Charm City

by Mason Dixon

  Raq didn’t move right away because she didn’t think Ice was serious. He always sought her opinion of new fighters, and she participated in the meetings when he sat down with them. Why was he flipping the script now?

  “If you say so,” she said slowly.

  “I do.” He jerked his head toward the door, and Hercules took a step forward to make sure she got the hint. “Don’t worry,” Ice said after she reluctantly rose from her seat. “Your girl will be safe with me.”

  “What’s so different about this one?” Hercules asked as he escorted her to the elevator. “Is Ice planning on grooming her to replace you or does he want a piece of that for himself?”

  Raq shrugged as she jammed her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Hercules held his big hand inside the elevator to keep the doors from closing. “Wait downstairs until we call you back up. Try not to get arrested for loitering, okay?” he asked with a wink.

  Raq flipped him off, but the gesture was lighthearted. Despite some of the things she’d seen him do at Ice’s command, Herc was a good guy. Probably the only one on Ice’s payroll she’d trust to have her back if worst came to worst. The rest she wouldn’t trust as far as she could throw them. And as big as most of these guys were, that wasn’t very far.

  “Keep an eye on her, okay? I don’t want Ice to give her a test drive for the wrong part of the business.”

  “If he does decide to do that, what do you expect me to do except watch? He’s the boss, remember?”

  Yeah, she remembered. All too well.

  Hercules removed his hand and the door slid shut. Raq rode it all the way to the bottom. Where, it seemed, she would always belong.

  *

  Bathsheba rubbed her hands on the legs of her black slacks to force herself to sit still. What she wanted was in reach, but she needed to play it cool. She tried to make her excitement seem like nervousness. “Why did you want to talk to me alone?” she asked, casting a wary eye at Ice’s cadre of armed guards.

  He lit a cigar from the humidor on the coffee table and blew out a plume of fragrant smoke before he deigned to answer her question. “I wanted to get you by yourself because I didn’t want Raq to hear what I had to say.”

  “Like what?”

  “Where we come from, new faces don’t stay new for long. I’d heard a lot about you even before Raq made her little speech extolling your virtues.”

  “What have you heard?”

  She watched the bodyguards out of the corner of her eye. Was it her imagination or had Hercules crept closer to where she was sitting? She would have felt more comfortable having her service weapon on her, but she was glad she hadn’t brought a gun because it might have been discovered when she and Raq were searched at the door, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to offer a suitable explanation for its presence. She might not feel like it at the moment, but she was safer having her gun stashed back at the apartment.

  “You’re smart and you’re independent, two of the qualities I admire in a woman. Before you get the wrong idea, I’m not trying to hit on you. You’re a beautiful woman, but I don’t want to cause friction between my employees.”

  “I think you already have.”

  He flinched as if he wasn’t accustomed to being challenged. Most bullies weren’t. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he said, but Bathsheba suspected very little got past him.

  “Raq didn’t look happy when you kicked her out of here.”

  “She’ll get over it. When she starts to forget her position, I have to remind her that this isn’t a monarchy, and she isn’t next in line for the throne.”

  “So who am I supposed to be, the court jester?”

  Ice smiled around his Cohiba. “That depends on how you perform in the ring. If you embarrass me, I doubt either of us will be laughing. You feel me?” The question was obviously rhetorical because he didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Now let’s get down to business. Our deal is simple. You fight who I tell you to fight when I tell you to fight. I’ll break you in slowly at first, but if you prove to be a draw, I’ll make sure you have a spot on each card. Raq was my headliner and will be again as soon as she regains her old form, but there’s plenty of money on the table for everyone.”

  “What’s the split?”

  “Since I pay for promotion, security, and various expenses, it’s only natural I would receive the lion’s share of the earnings. You get twenty percent of the action on the losing bets laid down for your fights.”

  “What about the gate? Isn’t that where the real money is?”

  He looked at her as if no one had ever dared to ask him the question. “One hundred percent of those profits go to the promoter whose fighters win the most bouts on a given night. In a way, I’m taking a gamble as well. Fortunately for me, I usually come out on the winning end. So do the people who work for me.” He stood and beckoned for her to follow. He led her to a home gym filled with state-of-the-art workout machines that made the equipment at Pop’s look obsolete in comparison. “All this could be yours to use for training. I make the same offer to all my fighters.”

  “Have any of them taken you up on it?”

  “The ones who are serious about what they do.”

  “Raq seems pretty serious to me, yet she trains at Pop’s.”

  Ice scowled momentarily before he arranged his features into a placid mask. “Raq feels she owes Zeke and his father something because they helped her out of a jam when she was younger. I allow her to indulge her fantasy because she’s proven time and again her true loyalty is to me.” He propped his foot on an elliptical machine. “Are you ready to join my team?”

  Bathsheba almost said yes right away, but she forced herself to be cautious. “Where’s the ring?” she asked, pointing out the only thing that was missing.

