Fixed Fight (Mike Chance series Book 2)

by E. Ivan Infante

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Mike ditched the Chrysler a few blocks up Bunker Hill from the Hollenbeck Hotel and walked back. He moved fast, almost jogging. He was late. He hopped the front steps when he got there and barged into the lobby. Benny and Frisby sat on a circular divan in the middle of the room facing the door. Benny had changed into a freshly pressed black suit complete with boutonnière. Frisby wore a grey hound’s-tooth number and had a monocle dangling from a gold chain pinned to his vest. They looked the part.

  Mike slowed to a saunter as he crossed the lobby, stopped a few feet short of them, and lit a cigarette. “Where is he?” Mike asked.

  “He’s at a poker game.” Frisby answered.

  “He gonna lose all his money?”

  “That’s not possible.” Frisby was confident.

  “When’s he coming back?”

  It was Benny’s turn to answer. He did so with a shrug. Mike shrugged back, then looked around the lobby. There was a bar running along the back of it and he scanned the faces of the drunks who perched there. They were harmless. A janitor swept around them. He was harmless too.

  Mike’s eyes settled on a big leather chair. He walked over, grabbed it with one hand, and dragged it to the divan where Benny and Frisby perched. The chair scraped the floor and made a racket. The desk clerk heard it. He grimaced at the sight of Mike rearranging the furniture.

  The clerk motioned to a heavyset guy with a bulge in his jacket who stood in the corner of the room. He had the stand-up posture of a house detective and he shifted a little as if he were going to make a move toward Mike, but Frisby nodded him off and the Dick stayed in his corner. Frisby must’ve dropped a little sugar around.

  “You got details on this Dilworth you wanna share?” Mike pulled the chair up to them and sat down.

  Frisby had a hell of a poker face. “As I said, his name’s Dilworth. Barney Dilworth. He’s out of New York. His daddy made his money in dry goods. The son spends it. Some on the horses, more on the cards, the most on fights. He drops a lot at the fights. He loves the pugilistic arts. He likes to say that a lot. Anyway, we got him here on a land deal. He’s excited about the prospects. It’s his chance to show his dad he can make some money. The switch’ll be no problem.” Frisby gave Mike the once over while he was talking. He got hung up on Mike’s hands. “What happened to your mitts?” Frisby pointed at the burns on Mike’s knuckles.

  “There was a fire at the Polar Palace.” Mike answered.

  “You have any trouble?” Benny leaned forward.

  “No.” Mike said.

  “You put the fire out?” Frisby chimed in.

  “Yeah and the ashes are cold.” Mike stubbed out his cigarette in the smoker’s stand his partners had in front of them. It was filled to the top.

  “Well good for you.” Frisby leaned back on the divan. “Should we speed up our time table? Avoid any more confusion.”

  “Who’s confused?” Mike gripped the arms of his chair.

  “What time you think this Dilworth’s gonna be here?” Benny changed the subject. He knew Mike could go dark anytime and he tried to slim the chances.

  “It’s show time.” Frisby plastered a big welcome on his mug and hopped out of his seat. He addressed someone behind Mike in a booming voice. “Hello there, Barney, these are the boys I told you about. Remember the boys I told you about? These are them.” Frisby thumbed at Benny and Mike.

  Mike and Benny got up and extended their hands. Dilworth waddled across the lobby towards them. His sleeves were rolled up and his eyes were tired.

  “This is Mr. Lemon and his associate Mr. Grant.” Frisby repeated the introductions. “Mr. Lemon and Mr. Grant.”

  “So how’d ya do in the game anyway?” Benny shook Dilworth’s hand like it was a pump that inflated ego.

  “You win some and you lose some.” Dilworth had the regretful grin of the consummate sucker.

  “Too bad.” Mike didn’t shake. He stayed off to the side. Dilworth stepped toward him and gave him the once over. He paid him particular attention.

  “So, Mr. Grant, I heard you used to be a boxer.” Dilworth tried to squelch his sense of excitement. He didn’t quite manage.

  “Yeah, I had a bunch of fights up in Portland. You ever been up that way?” Mike spoke slower than normal and his words rolled out a little thicker.

