Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book Three) Page 4

  The line thinned after thirty minutes or so, and the pressures of the night started to wear off. Rodrigo and Whit left to check out Boogie Nights, one of the other bars. Bear squirmed in his seat. “I gotta take a leak,” he said. “You three stay out of trouble.”

  He said it as a joke, but meant it. He walked out in his naturally skewed way, but stopped at the exit and looked at the trio beseechingly, afraid his command would be disregarded.

  Bretten clutched his Corona bottle and brought it to his lips. He looked over the glass at Tristan. He was lightly bobbing his head to the music, his blonde hair gliding back and forth with the beat, and sipping his drink. Brooke’s glass stayed on the table and she absentmindedly spun it around and around in her hands. The liquid sloshed near the rim with each turn, but never broke free.

  Brooke cut into the silence. “This place is pretty nice, not going to find anything like it in Enid.”

  Both men nodded, but remained quiet. Then Bretten said, “Tristan, why are you pissed with me...with Brooke?” He nodded her way. The glass was no longer spinning. She clutched it tightly, her forearm muscles taut.

  Tristan took another long swig. His head didn’t bob, and he glared over the rim of his glass. He finished it all, thumped the empty container on the table, and stood. Then he edged forward and staggered his feet slightly. “You’re a goody two-shoes asshole.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Bretten stood and did the same with his feet. “I’ve never done shit to you. You’re the one who’s tried to kick my ass in practice, and keeps saying shit about how the two of us are half your problems.”

  Tristan shook his head back and forth and pointed a finger at Bretten. “Listen to you, ‘oh poor me, big bad Tristan doesn’t like me.’ You’re the dickhead who ruined my dad’s funeral. You’re the dickhead who came into the house and started trying to fuck around with her,” he nodded toward Brooke, “right from the start. You’ve always been a dickhead.You just do a good job hiding it.”

  Maybe it was the beers, maybe he’d had enough of Tristan, but Bretten pushed off of his back foot and closed the distance between the two men. They were only a couple feet apart, like fighters squaring off. Brooke edged around the table and had her hands on their chests. “Stop this shit. You’re acting like fucking high school kids.”

  Both ignored her. “You’re the dickhead, Tristan. You always have been. I’ve held back because of your dad, but you got problems.”

  Tristan’s eyes widened, he cocked his right hand, ready to let loose, but an arm snaked around his chest and ripped him backwards. An instant later, Bretten was reeling, too. Whit had a hold of Tristan, and Rodrigo was clutching Bretten. Brooke stood between all of them. Through gritted teeth Tristan said, “I swear, one day we’re going to fight, and I’m going to beat the piss out of you.”

  Bretten nodded. “Bring it on, bitch.”

  Whit worked to calm them. The tension lifted as quickly as it descended, but the damage was done. It was out in the open, Bretten and Tristan were one hundred percent enemies. Tristan turned toward the bar, Bretten returned to the table, Whit planted himself between the two.

  Bear returned from the restroom. “There’s a damn line at the pisser. Did everyone stay out of trouble?”

  Nobody responded.

  Chapter Ten

  Marshall stared at the car as Bear thought how good it felt to be home. Oklahoma City had drained him, and on top of it he’d spent a day in San Jose. His shoulders ached and his feet hurt, the price of success he guessed.

  Marshall let out a low, slow whistle. Bear giggled. He couldn’t help himself. He enjoyed Marshall’s appreciation, and found it amusing to see him outside of the bar, the Las Vegas sunshine reflecting off his bald head. They were only ten steps from the front door, admiring Bear’s new car. The Jeep was a casualty of his recent successes, both with his new fighters and his deal with Mr. Smith. At the moment though it panged him to think about that.

  Marshall, hands in his pockets, asked. “Brand new?”

  Bear, arms folded, lips pursed, nodded. “Yep.”

  Marshall circled the silver Audi S8 Sedan and bent down from time to time. He swept his hand across parts of the car; touching it gently as if afraid he’d damage it. “I know it’s not right, but I can’t help myself. How much did this run you?”

