Calling All Angels
A Shadow Council Case Files Novella
John G. Hartness
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Afterword
Acknowledgments
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About the Author
Also by John G. Hartness
1
Jo shook her head to clear the cobwebs, spat a mouthful of blood onto the stained canvas, and made a “come at me” gesture to her opponent.
The other woman obliged, taking two quick steps forward and throwing a low kick in a feint before stepping into a roundhouse designed to catch Jo on the side of the head and end the bout in decisive fashion. And it would have done exactly that, if it had connected.
But there was no head there to kick because Jo dropped to her hands and swept her opponent’s legs out from under her. The blonde woman went down flat on her back, and Jo was on her in a flash. Less than ten seconds later, she had her opponent trapped in a fully extended arm bar, and she felt the slap of a glove on her shin as the other woman tapped out.
Jo rolled to her feet, both hands raised in triumph. She took a quick victory lap around the ring—really an eight-foot high cage made of chain link and steel posts wrapped in thick padding. The referee motioned both women to the center of the ring and raised Jo’s fist over his head, announcing her victory to the crowd.
Jo turned to her opponent and held out her hand. The other woman leaned in, they shook, and then leaned in for a brief hug.
“I almost had you,” the woman said.
“Horseshoes and hand grenades, like my grandma always said,” Jo replied. They both laughed, any animosity left lying on the ring with more than one new bloodstain. Jo stepped out of the cage first, high-fiving the crowd on the way back to her locker room with her corner man.
The athletic black woman stripped off her gloves as soon as she was through the door, tossing them into the general vicinity of a basket on the floor. “Holy crap, she kicked like a mule!” Jo said as she sat on a bench and rubbed her inner thigh. “My quads are all kinds of knotted up.”
“She landed some pretty good ones,” Jake, her corner man, said. Jake picked up her gloves and the shoes she kicked off and shoved them in a big duffel. “You gonna shower before you leave?”
“God yes,” Jo said. “I don’t want to bleed all over the car on the way home. You keep Shelton the heck out of here while I get the funk washed off?”
“Yeah, no problem. He’ll probably run right over to Marla’s locker room anyway, to offer her a shoulder to cry on.”
“Or whatever,” Jo said, her mouth twisting into a grimace at the thought of the sleazy promoter going after the younger woman while she was down from losing the bout. “You wanna stick your head in over there, see if she wants to go get some breakfast?”
“Yeah, I can do that. IHOP or Waffle House?”
Jo laughed. “Let’s go big-time tonight. We’ll take the winner’s purse and spring for Denny’s.”
Jake chuckled as he made for the door. “I’ll be back in a sec. Try not to break anybody for five minutes.”
“Okay, but no promises if you run late.” Jo leaned back on the bench, her arms folded over her face. She replayed the bout in her mind, going over all three rounds looking for things she could have done better, things she missed, or places she could have ended the match sooner. This one almost went to time, and that put the fight in the hands of the judges. Jo was pretty sure she’d outpunched her opponent, but she’d rather have control of the decision herself.
She opened her eyes and stared up at the bare fluorescent tubes hanging on thin chain from the water-stained ceiling. This wasn’t the worst place she’d ever thrown a punch, but fighting the underground scene wasn’t anything like the clean, brightly lit gyms she trained in most of the time.
This whole world was new to her—fighting for money in unsanctioned bouts, advertised through word of mouth, ducking the cops and anything that even looked like an athletic commission. But the money was pretty good, which was more than she could say for any other assignment she’d ever had for the Shadow Council. And so far, everyone she’d fought had been one hundred percent human, another improvement over her last scrap, which featured at least three different types of demon trying to open the Gates of Hell into downtown Atlanta.
The door to her dressing room opened after just a couple minutes, and Jo sat up. Jake shouldn’t have been back so quickly, but there he was. And he wasn’t alone. Right behind him was a fuming Marla Jonas, a scowl on her face and fire in her eyes.
Marla stalked over to her and stood right in front of Jo. “What?” she demanded.
“What do you mean, what?” Jo asked, working to keep her tone mild. She didn’t like strangers in her personal space, and this woman was definitely there.
“Your guy said you needed to talk to me. Said it was urgent. Shel was about to tell me about the big fight he’s putting me in next month.”
Jo looked past the angry fighter at Jake, who shrugged. “Sorry, Jo. It’s all I could think of.”
Jo sighed, then stood up. She started toward the shower. “Go get her stuff, Jake. We’ll be in the shower. The dressing room key is in the side pocket of my bag. Keep Shelton out of here when you come back.” Jake nodded, then turned to go.
“Wait a minute, what the fuck is going on here? I’m not showering with you. I’m not into that. I mean, it’s cool if you are, whatever, but it’s not my thing.”
“Get over here,” Jo said. “I’m not into you, either. But Shelton obviously is, and the next thing he was going to say was how he wants to put you in that big fight, but since you lost tonight, he couldn’t really do it, so he’d need some kind of...convincing to give you that kind of opportunity.” Jo peeled off her top and shorts and turned on the water, adjusting the knobs to get the water as hot as she could stand it. She stood under the spray, letting the heat relax her sore arms and shoulders, wincing now and then as the water pounded on a particularly tender spot.
