HARD CASE (A John Harding Novel - Special Ops, Cage Fighter, CIA Agent) (23 page)

Tommy cracked up half way through my falsetto fight worries, especially since my faux falsetto came out in a scratchy baritone. “I’m hoping Rankin calls it a career. If he gets you in the right hold, Rankin won’t stop even if you tap out and the referee jumps his ass.”

Okay, now it’s personal. “I don’t tap out for anybody. What he does after I’m unconscious I ain’t concerned with. You’re right about one thing – he gets me in a submission hold I’ll be dead or with something broken. Maybe we could get Jack Korlos to referee with his sap at UFC. He’s never lost anyone.”

“You may wish for that in the final seconds, buddy. I’ll be there, John, but like I said, I’d rather Rankin doesn’t fight again. A mistake free Rankin will be one tough mother to beat. Admit it. You thought of going over to the hospital and finishing him off.”

“Did not.” Yeah, I did.

Tommy shook his head, smiling with that knowing look he knows annoys the shit out of me. “I knew it. We’re businessmen now. We need to steer clear of the lawless element like Rankin.”

“You mean duck him. Not going to happen, T. When Van heals, the Russians want to help the government put me in the UFC. That’s good business, brother. I never figured to be able to get on the circuit again. It means money without bribing politicians to look the other way or possible gun battles while collecting our winnings.”

“Do you have some secret weapon to deploy against Rankin in a rematch because I think he saw everything you’ve got last time out?”

Fair question. “I got nothin’.”

Tommy laughed and stood up. “You better find something before you face off with Rankin again. See you tonight, John.”

“Listening to you, T, I’m beginning to think I must have lost the fight and no one told me.” I called out to him on his way to the door. He continued out, chuckling to himself while flipping me off.

That little conversation made me want to hit something again. Instead, I turned on a music mix disc put together in my admittedly whacky tastes for everything from classic to country. With coffee in hand, government issue dazzle cell-phone, and a Fall breeze chilling me just the way I like it on my front porch steps, the need to punch something receded. My old house on Lyon Avenue didn’t have any exotic views but I’d been around the world enough to know what I liked - no waterfalls, no mountain ranges, no arctic wildernesses, and no breathtaking desert landscapes. Sitting on my steps, listening to music with a Northern California wind off the ocean in my face, and looking out at my neighbors’ trees swaying gently completed my favorite vista. Still early in the day with most people at work, the neighborhood’s quiet time remained quiet except for a few cars passing on 38
th
Avenue.

I heard the neighbor’s door two houses down open, spilling out two kids I recognized from past porch moments. They immediately hopped on beat up big wheel tricycles in the front lawn with their Mom warning them not to go any further than three houses in both directions. The Mom noticed me on the steps and waved hesitantly, her brown face lined beyond her actual years.

“Hi, John. Didn’t think to see you so soon after that mess the other night.”

“I got clear of it, Mrs. Sparks. When do the twins start school?” I watched the little boy and girl race each other up the sidewalk toward me, faces contorted in concentration as they each tried to pedal faster without spinning the worn out plastic wheels.

“Not ‘til next year. God, won’t that be grand.” She clasped hands in prayer for a moment comically. “You sittin’ for a while?”

“I’ll be out here for a time. Want me to keep an eye on Jim and Kara?” I’ve been enlisted as a babysitter before on my street. Everyone knows I don’t have a standard day job so in an emergency or like now when I happen to be out front I get asked occasionally. I’m somewhat popular owing to the fact most of my neighbors suspect the gang-bangers stay clear of our avenue because of me. After what I did the other night I didn’t figure to get many chances to watch the kids. I guess Mrs. Sparks is one of those people who believe either you trust somebody or you don’t. I liked her little kids. Her older son Lebron was in high school and the husband worked construction during the day. He and I had shared a beer once in a while.

“Thanks. Shoo them inside when you have to go. I’m doing laundry. Want me to do a load for you?”

