37

by David Achord

  “Shit fire, I wonder if I can still put in a bet,” Bull said and looked over at the dry erase board. There was a solitary figure standing there, the Slavic-looking man I saw selling drugs earlier.

  “Who are you betting on?” I asked. He looked at me like I was on drugs.

  “The big steroid head. He’s going to wipe the floor with that fat ass. Why would you even ask?”

  I shrugged. “If you ask me, this looks like a set-up. That old fat ass might have a little something-something going on, just saying.”

  Bull made some derisive remark before handing the bottle of Jim Beam to his friend and walking over to the makeshift betting booth. I caught Flaky staring at me.

  “Do you really think that old fat ass is going to win?” he asked.

  “He might be nothing more than cannon fodder, but my gut tells me something different,” I said.

  Flaky’s only response was by taking a sip out of the bottle.

  The fight started explosively with Mister Chocolate Thunder charging the old man and trying to land a haymaker right. The old man casually ducked, sidestepped, and landed a brutally hard right-left combination to the jaw. Before Thunder could retaliate, the old fat man deftly stepped back, creating a space where Thunder could not utilize his superior reach.

  For the next minute, the two men sparred. Thunder was far superior in this respect; he was quicker and had a longer reach. The old man took several hard punches and his left eye started swelling shut.

  It was looking bad for him and even though I had respect for him, I now believed it was only a matter of time now before he got knocked out or Thunder got one of those massive arms around his throat and choked him out.

  Thunder landed with a massive right and the old man staggered backward. But then he did something amazing. When big bad Chocolate Thunder stepped in to finish the job, the old fat man grabbed Thunder by the right wrist and then executed a flawless flying armbar.

  Mister Chocolate Thunder tried desperately to remain on his feet but could not. He fell to the mat and struggled to escape, but to no avail. He tapped within three seconds.

  “Shit!” Bull shouted.

  “How much did you lose?” I asked.

  “A hundred.”

  I swapped a glance with Flaky who looked at me with knowing admiration.

  The next fight was the one I was waiting for. It was the main event featuring the Wolf and some nobody. The nobody was introduced first. He was another African-American man and the local crowd favorite. He strutted out with his entourage, and I had to admit he appeared to be exceptionally fit. He was close to my height, and I guessed he weighed around a hundred and eighty pounds.

  When Candy introduced Wolf, the crowd erupted in a cacophony of loud boos and jeering. As I watched, a group of four people emerged from the same door Chocolate Thunder had walked out of fifteen minutes earlier. Three were old men. Each was playing musical instruments; a tambourine, a weird-looking guitar, and an accordion. The fourth person in the entourage was a scantily clad woman dancing provocatively to the music. I recognized her immediately.

  Lilith.

  Chapter 20

  Yeah, I stunned for a moment. She looked the same. Pale, raven-haired, a lean, taut figure, and let’s not forget the elaborate tattoo covering her back. I’d not seen her since last fall. She’d looked like she’d lost a little weight, if that were possible, but otherwise, she was unchanged.

  “Holy shit, is that who I think it is?” Bull asked.

  Flaky glanced over at me, but I didn’t answer. She led them to the mat as she danced to the lilting music, and I must admit, her moves were mesmerizing. I actually felt my pulse quickening and a stirring down below.

  Wolf walked through the door a moment later. He was dressed in nothing more than black kick-boxing pants. He walked with seeming casual ease, like he hadn’t a care in the world. He had the same swarthy appearance as Lilith, but with darker eyes the color of obsidian and devoid of emotion. As he got closer, I noticed something else. His torso had a thick sheen to it. Not like sweat, but more than likely Vaseline. It was an old trick to keep a skilled grappler from getting a tight hold on you. So, the man didn’t like to grapple. Interesting.

  “They look like gypsies,” Flaky said.

  I didn’t comment, but Flaky was right. Especially the old men, they looked like they came straight out of the nineteenth century. I tore my eyes off of Lilith and focused intensely on the two old men. I wanted to be able to recognize either of them if I saw them on the street sometime in the future.

