In the Ring

by James Lear

  The interior told a different story. Beyond the filthy lobby there was a newly decorated reception area with subdued lights, charcoal carpets and white walls, and an attractive young woman with neat blonde hair and flawless makeup presiding over a gleaming desk. “Mr. Cooper?” she said, in an Eastern European accent. “Mr. Vaughan is expecting you. Please follow the corridor all the way to the end of the gym, and you’ll be met at the second set of doors.”

  The corridor ran along a glass wall, etched with images of weights, feet, and arms, anything that said “fitness.” Beyond it were ranks of gleaming machines, treadmills, rowing machines, recumbent bikes, resistance equipment, and ten or fifteen fit young people of both sexes working out to the music that came from the DJ in the corner. City Fitness was not a book you could judge by the cover. The interior must have stretched across two or three units knocked together, and the conversion looked like the work of a serious architect. Vaughan liked to keep his investments discreetly hidden.

  At the end of the corridor, doors led into a fully-equipped boxing gym; it was empty and dark at the moment, but I could make out the ropes and punching bags in the gloom. Further along, another set of doors was marked PRIVATE. I was looking for a button to press when they were opened from within.

  “Greg!” It was Oz, of course, with a huge beaming smile, clapping me on the back, pulling me into the inner sanctum. “Great to see you mate! Mr. Vaughan’s really looking forward to meeting you. Thanks for coming. Means a lot. How have you been?” Poor kid was almost mounting my leg.

  “Okay, Oz. Thanks for the warm welcome. Now, where do I go?”

  “I’ll show you.” He knocked on a door, grinning like a fool. A voice from within said “Come.”

  ‘It’s Greg Cooper, Mr. Vaughan. Here he is, just like I said . . .”

  “Show him in.” Oz practically bowed as I passed him. “And now leave us alone.” He looked crestfallen, as if he was about to wet himself.

  “It’s okay, Oz,” I whispered. “I’ll see you later. Thanks for everything.” That sent him away happy.

  Vaughan’s desk was in front of a large window looking out onto trees and a courtyard, further evidence of his architect’s ingenuity. The office was brightly lit, beautifully designed, and to an impressionable young athlete, I imagine, overwhelming.

  “Mr. Vaughan.”

  I couldn’t see him properly, just a large silhouette standing up behind his desk.

  “Mr. Cooper. Or should I say Captain Cooper.”

  I stepped towards the desk and took the outstretched hand. I could see him now: taller than me, broad shouldered, heavily built in a well-tailored blue suit, thinning dark hair artfully cut and combed, a heavy-featured, jowly face, charismatic rather than handsome. Late forties, fifties.

  “You’ve been doing your research. But I’m a civilian now.”

  “I take an interest in the people I work with. I like to know what makes them tick.”

  The benign employer, or blackmailer.

  “And what about you, Mr. Vaughan? What makes you tick?”

  “Money. Success. Putting something back into the world.”

  “That’s very admirable.” Bullshit, of course. “Looks like you’re doing pretty well.”

  “Oh, this is nothing much. It’s a convenient operational base. Please, take a seat.”

  There were two black leather sofas; I chose one. Vaughan paced.

  “I hear you were at the fight.”

  “That’s where I met Oz.”

  “Oz. Yes, Oz.”

  “Nice kid.”

  He stopped, turned, looked at me. “What did you think?”

  “Of the fight?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I was being interviewed, clearly. This was not the time for pussyfooting. “It was crap.”

  He scowled. Was I about to be thrown out, or beaten up by Vaughan’s goons? I assumed he had some. “You noticed.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. But don’t worry. Most people are taken in.”

  “Just as well.” He sat down on the other sofa, facing me, leaning back, legs wide apart, the standard alpha male pose. I wondered how many of the boys had knelt before him. “Lukas is a good fighter.”

  “Is he?”

  “He can be. He used to be.”

  “But now?”

  “He’s greedy. He’s lazy.”

  “No discipline.”

  “Something like that. He wants the rewards without the hard work. And he has trouble with the concept of loyalty. That’s something that you, as a military man, would understand.”

  “I guess so. But as I’m sure you know, I was thrown out of the military.”

  “And why was that, Greg?” We’d dispensed with “Mr. Cooper,” but I wasn’t going to start calling him “Al” just yet.