  “Shit, we’re friends, I don’t mind telling you.” Actually Bear wanted to tell his friend. He was proud of the amount. He paused for a second and used his thumb to wipe away an unseen scuff on the hood. “Just under a hundred thou.”

  Marshall let out another whistle. “Damn Bear, it’s beautiful. Come on, drinks are on me.”

  “You’re talking my language now, Marshall.” They turned toward the front door, and Bear spun around in a flourish then clicked a button. Two beeps signaled the alarm’s activation.

  It took a minute for both men to adjust to the light. The evening rush, if you want to call it that, had not yet arrived. Only one other lonely man shot pool against an invisible opponent and sipped on a bottle of beer.

  They settled into their spots. Marshall behind the bar in his usual black shirt and dirty white apron, Bear on his stool dressed in slacks and a white button down shirt.

  In a matter of seconds two beers graced the Oak bar top. “One for you and one for me,” Marshall said. “To celebrate your success!”

  They toasted and gulped down the beer. Bear was immediately content. It was good to be back. This was just his second trip to see his old friend in as many weeks. As if Marshall could read his thoughts. “Things must be going good. The new car and all, I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

  “Naw Marshall, I’ve just been busy. It’s exciting, but a lot of work. My new fighters are doing some wild shit. You saw the deal where the Maris kid and Rodrigo and Brooke broke up a robbery?”

  “Yeah, I saw it. How could I not? It was all over Fox News and ESPN. Is that how you’ve come into all the big money? Or did you finally hit that lottery you’ve been talking about?”

  Bear took another gulp of his cold beer and considered his response. It didn’t make any sense to tell his bartender friend about his deal with Mr. Smith, but he needed to tell someone. “Part of it, not all,” he answered.

  Marshall’s white rag lazily circled the countertop, but his gaze shifted to Bear, and he cocked his head. “What do you mean part of it? It’s not gambling money is it? You’re not getting your ass in trouble are you?”

  Again, Bear drank and considered. Truthfully he was getting into trouble. He felt the storm coming. He glanced over his shoulder. Even though he knew nobody was around he scrunched his head into his shoulders. “Not gambling money. I got a deal going with Mr. Smith.”

  The words seemed to have a physical effect on Marshall. He straightened and pulled away from the counter. “What the hell are you talking about? You mean the same Mr. Smith you said kills people and videos it?”

  Bear gave a crooked smile, one that matched his nose. “Yeah, one and the same. All I’m doing is giving him information about upcoming fights. He’s using it to put big money on them. I’m getting a percentage.”

  “Jesus, you’ve got a death wish!”

  “Nah, it’s alright. It’s working.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and jingled them.

  “Yeah, but what if it doesn’t always work? Is that psycho going to come after you?”

  “I’m not worried about it. I know the fight game, and we are more like equals in this deal. According to my calculations I’ve already made the son of a bitch close to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  Marshall slipped a fresh glass out from under the counter and filled it up for his friend. “You’d better be careful.”

  “You got it, mom,” Bear said, as he took the frosty mug.

  Two new customers straggled in, and Marshall left to take care of them. Bear sipped and thought about the words of warning. He didn’t tell his friend the rest. He couldn’t because it scare
d him too much.

  The deal with Mr. Smith started sweet. His first two picks resulted in two big wins. He collected his percentage, just under forty thousand, and celebrated by buying the Audi S8. His next two picks though resulted in big losses for Mr. Smith. The first, a sickening seventy five thousand, but that wasn’t the bad one.

  He cursed his piece of shit informant under his breath. The informant told him a guy fighting in Rumble Hawaii had a torn ACL. His knee was pretty much shot, but he was keeping it from everybody because he wanted to fight. Bear tried to follow up on it, but couldn’t get anything solid. Finally, he stupidly went with his gut and placed the call to Mr. Smith. The kid with the busted knee was a slight underdog. Mr. Smith didn’t like the idea of dropping more money on the healthy fighter to win less. Bear guaranteed him that it was a sure thing.

