by Myles Knapp
The prisoners guessed the guy had a congenital defect or small tear of some kind. Sort of a ‘when it’s your time, it’s your time’ thing.
It was nothing to Morano, just meant there was another guy on the wing he didn’t have to worry about. And it meant he never lifted heavy without a spotter again. Morano being Morano, he saw no point in doing anything but heavy lifting.
Fitness loaded the bar up with two forty-five pound plates on each side. With the bar, but without the safety collars which Morano never used, it weighed about 225 pounds—his beginning weight.
Morano eased himself back on the bench, and slid under the bar with the weight belt loosely buckled around his waist. He wouldn’t need its support until he was up around 350. Pushing the bar off the stand, checking to see that Fitness was paying attention, Morano did a quick twenty reps to warm up. Then, he slid out from under the bar, waved at Fitness, and sipped ice water from a bottle sitting on the floor next to the bench. He’d barely broken a sweat.
Fitness added a forty-five pound plate to each end of the bar, moving things up to just over 300 pounds. For the next half hour Morano moved up in slow sets of six to ten repetitions, gradually adding weight to the bar and reducing the number of reps, alternately quenching his thirst with ice water or a protein drink.
By the end of his routine he had five big plates and a couple of small ones on each end. Everything around him was drenched in sweat, even though between sets Fitness’s job—in addition to making sure that the ice water and protein drink containers were never empty—was to wipe the sweat off everything, especially the bar and the bench. Morano didn’t want to die because a bar slipped.
Chalking up his hands, Morano snugged up his weight belt and did a couple of reps with more than a quarter of a ton, mostly to prove to himself he still could, then moved on to military presses and triceps.
Morano worked out using the three day rotation system. He knew lots of people had moved onto the five day, but he figured he’d gotten the best strength training advice in the world from the serious prison lifters. A lot of cutting edge strength training techniques came out of prison. Too many guys with time on their hands and a need to protect themselves. There was plenty of basic iron, and no short cuts. Unlike professional athletes, most prisoners couldn’t count on healthy food, nutritional supplements and steroids to grow their muscles. Although, Morano had paid off more than one guard to make sure he had a constant supply of his favorite ‘roids at all times.
Today was day one. Pushes; mostly presses and triceps. Tomorrow was pulls; mostly rows, curls and back exercises. The third workday was legs; mostly squats and lunges. Then he’d start all over again.
CHAPTER 36
From the big green recliner, sore leg elevated on an ice bag, Pay eyed Chase’s clothes. Black and gray cashmere pullover, bespoke overcoat, charcoal designer jeans, and leather soled Italian loafers that reflected the streetlight streaming in the second floor window.
“Little fancy for a night out with Sam?” Pay took a gulp from his drink. “Too bad I won’t be able to do Sam duty for a while. Could be another month or two. Maybe three.” Pay patted his bad leg and smiled like a little kid who’d just discovered a dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies in his lunch box.
Chase groaned. “You’ve been milking the hell out of that thing. Two days after I fucked up my leg worse than that they shot me up with cortisone and shoved me into a Lakers’ game against Kobe. Went 15 for 20.”
“Could be I want to act like the boss and let you do the scut work for a change.”
“Forgot to tell you, Sam called and said he was going to go walkabout on his own for a while.”
“What did his wife say? She’s the one hired us.”
“She said, and I quote: ‘There’s no talking to the old goat when he gets like this’—anyway, he’s got his own gun now.”
“He had a lesson at the range. Matt said he is fully qualified and ready to go.” Pay pushed himself up in the chair, and groaned. “With his military background it only took him an hour or so to get comfortable again.”
“It’s not like he’s had any trouble since we started watching him. The guns should be enough.”
“Matt says he bought a folding Buck tactical knife for backup. I think maybe he’s getting his manhood back.”
“From the look in his eye, I think he’s hoping the guys who took him will try again.”
“I ever tell you my favorite fighting ‘old man’ story?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Couple of slimeballs case a bar in New York City. Notice an old man—gotta be pushing 90—who closes up the place about 3 or 4 almost every morning. Guy’s always carrying at least one, sometimes two or three, of those gray cash bags retailers use to make after-hour deposits. Every night he walks, alone, three blocks to the bank’s night drop.”
“So the dudes wait until one night when he’s got some really full bags and jump him. Right?”
“Yep. Pulled a couple of pistols, rolled stockings over their faces—the whole deal. Poked the old man in the back with the guns. Next thing they know, both of ‘em were in intensive care beat all to hell. Black eyes, concussions, broken ribs, broken noses, one broken jaw and about a dozen missing teeth.”
“Sounds like they picked the wrong old man.”
“Fools jumped Jack Dempsey, one of the greatest heavyweight boxers in history.”
Chase grinned. “Karma can be a bitch, can’t it?”
