HARD CASE (A John Harding Novel - Special Ops, Cage Fighter, CIA Agent) (11 page)

“Now you’re gettin’ nasty.”

Dennis laughed and walked toward his car. “Stay out of trouble, John. Hell of a fight, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend.” My rejoinder gets no reaction. Dennis drives past me with a big wave. After I’m seated in Tess’s BMW with my bag between my feet she takes off immediately. Her hands twist on the steering wheel as if she’s channeling the temptation to start yelling at me through the grip she has.

“You know where The Warehouse Bar is, don’t you, Tess?”

“I know it.”

“Just slow down as you drive past and I’ll roll out.”

Her lips quiver, fighting off the smile trying to widen them. “You were going to kill that guy right on the gurney. I saw it in your face.”

“Do I smell too bad for the Warehouse? I toweled off pretty well.”

“You smell like peroxide. Don’t change the subject.”

I hesitate for a moment. She’ll have to be aware. “Rankin’s connected, Tess. You can bet the Russian mob lost a bundle on their boy tonight. Sometimes they don’t let bygones be bygones. What’d you think Rankin would have done if he won, hold my hand?”

“Jesus… you’re such an idiot. As if risking life and limb weren’t bad enough, you battle a Russian mob thug. Why not just slit your own throat and save some time?”

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

Tess takes a deep breath. She smiles over at me crookedly. “I felt sorry for Rankin when you drop kicked him in the ribcage.”

“Oh barf…”

Tess giggled. We rode the rest of the way in silence – a comfortable silence. At the Warehouse, Tess parked and we walked through the side entrance into the ramshackle historic building. The place is decorated top to bottom with cop and military memorabilia. There’re always cops there so cars and people get left alone. I guide Tess over to the bar end next to the exit rather than a table. It’s late and I know last call’s in half an hour. The bartender’s a middle aged blonde woman named Marla. With a great smile and easy going disposition, she fits here like a glove.

“What can I get you, Champ?”

“Two Bud’s and two double shots of Jim Beam, Mar. Is it too late to get a big Nachos?”

“Not for you it ain’t. I made five hundred on you tonight. I was sweatin’ bullets until Earl and ‘Rique busted in to give me the news. They’re back there playing pinball. What can I get you young lady?”

“An Irish Coffee, thank you.”

“Coming right up.”

Marla served us our drinks before fetching the Nachos. It was still fairly crowded. I could hear noise coming from the game room in the back so I knew Earl and ‘Rique weren’t back there alone. I could have walked around the partition and said hi but they sounded like it was a good time in the making. I drained one of the Budweisers. It tasted so good my eyes watered in sheer pleasure. I then sipped one of my whiskeys. Tess watched me with a slight know-it-all smile. Marla brought a huge bowl of Nachos for us, the cheese mixture covering everything – just the way I like it. She replaced my drained Budweiser and double without asking.

“I’m starting to clean up, John. If you need anything just holler.”

“I will, Mar. Thank you.”

“Good thing I’m driving.” Tess watches me eat some Nachos before draining another beer and double shot.

“Bud and Beam kill the blood taste. The Nachos makes sure it doesn’t come back.” Except for the usual ache in my hands and throbbing sides I felt damn good. Even that little bit of discomfort faded while I savored my third drink set. Tess barely sipped her Irish, probably because she pounded more than a few down last night. Marla motioned to her waitress for last call and set me up once more.

“You sure you’ll be able to walk out of here?”

“I’ll manage. Jafar’s all settled in at my place. He likes my home entertainment system.”

“He’s a nice young man. You’re not going to get him killed, are you?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“What did Dennis talk to you about?”

“Just some peripheral stuff he’d like me to check on during Samira’s stay.”

I’ve eaten about half the Nachos by then. She figures the interrogation won’t turn up any new bits of information so she pitches in to help me finish the rest. While we’re chowing down, Earl and ‘Rique come around the corner of the gaming room with a tall gangly, young guy with sandy colored hair, cut short. Earl spots me before heading out the front entrance. He leads his companions over to the bar.