  “I don’t need one because I have this.” He walked over to an interactive fitness machine equipped with six striking pads that tracked the speed of the user’s punches and a speaker system that simulated the sounds of a sparring partner being hit. The onboard computer contained almost four hours of individualized workouts. The machine could do just about everything except fight back. Why would Raq train on the broken-down equipment at Pop’s when she could be using this?

  “Is there a contract I’m supposed to sign?” Bathsheba gave one of the striking pads a tentative punch that might have prompted the computer’s electronic voice to taunt her like a real opponent would if the machine had been switched on.

  Ice shook his shaved head. “I never write anything down. Not even a phone number. Paper trails lead only one direction—straight to prison. I’m not trying to go down that road.”

  The scant paper trail he had left behind led to nothing but dead ends. He hadn’t left much of an electronic one, either. Everything related to his legitimate businesses checked out, and there was nothing to tie him to the businesses that weren’t aboveboard. Wiretaps hadn’t worked. Neither had round-the-clock surveillance.

  Bathsheba suspected Ice laundered his drug money through Miss Marie’s. Restaurants were cash-intensive businesses, which made it hard to prove when dirty money was being mixed in with the clean funds taken in over the counter. Either Ice or his accountant was probably smart enough to keep the restaurant’s deposits under the ten-thousand-dollar reporting threshold, which kept Ice off the IRS’s and the Feds’ respective radars.

  Major Crimes had been trying to follow the money for years. Every time they thought they were getting close, they veered off track. Now that Bathsheba knew tickets for the underground fights were being sold at Miss Marie’s, the department had enough probable cause for a subpoena of the restaurant’s financial records, but her handler had told her during their last meeting they wouldn’t file the paperwork right away because they didn’t want to raise Ice’s suspicions while they had someone on the inside. Doing so could jeopardize both Bathsheba’s chance of success and her life.

  Ice was li
ke an eel—too slippery to be caught. At least that’s how most people saw it. Bathsheba, on the other hand, had a much different perspective. And she had come too far to let anyone or anything screw this up now.

  “Count me in.”

  Chapter Seven

  “You’re not going to train at Pop’s?” Raq asked after her second trip to the buffet. The Peking Gourmet was all-you-could-eat, and she wanted to make sure she got the most out of her money. Her plate was loaded with more than most people could eat, but she was just getting started.

  “Ice’s equipment seems pretty sweet,” Bathsheba said.

  “It is, but it doesn’t teach you how to react to getting hit or correct what you’re doing wrong.”

  That was what sparring partners and the watchful eyes of a knowledgeable trainer were for. Ice’s fancy toys offered neither.

  “Even so, I could never afford any of that stuff on my own. I would be crazy not to take advantage of a chance to use it for free.”

  Raq shoveled a forkful of fried rice into her mouth. “I’d hardly call it free. One way or another, he’ll find a way to make you pay.”

  “As long as I get paid. That’s all I care about. I’d hate to think I was doing all this for nothing. How do we get our money, anyway? Does Ice count it out in the dressing room after the fight or what?”

  “Ice doesn’t handle the payouts. Dez does. His guys count the profits from each fight and Ice decides who gets what. Then we meet up at Miss Marie’s a couple days later and get paid. Some of the guys eat so much Ice might as well not pay them anything because most of the money goes right back into the till. Not me. A dinner at Miss Marie’s costs ten bucks and lasts a few hours. Here, I pay seven and I can eat enough to last a whole day.”

  “What do you do with the rest of your earnings? Are you saving them for a rainy day?”

  “The banks around here don’t want my money, and if I stash it at my place, it would only get stolen. I let Zeke hold it for me. He gives me what I need and hangs on to the rest.”

  “You trust him like that?”

  “He and Pop are more like family to me than my real family ever was. I owe Ice for giving me a livelihood, but I owe Pop and Zeke for giving me back my life.”

  “You told me a little bit about it at the club after your fight last week, but what exactly did they do for you?”

  Raq chewed on an egg roll as she tried to suppress the unpleasant memories Bathsheba’s questions had dredged up. “It’s not something I like to talk about. Get me drunk enough and maybe I’ll tell you.”

  Bathsheba smiled, showing off her dimples. “What am I supposed to do until then?”

  “I could think of a bunch of things, but let’s start in the ring. I want to see what you can do before the fists start flying for real. When’s your first fight?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Then you’d better eat up because we don’t have much time.”

  Bathsheba started in on her food. They’d been here for almost half an hour. She still hadn’t finished her first plate and Raq was ready for thirds. “Does Dez handle all the payouts or just the ones to the boxers?”

  “What do you mean?” Raq eyed the dessert buffet. She could use something sweet to round out her meal.

  “Come on, Raq. I have eyes. I know boxing isn’t all that Ice is into. How do the other people who work for him get paid, the dealers and hookers?”

  Raq felt like she was betraying a trust until she remembered they were now working for the same man. “They get paid the same way we do. Not the same time, but the same way.”

  Bathsheba nodded as if Raq had just confirmed something she had already suspected. “So all the money flows through Miss Marie’s?”

  Raq pushed her empty plate away from her. “If you keep asking so many questions about Ice and his business, people are going to start thinking you’re five-oh.”

