fast for a counter. I go down under him without a chance to break my fall. Little stars twinkle behind my eyes as breath explodes out of me in a rush, compressed by his over three hundred pound bulk.

  I whip over to my left, raking an elbow across his ruined nose. Rankin buries his head to the side avoiding more punishment. It gains me room to breathe. Rankin bucks left and right with real hurtful body shots. Arching backwards I blast the top of his head with elbows he can’t avoid. His body shots slow while he tries to duck away from my elbows. Rankin moves wrong and I smash a left elbow flush on his skull, opening a scalp wound. It stuns him long enough for me to slip out. He tries to hold me down but I’m slick with his blood. I spider over him, launching knees into his ribcage while gasping air back into my lungs. Rankin rolls away, scrambling to his feet. I don’t stop him because I’ve had enough ground and pound.

  We’re both up circling while the crowd roars out its approval. He throws jabs and left hooks with blood seeping down over his face. I counter with a jab to his nose, causing a quick cover-up. Rankin drifts too close. My round house right leg kick smacks loudly into his side nearly pitching him to the mat. He stumbles to his right and my left round house kick hits flush on his temple. Rankin crumples. A groan even I hear rumbles through the crowd. Like I said – I’m not a favorite. Racing over, I do a football kick into Rankin’s left side and everyone in the place hears his ribs crack. I’m into it now. The crowds howling, Tommy’s cheering, and I move to the kill. Jack races in to stop me. I nearly react with a body toss but awareness floods through me in time. I let Jack bear-hug me away from Rankin. It’s okay I guess. He ain’t movin’.

  “You sane, kid?”

  “I’m back, Jack. Go ahead.” I drop my hands so he knows I’m done.

  Jack hurries over to Rankin’s side, gesturing for the med techs they have on hand. Tommy hands me a wet towel. It feels like heaven. I smell the peroxide disinfectant on the towel. The med techs wheel a gurney over with them and begin to carefully clean Rankin off. After putting a corset brace over Rankin’s back, the techs ease Rankin over onto the corset face up. They make sure his ribs aren’t in danger of puncturing his lungs before cinching the corset into place. The oxygen they give Rankin next begins to revive him.

  “Wipe off, John. You’re covered in blood. I’ll give you a fresh one when you get most of it sopped up.”

  I follow his advice. After stripping off my gloves, bloody shirt, gym pants and mouth-guard I wiped down real good in only my boxer shorts and tennis shoes. I give Tommy the now red towel and he exchanges it with a fresh one. I repeat the cleaning, giving my face one last wipe before wrapping my stuff up in the towel. Tommy hands me a clean black t-shirt and loose jeans out of my bag. I’m dressed a few seconds later with all the bloody stuff shoved in a plastic bag before depositing the mess in my equipment bag. I feel much better.

  “Lordy… Lordy, John, that was one righteous set to. Rankin screwed up rushin’ you.”

  “Yeah, he did. He should have stayed up. He hits like a cement truck. I guess we don’t have to worry about the money tonight.” I see Earl and ‘Rique, along with a few other OPD roving around the perimeter of the crowd. They’re watching for sore losers like Jesse’s money backer from last night. The sight of Rankin lying face down on the mat like he’s dead quieted the crowd considerably. This is an ending hard to dispute. Tommy makes his money rounds, trading good natured talk with the losers. We don’t gloat. Tommy pumps the fight when it means something but never when it’s over.

  “You’re not going over to check if he’s dead?”

  I don’t turn around. Fragrance of Tess washes over me. I savor it, watching Tommy’s back while he collects. “What for?”

  Dennis laughs but I hear Tess clucking her disapproval. “I should have known compassion wouldn’t enter into your thinking. Aren’t you going to turn around and say hi?”

  “I got Tommy’s back until he comes over with the collection plate. You know that.”

  “That was horrible, John.”

  I flex my arms and bounce around a little, trying to stay loose. My sides are achin’ from Rankin’s body shots on the mat. “Not for me it wasn’t. What the hell you doin’ here, Denny?”

  “Can’t I come see an old friend fight?”

  “Ahhhh… that’s so sweet. What the hell you doin’ here, Denny?”

  “Making a delivery and an update, John – nothing to get all paranoid over. The gig’s been moved up a little with a slight addition I need to talk with you about. Besides, I figured you’d be happy I kept Tess company in a rough crowd like this.”

  “I’ve left word. Anyone bothers her when she watches me fight or screws up her car I’ll slice and dice them like a Thanksgiving Turkey.”

  Tommy finishes his rounds. He’s smilin’ ear to ear, holding his money bag. Jesse Brown’s with him. His smile’s just as big, gold tooth gleaming.

  “Thanks, John. I’m flush.” Jesse pats my shoulder and keeps going.

  “Hey, Jess… where’s my cut?” He continues on, his shoulders shaking and laughter booming.