“John… my brother!” Earl is three sheets into the wind. ‘Rique looks only slightly more sober. Earl points at the young guy. “This is Jeff Furlong. He’s drivin’ tonight.”

Jeff smiles and shakes my hand. I saw him with the other cops tonight at the warehouse. “You guys know my business associate, Tess Connagher.”

“Happy to see you again, Ms. Connagher,” Earl says politely with ‘Rique and Jeff following his lead. “John here won us some bucks tonight.”

Tess shook each one of their hands. “Call me Tess. I guess with everyone but the mayor there, you guys didn’t have to worry about getting busted. I haven’t seen any Oakland PD doing security before.”

‘Rique pointed a finger at me. “Bigfoot attracts trouble. The gun thing last night worried the VIP’s so they wanted real cops on hand. We heard Bonasera and Alexander were puttin’ the squeeze on you after the fight.”

“Where’d you hear that?” I’m not sharing anything while wondering who did. Somebody had ears on us because the last thing in the world those two hucksters would want is word getting out about dealin’ up fixed fights.

“Some city councilmen came in to drown their woes at the bar. They heard it from a couple of those Russian guys been movin’ into the area from San Francisco.”

“You know me, ‘Rique. If I go down it won’t be for money. Hell, I heard people jawin’ about Rankin takin’ a dive. Did it look like he took a dive to you?”

I drew laughs with that comment, even from Tess.

Jeff speaks up for the first time after the laughter dies down. “I saw Rankin give you the finger on his way out. Man, that guy’s a glutton for punishment.”

“I bet they need to move around some filling to fix that nose,” Earl adds. “We gotta’ go, John. Good fight. Don’t kill anyone tonight.”

“It’s already morning, Earl. I needed to get the taste of Rankin out of my mouth. I may even approach my house from the back just to avoid trouble tonight. One overnighter is enough for me at the Steel Bar Inn.”

“Actually… you can kill as many Ishmael Ali’s as you want, John.”

“A license to kill, huh Earl?” That sobered him up a little.

“Don’t even think about taking me seriously on that.” Earl waves at Marla and gives me a head slap on the way out with ‘Rique and Jeff chuckling along behind him.

Chapter Seven

The Russians

Looking around the bar I notice except for a few voices belonging to people in the back room we’re alone. I stood up and put a hundred dollar bill on the bar. “We better call it a night. My attitude is much improved and Marla will want to get out of here. If dropping me off is a problem I’ll have Marla call a taxi.”

“I’ll admit after watching you tonight about the only thing I want to do is take you home.”

I laughed. Tess gives me a dirty look because I guess she thinks that would upset me. “I appreciate you coming in for a drink. I know you didn’t like the fight. You should have sent Dennis over alone. Bye, Marla.”

“Later, Champ.” Marla waves at me cheerily from the other end of the bar.

Outside the bar, three figures in suits and trench coats ruin my improved attitude, approaching us at a hurried pace from across the street. “Go back in the bar until I see what this is all about, Tess.”

My tone wakes Tess out of autopilot. She sees the approaching men and tugs on my windbreaker. “C’mon back in with me.”

“Go on.” I give her a little push. She slaps my hand but moves towards the bar entrance.

“You stay, girlie.” One of the trench coats starts to jog over to block Tess’s path.

I plant him with a right hook that makes him airborne for a moment before he lands in an unmoving heap. I’m in the midst of his friends before they can react, inches away while watching their hands. “Nobody touches my friend or I kill the three of you right here.”

“It will be as you say, Mr. Harding.” The speaker is a lean, almost emaciated bloke with hollow cheeks, hawk like features and closely shaven hair. His voice sounds bass and bored. I’ll change that if I get bored with this meeting. He’s nearly my height. I’d bet knives are his thing. He shakes his head at the other guy, who looked ready to have a go. The friend is a couple inches taller with short black hair and looks like a walking cement truck. “We mean you no harm.”

