Cold Blooded Assassin Book 7: Hell on Earth (Nick McCarty Assassin)

by Bernard Lee DeLeo

  “You’re not even breathing hard,” my young apprentice marvels when I’m toweling off.

  “I better not be or I’ll get my ass handed to me tonight.” I move over to the bag again. “If you want to get some work in whenever I’m not here, do this.”

  I throw combinations into the bag with exaggerated slowness so Jafar can see what I’m doing. I deliver each punch rolling and pivoting my body into it. Then I grip the bag, hitting it alternately with each knee at three different heights. “Don’t overthrow. Explode into the bag with measured quickness. The snap at the end is where the rubber meets the road, pinpointing all your power at one point. Try it.”

  I hand him my gloves and he puts them on awkwardly. He impresses me with his quickness. You can’t teach quickness. With a few adjustments to how he pivots and delivers, Jafar delivers punches and knees with rapidly improving style. I nod at him appreciably when he stops. The kid’s a natural.

  “I…I feel like… I’m dying,” he gasps, bent over with gloves on knees.

  “You’re in good enough shape to go a lot longer. Rest and go again to build your stamina. You just have to train your mind to believe it. I don’t weight train on days I’m fighting but let me show you the weight exercises I want you to start with.”

  After thirty minutes of taking Jafar through a tough but doable routine I call it quits for him. “No use in screwing you up so you can’t work out again tomorrow. Remember, when you work the bag technique means everything. Rolling into your punches and knees with snap has to come like second nature. They have to feel as familiar as breathing.”

  “When will you need me to help you with your job?”

  “I’ll probably find out tonight.”

  “From Ms. Connagher?”

  “Yeah, Tess is a prospective piece of a puzzle I’m working on for business purposes. I’m trying to put together an agency of sorts. I plan on making a good deal of money on this new escorting venture and it might be time to cut back on my street fighting gig.”

  “Just cut back?”

  “It’s in my blood, kid. Pain is a weird thing. Sometimes controlling the pain replaces good sense. I guess that’s where I’m at.”

  “I would like to learn how to fight back.” Jafar grinned. “I don’t think I wish to control pain.”

  Too bad. Jafar’s got skills. “I’ll teach you to protect yourself. You move well. You’ve got the instincts so with a little practice, self defense won’t be a problem.”

  Jafar nodded his understanding. “Have you ever been arrested for fighting? It must be illegal.”

  “There are so many bigwigs in the audience I doubt getting arrested is a problem. If someone gets killed though you can bet the elite will hit the road and someone will have to take the fall. My guess is it will blow over real quick. Without the side bets, the matches would go nowhere. You have to have money to make money on our little circuit.”

  “You must have seen the movie ‘Hard Times’, right?”

  The kid’s got me. That backstreet depression era fight movie with Charles Bronson as a bare knuckle brawler is one of my favorites. “Yeah, that’s a favorite of mine. I take it you’ve seen it, so you know the main premise – it’s nothing personal, it’s just business.”

  “I’ve watched it seven times.”

  I really like this kid. I’ve seen it twenty times. “Is that what made you want to learn how to fight?”

  “Partly. Watching you in the cell take on the scariest dudes I’ve ever seen has a lot to do with it.”

  “I’ll tell you something. If you’re not lookin’ for trouble most of the time it doesn’t find you. I’m a magnet for trouble… always have been, so I roll with it. It won’t hurt you any to know how to fight but I want to make sure you don’t go out looking for trouble once you have a little knowledge. I don’t figure you will.”

  “Have you ever lost a fight?”

  “No, but neither has the guy I’m fighting tonight. One of us won’t be able to answer no to your question tomorrow. Rankin’s been shooting his mouth off about me. Win or lose I’m plannin’ on getting me a piece.”

  “I hope you win. I don’t want to lose my job before I’ve even worked a day.”

  Good. The kid’s not sentimental. “That’s the way to think about it. This ain’t no Rocky movie. Rankin probably has as much right to win as I do. Tonight’s a little more than business for me and that’s not good, but I’ll get over it. Getting a little mad-on can work for you. Too much and you make stupid mistakes. One mistake can be too much when I’m mixing it up with a guy like Rankin. The betting will be big.”