  “No, I’ve never had the pleasure. You still train?”

  Benny didn’t like being overlooked. He had a short man’s attitude about it and he stepped in front of Mike to get Dilworth’s attention. “He works out almost every day. Maybe you’d like to come down to the gym sometime and see him?”

  “Maybe, maybe, I hope I have the time. I got some business down here I have to take care of first. That’s what they tell me anyway.” Dilworth kept on grinning.

  Frisby took Dilworth by the elbow and steered him a little bit away from Mike. “Business it is. Business it is. That’s why these gentlemen are here. They got the papers.” Frisby motioned at Benny.

  “You’re the man with the papers?” Dilworth asked. “The look in his eye and the lilt in his voice betrayed racial preference.

  “Yeah. I got’em.” Benny had heard that tone before.

  “You bet he does. Wanna go up and take a look?” Frisby steered Dilworth toward the stairs. The house dick in the corner started growing courage and throwing them glances. Frisby knew he had to get them out of there before the man approached or Mike lost his temper.

  “Sure. You boys staying here too?” Dilworth asked as they headed for the stairs.

  “You bet.” Benny and Mike answered at the same time.

  It was a slip up. It made them seem over eager, but Dilworth missed it. He just nodded agreeably. Frisby didn’t. He glared over Dilworth’s shoulder as he led the way upstairs to the third floor.

  When they got there, Frisby took them down the hall to a suite he had gotten earlier in the day. He had chosen one that was expensive and luxurious -- a room that fit the part. Frisby had made the kid at the front desk show him four suites before he settled on this one. The kid had tried to warn him off by talking price, but Frisby smiled and took the room anyway. Frisby didn’t care about price. It had been a long time since he had paid for anything. In fact he had never paid for a room in his life.

  Frisby stopped them outside the suite and drew the key slowly from his pocket for emphasis. He had picked a suite that would make the right impression on the mark from the moment the door opened. Frisby relished the reaction. He would pay close attention to Dilworth as he got his first look at the room. Frisby slid the key into the lock and turned it slowly, then pushed the door open and stepped back.

  Frisby motioned for them to enter in front of him and locked the door after he came in behind them. He had his eyes on Dilworth the whole time. Dilworth grinned mistaking luxury for truth. He took it all in: thin soft drapes, expansive windows, and heavy dark polished wood furniture. The plush carpet was deep and everything sank into it. The atmosphere was perfect except for the occasional honking horn rising from the street. Chaos could never be completely silenced.

  Dilworth spread his arms. “Beautiful room.”

  “You like it? You like it?” Frisby gave Dilworth a hard happy slap on the back. He went to do the same to Mike, but one look from the big guy and Frisby changed his mind.

  Instead Frisby drifted over to one of the elegant arm chairs that faced the fireplace and sat down. There was a chromium coffee table near the chairs with the book of real estate law that had Benny plastered on the inside cover lying in the middle of it. Dilworth took the bait. He walked over to the coffee table and opened the book. Benny’s picture looked up at him. It took him a second to piece it together. When he did, he got excited.

  “This you?” Dilworth spoke with the wonder of a slow child.

  “Yeah. That’s my picture.” Benny almost licked his lips in anticipation.

  Mike lingered in the doorway longer than the rest of them. When he did move, he didn’t join
the others around the coffee table. He walked over to the window and stared down at the street. He listened to the conversation for any sign of trouble, but he had no plans to participate. This wasn’t his part of the deal. Frisby had already promoted Dilworth something good. Dilworth was ready to buy.

  Benny kept up the chatter. He laid his accent on thick. “Frisby tells me that he’s got you up to speed, so I won’t waste too much time. I’ll just fill you in on some details. Now, this fella we’re meeting out in Riverside wants to move fast and get out from under. He’s bitter at the fellas he does business with for making his life tough and he sees a chance to get it over on’em. He’ll take fifty percent, but what’s left is all for us. It’s a steal. It’s perfect.”

  Dilworth nodded along with Benny as the little guy worked his magic. Mike kept watch out the window. Occasionally, he would shift his focus and catch Benny’s reflection in the glass. There was a halo of energy around the little guy.

