The Fighter’s Block: Cole, Book Two

by Hadley Quinn

  “You know he’s since shunned Mickey, right?”

  “Yeah, I know,” Van nodded unhappily. “Mickey is a very passionate guy. He and Doug had too many words exchanged during that case. Neither one of them will apologize to the other, so I guess it’s not my problem. But…I’ll talk to Doug.”

  “Good luck,” Cole said as he walked toward the side gate. “Keep me posted.”

  “I’d say the same to you but that’s a waste of breath.”

  Cole only smiled as he walked through the gate for his truck.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  A good workout was definitely needed before Cole could proceed with another aspect of this case. He headed to the Divehouse around six-thirty that evening, having texted Cody to meet him there. Cody was the only guy he could spar with that didn’t get under his skin.

  But Cody couldn’t make it for another hour. Cole took to warming up on a bag for a bit, but it ended up being a full workout and then some. It felt good to get physical, losing his calculated thoughts to whatever disarray they came to him.

  It was refreshing.

  “Hey, how ‘bout we take that to the cage,” a voice interrupted.

  Cole slowed on the bag until he came to a complete stop to look at Gary. He took a few seconds to catch his breath and answered, “Sorry, man, don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, you always say that,” Gary scoffed.

  Cole grabbed a towel to wipe his face. “Yeah, well, it’s for your own good.”

  “My own good?” he laughed bitterly. “You know, sounds to me like you’re just afraid of losing. The more fights you take, the more you’ll lose now and then. Sound about right?”

  Cole stripped off a glove. “Not at all.”

  “No, no, no, don’t take those off. Meet me in the cage.” Gary walked away, fully confident that Cole would take on the challenge.

  He didn’t like that prick, and Cole knew it was a bad idea, but for some reason he couldn’t back down. He wanted to spar with someone; he just needed to keep himself in check so he didn’t completely lose control.

  “Hey Mark,” Cole called to the guy just walking into the gym. “Can you mediate?”

  “Mediate?” Gary laughed as he climbed into the octagon. “Oh come on, man. We don’t need supervision, do we?” He laughed again and waved Mark away.

  Cole pulled his gloves back on and said, “I sure as fuck do.”

  Gary stopped laughing as Cole motioned for Mark to join them. Mark Philips was a quiet guy in the gym, but he was big enough to help out if Cole completely ripped Gary apart. He was hoping it wouldn’t come to that because the Divehouse was supposed to be friendly sparring grounds and he didn’t want to taint that reputation for Mickey.

  “Let’s roll, man,” Gary said, bouncing to warm himself up. “I’ll take it easy on ya since you just did a full workout already.”

  Cole could only smirk. Stupid bastard.

  “You want me to critique your fight against Mendoza?” Gary added smugly. “I watched the footage this morning. I’ll let you know how you can improve.”

  “You’re really barking up the wrong tree, man.” Cole almost couldn’t believe how fucking arrogant this guy was. He generally tried to avoid him at the gym. Gary had his little clique of friends he hung out with, and he tried to kiss the asses of the more popular guys, but tonight he was choosing to be a bit hostile toward Cole.

  “I just wanna spar, man,” Gary held out his hands. “We gonna do this or do you need to change your diaper first?”

  Cole was amused. But he was also glad when Mickey came out of his office after realizing what was going on in his gym. There were some matchups that he never thought twice about—guys naturally paired up with their buddies or others that could help them improve—but there were a few fighters at the Divehouse that Mickey made sure he kept an eye on.

  Cole and Gary were two of them, for completely different reasons.

  Mickey didn’t say a word. He just sat on a stool outside the corner of the cage since Mark was inside with them to officiate. Cole wondered what the old man was thinking right about now. He was probably just as curious as the rest of the guys in the gym, who were now wandering over one-by-one.