  Bathsheba laughed. “Do I look like a cop to you?”

  “No, but I’m not the one you need to convince. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Who should I be worried about?”

  “The ones who want what you have. Those are the people you need to watch out for.”

  “I shouldn’t have anything to worry about in that regard because I don’t have anything anyone would want.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You have a job, a place of your own, and you seem to be doing okay for yourself. Now you have something everyone around here wants: a spot in Ice’s crew.”

  “You make it sound so glamorous. I’ll have to remember that when I’m filing papers at my real job.”

  “At that copy place downtown?”

  “How did you know where I worked?” Bathsheba’s eyebrows knitted. Raq was afraid she’d react this way when she found out what Ice had put her up to.

  “Ice asked me to find out.”

  “Do you know where I live, too?” Raq didn’t say anything, but Bathsheba could tell by her silence that the answer was yes. She balled up her napkin and tossed it in her plate even though there was plenty of food left. “Do you do everything Ice tells you to do?”

  “Everyone does, not just me,” Raq said defensively. “Soon, you will, too.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “We all say that in the beginning. Then it gets harder and harder to say no.”

  Bathsheba narrowed her eyes as if she were trying to see inside her. “So you’re saying there’s nothing you wouldn’t do?”

  “Money talks. Bullshit walks. Everyone has a price.”

  “Is there a line you refuse to cross or would you do anything for the right amount?”

  Raq had lost her appetite all of a sudden. She wasn’t used to having to defend her actions or explain her motivations. It took her a minute to come to terms with the idea. The idea that she wanted acceptance and understanding from someone she barely knew when she didn’t care if she received it from most of the people who had been in her life for years.

  “Let’s just say the other things he has on the menu aren’t anything I would ever buy or sell.”

  “But you’re willing to act as lookout for and offer protection to the ones who are willing to do what you won’t? Is that better somehow?”

  Raq looked at her hard. “How do you know about that?”

  Bathsheba reached across the table and touched Raq’s hand. Her fingers, soft and light, glided over Raq’s knuckles. “Like I said, I have eyes. I know what you do when you’re not in the ring, so you can stop trying to shield that part of your life from me.”

  Raq’s fingers twitched involuntarily. She wasn’t used to being treated with such gentleness. Her body didn’t know how to react. “I didn’t want you to look down on me because of what I do.”

  “We all have to make a living, right? I’m not here to judge you because of how you make yours.”

  Bathsheba took her hand away. Raq, already missing her touch, almost reached for her so she could go back to doing what she had been doing—making her feel as normal as everyone else here. Bathsheba crooked her finger toward her as if she were summoning her across a crowded room instead of an intimate table for two.

  “Come here. I think you’ve earned that kiss.”

  “Here? Now?”

  Bathsheba cocked her head quizzically. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you out?”

  “Yes, but what you said the first time we met has given me something to think about.” Raq folded her arms on the table, enjoying going back-and-forth with someone who was just as skilled at running game as she was. “If I have to earn my kiss, you have to earn yours, too.”

  Bathsheba smiled and reached for her hand again. “What do I have to do?”

  “Easy,” Raq said, loving the idea of having something new to look forward to instead of the same-old, same-old day after day. “All you have to do is win your first fight. Now let’s hit the gym so we can make sure that happens sooner rather than later. I don’t want you to keep me waiting forever.”

  Chapter
Eight

  Bathsheba booted up her computer and started a Skype session. A few seconds after the program opened, the face of Bill Carswell, her handler, appeared on the screen. Everyone in the department called him Columbo because he always looked a little bit rumpled just like the private detective Peter Falk once played on TV, but today he looked positively haggard.

  Carswell started to speak, but Bathsheba held up her hand, silently pleading for time to adjust the fit of the headset plugged into her computer’s speaker jack. The apartment’s walls were so thin she could hear every word of her neighbors’ conversations. Unless she wanted to find herself in Ice Taylor’s gun sights, she couldn’t afford to return the favor.

  “Is something wrong, Morris?” Carswell asked, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

  “I’m meeting Raquel Overstreet at Pop’s Gym in a few minutes for my first boxing lesson,” Bathsheba said into the headset’s microphone, “so I’m in a bit of a rush.”

  “What’s going on? Tell it to me straight.”

  “I’m being followed, which means we have to stop using Copies Made E-Z as a meeting place. If someone sees you there and connects you to me, we’re done.”

  “Who’s got eyes on you?”

  “Overstreet said Taylor asked her to check out my cover story.”

  “We knew that would happen at some point.”

  “Yes, but I thought I’d see them coming. Even though I knew what to look for, Overstreet managed to shadow me without my knowledge.”

  The admission made Bathsheba feel vulnerable. When she was on patrol, she had a partner to watch her back. Here, she was completely on her own.

  “Let’s not push the panic button yet,” Carswell said. “As long as you stay a step ahead of your pursuers, you’ll be fine.” He rubbed his stubbled chin as if the action helped him think. “Do you still have the disposable cell phone I gave you?”