  He sipped his beer and rubbed his forehead. Beads of sweat were pushing to the surface. The fight was two nights ago, and the underdog with the banged up knee beat up the other kid. He hadn’t heard from Mr. Smith since. Thinking of the impending conversation made him nervous. The man put down a hundred thousand. He had to go to a special sports book to get the bet. Now he was out a hundred thousand and almost as bad, Bear was out another ten thousand for his part.

  Marshall returned. “I’m sorry for lecturing you. I know you know what you’re doing.”

  Bear nodded and tipped his beer. “Maybe you should make up for it with a refill.”

  “You got it.”

  As Bear watched his friend dig for a fresh mug, his phone rang. He cringed each time he heard the familiar sound. This time was no different. He dug it out of his pocket and prayed it was a fighter, sponsor, promoter, anybody but Mr. Smith...no such luck.

  “Hello.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you partner? Seems your guarantee doesn’t mean shit.”

  Bear was stunned by Mr. Smith’s harshness, usually he was so composed. “I’m, I know sir.” He pictured the man in his office, spittle flying from his mouth and his gray hair mussed, but as violently as the conversation began it became cordial.

  “Mr. Haynes, you’re going to have to be more careful regarding our agreement. Despite what you might think, I don’t like losing large amounts of money.”

  “I understand. I’m kicking myself for the lack of insight. It will not happen again!”

  “I’ve told you before, I like you, think you’re a solid man, but business is business. You understand?”

  “Yes sir I do.”

  “You’d better, because my associates are anxious to perform their duties.”

  Eck and Dean flashed into Bear’s mind. He saw the desert, and a shiver crept through his body. “No sir, that won’t be necessary.”

  “I hope not. I hate even mentioning it, but you’ve forced it upon me. Listen, so far you’ve still done me good, but I’m not going to spend a lot of time riding a roller coaster. I don’t have any need for the headache.”

  “I will be more prudent in the future.”

  “You’d better. I’m going to give you some time to get your shit together, but I’ll be in contact. Now finish your beer and enjoy the evening.”

  The line went dead, and Bear quickly looked around. How the hell did he know he was at a bar? He put away his phone and massaged his temples.

  “You okay?” Marshall said.

  Bear forgot about his friend who was standing across the bar with the refill. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine buddy.”

  Chapter 11

  Dana Murphy briskly stirred her coffee and glanced around the shop. The smell of overpriced beans mingled with the crisp air. Her eyes didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. She appreciated the fact that she was no James Bond, but she thought she’d notice anything suspicious, not that there should be anything.

  Satisfied, Dana turned toward the lady seated at the opposite side of the back corner table. The woman was striking, like always, and Dana wondered how Harold ever managed to land her. Sherry was amused by her antics.

  “Well, you never know,” Dana said. “The police, the mob, who knows who could be watching us right this very minute.”

  Sherry rolled her eyes. “Dana, you need to get laid or something.”

  Dana let the comment go and took a sip of her scolding coffee. “So how are you doing? How about Amanda?”

  “Fine, I guess. Amanda is still in Phoenix. She’s going to finish the school year there. I just wish I knew more, knew where Harold was. I miss him.”

  Dana thought of the comment she’d made to Detective Westingham about Harold being dead in the desert. She firmly believed that it was one hundred percent accurate. However, discretion was more prudent than the truth. “I know hon, me too. I’m really worried about him. I’m afraid something very bad happened.”

  “Look Dana, I know you think those two guys he met with hurt him, but I just have a hard time believing that.”

  “I understand, but Sherry they’re bad. You know I met with the police not long ago, and they checked Harold’s office?”

  “Yes, you told me. Isn’t that really why you wanted to meet?”

  “I guess it is. That Detective Westingham seems like a nice guy, and he’s a handsome man, but I think he’s stretched thin.” Dana nodded her head up and down agreeing with herself. “I’m not sure if he’s going to pursue Harold’s disappearance like he should.”