“Oh, bullshit,” Marla called from outside the shower. “Shelton knows better than to try that shit with me.”
“Yeah?” Jo said. “You’re that special? So special he wouldn’t try the same crap he’s tried on every single chick that’s thrown a punch in his cage? Dang, girl, you must be really amazing. Oh wait, you’re not. ‘Cause I just tapped you out. Just like I tapped out the last five women I stepped in the cage with. And Shelton’s tried that crap on me three times in the past six weeks. So if you really do think you’re so special that little weasel won’t try to con you into blowing him for a bigger payday, go on back to your locker room and have a great night. But if you think you’re probably just like everybody else scrapping on this circuit, then come grab a shower, and we can all go to Denny’s and get something to eat.”
Jo squirted a healthy amount of the body wash she liked into her scrunchie and started to lather up. It didn’t matter if the other woman joined her for a shower or not. Just taking her out of Shelton’s line of sight for a few minutes meant she was probably fine. He still had four more fights on the card to run and payouts to handle to fighters, security, and referees. That was before he dealt with paying out the guys running t
he betting on the fights, the payoffs to the cops who patrolled this neighborhood, and the janitor and principal of the high school where they were holding their unlicensed mixed martial arts event.
The sound of water turning on from a nearby station was Jo’s only notice that Marla had entered the shower. “Why do you give a shit?”
It was always either a thank you or that same question. Which one Jo got told her a lot about the woman asking. The broken ones asked why she cared. They didn’t understand that some people just wanted to do good in the world, just wanted to make it a little bit better place to live.
“Because we’ve got to look out for each other,” she said.
“All us fighters?”
“All us people,” Jo corrected. “We stopped being fighters the second the ref raised one of our hands. Now we’re just people again. And people gotta look out for people. It’s what keeps us from being...I don’t know what.”
“What world you live in, girl?” Marla asked. “Ain’t nobody gonna look out for you but you.”
“I’ve got Jake,” Jo said. “And now, I’ve got you.”
“Me? Why you think I’m gonna look out for you?”
“Because you owe me one,” Jo said with a grin. She reached over and turned off the water. “Help yourself to the body wash, but I didn’t bring any shampoo with me.” She pointed to the tight cornrows running the length of her scalp with a smile. Jo wrapped one towel around her head and another around her body, then walked out into the locker room.
Jake stood there, his back to the shower and arms folded across his chest. Another duffel sat on the bench beside Jo’s, with Marla’s blue silk ring robe lying across it. “I got all her stuff, but Shelly says you both gotta go see him for payout. Said he couldn’t give it to anybody but the fighter.”
Jo read from the set of his shoulders that there was more to it. She pulled on a pair of fresh panties and a sports bra, then slipped into a pair of loose sweatpants. “He said he wouldn’t give my money to a Mexican, didn’t he?”
“He said the only way I was getting any cash out of him was to do his lawn.” Jake shook his head. “That fucking piece of trash is a disgrace to illegal fights. He should be running cock fights in the backwoods of Alabama, not the biggest underground fight club in Arizona.”
“He shouldn’t be running anything, but you get more with money than with honor these days,” Jo said.
“Hey, did your corner man get back with my bag?” Marla called from the shower.
“Yeah, what do you need?” Jo called back.
“Can you bring me my shampoo?”
“No problem.” Jo grabbed a bottle of Head & Shoulders from the bag and carried it into the shower. “Holy crap, girl, did I do that?” she said, pointing to a softball-sized bruise on Marla’s upper ribcage.
“Oh, that...um, no, that wasn’t you. That was from...sparring a couple days ago.”
Jo looked in her eyes, but the other woman wouldn’t meet her gaze. She held out the shampoo bottle, then let out a sigh. “I’ve got some Tiger Balm in my bag. I’ll leave it out for you. You should maybe find a new sparring partner. Looks like that one doesn’t know how to pull her punches.”
Jo walked out of the shower and finished dressing. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to a contact that only said “Sparkles.” “Need you to find out everything there is about a fighter named Marla Jonas.”
“Problem?” the reply came instantly.
“Not for me. She’s got a couple bruises that don’t look like they came from fighting legit opponents.”
“You’re not fighting legitimately,” Sparkles replied.
“Yeah, but this looks like somebody hit her in the ribs with a baseball bat.”
“Shit. You think husband?”
“Maybe boyfriend. Either way, I think he needs to be persuaded not to do it again.”
“I’ll get back to you in a flash. Don’t do anything stupid until I find out the details.”
“Would I ever do anything stupid?” Jo typed back.
“Between you, Harker, and Gabby, if I still had a body, you’d give me a stroke,” Sparkles replied.
Jo pulled on a tattered Randy Savage t-shirt and sat down to slip into socks and shoes. “I think we might have a situation,” she whispered to Jake’s back.
“Hammer time?” he asked.
“You know I hate it when you say that.”
“Why do you think I do it?” His shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “What’s the problem?”
“I think somebody’s hitting Marla outside of the ring.”