“Dempsey said it was the most fun he’d had in a long time. Here’s to anyone who jumps Sam having an even worse experience.” Pay took another slug from his drink and settled back into the big green chair. “Anything on that stuff we got from Mary Ellen’s and Richard’s?”
“We’ve only had them a few hours. Jon D hasn’t found anything yet on the hard drive. So far the thumb drives are just Mary Ellen dancing. But there are hundreds of hours of video. Amy’s working on them, but it’s going to take a while.”
“So, nothing for now.”
“Just one thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Last thing Sam said to me before he went off on his own was he didn’t want a bodyguard who had to be rescued by his pet dog.”
CHAPTER 37
Wednesday morning, Pay called Richard. “Listen, here’s the deal. The most important client qualification is trainability. If you can’t follow instructions, get to places on time with the cash, the gun, the ammo…then nothing else matters.”
“OK.”
“There’s one other thing: our clients have to have been seriously, viciously wronged. If they haven’t, I don’t need ‘em or want ‘em. We won’t help some guy whose neighbor made a pass at his wife. If you can’t take care of that on your own, you don’t need me. You need a sex change.”
Pay thought Richard had proved he was trainable. So far he’d followed instructions. On the range he was even hitting center mass on the target some of the time.
“I think I’ve done well.”
“You have. Now here’s the rest. My team and I will teach you to protect yourself. To defend your friends. We will show you how to hurt your enemies physically, morally, emotionally and financially. If we don’t succeed, we may die. This is not a charity. We don’t work for free. Your first payment to us is $10k. After that, the fees vary depending on the costs we incur.”
“That’s ten thousand dollars,” Richard gasped.
“I’m not finished. If we are successful, every dime will be returned to you. I will pay you back from the funds we take from your enemies, assuming they have anything of value. In this case, if we aren’t successful, the finances won’t matter because you and I’ll probably be dead.”
“Dead?” Pay could hear the quiver in Richard’s voice.
“We know enough from the police reports and your apartment to be sure that whoever beat Mary Ell
en was extremely violent.”
“Ten grand is a lot of money.”
“Proves to both of us you are seriously committed. Gives you extra motivation. The balance of the money we take from your enemies will be divided in two. My team keeps half; the remaining funds go to charity. Usually it goes to an organization that benefits victims of violent crimes. But sometimes, we give it to other worthy organizations. You get a say in that decision.”
“So it cost me nothing?”
“Get the money together. This afternoon I’ll have an associate meet you to pick it up. If you do it right, revenge won’t cost you a dime. It won’t make you a dime. It will make you a man.” And he hung up.
Richard tried to figure out what to do. He wanted Pay’s help. He needed his help. But $10,000? That was almost all the money he had.
CHAPTER 38
“Richard?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Brooke, I work with Pay. Meet me at Crogan’s in Oakland today at 3 PM. Bring the retainer and we can discuss the next steps.”
Located in Oakland’s upscale Montclair District, Crogan’s was the kind of place where professional men drank, and where women came to meet them. Strong drinks, good basic food: Burgers. Omelets. Steak Sandwiches.
At three, the bar area was empty and quiet. It was too late for lunch and too early for the after work crowd. Richard was sitting on a stool at the bar sipping Chardonnay when a stunning redhead slid onto the stool beside him and smiled at the bartender. “Joe, I’ll have what he’s having.”
Joe set a Cake Bread Cellers Chardonnay on a white napkin in front of her, and then moved to the far end of the bar.
“Richard, I’m Brooke.” She extended her hand. “Do you have something for me?”
Richard pulled a slim white envelope from his backpack and handed it to her.
Brooke glanced inside and her gaze hardened. “You’ll need to take that back. No checks.”
“I was worried you wouldn’t. But I’m afraid to walk around with ten thousand in cash.”
Brooke’s eyes softened with understanding. “After we’re done I’ll go with you to the bank.”
“OK.”
“Why don’t you just let the cops handle this?”
“I’ve called them every day. All they ever say is stay out of it. ‘This is police business.’”
“Is that the only reason you want help?”
“I’m afraid the guy who hurt us might come back and I won’t know what to do.”
“I’m betting there’s more.”
Richard closed his eyes, sighed, and ran his hands up his face, over his closed eyes. Elbows on the bar, face in his hands, he mumbled, “I’m not really sure. If this had ever happened to me before, I think I would have just let the police handle it.” He raised his head and turned to Brooke, lips tight and eyes narrowed. “Now I feel like I need to do something myself.”
Brooke nodded. “Let me tell you what happens next, Richard. If you were enrolling in a recreational martial arts class taught by a nice man with a black belt and a clean white uniform, this next phase would be called something politically correct like ‘Self-Defense Training.’”
“That sounds good.”
“But that’s not what you are going to get. By now, I’m sure you’ve figured out we do things differently.”
“That’s very clear to me.”
“We don’t believe in self-defense. We believe in violent self-justice.”
“What if I can’t do it by myself?