  “Hello, Slinky,” Tommy greets Tess. “Who’s your boyfriend? You cheatin’ on John?”

  “This is Dennis Strobert, Tommy. He’s a business acquaintance. Dennis… this is John’s manager, Tommy Sands.”

  “We’ve talked on the phone a few times, Tommy.” Dennis shakes Tommy’s hand.

  “I recognize your voice. John, Rankin’s coming around.”

  The med techs had Rankin sitting up. One of the promoters with a worried look brought over a folding chair. Three of them helped Rankin onto the chair. They had already cleaned away the blood. O
ne of the techs removed the oxygen mask and felt Rankin’s nose gingerly, eliciting a moan from my former opponent. The tech shook his head. That meant Rankin needed more than a straightening. With ice packs held at the back of Rankin’s neck, the techs braced him to his feet before helping him onto the wheeled gurney and strapping him in.

  The crowd began to wander out in small groups. Except for some grinning gestures and waves from Earl and ‘Rique, I was the target of some very malicious stares. Tommy nodded and waved at all of them, gracious as ever. I keep my eyes on their hands. The promoters never sprung for metal detectors so we’re on our own. Tommy’s packing under his shirt. He knows I’ll see a threat before he does. Most times I can prevent a bad situation like last night without Tommy having to intervene.

  The med techs wheel Rankin out in front of where we’re waiting for the crowd to thin. Rankin gives me a potent death stare for someone that just got his ass kicked. If not for the crowd I’d finish the prick off right here. Then he flips me off. The pain slides away from me in a rush. I’m making calculations about how to do him without seriously injuring the techs when I notice Tess has moved to get a better look at my face. She turns away. The moment passes.

  “You tensed, John,” Dennis states the obvious and then chuckles. “What were you planning, an execution of a belted down invalid?”

  I ignore Dennis. Jack’s walking toward me with our two fight promoters. One’s a short, fat white guy named James Bonasera. He’s sweatin’ even in the cool early morning chill, his bald head glistening. His partner, Ray Alexander, looks like Don King with slightly better hair. Alexander and Tommy don’t get along so he usually lets Bonasera handle negotiations with us. Since I don’t do much of the negotiating, my only concern is whether Alexander’s got some beef with us. I see Tommy’s wondering the same thing.

  “Take Dennis outside, Tess. We’ll find your car.”

  Tess tugs on Dennis’s jacket, leading him out.

  “That was a great fight, John,” Jack pats my shoulder. “It took willpower not to let you finish him off.”

  “Shut up, Jack,” Alexander orders.

  “Eat shit, Ray.”

  “Thanks, Jack. It would have spoiled things if I had. I owe you one.”

  “It was a pleasure watchin’ you work. See ya’.” Jack walked away without a glance in Alexander’s direction.

  “Some big names dropped a bundle tonight, Harding,” Alexander informs me. “Mostly to you.”

  “Boo hoo.” No need getting wordy here.

  “What’s your point, Ray?” Tommy’s looking as confused with this discussion as I am. “You want us to send flowers or somethin’?”

  “Just sayin’. Business is business and tonight’s outcome set us back in the goodwill department.”

  “Boo-fucking-hoo.”

  “We could get shut down, John,” Bonasera explains. “You know how some of these suits are. They’re all good sports until they drop a bundle. Then all of a sudden our sporting enterprise is a blight on the city. Ray and I were thinking maybe it would be a good idea for you to take a break.”

  “Or maybe we could make a very profitable deal,” Alexander adds. “It’s not like you and Tommy don’t use some showmanship already.”

  “Well damn, John, it sounds like these gentlemen want you to take a dive.” Tommy’s addressing me but he hasn’t looked away from Alexander for a second.

  “Ray didn’t say anything about taking a dive,” Bonasera hurriedly counters.

  “We get it. I’m not taking a dive or engaging in any showmanship for you two so we’ll take a break.” No use gettin’ mad over this. It’s not like this is legit. Bonasera’s right. The politicos in Oakland think they’re potentates of some third world kingdom. “Me and Tommy have a gig that’ll keep us busy for a while anyway.”

  “Fuck you, Harding!” Alexander’s having a hard time taking no for an answer.

  I can tell Tommy wants a piece so I move in front of him. I’m looking around the warehouse storage areas above us but it’s too dark to see anything. We’re still in the spotlight.

  “C’mon T, let’s get out of here. Ray wouldn’t be shooting off his big fat mouth if he didn’t have someone with a bead on us.”

  “You right about that, you cheap pug.”

  “Calm down, Ray!” Bonasera urges, moving around in front of his partner. “I know Harding. We won’t always be standing here in this warehouse with backup. He killed Ishmael Ali last night. Don’t you read the papers?”

  “What?” It looks like Alexander didn’t read the papers. I can tell he knows the recently deceased Ali’s rep. “How come you ain’t in jail, Harding?”

