Caged Love: MMA Contemporary Suspense (Book Three)

by Thunderbolt, Liberty

  “Yeah, and to top it off I’ve got a couple big sponsors on the line for Tristan now that he signed with the UCC.”

  Marshall poured another beer. “Sounds great, but you don’t seem too excited.”

  “There are always two sides to the story buddy.”

  “Uh-oh, what does that mean?”

  “My deal with Mr. Smith isn’t going so well. He put money on Tristan to lose because of my information. Thankfully Maris won because he had a chunk on him, too.”

  Marshall wiped away a wet spot on the counter. “What do you think is gonna happen?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. He called a couple days ago, said he’d be out of town until today, said he wants to visit when he got back. Honestly, I’m scared. I’ve told you the stories about these people. I was stupid for getting involved with him.”

  Marshall shook his head. “Can you see any way out? Can you run if you need to?”

  “I don’t know, but like you just said, you never can predict how things will turn out, so I’m going to talk to him. Who knows, those stories probably aren’t even completely true.”

  “I hope you don’t have to find out, Bear.”

  There was a lull in the conversation. Marshall turned to replace a tray of freshly washed mugs and Bear sipped, working at dirtying another one. Then the door opened.

  Both men looked up expecting to see a familiar face. Instead there were two familiar faces, ones that forced an involuntary shudder through Bear’s entire body, Eck and Dean.

  They strolled toward Bear with exaggerated confidence. Eck with his blonde hair resembling that of a balding porcupine, and Dean, a cigarette hanging between his thin lips, in a long leather jacket even though it was seventy degrees outside. Bear pivoted on the stool and glanced around the bar. There was nothing to do but play it cool.

  Marshall didn’t know the men, but it only took him a second to put two and two together. These guys were here for his friend. He moved to the counter and reached deep under it. He kept his eyes on the men as they approached, and groped for the old Easton baseball bat. He found it, and wrapped his hand around the rubber-gripped handle. He stood in the awkward position, trying to look relaxed while being poised to pull it out and start swinging at a moment’s notice.

  Bear started to stand, smiling in feigned hospitality. Better that than gut-wrenching fear.

  Eck looked across the bar at Marshall. “No need for that big guy. We’re business associates of Mr. Haynes. Isn’t that right Bear?”

  Bear nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. It’s okay, Marshall.”

  Marshall looked at all three men and didn’t move. How did that guy know he was gripping a baseball bat?

  Dean circled to the back side of Bear’s stool. He stood with both hands folded neatly in front of him. The unzipped jacket hung loosely by each hip. “Really, Marshall, no need. We’re here to pick Bear up for a meeting with a mutual associate.”

  Marshall’s hand shook. This was so far out of his comfort zone. He knew these men were much more than Bear’s associates. Bear just finished telling him about Mr. Smith. He thought about using the man’s name, trying to scare these two, but realized they wouldn’t be scared by a name. He straightened up, inching the bat out from underneath the bar, his voice cracking slightly. “This true Bear, these guys taking you to a meeting?”

  Bear was nervous, but his friend was downright petrified. He cursed himself for getting Marshall involved. The man was his only real friend. He had to keep him from doing something dangerous. He swallowed hard. “Absolutely, it’s fine. These gentlemen are telling the truth.”

  Eck smiled to Marshall and held his hands out palms up. “See, now seriously, put the bat down. It’s sweet that you care for your drunken buddy and all, but really it’s not needed. We’ll have him back here within the hour.”

  Marshall’s chin quivered slightly. Bear, lips pursed in a forced smile, said, “Have a cold one ready for me in an hour.”

  All three men walked toward the door. Eck pushed it open, and they disappeared into the harsh sunlight. The door slammed shut, pitching the bar into darkness, and Marshall finally loosened his grip on the bat. He raised his shaking hands and wiped them on his apron, and then downed the rest of Bear’s half full beer.

  Chapter 22

  Dean hit a button on his key chain and the black Chrysler 300C’s alarm beeped. Eck ushered Bear to the back seat on the passenger side, the same place Harold Winstatt sat months ago, and climbed in next to him. Dean sank into the driver’s seat and glanced at Bear. “That your Audi A8 Bear?” he gestured toward the silver car. “Does it got the Navigation package with the gold cloud anti-theft system?”