  “Does Ms. Connagher like to watch you fight?”

  “I doubt it. I think my partner Tommy has it right. She keeps coming out to see if I get my head busted one night. I believe Tess thinks I need to be taken down a peg.”

  “I can tell she likes you.”

  “We have some history but we come from two different worlds. She doesn’t care much for the way I do things. Tess also has a bad habit of poking into places hazardous to her health.”

  “So you two are a matched set.”

  I grin as the kid covers up like he’s defending an anticipated beat down. He peeks out after a moment before straightening up.

  “Sorry, did I say that out loud?”

  “Yeah, very funny, kid.” I looked up at the clock. It was nearly eleven o’clock. “Go watch some TV. Tommy will be here pretty quick.”

  “I love your 1080P HD LCD.”

  “I’m attached to it myself. Don’t mess with my settings.” Jafar laughed and nodded his head in acquiescence. I followed him out and went into the kitchen. With a bottle of water in my hand from the refrigerator I sat down at the table. It wasn’t more than ten minutes later Tommy let himself in. He’s the only one with a key. Tommy gave me a little salute before heading to my fridge for a beer. “Can I have one of those?”

  “Sure John. Let me know whether you want to be buried or cremated after Rankin rips your head off. I thought you said all business tonight.”

  I was chuckling at his upbraid of my beer request. Tommy’s face looked a little grim so I answered. “All business, T. How come you’re having one?”

  “I ain’t fightin’. I’m hopin’ it’ll calm my nerves a bit. Rankin’s a monster. I hear he eats puppies right in front of the kids that own them, and then he eats the kids.”

  I bust out laughing. Tommy joins me for a few moments before draining his beer.

  “I could use another, John. Want to drive me?”

  “Sure, I’ll drive.”

  “Rankin wants to kill you,” Tommy tells me while acquiring his second beer. “He wasn’t too happy with you calling him a ‘gay polar bear’.”

  Sighing and nodding my head in agreement I shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah, that wasn’t too smart. He shouldn’t have been making jokes about my Mama to get us on board with the fight. All he had to do was ask.”

  Tommy laughed. “You don’t know who your Mama was.”

  “Yeah, but if I did I figured I’d be really pissed.”

  More laughter. “Okay, John, you got me loose. Let’s get over to the warehouse.”

  “Come say hi to the kid I hired for my new bodyguard gig. He’s the one I thought might keep the young Afghani girl Samira interested and eyes off me.”

  “Sure, we have a few minutes.”

  Tommy follows me into the TV room. Jafar leaps off the couch, looking at the two of us uneasily.

  “Kinda jumpy, ain’t he?”

  “He’ll grow on you Tommy. Jafar, this is Tommy Sands, my manager and partner.”

  They shake hands and I motion for Jafar to sit back down. “Relax kid, we have to go now. Remember what I said about my TV settings. Don’t let anyone in – not even your own mother.”

  “I won’t, John. Good luck.”

  “He’s goin’ to need it tonight, Jafar. Nice meeting you.”

  “Yes Sir, same here.”

  With my equipment bag packed,
including a change of clothes, I chauffeured us without speaking. Tommy knows I don’t need to be babied before a fight but I prefer silence on the way. It’s an overcast, dark night in the East Bay with rolling gray clouds tossed around by coastal winds. The September Indian Summer is over as our ocean breeze air conditioner cools the Bay into the low sixties. I like it. Fightin’ heat in the middle of a closed up warehouse with no ventilation, while tradin’ punches with some guy who looks like Bigfoot, can drain anybody’s get up and go.

  Tommy looks over at me as I ease into the line of cars on the dingy, paper strewn street. Nobody cares what happens in this area of dilapidated warehouses and salvage yards on the lower side of International Boulevard. It used to be East 14th Street before the namby pamby politicians decided Oakland needed a cosmopolitan touch. They renamed one of Oakland’s thoroughfares spanning the city’s good, bad, and ugly with a diversity tagline. It didn’t change a thing. The bad is still bad. The good is still good and the ugly is well… still ugly. The only thing name changing East 14th Street did was cost all the businesses thousands of dollars in signage, business paraphernalia, and simplicity.