“That’s good,” I tell him. Without taking my eyes off of Hawk-man and his still standing buddy I gesture for Tess to continue inside. “Go on inside, Tess.”

This time Tess takes my advice and I hear the door open and close. “Now then, what’s this all about?”

“My friends and I are investors in the sporting enterprise you participated in tonight. I am Alexi Fiialkov. This is Viktor Kenig. The man you hit is Mikhail Rowan.”

“Okay. We know each other’s names. What do you want?”

“We know you were approached about throwing a future fight.”

“How would you know that?” It was a rhetorical question. They had a bug on the meeting. That’s how the councilmen found out. A little Russian birdie told them. I wonder if Bonasera and Alexander were being aced out in the rumor mill. That could be interesting.

Alexi shrugged. “We have our ways. You cost us much money tonight. We are merely asserting our control in future sporting interests.”

“Since you know what was said, then you know I’m not nose diving for anyone for any money.”

“A rematch between you and Van would be very profitable. It would of course be at a later date when our fighter has time to recover. I think you would be the odds on favorite although we both know if Van had not charged you at the beginning, the outcome would have been different.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“You were lucky!” Kenig starts to puff up like a blowfish.

“Best to back off, Viktor, or I’ll show you just how lucky I can get.” I’m already sick of these mooks. They’ve ruined my buzz.

Kenig pokes a forefinger resembling a nightstick in my chest, the grin on his face enough to tell me he has romantic thoughts about throwing hands with me. “I break you, big man.”

I head butt him. When Viktor’s nose explodes blood he stumbles back, hands covering up his injured area. I grab his shoulders and follow with a flying knee into his solar plexus. Viktor drops in a gasping, croaking pile to the ground. I’m turned to Alexi in a split second. He had begun reaching inside his coat but stopped when we locked eyes. Fiialkov dropped his hands.

“I don’t like being handled.”

“I apologize for Viktor. My proposition was for a great deal of money being made on a rematch where the outcome would be less of a gamble. The odds against Van would be three to one or higher.”

“I respect your business sense, but like I told those two conmen at the warehouse, I don’t do that type of work.”

“Very well. Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to take a break as mentioned earlier. It may be difficult in the future for you to fight in this area. I believe the sporting event will be under new management.”

“I have a day job. One more thing, Mr. Fiialkov – if you send a hitter after me make sure they get the job done. I live by the feud.”

“Our business is concluded, Mr. Harding. No reason for any further incidents. Would you assist me with my colleague’s?”

“Drive your car over. I’ll load them for you.” I’m nice because I need to think this through. It might be preventative maintenance if I thinned the Russian mob out before they decide I’m a risk to their operations.

Fiialkov nods in agreement. He jogs across the street and drives his shiny black Ford Expedition in front of the bar. “Keep your hands on the steering wheel, Mr. Fiialkov.”

I pick up the now snoring Mikhail and put him in the back. I collect his 9mm Ruger during the process. Viktor is in bad shape. He’s turning a little blue in the dim lighting. I loosen his clothing while listening closely to his rasping gulps for air. When I think it’s safe to move him I start slapping his face lightly to get his attention. He snorts unbecomingly but his eyes begin to blink blearily up at me without recognition.

“C’mon, Viktor. Alexi is waiting.” I grab his clothing in a bundled ball at the front before heaving him up to his feet. I can dead-lift over six hundred pounds. His clothing rips a little before Viktor gets his sea legs. I deposit him in the front passenger seat while slipping his Sig 9mm from its holster. I might need a couple throwaways for future interactions with my mob buddies. When Viktor’s belted in I close his door. Fiialkov waits until I walk around to his window.

“Thank you, Mr. Harding.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Fiialkov.” He has a great poker face. I’m reading nothing. The Expedition speeds away. I go back to the bar. My hand aches again. My buzz is gone and I have Viktor’s blood all over me. Damn it! Inside, Tess is seated at the bar. She and Marla look up when I walk in. “Can I bum a towel, Marla?”