Hook and Shoot (7 page)

“Don't ask,” he said.

He pointed out more things, and I stuck to my plan of should anyone invade the home I would throw Eddie out a window into the pool, then improvise.

“I saved the best for last,” Burch said.

“Just say you're done, I'll agree.”

He stopped with his hand on a doorknob. We were in the back left corner of the living room, the lights from the pool coming through the glass wall and making everything ripple. I recognized shapes out there—an outdoor kitchen and bar, furniture, a roiling Jacuzzi that made my throat want to clamp shut, but no invading Yakuza army.

The living room was large and square with sunken couches in the middle around a block of obsidian that was either art or a table. The hardwood floor we stood on framed the room and made another ledge to sit on and stare at the art table.

Or the giant flat screen mounted opposite the fireplace.

Or the fireplace. Hell if I know.

Burch's door led to something between the garages and the backyard. He took his hand off the knob, like he wasn't sure I deserved it. “You need to get it through your head that you and I are in a foxhole together. Whether we like each other or not, we need
to coexist. All I ask is be professional. I'll do the same.”

“So far your blackmail and coercion have been top-notch.”

Burch bowed his head. “Thank you for noticing.” He opened the door and hit the lights.

I tried to keep my jaw from dropping. It landed somewhere near that goddamn table.

The gym looked like a showroom. The glass wall continued on the right and was made somewhat opaque by the banks of lights that ran the length of the room. There were stretching stations all along the glass, individual yoga mats with Swiss balls, bands, foam rollers, and lacrosse balls for masochists.

The wall on the left was adorned with pull-up bars, heavy bags in all shapes and sizes, free weights and kettlebells, and a squat rack with an Olympic lifting platform next to it. Gymnastic rings and a thick climbing rope hung from the ceiling. A wide opening in the far wall led to a white-tiled recess. I could see a glass door with a digital panel next to it—steam room—and the edges of solid doors with silhouettes for men's and women's bathrooms.

I came to the middle of the gym and couldn't help but smile.

Thirty-two feet across, four feet off the floor,
made of metal and padding and canvas and vinyl. A full-size mixed martial arts cage as approved by the Nevada State Athletic Commission.

“Thought you'd like that,” Eddie said. He stood behind us in the doorway wearing silk pants and a white V-neck shirt, a towel around his neck. His voice sounded better but still painful.

I put my hands on the apron, smelled the canvas. “We can't fit a full one at Gil's place.”

“It's from the first Warrior event. See that bloodstain looks like Alaska? That's Badger Curry's blood from the war with Martin. And that's Martin's blood over there.”

“Guys were fountains,” I said.

Burch made a face. “Seems unsanitary, having it in your home.”

I looked at the steps and the open gate above them.

“Go ahead,” Eddie said.

I kicked my new shoes off and dropped my socks in them, took my time up the steps and onto the canvas. It was cool, a little rough from wear and exposure. There were other stains like fisherman's islands around the legendary mass of the Curry/Martin drainage.

I asked Eddie, “You train in here?”

“I get my time in.”

Burch tugged on his lower lip and looked at the yoga mats.

Eddie strolled to the weight pile and picked up a
kettlebell, started doing curls with it for some reason. “You think this place will suit your training in case you have to fight Zombi?”

“No.”

The smirk dropped with the kettlebell. “You're joking.”

“The equipment's great, long as Gil and the rest of the guys come with it.”

“Not possible,” Burch said. “The three of us are the only people allowed through the door.”

Eddie said, “What about Vanessa?”

“And Vanessa. Once she's here tomorrow, she stays until this is over.”

“Who's Vanessa?” I said.

“She takes care of the place, cooks, does laundry.”

“So we stop by the gym and grab the guys.”

“No,” Burch said. “Too many loose ends, too much exposure. If they get spotted coming and going, they'll get the same offer as the security firms. Money or pain. Your man Gil leaves here one night and the next morning we get his ear in a box with a note telling us to send Eddie out. You want that?”

“Did you see Gil's ears?”

“We don't need those guys,” Eddie said. “I'll coach you and you can spar with Burch.”