  “Yeah, it has a GPS,” Bear said. “I don’t know about a package though.”

  The question seemed odd for the situation. Dean was talking as if they were good friends having a casual conversation.

  “This bad boy can take you anywhere. Hell, it could find me the closest place to piss right now, or maybe even where to find a hooker!” Dean laughed at his own joke.

  Bear nodded, and Eck looked at him. “The bald bastard is in love with that bitch GPS system.”

  “You don’t mind if I play a little music do you?” Dean asked.

  Before Bear answered, the third track on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack, Jungle Boogie by Kool & the Gang, filled the car. Eck raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Bear. “Good shit, huh?”

  Bear felt like he was in some kind of dream. These two guys were beyond psychotic. Surprisingly, they’d only driven around the corner when the car pulled into a restaurant parking lot. Mr. Smith appeared out of nowhere and edged into the front seat.

  He turned completely around and shook Bear’s hand. “How goes it, Mr. Haynes?”

  “Honestly, I’m a little nervous, Mr. Smith. I didn’t expect to meet this way.”

  “I understand. I don’t like spending all my time in my office. It’s nice to get out and live a little sometimes.”

  Mr. Smith’s demeanor was unsettling, more so than if he was bitterly angry about the previous weekend.

  “It is a beautiful day,” Bear said. “Listen, Mr. Smith, I’m sorry about last weekend. I was shocked at the way Tristan fought. I tried to make him doubt himself but—”

  The man stopped Bear in mid-sentence when he waved his hand. “No worries, Mr. Haynes. The agreement isn’t working out quite as well as I expected, then again I don’t know why I should’ve expected more. I mean no offense, but you aren’t the smartest gambler. Hell, isn’t that why you’re even associated with me?” He laughed.

  Eck and Dean followed his lead and also laughed like henchmen on the big screen do. These two nuts watch too many movies, Bear thought. “I guess you’ve got a point. I’m really trying to give you the best information I can, but I don’t know.”

  “Oh hell, Mr. Haynes, it’s partly my fault. I’ve listened to your advice, haven’t I? I tell you what; you give me strictly information from now on, no advice. I’ll do with it as I choose. Fair enough?”

  “Definitely, and thank you sir. I don’t want to let you down.”

  “Also, I understand you got another fighter signed to the UCC. I read all about the big fight in the Dallas hospital. What a couple of animals. Anyway, I also hear they’ll be on the UCC card in a month or so, true?”

  Bear wondered where the man was going with this. “Yes sir, UCC 132, back-to-back fights.”

  “Good for you, Bear. You know who they’re fighting? Obviously not each other which is what everybody seems to want.”

  “The UCC promoter wants them to fight each other too, but not until they both win next month. Maris is fighting a kid named Rogerio Silva, big slugger, really young though. And we don’t know Tristan’s opponent, probably somebody he should beat though. Like you said, everybody wants to see them fight in a cage instead of the hospital.”

  “Fuck, even I want to see them beat each other,” Eck said. “And I couldn’t give a shit less about the sport. All t
he blood doesn’t sit well with me.”

  This time Dean’s laugh was genuine. Bear noticed they were almost back to Marshall’s. The whole situation seemed surreal, not anything like he expected. Marshall’s earlier statement about not being able to predict how thing’s turned out seemed even more accurate now.

  Mr. Smith reiterated. “So Mr. Haynes, we still have a deal for now. Give me the best inside information you can find. You’ve offered some valuable information today, and I appreciate your candor. I’ve now got some things to think about.”

  “Thank you sir.”

  They started to turn off Nellis into the strip mall parking lot. “Hey Dean, put it on Son of a Preacher Man,” Eck said.

  Dean clicked a button and the song began.

  Eck looked over at Bear. “I like this one, good memories.”

  Bear didn’t know how to answer and was glad he didn’t have to. Dean eased the 300C into the spot next to Bear’s Audi. Bear climbed out, and Mr. Smith rolled down his window. “Very nice car.”