  “I’ve met with him a couple times,” Sherry said. “He and I are thinking along the same lines. Sure it seems out of character for Harold to just leave and not contact us, but maybe he’s afraid it might endanger us in some way.”

  Dana raised her eyebrows, took a deep breath, and sipped her coffee. “Or maybe he can’t contact you. I hate to pry, but I believe it’s warranted. Detective Westingham mentioned you were having some kind of financial problems. That’s the reason you split up. And I noticed a few months ago that Harold sold the BMW...”

  “I can’t believe that detective would tell you something like that, and he is by no means attractive, more like peculiar. I can tell you aren’t going to leave this alone. Maybe that’s a good thing, so let me tell you the whole story.”

  Over the next ten minutes Sherry told everything, the gambling, the leaving, the borrowing money, the arguments. Dana sipped her coffee and listened to every word with unrelenting focus. Finally, the whole ordeal was out in the open. Dana leaned back in her chair and glanced around the coffee shop one more time.

  “My God, I had no idea all that was going on. I really am sorry Sherry. Still though, I know Harold was a good man, and he loved you and Amanda.”

  “I like to think he still loves us, and you know he always talked about you like you were part of the family, always said he’d be lost without you.”

  Dana appreciated the compliment and fought back a smile. This was no time to be proud. “Can’t you see that all of what you just told me makes it much more likely that something bad really did happen to Harold?”

  “I think it makes it more likely that the two guys you are talking about helped him leave this life, us, behind.”

  Dana decided not to respond to that. “Please, just think back to around the time he disappeared. I know you and Amanda were with your parents in Phoenix, but did anything odd happen? Did Harold say anything that made you worry?”

  Sherry sipped her raspberry mocha and considered. “Nothing at all. I just told you, just like I told the police, all I can remember from our conversations.”

  “Surely there is something, Sherry.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t think of anything...well other than a nice man called about piano lessons for Amanda.”

  Dana nodded and encouraged her to continue. “What happened?”

  “It was odd. He called, come to think of it on the day Harold disappeared, to confirm the lesson.”

  “I don’t understand. Why is that odd?”

  “I never met him in person, just over the phone, he called to confirm, but the following evening he didn’t show.” />
  Dana’s eyes lit up. This might be what she needed. “Do you remember his name? Did you contact him about missing the lesson?”

  “Oh, his name was James or John, something that started with a J, and his last name was Winters. I tried to call, but he never answered. I never heard from him again.”

  Dana rubbed her hands together. Sherry could almost see her thinking. “Do you really think it’s such a big deal?”

  “Think about it. It could have been one of those psychos, Eck or Dean. They call you in order to force Harold to do what they wanted.”

  “Isn’t that crazy though? I mean that’s the kind of stuff you see in movies.” She heard the words come out of her mouth, but at the same time her head was spinning. Dana was actually making a little sense.

  “I don’t think it’s crazy. I think it fits. Do you still have the number?”

  “I doubt, but I can look.”

  “You do that, but if you can’t find it don’t worry. I can figure out how to find it one way or another. When I find something I’ll call Detective Westingham, too. If I keep feeding him evidence, eventually he’ll have to focus on finding Harold.”

  Sherry marveled at Harold’s feisty secretary. She really was something else, so full of energy and efficiency.

  They finished their coffee and parted ways. Sherry, at least to some degree, bought into Dana’s theory, and it filled Dana with a ton of enthusiasm. They both climbed into their cars and turned onto the busy street.

  A few hours earlier Detective Westingham was at the office building in North Las Vegas, the one of the scrap paper in Harold’s office. He found nothing except a few small businesses and empty offices. He’d made a note to check out the businesses.

  Now, he watched as Dana backed her Ford Taurus away from the coffee shop. He couldn’t get this Murphy lady out of his head. In the dark recesses of his mind he flirted with the idea he was attracted to her, but quickly pushed those thoughts aside. She would be the key to this case, one that was intriguing, and gaining in priority by the minute. He watched as she turned onto the street, and then pulled into traffic three cars behind hers.