by G. K. Parks
“Did you pull the trigger?” Adding some logic and rationale to the situation could only help, I hoped.
“No.”
“Did you hire a contract killer to pull the trigger?”
“No.” That time he sounded less certain.
“Then you aren’t responsible.”
“Yes, I am.” He rubbed his eyes again. “One of those guys from the photos is another fighter. I told him about my dad and how he was training that other guy on the side, and he got really pissed. He said my dad would pay.” Will scrunched up his face, fighting back his tears by gritting his teeth. “I wanted him to make my dad pay. I wanted him to hurt my dad. I just wanted Dad to stop spending all of his time with those losers. He always thought they were better than me. He…,” Will made a choking sound and stepped onto the ledge, placing his toes at the end of the cement, “he’s dead because of me.”
“Will, look at me.” My voice turned hard and forceful, and he shifted his gaze from the street below to me. “It’s not your fault. It sounds like you’re the only one who can tell us exactly what happened. Without you, we’ll never find the guy who killed your dad. We need you. Laura needs you. If you do this, she’ll never forgive you. Do you really hate your sister so much to hurt her like this?”
“I don’t hate her,” he sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, “but she’ll hate me when she finds out.”
“No, she won’t. The only way she’ll hate you is if you die and leave her alone. Trust me, I know that for a fact.”
“How?”
“Because I lost someone, and it was my fault. At least it felt like it.” I lifted one leg over the safety bar, inching closer. Worst case, I’d handcuff myself to Will and hope he wouldn’t swan dive and kill us both. A bitter laugh escaped my throat, and Will focused his attention on me, distracted by my story. “That stupid son of a bitch said it was okay. He said those exact words, that it was okay. He didn’t blame me. He knew I would never do anything to hurt him, but shit happens. We’re human, and we make mistakes. After he died, it destroyed me.” I reached for Will’s arm, and he didn’t jerk away. “Maybe he could forgive me for making a mistake, but I can’t forgive him for taking the easy way out and leaving me here. This is the hard part, figuring out how to survive alone. Don’t chicken out on me, Will. Don’t put Laura through that kind of torment.”
“I…I…” Will seemed conflicted, and he leaned forward again.
I had been so focused on Will that I didn’t notice Lucca until he snuck up behind him, grabbing Will’s shoulders and hauling him over the safety bar. Will tumbled backward, sprawling onto his back, and Lucca flipped him onto his stomach and cuffed him, handing him off to a pair of uniformed police officers.
“Take it easy, guys,” I called after them. “He’s a material witness.”
“Agent Parker?” Will sounded small and afraid, which made little sense now that he was actually safe and no longer staring his impending death straight in the eye. Then again, the thought of living could be more frightening than the alternative. “What’s going to happen now?”
“We’ll get this straightened out. We’ll talk to your sister in the meantime. Everything’s going to be fine,” I promised as the door opened, and the cops hauled him out of view.
Lucca held out his hand, offering to help me over, and I realized I was straddling the safety bar. “Should I radio down to the fire department and tell them to hold off on removing the giant air bag?” he asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Heights scare the shit out of me.” I grasped his hand and stepped back onto slightly more stable ground. “Thanks for the assist.”
“What were you planning to do?”
“Cuff him and hope and he didn’t take a header off the side.”
“That’s not protocol.”
“I never said it was.” Taking a steadying breath, the seriousness of the situation sunk in, making my legs wobble. “Can we continue this conversation inside?”
“Sure, Parker, whatever you want.”
Nineteen
Lucca calmly explained the situation to Laura Briscoe while I answered the questions the responding officers asked and phoned Jablonsky to fill him in on what would become today’s action report. Then I called Detective O’Connell and informed him of a possible break and witness on his case, hoping he could do something to get us access to Will while he was undergoing the mandatory psych hold and evaluation. Unfortunately, a detective’s badge doesn’t trump a state appointed psychiatrist.
“More than likely, we have a seventy-two hour moratorium on our hands,” I said to Lucca.
“You did what you could. Did Will Briscoe say anything useful while you were on the roof?”
“He admitted to speaking to Levere about his dad and Santos, but he didn’t go into detail.” I shrugged. “So your guess is as good as mine.”
“Well, I’m surprised you managed to talk him down or at least delay him from jumping. I figured he would have gone over the edge just to get away from you.” Lucca laughed, indicating it was a joke. “You did a decent job of keeping him distracted. I don’t think he realized the fire department was set up below.” I hadn’t realized it either, but I kept my mouth shut. “Laura’s beside herself, but she called a friend. I don’t think we need to worry about her.”
Opening the car door, I climbed into the driver’s seat and rested my forehead against the steering wheel. “Did I miss the warning signs with Will Briscoe?” I asked.
“He was clearly distraught over his father’s murder, but that’s understandable. He didn’t seem particularly fond of you, but once again, that’s completely understandable. So I don’t think we missed anything.” Lucca fastened his seatbelt. “It’s okay.”