  “You’re thinkin’ this cool weather is a good omen, huh?”

  “Don’t be poking around in my head, T.”

  “I’m right, ain’t I?” Tommy pops out of the passenger side grinning smugly. He gestures at the line of late model luxury rides parked around us. “Looks like we got a money makin’ crowd tonight. Hey, John, here comes security.”

  It’s Earl Taylor and Enrique Rodriguez – out of uniform of course. They shake hands with Tommy while I walk around the car with my equipment bag.

  “We never thought you’d show after last night’s festivities, John.”

  “I’m thinkin’ of making a citizen’s arrest, Earl. How dare you two officers of the law frequent an illegal enterprise like this.”

  “Hell, half the city council’s in there,” ‘Rique says, chuckling at my arrest threat. “You think they want their BMW’s and Lexus’s getting broken into while they’re gamin’?”

  “Your lawyer emptied our jail out. What’s that all about? You and Constantine going steady now?”

  “I have some work for him and the kid, Earl. Don’t get jealous. How’s the undercards going in there.”

  “Entertaining but the big money’s not coming out until you get in there with Rankin. Me and ‘Rique have a few bucks on you so don’t blow this for us.”

  “What’s the line on my pug?”

  “It’s running three to one against, Tommy,” ‘Rique informs us with some excitement. “If John drills him too quick there’ll be a riot. Earl called in a few more of the guys to reinforce us if things get out of hand. You are planning to dance a little first, right John?”

  “Give me a second. I’m still outraged at being someone’s pug.” I wait for the laughter to die down. “In answer to the question, no, I’m not holding back. You guys seem to think this is the WWF. I’m not waltzing with Hulk Hogan. Besides, I don’t think you have to worry about any quick endings. If Rankin gets me on the floor, we’ll be there a while and I don’t think I can keep him from taking me there.”

  “Rankin weighs around three hundred, John. I don’t think letting him take you down is a good idea,” Earl explains the obvious to me.

  “Wow, am I glad you came out tonight, Earl. He’s a strategist, ain’t he, T? Write that down so I don’t forget it - bad idea for Rankin to get me down.”

  “You know what I mean, smartass.” Earl looks around sheepishly as ‘Rique and Tommy get a laugh at his expense.

  “I know. Look, you worry about winning those three to one odds. I’ll worry about how to keep from gettin’ killed while rolling around on the floor with Godzilla. I’m glad you guys are here tonight. We had a poor sport in front last night packing heat.”

  “I heard. Last night is why we’re getting a nice wage tonight. I think a few of the suits watching last night didn’t want to be present at a gun battle.”

  “I’m glad you’re making out on this, Earl. You do know Rankin’s connected, right?”

  “Yeah, we heard. The Russian mob doesn’t get feisty at the sporting event. They come around a few weeks later to your house and cut your nuts off.”

  I’d heard that too. I’ll play. “If they do, I hope you and ‘Rique won’t make me spend the night in jail when the Russians come visiting.”

  “John.” ‘Rique pats my shoulder. “You can take out as many of those pricks you want to. Call us if it happens. Me and Earl will come over and help you set up the scene.”

  “I’ll hold you to it. We better get inside, T. Rankin’s probably already claiming I’m a no-show.”

  Tommy chuckled. “You’re right, John. Let’s go. See you officers later.”

  “Good luck, guys,” Earl says and ‘Rique echoes the sentiment with a wave.

  What do you know? My playmate from last night, Jesse Brown is the gatekeeper tonight. He’s smiling at me, his gold tooth gleaming in the dim outside overhead light.

  “Damn, John… what the hell you hit me with?” Jesse stuck his hand out and I shook it.

  “Attitude, Mr. Brown… attitude.”

  Jesse laughs appreciatively. “Paper say you did for that psycho Ali last night. Wish I coulda’ seen it. My manager’s not happy with me. First I get clocked and then you rough up his business partner.”

  “He was going to do something I know he would have regretted, Jess,” Tommy tells him. “John helped him see the light. Then he went and helped Ali into the light.”

  Jesse chuckled. “You had a busy night, John. The partner dropped a couple large on me.”