  “I’m sure you know.”

  “I’d like to hear it from you.”

  “I said some things that you’re not allowed to say any more, apparently. Stuff that everyone says—it’s just that I got caught saying it. And I was stupid. I didn’t apologize.”

  “Why should you?”

  “Because that’s the game you play in the US Marine Corps these days. It used to be a decent job for a man. Now it’s . . .” I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not the world I grew up in. Been in the corps since I was eighteen. The world’s changed, and I guess I didn’t get the memo.”

  “The world is what you make it, Greg.”

  “Yeah. If you have money.”

  “I have money.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Do you need a job? Oz said you might.”

  “Sure. This isn’t a social call.”

  “I like you, Greg. You don’t beat about the bush.”

  “Perhaps I should learn to. I might still have a career.”

  “You can have a career here, if you want one.”

  “Doing what? Sweeping floors and picking up wet towels? No thanks, I’ve done that.”

  “As a trainer. As part of my team.”

  “What makes you think I’m any good?”

  “Your record speaks for itself. You’ve worked all over the world. You’ve trained a lot of guys in unarmed combat. You’re a master of several martial arts.”

  “Okay. But you promote boxing. That’s showbiz.”

  “Boxing is just part of what I do.”

  This was what I’d been waiting to hear. “Oh?”

  “We manage fighters in all sorts of disciplines. We need someone to coordinate that. And to be honest, we need someone who can bring a bit of military efficiency into the operation.”

  “You mean someone who isn’t afraid to kick asses.”

  “That sort of thing.”

  If Vaughan had really done his homework, he’d know that kicking wasn’t the only thing I did to asses. “So, do I get a tryout?”

  “We can discuss the details later.”

  “You’re very trusting.”

  “You come highly recommended.”

  “By Oz?”

  “He’s been raving about you.”

  We locked eyes and had one of those unspoken conversations that went something like:

  What did he tell you?

  He said you have a big dick.

  Is that part of the job? It could be.

  Do I get to fuck the boys?

  Yes, if you’re discreet.

  Like you?

  Like me.

  “That’s nice to hear,” I said out loud. “I always try to make a good impression.”

  “Okay.” Vaughan stood up, businesslike again. “I have to do a magazine interview. There’s a photo shoot. I hate photo shoots. But hey ho.” He shook my hand again. “That’s show business.”

  “I don’t know how you stand it.”

  “Because, Greg, the rewards are very, very great. I’m going to hand you over to Tom Jackson. He’s my right-hand man. He’s fully briefed. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

  And he left, the door closi
ng silently behind him.

  Any idea I may have had of snooping was quickly dismissed; I was alone for less than twenty seconds.

  Jackson was definitely not a boxer. You don’t get to keep a face that pretty if you’re fighting regularly, not even if you’re winning. The young man in the expensive suit who came into Vaughan’s office, carrying a black leather portfolio, looked like a model. Light brown hair swept up into a modest quiff, great skin, perfect bone structure. A little too perfect for my taste. He reminded me of Jody when I first met him—a conservative, suit-wearing version of Jody, but the same kind of attention to detail, the same consciousness of his looks. It said a lot about Vaughan’s tastes.

  “Mr. Cooper. I’m Tom Jackson, Mr. Vaughan’s PA.”

  Piece of Ass?

  “Nice to meet you, Jackson. Vaughan said you’d take me through the details.”

  He took off his jacket—he was wearing one of those tailored shirts that seem to cling, wrinkle-free, to every contour of the body—and we sat. “Initially, we’d like you to work with some of the new, up-and-coming fighters, see what kind of results you can get with them.”

  “And if I pass that test?”

  He looked me in the eye and smiled. “Then we’ll move you on to other areas of the business.”

  “What areas might those be?”

  “Mr. Vaughan has a lot of different projects.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “But he’s very particular about the people he works with.”

  “You mean, he has to trust you not to talk.”

  One perfectly-shaped eyebrow went up an inch. “You could say that.”

  “And I come from a military background. What does that tell you?”

  “That you understand the importance of . . . discretion.”

  “Secrecy, we’d have called it.”

  “Secrecy, then.”

  “And you know all his secrets, do you, Mr. Jackson?” Jackson smiled. He had perfect white teeth, and rather prominent, sharp canines. “Mr. Vaughan trusts me.”