“I’m good, but thanks.” Jim and Kara had stopped in front. They glanced back at their house to make sure Mom was out of sight before walking up to me. The twins sported those silly grins kids get on their faces whenever they’re doing something a little out of the ordinary – like bearding the neighborhood bear in its cave. “How old are you two rug-rats anyway?”

Kara giggled but Jim expressed his displeasure. “We’re not rats. We’re four.”

“Good to know. Thanks.” I get a kick out of these two. Jim is all business while Kara has a knack for comedy.

“I heard my Mom and Dad talkin’ about you. They… they said you killed somebody,” Jim told me, quickly swiveling around to check for his Mom sneaking up on him.

I opt for avoidance. “That’s big person talk, Jim. No need for you to worry about such things.”

“We saw a boy come out of your house.” Kara put her hands on her hips in a manner I’m sure she’d seen her Mom use, complete with little face leaning toward me. “Is he your son?”

“Nope. He’s a young man who works for me. He has to stay at my house for a while until he gets his own place.”

“Does he kill people too?” Kara asked.

I snorted and then coughed to cover the urge to laugh. “No, Kara, he attends high school near here.”

“You street fight for money,” Jim declared. “We heard Mom and Dad talkin’ to Lebron. My brother saw you on the computer… you… you...” he looked to his sister for help.

“YouTube.” Kara came through.

Great. More YouTube fans.

“Yeah, YouTube. Lebron showed them on the computer. They watched you beat people up. They didn’t let us watch.”

The twins waited patiently for thirty seconds, expecting me to answer the charges. I smiled, playing the interested adult. Having practiced all day yesterday at being Pseudo-Dad, I figured I could bluff my way through this conversation without saying anything. I was sure the diminutive duo would lose interest in my smile and return to bike riding. Wrong. They had business in mind.

“Well, do you beat people up for money?” Kara can be straight forward too.

“It’s like boxing, Kara. People pay to see guys fight each other. You and Jim have seen men fighting in the ring on TV, right?”

Kara nodded but she wasn’t done. She nudged Jim and he rooted around in his pocket, fishing out a crumpled one dollar bill, three pennies and a nickel. “We want you to beat up Darin McBride down on the corner.”

By the time I finished howling in laughter with tears rolling down my cheeks the twins were cackling with me and a few of the neighborhood dogs barked in tune. I wiped my eyes and stood up from the stoop, stretching with only a slight bite from protesting ribs. The twins looked up with their mouths open in surprise. Maybe they thought I was going down to the McBride house to haul Darin the ten-year-old target out in the street for a whoopin’.

“I’m not that type of fighter, kids. C’mon, we’ll see if your Mom will let me walk you down the sidewalk on your low riders.”

“We can get you another dollar on Friday,” Kara insisted, yanking on my pants-leg as I turned toward their house.

Okay, they have my attention. I had to find out what the vicious, neighborhood ten-year-old did to warrant a mob hit. I knew Darin. He was a quiet kid who waved when he walked by the house and didn’t bother anyone I knew about. “What exactly did Darin do to you kids? He seems like a nice young man.”

“Me and Jim snuck out of the house and rode up the street. Darin was with a bunch of mean looking other kids at his house. His Mom works during the day so we knew he should have been in school.”

“I knew he wasn’t allowed to have people over,” Jim added with enthusiasm. “We heard his Mom yellin’ at him not to have any kids over when she wasn’t there.”

“He skips school.” Kara folded her arms in mimic of her Mom’s disapproving stance.

“Darin ran at us all crazy, screaming to get away from his house. He chased us down the street and smacked me on top my head.” Jim pointed to a spot at the top rear part of his head so there’d be no mistake as to where he was attacked.

“Momma came out and saw us. She took a switch to us for sneaking out,” Kara pouted but retained the disapproving arms folded stance. “It was all Darin’s fault.”

“Sounds to me like Darin kept you two from possibly getting hurt a lot worse than a switchin’.” I decided logic might work better than reminding them of their guilt. Listening to these two reasoning their hit on a ten year old was pretty entertaining. As Pseudo-Dad I leaned toward the punishment being justified. “Besides, Darin’s in school today anyhow. We’ll have to…”

“No he’s not,” Jim cut me off in mid logic. “We saw him sneak back home after his Mom left for work through our window. He was walkin’ with the same bunch of older guys.”