  “Want a rematch?”

  “No thanks. I thought I had you pegged when you went down last night, brother. I been watchin’ you for months… thought I knew all your moves. Tell me you and T weren’t playin’ me.”

  “I couldn’t take any chances with you, big man,” I lied.

  “Good. That makes me feel a little better. Man, you got a hard road tonight.”

  “That’s why girls don’t do it, Jess.”

  “You right about that. I put a few bucks on you. Don’t let me down. I have to recoup my losses from last night.”

  “T… mark that down. I have to try and win tonight.” I follow Tommy inside with Jesse laughing his ass off at the door.

  Even with the cool outside air rattling through cracks in the sheet metal walls, a pungent mix of sweat, cologne, perfume, rage, anger and fear assaulted my nose. I inhaled deeply. Walking into a dirty cesspool of an arena like this made my blood pound. It reminded me of home, fightin’ off my old man and the bimbos he accumulated. My fingers curled into tight fists at my sides - nothin’ like memories of Pa to get me in the mood. Tommy took charge of my equipment bag. I stripped off my windbreaker as I walked. Tommy took it and handed me the light boxing gloves which weren’t much more than the kind you punch the heavy bag with. I slip in my mouth-guard and put on the gloves.

  The vocal crowd undercurrent lapsed into a whispering hum at sight of me and Tommy. We walked into the marked off fighting center covered by a square dilapidated mat, stained with God knows what. It measured around thirty feet across. We didn’t have it last night but they drag it out for a ground and pounder like Rankin. I could smell the disinfectant they spray it with before wiping down the surface after each fight. Tommy checks it for slippage. Any movement and we don’t play. He nods at me indicating the mat’s secured properly. Our audience checks me out with excited speculation. Rankin’s not here yet but he will be soon. They like us to stand around for a few moments so the final betting and odds can peak.

  I spot Tess opposite me. She’s standing next to Dennis Strobert. That sets off a few warning bells. Dennis is grinning. Tess gives me a nervous wave. I don’t respond. The crowd noise picked up noticeably. Rankin strides across the mat glaring at me. Easily three inches taller than I am, he carries over three hundred pounds like a ballerina. His tank top bulges around hard muscle. R
ankin has his long blond hair tied back in a ponytail. He points a finger and then swipes it across his throat, his facial scars glowing as he grins threateningly at me. The crowd reacts favorably. Tommy snorts and indicates he’s going to work with our markers. Our marker’s good. We don’t carry cash. If we win though all but the big spenders pay off in cash. Tommy handles after fight collections both here and around town. Rankin and I glare at each other while our handlers take care of the bets. Rankin keeps mouthin’ ‘You’re dead’ silently as if that would help get it done.

  The ref the promoters use for most of the big fights walks over to me smiling amiably as he grasps and examines each of my gloved hands. He’s nearly as big as me with a scarred, splotched white face, and crooked bulbous nose. Jack Korlos’s been around the block. He still has a brain despite over a hundred professional fights.

  “Hey John, didn’t you just fight and then kill somebody last night?”

  “Yeah, Jack, that prick Ali wanted to rodeo on the first date and you know me, I’m a strict Catholic.”

  Jack busts up laughing as he finishes going over me for hidden weapons. He knows I don’t have any but it’s part of the ceremony.

  “Hey grandpa! Quit cackling and get your fuckin’ job done!” Rankin orders loud enough for the neighborhood to hear two blocks down the road.

  Jack smiles at me without turning. “I guess I don’t have to tell you but here it is anyway – no groin kicks, eye pokes, or head butts. Stop if I say to. You don’t stop I sap you. I won’t stop anything unless one of you goes limp. Clear?”

  “As a bell, Jack.” Jack’s job is to make sure one of us doesn’t get killed. He hasn’t lost anyone yet but I know he’s sapped a few.

  I watch him nod and walk over to a now nearly apoplectic Rankin. Rankin bridles at Jack’s frisk but endures it with only a few bumps trying to throw the old man off balance. He may as well have tried knocking a cement stanchion off balance. When Jack finishes the frisk he gives Rankin the rule warning. Although Rankin knows the rules he shoots his mouth off anyway.