  “I was. Self defense. What say we part now as business associates and don’t say anything else that might get one or more of us killed?”

  “Go on, John.” Bonasera holds his hands up in a gesture meant to soothe. Alexander keeps his mouth shut. “We’ll call Tommy if things cool off in the future.”

  I nod my understanding. I grab up my equipment bag and pull Tommy along with me, backing to the door. Alexander’s going to end up chucked into the back of the same junkyard on 12th Street that cat killer ended up in, only I may play with Ray for a time before planting him. When we reach the door, Tommy hands me my windbreaker and draws his piece, a Beretta 9 mil. We get down the street without incident to where he parked. Dennis and Tess are waiting near Tess’s BMW a little further away. I turn to Tommy when we come abreast of his ride. The street’s nearly deserted.

  “You go ahead and split, T. How much we take in tonight?”

  “It’s the biggest payday yet, John.” Tommy grins for the first time since our business meeting. “Nearly twenty-five grand.”

  “Nice. Give me a few bucks to take my associates out with. A few hundred will do.”

  Tommy fishes in his bag and hands me a fist full of twenties. “Want me to come along? I know you and this Dennis guy have some history I probably don’t need to know about.”

  “You already negotiated our fee so this is more of a supply meeting. I’ll call you tomorrow. Want to have breakfast at the Buttercup?”

  “What time?”

  “How about eight?”

  “Make it brunch at eleven. I’m celebrating a little tonight.”

  “Eleven it is.” I try handing the remaining towel to Tommy.

  “Burn that thing, John.” Tommy looks distastefully at the balled up towel and gets in behind the wheel. “Don’t give the city fathers any reason to lock you up tonight.”

  “Ali had to die, T. It was an exception.”

  “Yeah, but I’m referrin’ to Alexander. I can’t stand the sight of that turd but two killin’s in as many nights will get you a one way ticket to Folsom.”

  “Me and Ray are golden, T. We’re just like brothers.”

  Tommy laughs. He starts his car and drives away without another word. After shoving the towel in with the other blood stained stuff I join Dennis and Tess. “I could use a few beers and a late meal. I’m buying. If you two don’t want to join me can I hitch a ride over to The Warehouse Bar?”

  “I can’t, John. The equipment’s in Ms. Connagher’s trunk. We start Monday night.”

  “We staying in the East Bay?”

  “The Jack London Inn will be our home base.”

  “Nice. I’m meeting Tommy for brunch near there at the Buttercup. That place is a little downscale from what I’d figure you’d put Samira up at. They even allow dogs there.”

  Dennis smiles at me. “Ms. Karim has a dog she insists on taking everywhere with her. I hear the mutt’s talented. You have a phone now. Keep it with you, John. I don’t have to tell you sharing info with your friends is a no-no, right? Ms. Connagher, can I speak to John alone for a moment?”

  Tess looks surprised but she opens the BMW and gets in without comment. Dennis pulls me toward his car a few paces. He stops, looking around casually before handing me a manila envelope from inside his jacket. I put it inside the lining of my windbreaker w
ithout looking inside it.

  “If you run into this guy anywhere, we’d like him to go away. We’d like it done quietly but no matter how you do it we’ll make sure you get clear. I doubt you’d get a second look at him. He’s a pro in the Carlos the Jackal stature. His name’s Claude Chardin. A few of our guys died finding out his name and what’s in the envelope.”

  “What makes you think they won’t blow Samira up with one of those religion of peace suicide bombers. They’re shoving explosives up their ass and in their boobs now. Unless she’s touring in an explosives proof bubble this-”

  “He’s not after Ms. Karim, John. We have intel he’s in the country. We don’t know who he’s been sent after. Chatter has it he’s linking up to the Fremont cell we told you about, possibly to trigger a much larger attack than crashing an airliner. Chardin has a multitude of aliases. He was born in Morocco of a French mother and Saudi father. Everything we know about him is on the disc inside the envelope, including the only picture we have of him. Use the software we’ve given you to make up a few images of what he might look like in disguise. I threw in a bunch of networked Blackberries for any crew you employ.”

  “It’s nice of Samira to volunteer as bait for all these developments. I take it you have the sites you want checked out in the packet?”

  “They’re in there. I’ll need a list of specifics concerning anyone traveling with you on this. We have a special limo for you to use whenever Ms. Karim goes out in public. Do you have a driver in mind?”

  “Tommy or an acquaintance of mine named Devon Constantine will be sharing driving duties. I recruited a kid with language skills to be with Samira so I can pretend not to know what’s being said.”

  “Nice. Send me all the particulars. Any problem with the promoters you met with?”

  “Nothing major. They want me to take a little break. It seems some important people lost quite a bit of money tonight and the shills for our street battles don’t want to get outlawed.”

  “They want you to take a dive.”

  “You have a vivid imagination.”