  The match started off fairly tame. Gary seemed to be warming himself up for some kind of assault eventually, but Cole just went with the flow. He rarely ever came into a fight with a plan. Expect the unexpected. That way he was always on his toes no matter what. The worst thing he could be was complacent or stuck on a specific tactic.

  Gary threw the first heavy swing. Had it landed on Cole’s face at full capacity it would have been a good one, but Cole moved quickly enough that the few inches took enough weight off the impact. He waited to see if Gary was just testing him out or really wanted to go hard, so when Gary came at him with a series of kicks and punches that Cole blocked, it was obvious the guy wanted a good fight.

  So be it.

  Cole took a deep breath to focus his energy. He didn’t want to seriously hurt this guy, but he needed to send a message. He countered with his own sequence of strikes, debilitating Gary’s rhythm. Cole didn’t give him a chance to regroup, either, and he swung a left right into his face before he took him down with a lateral drop, slamming his opponent to the floor on his back.

  He heard Gary say something sarcastic but Cole disregarded it. He put him in a chokehold and held him firmly until Mark said “restart.” That meant he had to let Gary up so they could “practice” some more. So, Cole obliged and let him go.

  They both got to their feet, Gary looking a bit pissed off for some reason. He had blood coming out his nose and someone offered him a towel, but he turned it down.

  “Your blocks are about a half-second off,” Cole couldn’t help but say. “Fix that and you’ll be ready for me next time.” He was about to take his gloves off to end the spar, but Gary came at him again, angry and totally compulsive—which would always work against him.

  Cole clocked him one good time in the left side of his face, causing Gary to stumble backward a few steps until his knees hit the floor. He could have easily finished him off right there, but Gary was getting to his feet quickly and Cole allowed him to. Whatever the fuck this was about, he had no doubt he’d be the victor in this little “spar.” Gary, however, seemed to be treating it like comparing dicks for some reason and that was a bit ridiculous at this point.

  Cole happened to glance at Mickey to gauge his reaction. He wanted to get some sort of advice from him for how he was allowed to deal with this little shit, but the old man sat motionless. Gary was in his face again by then, trying his luck at a series of kicks to the face. But Cole already knew that was his weakest skill and chose that moment to end this stupid charade. He shot for Gary’s legs for a double leg takedown and put him into another chokehold.

  “Restart,” Mark said after a few seconds.

  Gary was still trying to fight his way out of the hold.

  “You wanna restart?” Cole asked him in his ear.

  “Fuck you,” Gary groaned against the pressure of his forearm.

  “Fuck me? Well that’s not the answer I was hoping for.”

  “Restart,” Mark repeated louder.

  “Do you wanna restart?” Cole asked again.

  Gary shook his head slightly and attempted to free himself again, but Cole had too tight of a hold on him.

  “I either let you go and you walk away from this, or you’re gonna black the fuck out,” Cole told him. “Your choice.”

  “Fuck…you.”

  Gary tried to get out of the hold again but all he got was more force in return…

  And then he passed out.

  Cole released his hold and left him limp in the cage, entirely done with this fucking horse and pony show. He stepped out of the octagon, but Mickey met him before he could grab his stuff and leave the gym.

  “Can we talk a sec?” Mickey asked, and then he headed for his office.

  Not a request but a demand.

&nbs
p; Cole followed him in, chugging a bottle of water as he stepped through the door.

  “Have a seat,” Mickey motioned.

  “I need to stand for a minute.”

  Mickey paused. “Fine. Answer me this. How’d you feel about your match last week with Mendoza?”

  Cole was a bit surprised. He didn’t want to ask about whatever that was with Gary? “Uh, which Mendoza? I seem to recall fighting them both.”

  It was meant as a joke, but Mickey didn’t crack a smile. “The second one. The impromptu performance. How’d you feel about it?”

  Cole studied him for a moment so he could read into the question. “You mean in relation to my past and how I feel about being in a match?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged. “It was fine. No Hulk moments, so to speak. But I had to put a lot of effort into it.” It wasn’t entirely true—he’d punched a damn window to let out his frustrations right after the fight—but Cole didn’t feel like explaining.