  The oldest one was playing a short, fat-looking guitar that I think was called a lute. He was as tall as me and had deeply etched lines on his face, making him look like a block of weathered driftwood. His long hair was the color of fireplace ashes with the exception of a nasty-looking yellow streak starting to the right of his widow’s peak and going all of the way back to where it disappeared somewhere in his ponytail.

  The second one was playing an accordion. He was younger, my age, and a few inches shorter. He was built like an old beer keg, no neck, with wide hips and bulbous buttocks. Maybe he was fat, maybe he was once a power-lifter or wrestler. His jet-black hair was also tied back in a ponytail and he had a full, untrimmed beard of Gandalf proportions. It covered his entire mouth and extended several inches downward. If I looked closely, I bet I could see a remnant or two of past meals buried in those whiskers.

  The Tambourine Man was a little guy and his face was pitted with scars, like he’d had chicken pox when he was a child. His nose and ears had multiple piercings.

  So, Tambourine, Guitar, and Accordion. I gave them a final once over and focused back on Lilith. She either did not notice us, or worse, she pointedly ignored us. She gave Wolf a kiss on the cheek before he turned and faced his opponent. The stare down by the two fighters was menacing but uneventful. Gloves were touched and the fight started.

  There were a couple of tentative punches and then Wolf launched a lightning-quick spinning back kick. It landed squarely on his opponent’s chin and it was lights out. Before the ref could step in, Wolf quickly stepped forward, lifted a leg high in the air, and dropped an axe kick on his unconscious opponent’s face, crushing his nose. Even from where I was standing, I could see blood squirt out. It was unnecessary and there were a few in the crowd who booed him, but the majority of the crowd erupted in bloodthirsty cheers.

  “He’s wicked good.”

  I turned to the voice. Candy-Man, AKA Raymondo Calendar, was standing beside me.

  “Yes, he is,” I said in agreement.

  “Why are you here, Ironcutter?” he asked.

  I gestured toward Wolf, who was disappearing through the doorway he’d come out of less than two minutes before.

  “I want to talk to them about my murder victim,” I said.

  He frowned. “I thought you were done with all of that.”

  “I would be, if someone in the law enforcement community gave a damn about it,” I said.

  He frowned and scanned the crowd. “I shouldn’t even be seen talking with you,” he said. “There’s some shit going on that you wouldn’t believe, even if I were allowed to tell you.”

  “How’d you get involved in this? Are you working off a charge?” I asked.

  He gave a pained smile. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Are you going to tell Stainback I was here?”

  “All I’m going to say is, if you’re going to mess with Wolf, be careful he don’t bite you.” He glanced around. “He generally doesn’t hang around after he’s fought. He and his crew are in a brand-new RV parked out back. They’ll be gone as soon as I pay him.”

  He turned and made his way toward the door where Wolf and his entourage went through. I assume he was going to pay Wolf, who in turn was going to leave soon after. I turned to my buds.

  “Let’s go wait on them outside,” I said.

  Bull looked at me like he didn’t want to leave, but Flaky made a head nod, agreeing with me.
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  The RV was parked in back by the loading docks, exactly like Candy said they’d be. It was a newer model Coachman, one of the higher-end ones. I glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then I hurriedly snapped a few photos of the tag and VIN. I also pointed my phone through the front window and took several photos in case there was something inside of interest.

  The five of them walked out a couple of minutes later. Wolf and Lilith both had changed into jeans and T-shirts. When they saw us, they all stopped in their tracks. I gave a friendly wave. Lilith leaned close to Wolf and whispered something. He looked at her sharply for a moment and then walked toward us. The rest of the entourage followed.

  “Hello, Wolf. I watched your fight earlier. You have some amazing skills,” I said.

  He acknowledged my compliment with a small nod.

  “What do you want?” one of the older men asked in heavily accented English.

  “Oh, forgive my manners. My name is Thomas Ironcutter and these are my two friends, Bull and Flaky.”