I took a moment to savor the situation. Rarely am I in the same position logically and physically, and
I looked down upon the poor, naïve crowd. “Burch, how much you weigh?”

“A bit over thirteen stone.”

“English, please. Wait, American.”

“Hundred eighty-five.”

“Right. Don't take offense—I've seen you with your knife and I'm sure you're just as good with your gun—but in here with that gate closed, I'll destroy you. You're a warm-up.”

He took his jacket off.

“Hold on,” said Eddie.

Burch loosened his tie and unhooked the shoulder rig, staring me down the whole time.

I wiggled my toes and figured I could knock him out without getting blood on my suit.

Eddie waved the towel around his head. “Guys, think about me.”

Burch froze with the rig half off and glared at him.

“If one of you gets fucked up tonight—I'm not saying who it would be—my security team is cut in half. Now come on. Let's be smart.”

“Be a professional,” I told Burch.

He took a deep breath and clipped the rig back on, stayed busy with his tie and coat. “Mr. Takanori, whatever you need me for, I'm here. If you need me to be a training partner for an oaf, I promise I'll hold back and not retaliate. I think half my normal physical
output will suffice.”

“Nice,” I said.

Eddie stared at us. “Let's calm down a bit, maybe get some sleep. You two can spar tomorrow.”

“Right behind you,” Burch said.

“Do we need to set up some kind of night watch schedule?”

“The security system will handle it. I've got the iPad in my room; anything gets tripped I'll know right away.”

Eddie hesitated, probably waiting for us to start barking and chewing each other through the chain link, then he looped the towel over his neck and left.

Burch smiled at me. “Sleep tight. You haven't any fucking idea what you're in for tomorrow.” He kicked my shoes and socks under the cage and walked out.

I found the door to my room. There were four more doors along and at the end of the hallway, but I was done looking at Eddie's things for the day. I hung my new suit up on the outside of the closet door so I could keep an eye on it and stepped into the full bathroom, all tile and glass.

The window overlooked the landscaped front yard and low hills to the north. Because of the angle of the house I couldn't see the driveway or anybody
creeping up it, but once I turned on the shower I quit worrying.

The day boiled off. I fell onto the bed, comfortable as cleavage, and dreamt about a warehouse of frozen claw-foot bathtubs with voices coming from them, black plastic wrinkling through the ice like rotten scabs.

My old clothes were washed and folded outside my door in the morning. I put them on without making eye contact with my suit. My phone showed calls from Gil and Marcela, no messages. Wanting to hear her voice, I got her number on the screen but didn't know what to tell her. I killed the screen and went downstairs.

Burch sat at the slab of wood in the kitchen, drinking coffee with his sleeves rolled up. He looked at his hockey puck watch. “Vanessa, Mr. Wallace is awake. Please call the assassins and let them know it's okay to come after Mr. Takanori now.”

Vanessa was at the stove moving something around in a pan. She was midtwenties, tall and lean with blonde hair pulled back, looked like she played a lot of beach volleyball. A red tattoo, some kind of
flower petal, peeked out of her collar at the back of her neck. She smiled without turning around. “Got it. Should I cook enough for them?”

“Nah. I get the feeling those boys eat blood and misery.” He nodded at the seat across from him.

I took the next one over.

“Coffee?”

“Water's fine.”

“Vanessa, water, please.”

I stood. “I can get it.”

“Sit. It's why she's here.” Burch frowned at my clothes. “That suit really does you a lot of favors.”

Vanessa put a glass of water with a paper towel wrapped around it in front of me, then a small plate with a thick omelet and strawberries.

“Hey, thanks. Did you wash my clothes?”

“Yes, they feel okay?”

“Great. Thank you.”

She touched my shoulder and went back to the stove.

Burch said, “All right, lover boy, that's enough. First thing, no more sleeping until ten. I let it go this morning because Mr. Takanori doesn't need to be anywhere until noon and you had a big day yesterday. Very exciting, yeah? Today we do it all over again.”

“All of it?”