  Bear thanked him as Dusty Springfield sang in the background about how being good wasn’t always easy...he turned to walk away and heard Dean. “Yeah, but it doesn’t have the Navigation package with the gold cloud anti-theft system.”

  Bear pushed through the door into the dimness of Marshall’s and noticed a fresh, cold beer was sitting on the bar in front of his stool. Marshall wheeled a keg for the tap out from the back. He saw Bear and released the dolly. The keg clanged on the floor, almost tipping. “Hot damn, Bear, I didn’t know if you’d be back to drink that,” and pointed to the beer.

  Bear plopped down triumphantly. “How could you doubt me, Marshall? I’m Bear Fucking Haynes,” he said as he wiped a bead of sweat off his brow.

  Chapter 23

  A week had gone by since Bretten and Tristan’s hospital brawl. Bretten took it easy for a few days and was already back to training near full speed. He didn’t have a choice. The fight with Rogerio Silva, his first in the UCC, was just a handful of weeks away.

  It was Saturday night. The week had been long and hard, just one in a lengthy succession. A small contingent from Whit’s gym decided to trek over to Ben’s Bar to watch UCC 131 Phoenix Fireworks, the promotion’s first event in Arizona.

  Bretten, Brooke, Rodrigo, and Millsap, all sat at the same round table they did the night of the Gauntlet celebration. Doc’s toast of defeating lions seemed ages ago, yet it had only been a little more than half a year. The bar was alive with action. It never failed. Fight night lifted the spirits of the patrons. Dusty, the bartender, worked hard pumping out drink after drink and the two waitresses, Northern Oklahoma College student’s Beth and Carey, raced back and forth between the bar and the boisterous customers, delivering trays full of cold beverages.

  The girls were cute, but eyes were pasted on the TV screen, not them. The customers watched the first fight of the night unfold. The men went back and forth. Neither fought with passion, and a smattering of boos were heard in the arena. The bout came to an end, the decision read, the whole thing anti-climactic.

  The screen flashed, UCC’s trademark music blared, and Bretten was greeted with a shot of himself. It was from Whit’s gym, taken only two days ago. He stood outside the cage, in a Slam energy drink shirt. The announcer said, “UCC 132, exciting newcomer Bretten “Minuteman” Maris, with a record of 8-1, will make his debut against Rogerio Silva, but first he has something to say.”

  It was odd sitting in the bar and looking at himself on the screen. He was seeing it for the first time with everybody else. “Pretty much everybody knows about the incident, the fight, at the hospital with Tristan Holmes. I know it was unprofessional and I’m sorry if I disappointed my fans. I’m going to do my best to beat Rogerio Silva so I can fight Tristan for real, in the UCC cage.”

  The screen flashed to Tristan sitting on the edge of a boxing ring in a Fight Science shirt, and the announcer spoke again, “Another debut at UCC 132 when 10-0 Tristan Holmes squares of with Tavion Kelly, but he’s got something to say as well.”

  Bretten imagined Tristan sitting in a bar in Kansas City. “I’m sorry for acting the way I did. I hope I didn’t embarrass my father, God rest his soul. I simply hate Maris and I can’t wait to fight him. So I feel sorry for Tavion, he’s a good fighter, but I’m going to break him just so I can break Maris.”

  Bretten squirmed a bit as a flash of hot anger pulsed through his neck and down his arm. Not only would he be making his debut, but it would be one of the most hyped debuts in UCC history thanks to the feud with Tristan.

  Dusty stopped making drinks long enough to yell and point Bretten’s way. “We know how it’s going to be. Our boy Bretten will kick some ass!”

  The bar exploded and people came over to slap him on the back. The whole thing was UCC promoter Stein Berglund’s idea. He knew how to get the fans hyped, knew how to get them to gladly spend their money. By the end of the night the promo had run three more times. The newness was gone. Bretten didn’t even really care to watch it. He just wanted get back in the gym and train.