  Benny went on. “These guys he works for own a hunting lodge together. One summer, one of their pals dropped dead right on the front porch. The others were devastated. Now they don’t want it. That’s where we come in. It’s priced to move.”

  Mike smiled, leaned forward, and opened the window. He flicked his cigarette away and followed the cinder’s golden arc down to the street. There was no foot traffic down there. The only action at this hour was the unloading of a couple of trucks by some big guys in blue uniform overalls. Mike’s gaze shifted from the workers to a car that made a tight turn in front of the hotel and rolled past slowly.

  It was a Chevy sedan, one of the heavy ones, and it drove so close to the building that its tires scraped the curb. As it got close, Mike could see at least three men in the car. It stopped and idled by a side door to the hotel. The house Dick that had been giving them the eye strolled out of the service door and hurried to the driver’s side. He leaned down and talked to the driver, then pointed up at their room.

  The driver looked up. Mike could see his upturned face. He didn’t know him, but it didn’t matter. Mike pulled back from the window.

  “I gotta get a cup of joe.” Mike interrupted his companions. He spoke a little too loudly and his slow boxer’s drawl made him seem belligerent.

  Benny raised his eyebrows. The words Mike spoke were code for trouble. Frisby clued in too, but he didn’t give a thing away. Dilworth didn’t notice. In fact, he seemed poised to ask for his own coffee, but he made eye contact with Mike and the expression he found there changed his mind. Mike walked across the room to the door. Benny got up and followed him. When Mike stepped out, Benny locked the door behind him.

  Mike ditched the slow witted boxer routine as soon as he left the room. He jogged toward a service cart that another guest had left in the hall. Mike gave the cart the once over until he found a steak knife. It was dull, but it would have to do. Gunfire could turn Dilworth yellow and it would all be over before it started. Mike hurried to a window and looked down at the street. The sedan idled at the curb. The house detective no longer stood near it. Mike looked up and down the street for him, but the big fellow was gone.

  Mike put the steak knife between his teeth, opened the window, and climbed out. He clung to the ornate face of the building and looked down at the car. He measured his distance to the street. He was pretty high up, so he lowered himself down carefully to the ledge on the second floor.

  Below him the sedan’s doors opened and two heavies got out. Their clothes were burned from the Polar Palace fire. Cowboy Hat didn’t get out with them. He looked hurt and he stayed behind the wheel. The two heavies met on the sidewalk directly under Mike to discuss their next move. Mike saw his chance and dropped off the side of the building with the knife in his hand.

  He landed on someone’s back and his victim broke his fall. Mike drove the steak knife into the man’s neck as they crumpled to the sidewalk together. Only Mike jumped up. Blood spurted like a fountain from the body on the ground. The second man was surprised and slow to react. He peddled backward reaching for his shoulder holster.

  Mike leapt forward and grabbed the man’s hand before it could draw the pistol. Mike stabbed him three times in the chest. Mike aimed for the heart. He knew exactly where it was. He had practice. The heavy dropped to his knees and fell forward. He was done.

  By now, Cowboy Hat was driving away. He had a gun in his hand and he aimed with confidence. He knew how to use it. Mike stood there with the bloody steak knife. Cowboy Hat had the drop on him.

  “Get down.” Frisby yelled behind him.

  Mike hit the ground. Frisby unloaded at the car. Cowboy Hat had to duck down and stop firing. He sped off and took the corner tight.

  “We gotta go.” Frisby yelled at Mike. There were sirens now.

  “Benny?” Mike didn’t like being separated from his partner.

  “Up in the room playing Pinochle with Dilworth. They don’t have a clue.” Frisby yelled. “Come on.” Frisby motioned at a nearby vehicle. “Take the car.”

  Mike wiped his bloody hands on his shirt and did as he was told. Frisby slid into the seat next to him and reloaded the Derringer. The sirens got closer. Mike sped away from the hotel and after Cowboy Hat, but he had vanished. Mike drove around for awhile, but they couldn’t find him. Eventually, Frisby gave him the signal that said ‘give it up.’

  Back at the hotel, the police had arrived and cordoned off the scene. Mike rolled past slowly, but took the first turn he could and never looked back. After a couple of blocks, Frisby broke the silence.