  “And what about today?” Mickey asked. “With Gary?”

  Cole shrugged again. “Same, I guess.”

  “And what does that tell you?”

  “That they’re pretty fucking lucky.”

  Mickey barely smiled. “That you can control yourself when you want to. You got it in you, kid. You’ve got the knowledge, the athleticism, the patience… The force if you need it… It’s just like Van.”

  “Hey now, remember what happened the last time you compared someone to Van. I like the guy but I don’t have a crush on him and I don’t wanna be him.”

  “You’re right, dear God don’t run out and frame him for murder.”

  “Ha, I’m kind of in the opposite position again.”

  Mickey leaned against the desk. “So I hear.”

  Cole waited for him to expound or ask something further. When he didn’t, he took the opportunity to ask his own questions.

  “Can I ask you something?” Cole finally took a seat, and Mickey took the chair across from him.

  “Sure.”

  Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Cole said, “Can you tell me about my father? And…anything about me when I first joined this gym?”

  Well, the question had finally been asked. Now to see where it led…

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Mickey didn’t act surprised, but he very slowly nodded his head in thought.

  “I was working with some young guys on the bags…in walks your dad with you. He asked to speak with the owner, so we went into my office. He said you’d been wrestling for about four years, started boxing but he didn’t like the facility he had you at. He wanted to know what I offered here. So I told him. He was interested in getting you started right away. You, on the other hand, seemed a bit timid. Not sure if it was because of the new situation or something else, but it took you a few days to adjust. You soaked it all up though; everything I taught you. I’ve never seen someone learn so fast. You were a natural. All the teenagers here, even some of the older guys, wanted to spar with you so they could get better. You didn’t quite have your strength and size yet, but you were technically solid and just a quick little shit.

  “One day you didn’t show up. You’d never missed a session, so it surprised me. Then you missed another. I called the contact number on your registration but the phone wasn’t in service anymore. A week later I checked your address. I stopped by your house and the neighbor said you guys had moved. I was…shocked, I guess. And disappointed. So very disappointed. You had so much potential and I felt like I lost a very huge part of my future—of what I live for. And to correct you on something… Van showed up in my facility a few years after you did. It was you I kept comparing him to.”

  Cole considered that for a second. It was so ironic.

  “I kind of felt like he was my second chance,” Mickey continued. “Yeah, I favored him. I’ll admit it. I felt bad for his situation and I truly wanted him to succeed, but he did have something special I never wanted to lose again. I never stopped thinking about you, Cole. I never stopped wondering how you were doing or if you were okay. When you walked through those doors a year-and-a-half ago… I knew it was you right away. You were all filled out and looked like a man, of course. But I knew. And you really haven’t changed too much. You’re still reserved, think before you speak, and you really do have control of your emotions. You’re a presence anywhere you are. It’s a feeling that surges from ya; you have a special soul. I don’t care if that sounds fucking stupid. It’s the truth.”

  Cole leaned forward onto his knees and thought for a bit. He appreciated the assessment of his character, but it didn’t answer much. “What about my father?” he asked. “Do you know anything about him?”

  Mickey slowly shook his head. “To be honest, I only talked to him a couple times. He was very set on getting you the best training possible and I promised I would make it happen. He paid for me to work with you one-on-one three times a week; was very set on you becoming the best you could be. Mm, I worried he might have been a bit hard on you, but at the rate you were learning, I figured he knew your potential like I quickly figured out.

  “Your mother… She always brought you here and always picked you up. She never came in, though. I didn’t think much of it. Not many mommies hang out in here. But no, unfortunately, I don’t know anything about your parents. We stuck to training, nothing personal. I do remember asking you about them, or other little things now and then. It helps me with training you guys. I gathered that your dad worked a lot and he was pretty hard on you, wanted you to succeed in sports. I kept an eye on it, but it seemed pretty normal to me.”