  I waited to see if Lilith would say something, acknowledging she knew us, anything, but she simply stared.

  “What kind of business are you in, Thomas Ironcutter?” Wolf asked. He had a distinct eastern European accent.

  “I’m a private investigator,” I said.

  “A private investigator,” he said. “You investigate people. You pry into their secrets.”

  “Tonight, I’m here to ask you about a young man you encountered back a few months ago,” I said. “His name was Jason Belew. He attended the fights in Manchester back in February. I was hoping to talk to you about him.”

  Instead of responding, he stared at me, and even though the only lighting was from the cracks around the dock doors, those armor-piercing black eyes of his shone brightly.

  “A couple of his friends said he spoke to you after your fight. I have a picture of him; maybe it’ll jog your memory.”

  His only response was to continue to stare, so I fished my phone back out of my pocket and scrolled through the photos until I found one of Jason. I turned it toward him and waited. He was still staring at me, ignoring my phone.

  “What do you do when you learn the secrets of others, Thomas Ironcutter?” he asked.

  I shrugged noncommittally and glanced at Lilith. She was staring back intently, but broke eye contact immediately when I looked over.

  Wolf gave what I assume was a smile, but it was more like he stretched his lips into a tight line. He took turns staring at each of us, slowly appraising me before doing the same to Bull and Flaky.

  He reminded me of a time back when I was in high school. A friend had a pet, Wolf. There were four or five of us hanging out in his den one afternoon when he brought the boa out. We watched in fascination as he held a mouse by the tail and Wolf went into action. The mouse tried to run for it but could not go anywhere. Billy’s Wolf slithered closer and then struck. However, once he’d squeezed the mouse to death, he stared at each of us with its reptilian eyes.

  Billy explained Wolf was vulnerable when it was feeding and it was its way of making a threat assessment before deciding whether or not it should swallow the mouse. Sure enough, that Wolf’s reptilian brain determined there were too many strangers in the room, and slithered off, leaving the dead mouse lying there, uneaten.

  Wolf apparently made the same threat assessment with us and did not like what he saw. He turned to Lilith and the rest of his entourage.

  “Vom merge!” he barked.

  I had no idea what he actually said, but the meaning was clear. The men then walked past me and got into the RV. Lilith lingered for a moment and stared. I thought she was going to say something, but then she followed the men into the RV and closed the door behind her. A moment later, the engine started, the headlights came on, and they drove out of the parking lot.

  “I’d wondered what had happened to her,” Bull said. “And here she is. The bitch acted like she didn’t even know us.”

  It was true. I don’t know why, but she acted as if we were strangers. A few possibilities ran through my mind, but I suspected she did not want the men to know she knew us.

  Bull scoffed and spit. “Well, they were decent enough fights, I guess. Are we going to stay for the party?”

  “Like you said, we’re the only white people here,” I said. “Why would you want to stay?”

  Bull shrugged. “I haven’t gotten my black wings yet. I figure one of those sisters might be willing.”

  Flaky burst out in laughter. Eventually, the two men agreed it was time to go home and we were soon on the road. I offered to buy them a twelve-pack but they insisted instead on a bottle of Jim Beam. I found a liquor store on the way back to I-40 and the two men accepted the bottle with eager grins. After they took substantial swallows, Flaky offered the bottle to me.

  “I better not, I’m driving.”

  They talked about the fights and the women as I drove, and they even bandied the idea of their biker club organizing something similar. I threw in an occasional “yeah,” or “uh-huh,” but my mind was elsewhere.

  Their conversation became background noise and my thoughts drifted to Wolf, but I had to admit I was thinking more about Lilith. It didn’t take a detective to deduce she and Wolf had some type of connection. Were they lovers or were they merely related? I had no idea which. For that matter, they could have been both.