“Tomorrow you start your Revenge School training. The school is run by the Revenge Team. When clients need help, the team does whatever is necessary to help them succeed.”
“Will I get hurt?”
“Yes.”
“How badly?”
“Bruises, stitches, and broken bones mostly. I lost three teeth.”
“You?”
“I was one of Pay’s early clients. Before they got things smoothed out.”
“Was it worth it?
“I’m not afraid anymore.”
Brooke handed Richard an envelope filled with papers. “This is for you to read tonight.”
“What should I do to get ready?”
“Please come to your first class wearing typical street clothes. I strongly recommend you take a couple of aspirin before you arrive, and bring more with you. Do you have any questions?”
“I understand how the money works. And that I could get hurt. Which scares the crap out of me. Other than that, I’m not sure what to ask.”
“We believe there are two kinds of bad guys. Most bad guys simply find it easier to be a bad guy than it is to be a good guy.”
“Most?”
“The other bad guys are just plain evil.”
“What do you do about them?”
“The prescription for both types is the same: Instant, painful justice. Something you can’t get from the police.”
“Why not? Isn’t justice their job?”
“Yes, but there are too many bad guys and too few cops. Plus, the police are restricted by rules that both protect us and hurt us at the same time. Rules we don’t adhere to.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Say someone mugs you—steals your wallet, roughs you up a bit… You could probably pick him out in a line-up. But you don’t know anything about him. The police will take a report but they don’t have the resources to chase all over town trying to track down an unidentified minor-league mugger.”
“What about DNA and all that stuff?”
“CSI’s take lots of time and big money. Time and money that has to be carefully budgeted. Violent crimes against rich or important people are the ones that get the most attention. The cops will work hard on Mary Ellen’s case because it is a serious one, but they’ve got lots of cases. And they don’t care as much as you do.”
“So what do you guys do?”
“We teach people like you how to get even. Let’s go back to our mugger example. With what you know right now the smart move would be to give up your wallet, take your lumps, and then call the cops.”
“Hey! That’s exactly what I did when a guy stole my backpack last year.”
“What happened? Did they catch the guy?”
“No.”
“That happens a lot.”
“I saw the jerk in my neighborhood last week at Starbucks. I recognized him but he didn’t seem to recognize me.”
“That’s because you aren’t a threat to him.”
“It really makes me mad that I can’t do anything about it. He stole my Rolex and my Mac.”
“You could call the cops, but unless you know where he lives or works, they can’t do much.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Maybe we can work things out so you have a chance to get even.”
“Really?”
“What you did was the smart move, back then. Once you’ve been in our program for a little while, you will have other options. Our clients wouldn’t just call the cops and hope for justice. Last year you were a walking victim.”
“And I’m tired of it.”
“You were probably nicely dressed and not paying any attention to your surroundings. I’ve seen enough of you to know you’re a gadget freak, so you were probably wearing those really expensive noise canceling headphones. Thief smiled and made you take ‘em off, didn’t he?”
“He grinned at me like I was nothing, and said, ‘Give me the headphones, the backpack, and your Rolex, little man.’ Boy, I really wanted to cream him. But I knew he’d beat me to a pulp if I tried.”
“Were you carrying pepper spray or a knife?”
“Not where I could get to them.”
“You were the perfect victim, then. Ten seconds work on you, five minutes with a fence
, and your stuff becomes instant cash.”
“He’s still wearing my Rolex. I’d like to get it back. What could I do to get it back?”
“Nothing right now. But a few days with us and you’ll never be that victim again. Even an eighty-year-old grandma who’s completed our physical aggression course could do more than you did. First, she would mace the baddie with a good dose of Alaska Grizzly Bear Strength pepper spray. After he was blind and on the ground, at minimum, she’d have kicked him in the throat or the balls.”
“At minimum?!”
“Fighting back tends to make you pissed off. Your hormones make you do surprising things. She might have cut him up a little bit to make sure he got the message and was easy to identify. From the cops point of view it would be justifiable self-defense. From our point of view it would be Karmic Justice. Grandma might call the cops; they could take it from there pretty easily. Assuming, of course, that she didn’t finish things off herself.”
“Finish things herself? That sounds awfully harsh.”
“Guy stole from her, and he might have done worse. What would you do?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You don’t have to be. You just have to know that when we’re done with you, you will have a number of new, aggressive options available.”
“So about the guy who stole my backpack…?”
“I’ll talk to Pay and see if we can make him part of your lesson plan.”
CHAPTER 39
“Located Rock Duncan. Can’t believe they let him out.”
From the background noise, Pay guessed Chase was calling from his Ducati. “Nobody pressed any charges. Couldn’t keep him.”
“Duncan stops by Enrico’s Café in North Beach before he goes to work. Gets there about 6:30, has a couple of Johnny Walker Blacks with dinner, then walks over to Centerfolds. Even if things are busy he has plenty of time to make his 8 PM shift.”
“So he’ll have time to talk to us?” asked Pay.