I looked down the street toward Darin’s house, my internal voice of common sense psycho screaming at me to mind my own business. Part of me wanted to dump the twin munchkins and hide in the house until it was time to go do what I’m supposed to do for a living. It’s hard to go from street pug throwing hands for stray bets who does a little added something for Government Inc. to the neighborhood watch attending school meetings. Jim and Kara eyeball me with attitude. This touchy feely stuff can be tricky when dealing with four-year-olds trying to hire a contract hit.

“Did you see the older guys Darin was with leave?”

Jim exchanged glances with his twin. Apparently he needed a nod from his sister before revealing anything of note. “Yeah, we saw them walk back down this way.”

What the hell. This could be fun as long as I’m not endangering these two little mobsters. “Okay, let’s tell your Mom we’re riding down the sidewalk. I’ll check up on Darin and make sure he’s not into something he shouldn’t be. I’m not beating him up.”

Kara and Jim leapt aboard their low riders without commenting on my contract refusal. I didn’t think the little warts were interested in a beat down. They followed me to their house where I quickly obtained permission to walk with them down the street. Some clouds kept the sun glare down. A cool breeze stirred the leaves already parachuted to the ground in prior Fall gusts. Walking along with my four-year-old twin retinue in my wake, it seemed the world revolved for the day in an unusually nonviolent trend. As we clear a few yard grown trees I see Darin sitting on his front step, head in hands. He hears my low rider Conga line and lifts his head. The boy jumps up as if to run into his house but stops when I wave.

“Hey, Darin. My friends here told me you’re not feeling well.”

Darin walks tentatively toward us. “I’m okay, John. Mrs. Sparks got you watchin’ the evils, huh?”

“We got switched ‘cause of you!” Jim blurted out.

“Sorry about that, Jim, but I had to get you two away. Those guys I hangin’ with don’t like little kids. They’d trash your bikes an’ slap you around. Besides, I know you two ain’t allowed ridin’ by yourselves.”

“You’re not allowed to skip school,” hands-on-hips Kara replied. “We’re tellin’.”

“I don’t care. Look. You best take these two home, John. A guy I know’s pickin’ me up and he won’t be happy he see me jawin’ with you three. He don’t like you, Mr. Harding.”

More interesting all the time. “What’s his name? Maybe he’s mixed me up with someone else.”

“He knows where you live. No mistakin’ about him knowing you. His name’s Nelson. He-”

“Terry Nelson?” Okay, Harding, it’s back into the Twilight Zone for you. I knew Nelson ran with the 38
th
Avenue gang but I thought he’d graduated out of there into small time hood.

Darin nodded. “He’s bad, John. Mean bad. He blow your house up if you cross him.”

Oh, I’m going to cross him all right. I’m going to be his personal ‘Ghost Whisperer’ and cross him over into the light just before the trap door opens to drop him into hell. “Walk with me, Darin, while I take the kids back home. I need to hear more about mean old Terry Nelson. Running with Nelson can get you nothing but trouble. You know that, right?”

Darin nods again, sticking his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders up while I get the reluctant Jim and Kara pointed toward home. Darin and I take the lead. Mrs. Sparks waited at the door when our small caravan approached from the sidewalk. She sat on her stoop, cup of coffee in hand, watching us with a smile.

“Hi Darin.”

“Hi Mrs. Sparks.”

“I see my two gansta’s couldn’t get John to beat you up for them.”

Darin looked confused for a moment. A big smile appeared as understanding seeped in while Mrs. Sparks and I watched with amusement. He turned on Kara and Jim who were swiveling surprised glances between Darin and their Mom. “Tha’s cold you two. I watch your backs and you try to get Mr. Harding to school me?”

“You two hoodlums get inside now and clean up. G’on.” Mrs. Sparks watched Kara and Jim troop inside with minimal protest before shifting attention to me and Darin. “I heard them plotting for revenge. I thought you’d get a laugh out of it, John.”