  Aside from discovering Lilith, I learned absolutely nothing from this endeavor. It was a waste of time and gas, and I was damned if I knew how to proceed with the investigation. My gut told me Wolf was involved in Jason’s murder, but I had no proof. For that matter, I could not even offer a motive. Was it because Jason had made a pass at him and it triggered him somehow? Had Jason seen something? Again, I had no clue.

  I was about to ask for a taste, but my thoughts were interrupted by a vehicle approaching from behind at a high rate of speed and got right behind me. Within a second, my mirror lit up with flashing blue lights complimented with the blip of a siren.

  Chapter 21

  “Heads up, guys,” I said in warning. The two men twisted their necks in unison and stared behind us.

  “What the hell?” Bull asked.

  “Toss that bottle,” I directed.

  He didn’t need to be told twice. He lowered his window and flung the bottle as far as he could. If the officer had sharp vision, it’s possible he saw the bottle being tossed, but I had a feeling an open container violation had nothing to do with the reason there was a cop car behind us with his lights flashing.

  “What’s going on, man?” Bull asked.

  “Good question, just be cool,” I answered.

  I had slowed and moved to the right shoulder of the interstate, but I didn’t stop yet, trying to get as much distance from the whiskey bottle as I could. A couple of blips of the siren told me the officer was growing impatient. Thankfully, our handguns were still locked in my console safe. I stopped and put my vehicle in park, my thoughts similar to Bull’s; why were we being stopped?

  It was not a simple traffic stop. As soon as I stopped, we were joined by two additional police cars. Orders were barked out over the loudspeaker telling us to exit the vehicle one at a time and to lie face down on the asphalt, or else. It was a textbook felony takedown. Six Memphis police officers cuffed us, searched us, and then unceremoniously stuffed us in the back of the patrol cars. The one in charge of me was a no-nonsense-looking guy about my age.

  “What’s the charge, officer?” I asked.

  “Not for me to say,” he replied before shutting the car door.

  The backseats of modern-day patrol cars are simply not large enough for a six-foot, three-inch man. Especially a handcuffed man. My back and knees were already stiffening up. I could only imagine how Bull was faring.

  While I was pondering why exactly I was sitting here in handcuffs, it all became crystal clear. Two people, a man and a woman, emerged from back behind the patrol cars. Both were wearing identical dark blue windbreaker
s. I didn’t see the backs of the jackets, but I didn’t need to. I had no doubt there were three large letters embossed on the back. Probably in gold letters, because gold letters always made people feel special. The back door opened and Special Agent Juanita Stainback stuck her face in.

  “You were told to cease and desist,” she said. “This is your own doing.”

  Her face was fixed in a smug smirk. It was not an attractive look.

  “What are we being charged with?” I asked.

  “You will be charged with obstructing an FBI investigation. We’re undecided what to do with your two white trash friends, but I’m sure we’ll think of something. One of the officers said something was tossed when they turned their blues on. Is there anything you want to tell me?”

  “It may not be what you want to hear,” I replied.

  “Try me.”

  “Alright, it goes like this. You are conducting an illegal arrest. If you don’t want to face civil and possibly even criminal repercussions, you should, hmm, what’s the phrase I’m looking for?” I feigned confusion for a moment. “Ah yes. You should cease and desist.”

  The smirk turned to a withering stare before she straightened and slammed the car door. I figured any chance I had of sweet talking myself out of this situation wasn’t going to happen, so I accepted my predicament in stride and tried in vain to wiggle myself into a comfortable position.

  We left the scene minutes after I witnessed my brand-new and freshly waxed Ford Explorer being towed away. The officer returned to his car and a caravan formed. We exited I-40 and soon drove into the parking lot of the FBI headquarters located on North Humphreys Boulevard. The building looked surprisingly similar to the Nashville office, lots of glass accentuated with red brick trim.

  Flaky and I were escorted by one officer each. The rest of them had Bull surrounded and a couple of them even had their hands on their tasers. If I had to guess, Bull probably made a few threats of what he’d do if he got hold of any of them. They dumped us into individual interview rooms. The older officer who was in charge of me silently pointed at a chair.