  Chapter 24

  The following Monday Bretten was busy. He did a three hour morning session, followed by a three hour break, and then a two hour afternoon session. He trained jiu jitsu, wrestling, worked in the clinch, worked on the bag, watched tape of Silva, and felt he was training exactly how he should be. It didn’t take long for the hype between him and Tristan to wear off. His focus shifted to beating Rogerio Silva and nothing else.

  Almost three weeks straight of balls-to-the-wall training. The Thursday morning group had just finished. This time they ended up asking each other brain teasers which lead to an interesting discussion on reasoning and how one event or decision can set in motion a whole new life course.

  It was fun. The group was relaxed and it gave the fighters a mini-vacation from the daily grind. While everyone talked Bretten considered the key event that ignited his current path. He thought back to the hospital, then to signing with Bear, then coming to Whit’s, still he wasn’t at the life-changing event. The trip to Korea was huge, but he went back further to the night eleven months ago when he ate two hot dogs and fought Bobby “Bone Crusher” Baker. Still, he was not there. Then it hit him. The Championship game, the dropped fly ball and then the bombshell of the murder of his brother, Nick. Those few days changed him. If he would’ve caught that ball he probably never would’ve decided to step in that makeshift ring against Baker, even after learning of his brother’s death.

  If he made that catch he would have felt complete. Sure he would have still felt overwhelming sadness and grief when Nick was killed, but that dot of pure anger wouldn’t have burned within him.

  He looked up and saw Brooke talking with Doc and Rodrigo, and for the first time didn’t cringe at the memory of that error. He guessed sometimes something can seem bad, but it’s what needs to happen for things to work out a certain way. But he sure wished Nick was with him as his new life of fighting unfolded. He missed him so much, and he desperately wanted to find Nick’s killers. He didn’t know if he could actually kill them, but he was sure he’d try.

  Whit roused him from these thoughts. “Come back in the film room. I want to show you something.”

  Bretten followed his coach, and they slipped into two folding chairs. Rogerio Silva was already in the middle of one of his fights. Whit hit a button to start it over. They both watched for a few minutes, then Whit hit pause and played it in slow motion. “There, you see his right hand, see how he cocks it funny when he’s about to throw a big punch?”

  Bretten saw it clearly now, although he would have missed it if Whit didn’t point it out. “Yeah, he shows it bad.”

  “Exactly, so when he starts to throw it, stick him with a left, you’ll be first every time. He’ll get frustrated and start loading up more and you can pick him apart.”

  “That’s perfect coach, nice work.”

  “Hey it’s why I get paid the big bucks pup. Now I want you to remember, it’s g
oing to be insane in there, the crowd, the energy, everything, so you’re going to have to stick to the plan, out-skill him, don’t brawl.”

  “I got it coach.”

  They watched some more, but Bretten was itching to get back to training. He thought he was fired up before, but the new little tidbit of information gave him another shot in the arm.

  With each day his confidence grew. With each session he felt he was one step closer to winning his UCC debut, and with each punch, kick, knee and elbow he felt stronger. If he only knew that he was racing towards a night that truly would be life changing, maybe his confidence would have wavered.

  Chapter 25

  It was fight week. The following day Bretten and the group would board a plane for Las Vegas. He’d gone through more interviews than he could count. He’d been asked to do one promo after another for the upcoming fight with Rogerio Silva, and it had been exhausting.

  He was thankful for the tapering in training so he could let his body recover to the perfect point for getting in a cage and fighting. He sat in the living room with a baseball game on the TV. He wasn’t really watching it, just zoning out and giving himself a much needed mental break.

  “All packed up?” Brooke asked as she entered the room.

  “Yeah, just relaxing now.”

  “You know, I can help you relax.”

  Bretten raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  “Sure, come to my room. Marita is gone.”

  The thought of touching her body sent tingles all the way through him, and Bretten felt himself becoming aroused. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.” He hopped up and grabbed her hand and they made their way to the bedroom.

  She turned and looked up at him with wanting eyes. “Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

  She helped as he peeled off his t-shirt and then she gripped his pants and yanked them down. He sprang free. “Oh my, looks like you definitely need some relaxing.” She smiled.