Pulling my head from the wheel, I turned the key, uncomfortable with his final statement. I had said those exact words to Will on the roof, and now I was wondering how long Lucca had been up there. What did he hear? On the drive back to the office, the question continued to nag at me, and after I parked in the garage beneath the building, I turned to face Lucca.
“How long were you out there?”
“Long enough to wonder if you might be considering jumping off the roof too.”
“I don’t like heights.”
“Yeah, you mentioned that.” He opened his car door. “The first step’s a doozy, but it’s the fastest way to ground level.”
“That’s not funny.” The fact that he wasn’t hounding me about following protocol didn’t sit well either. I could handle Lucca when he was his normal obnoxious self, but when he was working this hard to crack jokes and get on my good side, it made me uneasy and suspicious.
“Whatever, Parker.” He held the elevator, waiting for me to catch up. “After I finish my paperwork, I’ll get started on plan B while you’re getting your ass kicked for today.”
“I thought you said I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I said you didn’t miss anything. There is a difference.”
“God, I don’t want to know what you’re planning to write in your report. Just remember, you can’t attest to anything that happened that you did not witness firsthand.”
“There’s that paranoia I’ve grown to despise. When the hell are you going to learn to trust me?” His tone became snarky, and he went to his desk while I went to Mark’s office.
“Enter,” Mark bellowed, and I stepped inside. He looked up, ready to berate. “You talked the kid down?”
“Sort of. Lucca cuffed him.”
“Did you drag Will Briscoe up to the roof and threaten to throw him off unless he answered your questions?”
“No.”
“Then you talked him down, saved his life, job well done, right?”
“Sure,” I replied, hearing the company line loud and clear.
“Great. Write it up.” Mark tore his eyes from the paperwork littering his desk. “Is there something else you want to say?” By his tone, I knew the correct answer to that question was n
o, but I didn’t exactly take the hint.
“What about Lucca’s account?”
“Does he have a different story to tell?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I suggest the two of you figure it out.” He went back to work. “Out, Parker.”
“Yes, sir,” I growled, leaving his office. I preferred Mark as a friend and not my boss.
After completing the paperwork, I swiveled in my chair, finding the rest of the bullpen empty. Lucca must be working on plan B, which meant I ought to work on my own plan B. Logging off the computer, I went to the locker room, changed out of my suit and into my workout gear, and returned to my desk to grab my purse and car keys. There was no reason to take a government vehicle to the gym and possibly blow my cover.
“You didn’t happen to get anything else on the two fighters or the gym owner, did you?” I asked.
“No. The techs are scrubbing traffic cam footage from the day of the shooting. That was my plan B. Wasn’t your detective pal supposed to be working the gym angle?” Lucca replied.
“He’ll call when he knows something. In the meantime, I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll be back in two hours.”
“I didn’t think you believed in overtime.” He shook his head and keyed a few things into the computer. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Before I go, I was wondering if you completed your incident report yet.”
His eyes shot up, and his face turned smug. “Why? Afraid what I’ll say?” I remained silent, staring him down like a speeding train. “Don’t worry, Parker, I only know that you managed to stall his swan dive long enough for help to arrive which is on par with basic negotiation and tactics guidelines. I don’t have a problem with what happened. I’m just not sure why you’re acting so squirrely about it.” He looked around the room and lowered his voice. “Did you do something wrong?”
“I’ll see you later.” Turning on my heel, I hoisted my gym bag over my shoulder and headed for the elevator.
When I arrived at the gym, I was greeted by Linka Greenwood. She ushered me into the locker room where I stowed my gear before leading the way back to the mat. After a dozen introductions to the other female fighters, she instructed us on some warm-up exercises and jumping rope. Halfway through the routine, Ron and four other men entered the main gym area from one of the back offices. After five hundred reps with the rope, the women split off, working with a partner or alone while the men circulated, calling out hit patterns.
Linka waved Ron and another man over. His name was Lawrence Caffrey, and he was one of the other trainers. After donning a pair of focus mitts, we circled one another, repeating the same sort of practice audition that Ron had me perform a few nights ago. However, Caffrey didn’t get nearly as aggressive with his hits or backing me into a corner, and he didn’t seem particularly impressed by my skills. After quietly excusing himself, I caught sight of Linka and Ron exchanging whispers in the far corner of the room.
“I guess I failed,” I said, ignoring the obvious fact that they didn’t want to be interrupted. “Should I pack up and go?”
“No, work on a few combos with the heavy bag. I’ll be with you in a minute,” Ron said.
His words left little wiggle room, and I did as I was told. Positioning myself to watch the two, I noted there was something odd about their exchange, and the hair at the back of my neck stood at attention. Had I been made? Or did something else happen at the gym? After a time, the two split up. Linka went to spar with a woman in her weight class, and Ron steadied the heavy bag.
“The last time a man held the bag for me, he asked me not to kick him in either head,” I quipped, launching a kick at the duct taped center of the bag. “Thankfully, my aim seems decent.”
“Are you planning to become a kickboxer?” Ron asked, failing to find my story humorous. “Or were you leaning toward the sweet science?”
“I don’t know. Which one pays better?” I pummeled the bag with a few left jabs and right crosses.
“Is money your only incentive for being here?”