“You gonna stop it?” It was only nominally a question.
“I can’t just let it go,” she said.
“I guess you can’t, can you?”
“Never have, never will.”
Their muted conversation was cut short when Marla stepped out of the shower. “Wow, he actually keeps his back turned while you dress?” She gestured at Jake.
“I told him I’m not that modest, but he insists.”
“I’ve got three daughters, girl. I’ve seen everything you got, but everybody deserves the respect to not have people staring at them while they’re naked,” Jake said, his face locked straight ahead.
“Well, thank you, Jake. I appreciate it,” Marla said. She quickly slipped into a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, then slipped some sneakers on and hefted her bag to her shoulder.
“Come on, then. Let’s go get paid and head over to someplace that will fill us full of bacon grease and runny eggs,” Jo said, motioning for the other two to follow as she headed out the door to argue with Shelton about her cut of the betting and get some much-needed dinner.
2
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Jo walked through the door of her three-bedroom house. She dropped her duffel bag on the sofa and walked into the kitchen, giving a rueful smile to the white-haired woman leaning on the stove with a scowl on her face. Cassandra Harrison was a slender woman in her seventies, but she still stood ramrod straight, the steel in her spine no different from the spikes Jo’s legendary great-grandfather had driven into the railroad ties so many years before.
“Good morning, Mama,” Jo said, reaching into the refrigerator for a carton of orange juice. She didn’t bother with a glass, just turned the carton up, and took a long swig. She put the OJ back in the fridge and closed the door.
“You want to yell at me now or wait until I’ve had some sleep?” she asked her mother.
“I don’t want to yell at you at all, baby, but you been out all night. A mother worries, you know.”
“I know, Mama. I know.” Jo pulled out a battered ladder-back wooden chair and sat down at the table in what most houses would call a breakfast nook. At the Harrison household, they just called it the kitchen table. It was the centerpiece of the house, no matter how far from the middle of the structure it sat. The family ate as many meals together around that wooden oval as possible, but lately Jo’s work with the Shadow Council had kept her away from too many dinners and breakfasts, and her freelance editing had her eating far too many lunches at her desk while answering emails or proofreading manuscripts.
“I’m sorry I was out all night. It was around three when I got done at the gym, and then I wanted to get a bite to eat with the girl I fought tonight,” Jo said, leaning her head back and working it side to side to stretch out the knots building in her muscles. Another hot shower might be in order before she finally saw her bed.
“You beat this girl up, then you went out to dinner with her? I don’t understand that, Joanna. I really don’t.”
“It wasn’t anything personal, Mama. We didn’t fight because we hate each other; we fought for money. Oh, by the way, here, put this in the kitty.” She reached into the pocket of her hoodie and tossed a roll of bills to her mother. Shelton was a pervert and a shady fight promoter, but he kept his word about payout. Jo got a guaranteed two hundred per fight, five hundred if she won, plus twenty percent of the house cut of
any bets on her fights, and five percent of the door. Tonight that all added up to a little under a thousand dollars. Not bad for a night that she didn’t even bleed. Much.
“I don’t need your money, child. You my daughter, I’m gonna take care of you,” her mother said. But Jo noticed that the money disappeared into a pocket on the front of the flowered apron she wore over her clothes.
“I know, Mama, but I can pull my own weight around here. I’m not living on the streets.”
“And you never will be, as long as I’ve got anything to say about it,” Cassandra replied.
Jo let it pass. No point in arguing with her this late. Or early, depending on whether or not you’d slept yet. “How was Ginny?” Jo asked.
“Oh, she’s fine,” Cassandra said. “Missed having her mama around this past couple months. When you gonna be done with all this nonsense, anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” Jo said. “I’ve been winning, and that means I get to fight more, but I still haven’t been there late enough in the show to meet the man I’m there to find.”
“What’s this man done, anyhow, that you got to stay up all night getting your face messed up to find him? Is he a bad man? Is this dangerous, baby?”
“Well, I am working in an illegal club fighting inside a steel cage where there are no rules except to make your opponent tap out or knock them unconscious. But other than that, I don’t think it’s that dangerous.” After her last trip to Atlanta with Quincy Harker and the rest of the Shadow Council, Jo’s bar for “dangerous” was significantly higher than it used to be. After all, once you defuse a bomb under a basketball arena and fight off a demonic invasion, getting decked in a fight just isn’t quite as scary anymore.
“You don’t have to be smart, Joanna. I worry is all.” Her mother’s voice was quiet, and Jo knew she’d hurt the other woman’s feelings.
“I know, Mama. I’m sorry. I like that you worry about me.” She stood up and hugged her mother, giving the shorter woman a kiss on the top of her head. “Now I’m going to grab a quick shower and get some sleep. I’ve got a self-help book to work on today before I go back tonight.” Jo made her living most weeks as a freelance copy editor, and fighting in a cage at night meant that her clients weren’t getting the attention they deserved. She had to spend at least a little time on her “day job” or she wouldn’t have any clients left to ignore.
Calling All Angels (The Shadow Council Case Files Book 1) Page 1