“Hopefully we'll stay out of the freezer section.” He winked over the coffee mug. “And we need to
figure out your training schedule. Woulda been nice to get a session in before we head out.”

“About that. You and me sparring and rolling isn't gonna work.”

“Scared already?”

“What do you bring to the table other than a mobile punching bag? You know any catch wrestling?”

“Nope.”

“Jiu jitsu?”

“Seems a bit gay to me. No offense.”

“So you're pretty much worthless as a training partner. No offense.”

“We'll see.”

“We'll see what?” Eddie walked in wearing shorts and a sleeveless compression shirt, a towel wrapped tight like a scarf around his neck. I could see the tip of one finger bruise peeking out the top. He stood inside the doorway and tried to wipe sweat off his face with a corner of the towel without disturbing his drapery.

Burch and I settled in to watch.

Eddie realized he was onstage. “Fuck you guys.” He pulled the towel off and Burch whistled. The bruises were two perfect hands wrapped around Eddie's throat, thumbs crossed over his Adam's apple, the whole thing like a purple butterfly.

Vanessa hissed air in. “You want some ice?”

“I'll take a Diet Coke. Thanks, sweetheart.” He
walked to the end of the table, splayed his fingers on the scarred wood. “You guys talking training?”

“I need Gil and the guys. I need my gear. I need footage of Zombi fighting. Most of all, I need to know if I'm actually going to fight him.”

“I'm working on it,” Eddie said. “For now, just assume it's on. My team is writing up the papers for Lou today, but if the Yakuza gets to him with money or otherwise, we have to plan for that.”

I glanced at Vanessa.

“Don't worry about her,” Eddie said. “Vanessa, you know all my secrets, huh?”

“I hope not.” She put the can of Diet Coke in front of him with an identical paper towel wrap. I'd thought my glass was special. Marcela popped into my head and rolled her eyes.

Burch said, “Vanessa shows up this morning, I tell her she's staying here for the foreseeable future due to an ongoing effort to kill Mr. Takanori. Guess what she says.”

Vanessa had her back to us. She cocked her hip a bit.

“She says, ‘We're going to need eggs.'” He slapped the table. “Fucking cheers.”

“Jesus,” Eddie said. “With her around, what do I need you clowns for?”

“Eye candy,” Vanessa said.

Burch pulled a long face. He and Eddie nodded at each other, acknowledging their qualifications. I drank my water.

“Shower time,” Eddie said. “Woody, Burch is more than qualified to train with you. Make it work.” He walked out.

Burch finished his coffee, smacked his lips, and grinned at me. “Right. Time for some fun. Vanessa, want to watch?”

Burch went upstairs to change. I followed the glass wall into the gym. No hand wraps and the only gloves I could find looked like they were for a third grader, so I put some Thai kicks and light jabs into the bags, got a light sweat going. I tried one head kick, and the crotch of my jeans threatened divorce. Chuck Norris does it in tighter jeans and cowboy boots, and good for him.

I went through a quick circuit of bodyweight exercises—push-ups, pull-ups, burpees, squats, planks, and jumps. It worked but it wasn't fun. Nobody pointed out that my burpees look like a mastiff trying to get off a skating rink, and if I shook any harder during the planks I'd need an exorcist. I could hear Gil saying it, but without the coffee breath it lost impact.

I grabbed a bottle of water out of the full-size glass fridge and dropped onto a yoga mat to stretch.
The sun was in front of the house and put half the pool in shadow. In the daylight I could see that the landscape from the front yard wrapped around both sides and continued beyond the stamped concrete patio, with sculpted hills and dry creek beds all the way out to the back wall, a couple hundred feet away, the top of it barely visible. Statues waited in the sun for someone to walk past.

My phone buzzed and I winced, looked at the screen. The last thing I'd said to Gil was a promise to get dropped off by Eddie last night and not get into trouble. Technically I'd only broken half so far.

“Where are you?” he said.

“Eddie's place.”

“The casino? What did you sign?”

“No, his house. I didn't sign anything. Take it easy.”

“Eddie's
house?
” I could picture him trying to put it together, hunched over his desk and curling the phone into his ear. “You stayed the night there?”