  Cole nodded.

  “However,” Mickey added. “You once said that your mother was kind of shy. I asked if she could stop in so we could have a visit but you said she didn’t like talking much, that she was pretty quiet.”

  Cole barely nodded again as he took in the information. He really didn’t remember his mother ever being vocal. Maybe that’s why he didn’t know much about her. Maybe she just wasn’t an audible presence in his life.

  His mind drifted to the move. He’d come home from the gym and his father told them to get back in the car. All he remembered from that night was his father’s voice, nothing from his mother. She’d been completely silent. They got in the car and drove. The only thing Cole could recall was that he had to take a piss so fucking bad… How long did his dad drive before they made a stop?

  “Son?” Mickey’s voice brought him back.

  Cole looked at him.

  “What’s with the questions, kid? What’s going on?”

  There was really no point getting into all of it. He’d always kept it to himself; there weren’t any questions he could answer. Again, he hated discussing things with people when he had absolutely no clue where to start.

  So he chose to be vague.

  “I don’t remember much about my past,” Cole said. “It’s just…a blur. I don’t really remember anything before first joining your gym. And my parents… I just don’t know much about them, that’s all. I was curious to know if you did.”

  Mickey sighed. “I’m sorry, kid. But you have the means to figure it out, don’t you? Maybe you need to put aside some of these other cases and spend time on your own?”

  Cole didn’t bother to mention that he’d already done that way too much, but he only nodded his agreement. And it wasn’t about the facts—he could research those any given day—but it was about his lack of memory and the things he couldn’t seem to pin down. Why did he have random flashbacks like he did? Why couldn’t he remember a solid detail about his younger years?

  “And what about your training over in California?” Mickey asked, reverting the topic. “You said you strayed from what I taught you. What does that mean? The anger, the emotional fighting… We can fix that, you know.”

  “It’s gonna take a lot of work, I guarantee it.”

  “You gotta start somewhere. I’m willing to do that with you.”

  Cole d
idn’t doubt that, but he knew he needed to be honest about one thing before he agreed. “You remember telling me to only use my skills for the right things?” he asked. “There was something in particular you always warned us against.”

  Mickey sighed knowingly. “Illegal underground,” he simply stated.

  “Yeah.”

  “So when you said you kept up with MMA over there, that’s what you meant.”

  “It gave me something to focus on after my parents died. But I kind of let it suck me in a little too much. I let it control me. I needed to fight people. I needed to unleash my anger, my frustrations… I hurt a lot of people, Mickey. I’m not proud of it, but back then it was a means of survival for me. I didn’t know what else to turn to.

  “Eventually I decided I needed to get a grip on my life. I was eighteen, barely doing anything of use. Had some guys I’d made friends with—Hollywood rich kids—and we hung out a lot. Kind of got caught up in one of their stories, I guess. He didn’t quite know his past because his dad was a fucking douche and kept him in the dark. I guess I could relate. Sort of helped him figure it out and…it just intrigued me after that. Figuring shit out, you know? I barely knew a damn thing about my past and decided I needed to use some of my talents for maybe finding the truth about my own life.

  “So…I continued with MMA but only for training purposes. One of the guys at the gym hired me to give him proof that his wife was cheating on him. I thought, what the hell? Why not? It’s money and I was sure I could do it. I suppose it all led to me becoming an investigator at that point. Eventually I took to the gun range, expanded my skills in other areas like technology, surveillance, and general sleuthing stuff. I got good at it. Good enough I could turn it into a profession when I got licensed.

  “A couple years ago I decided to come back to Jersey. I think I blocked out a lot from my past, but there were images that started surfacing… I didn’t know if they were memories or what, but I still don’t know what they mean. I felt like I needed to return here and see where it led. I was here for about a month, met Jack and did some work for him; he pretty much offered me a full time gig. Decided I could do that while I dug up more on my family. It was basically a dead end, though. And then…I stopped by here.”