“Mostly, I want to feel in control of something. If I know how to fight and how to control myself, then that’s enough. But money’s good too. I could use it. The rent for my current office space is ridiculous. I’m looking to move into another building, but I’ll need enough for first and last month’s rent and a security deposit.”
“What do you consult on?” Ron asked, holding up his palm and stopping my assault.
“Corporate security.”
“That sounds impressive.”
“It isn’t. Does anyone really give a shit which type of security camera or biometric lock is used inside an office building?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it’s no wonder you have so much pent-up aggression.” He looked over his shoulder at the empty ring. “Have you ever been in a real fight?”
“With a referee and stuff?”
“No. A street fight.”
“I fought off a mugger once, which all the self-defense classes I’ve ever taken strongly advise against, but it was my favorite purse and I just got a brand new cell phone. It was stupid, but that’s just how it goes. And there was a thing that happened in a bar one time, but a lot of that is a blur.”
“You’re a lot more interesting than I imagined.” Ron jerked his head toward the center of the ring. “Come on, I want to see what your go-to moves are. You kicked me the other day. Don’t hold back this time. Just defend yourself. It’ll give me a better idea of what direction you should take as a fighter.”
“Okay, but take it easy. I’m not looking to have a nose job or get my jaw wired shut.”
“No problem.” He ducked between the two ropes, and I followed suit. “I just want to test out your instincts.”
I fought hard, making sure that he’d want to coach me. The only way to discover how this underground fight scene worked was to get invited to play. I didn’t pull my punches, and neither did Ron. His fist slammed into the side of my face, and I saw stars. My eyes teared, and I stumbled backward. He came at me, hoping to use my moment of weakness to his advantage, and I performed a double roundhouse kick. He ducked the first but didn’t quite expect the second. I lunged forward, performing a three punch, two kick pattern until he grabbed my ankle, twisting and knocking me to the ground. After leaping to my feet, he moved faster than I expected, knocking me back to the mat with an uppercut that nearly blacked out the world.
“Enough,” he said, offering a hand while I remained completely dazed. He leaned over me, holding up a finger. “Are you okay? Follow my finger.” He moved it from left to right, and I did as he asked, shaking off the stars and sitting up. “Sorry, I thought you’d block it. At least I know where to start your training.”
“Does that mean you’re my coach?” I asked, working my jaw and feeling the numb, tingly pain. At least I didn’t lose a tooth.
“It looks like it. No one else wants you. You don’t have the normal training or reaction we’ve come to expect, but that’s a good thing. The other fighters won’t know what moves to anticipate when they encounter you.”
I rubbed my cheek and jaw. “It doesn’t feel like a good thing.”
“No, it is. The coaches here were trained by Tim, and so we use his methods of training. It’s nice to have some fresh blood around.” He lowered his voice. “Our fighters sometimes have problems when facing off against competitors with different training methodologies. Where did you say you trained?”
“I took a bunch of different self-defense classes and an assortment of martial arts. I never stuck with any one too long.” Wincing, I tilted my head from side to side. “I don’t remember ever being hit that hard either.”
“Go grab a cold pack before your eye swells shut, and we’ll discuss your training in the office.”
After doing as Ron said, I took a seat across the desk from him. The office was small with a few trophy cases and photos filling the two side walls. The back wall had a heavyweight
belt, newspaper clippings, and a few old photographs of a much younger Tim Coker from his fighting days. Too bad there weren’t a few blackmail letters or sniper rifle bullets sitting anywhere in the room.
“Some fighters train on contingency, so instead of paying a flat fee for these sessions and letting me have the typical cut for the fight, I’ll make life easier for you, Alex,” Ron said, sounding oddly like a used car salesman. “You can train for free, and win or lose, we’ll split what you get paid for a fight. How does that sound?”
“What if I decide not to fight?” I gestured to my face. “Or what if I can’t fight? Then what happens?”
“That’s never been the case before.” He pulled a contract from the desk drawer and held it out. “This is just the basics. You don’t need to read it, just sign at the bottom.”
I wasn’t sure how legally binding any of this was, considering there was no mention of what happened when or if a fighter failed to perform at the levels required to reimburse the exorbitant training costs, but I signed an illegible fictitious name and slid the paper back. He could sue any time he wanted.
“This was much easier than what Mr. Coker made it sound like. He practically sent me to the rec center for their free classes,” I mused.
“A couple of our guys have left us and gone there. Tim’s never been a fan. Occasionally, we’ll encounter the dropouts at a bout, but our gym is making a comeback. We train winners here. Don’t let today get to you. You have to get knocked down in order to get back up. This will make you stronger and faster, and it’ll teach you to block next time.”
“It might also teach me to invest in headgear.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad either.” He gestured toward the door. “Have you been sticking to the diet and workout Linka gave you last week?”
“Not as much as I should.”
“You’ll need to commit to that if you want to be a serious contender, and you definitely have what it takes, Alex.” He sifted through a stack of forms and handed me another pamphlet on protein and carbs. “You need to pack on some pounds as soon as possible, so we can start converting that to muscle.”