  “Pull over.” He said.

  “Sure.” Mike again did as told and stopped the car.

  “How far’s your hotel from here?” Frisby slid the Derringer into his pocket and sat back.

  Mike looked around at the street signs. He was only a few blocks from the Richelieu. “Close.” He answered.

  “You need the car?” Frisby wasn’t really asking.

  “No, you can have it.” Mike turned off the ignition and opened his door. Before he got out, he turned to Frisby. “You still in?”

  “More so now than ever.” Frisby answered.

  Mike got out and Frisby slid across to behind the wheel and drove away. Mike watched the tail lights disappear around the corner, then headed back to his hotel. When he got there, he strolled into the lobby and found a different hotel detective perched in the chair where Mitchell usually sat. This man was taller, thinner, and balder. He gave Mike the once over and watched him close.

  Mike pretended not to notice and he reclaimed his key from the desk without glancing over. But he could feel the house detective’s eyes on him as he headed upstairs. Mike didn’t like that very much, but he was too tired to do anything about it.

  Back in his room, Mike bolted the door, sat in front of the window, and polished off the last of his smokes. His last few forays into voyeurism had proved disappointing, but this time he got a look at something in the hotel across the way. A heavy set brunette of about fifty dropped her dress and stood at the window for a second in a sheer white slip.

  Mike sat forward in his chair when he saw her. He sucked in his air hard and exhaled in short bursts when the brunette reached up and closed the blinds. He had only glimpsed her, but he chased the thrill for quite awhile. When he lost it, he stumbled over to the bed and fell face down on the mattress. He was asleep in seconds.

  Mike snapped awake with his legs flying off the edge of the bed. He saw Benny standing by his feet. The little guy had slapped Mike’s feet violently, but Mike got his body back under control. He slid into a sitting position from where he could clamber back to his senses. Benny didn’t wait for him. He handed him a cigarette and started talking.

  “You got your bag packed?” Benny asked.

  Mike noticed the rapid inhalations of breathe between each of Benny’s words. Also the little guy was rubbing his hands together more than normal. The game was on.

  Mike picked up on it. “You got smokes?”

  Benny tossed him a pack of C
hesterfields. “I got five more where that came from. Now, pack a bag. We gotta train to catch.”

  Mike put on his jacket without putting down the pack. He kept it cupped in his hand when he slid his arm through the sleeve. When his jacket was on, he slid the pack into the vest pocket. The Red 9 went in the big side pocket.

  Benny wandered off to the window. “What happened back at the hotel?”

  Mike didn’t answer right away. He was rifling through his own pockets looking for his money. “The Judge has a man left. He’s pretty sour about the skating rink.”

  “He get away?” Benny asked.

  “Yeah, he’s a rumbler” Mike had grudging respect for Cowboy Hat.

  “Well, all the better reason to move fast, so get your bag. I’ll be down in the lobby.” Benny said.

  The little guy left. Mike locked the door behind him, then made a beeline for a well-traveled leather bag on the floor in the corner. It had a decal on the side with the words ‘Heavyweight Champion’ in big bold letters. Mike had stolen the bag off a guy at the bus station. It hadn’t been too difficult. A brief show of violence and the fellow had handed it over right away. This had been a couple of days ago, when Benny had first mentioned the idea of fixing a fight, but it seemed like forever.

  Mike picked up the bag, put it on top of the chest, and opened it. His boxing gear was in there: a couple of white shirts, some black cotton boxing trunks, his shoes, and rolls of tape for his hands. He got a box of bullets and some street clothes from the chest of drawers and put them in the bag. The Red 9 was in his pocket.

  He left the room at just past six in the morning and shut the door quietly behind him. The hotel slept and he did not want to disturb it. At the top of the stairs, he hesitated. He stood a foot back from the railing and scanned the lobby below. The new house detective was asleep in the chair by the door – his hat tilted to hide closed eyes.

  Mike could see Benny through the window pacing the veranda. The little guy swung his arms and stepped lively. He had a cigarette perched between his lips and his puffs off smoke hung in a row behind him. Mike came downstairs.