  “He says you’re his right hand. Must keep you busy.”

  “It does.”

  “What about his wife? Does she know his secrets?”

  This shook Jackson’s composure a little. “Mrs. Vaughan concentrates on family life, and runs a lot of the charity work.”

  “That sounds like something from a press release.”

  He allowed himself a short, silent laugh. “Perhaps you will meet Mrs. Vaughan one day.”

  “Will I like her?”

  “Mrs. Vaughan is a wonderful lady.”

  My turn to laugh. “I just bet she is.” Turning a blind eye to Vaughan’s boys, his criminal empire, happy to enjoy the profits without asking too many questions. I’d seen photos of her—an elegant, beautiful woman in her forties, spends a lot of time in salons and spas, outsources the childcare to professionals, goes to the right restaurants and openings with Vaughan, a perfect disguise. . .

  “Now, I’ve got some documents for you to sign.” He laid out papers on the coffee table. “Usual stuff. Terms and conditions.”

  “What’s this?”

  “Nondisclosure agreement.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?”

  “That you won’t talk to the press, or anyone outside the company, about Mr. Vaughan’s business affairs.”

  “Is it legally enforceable? I mean, what happens if I talk? I lose my job—so what?”

  Jackson frowned. “It is not a good idea to break these rules, Mr. Cooper.”

  “That’s a threat.”

  “That’s not what I . . .”

  “You mean that Vaughan punishes who steps out of line.”

  “You’re putting words into my mouth.”

  “Uh-huh.” I let the silence hang for a while. Jackson was getting fidgety, which I enjoyed. “Will you sign?”

  “Let me read them first.” Of course I was going to sign; that was the whole point of the job, and I didn’t have to worry about the legal implications. But I wanted to make him sweat a little. I’m sure most of the people on the payroll were way too eager to sign their lives away, only to discover, like Oz, that Mr. Vaughan didn’t always follow up on his promises. I made myself comfortable and read the papers, occasionally letting Jackson see that I didn’t like what I was reading.

  After a while I said, “Okay.”

  “Ready to sign?”

  “I’m ready. We both know that this isn’t legally enforceable. But I want to work for Vaughan, and if it makes him feel happy to have my name on a document, it suits me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Just a minute, buddy. I have questions.”

  “Right.” His voice sounded tentative, unhappy, as if no one had ever asked questions before. Vaughan obviously expected blind obedience.

  “First of all, tell me about Craig Lukas.”

  “What about him?”

  “Vaughan doesn’t seem happy with him. Am I supposed to do something about that?”

  “We’d like you to train him.”

  “Boxing?”

  “Mental discipline.”

  “You mean, I convince him that if he doesn’t do as he’s told, I’ll break his bones.”

  Jackson’s eyes were wide. He didn’t deny it.

  “And another question. Who am I allowed to fuck around here?”

  “Well, really . . .”

  “Come on, let’s not pretend I don’t know what’s going on. I’m gay. I guess you’re gay. And Vaughan is . . .”

  Jackson’s pale blue eyes were goggling in panic, the pupils tiny.

  “Vaughan is married,” I said, and laughed. “Understood. But there’s a lot of hot boys around here, and I want to know if I’m going to get the sack for fucking their asses.”

  “Provided you are discreet, we consider that to be a private matter between adults . . .”

  “Thanks for the permission, Jackson. You just let me know if I’m poaching in the wrong wood. I guess some people are definitely off limits.”

  He thought a while before he replied. “As I say, provided everything is discreet. . .”

  That answered my question. Jackson officially “belonged” to Vaughan, but he’d be up for a fuck provided the boss didn’t find out. Good news; I couldn’t think of any other way of getting a tracking device into his tight little body.

  “I’ll bear that in mind. Thanks.” I squeezed my dick through my pants. “See, I need a lot of sex.”

  Jackson cleared his throat. I don’t think he’d met anyone as crudely direct as Greg Cooper. He was used to being wooed and pursued in a more civilized way. “Now, if you don’t mind, perhaps we could have a signature?”

  I’d tortured him for long enough. I stood right in front of him so my crotch was at face level, and held my hand out for the papers. He was sweating slightly as he handed them over, a dark patch under his armpit. “Okay, Jackson. Give me a pen. I’m sure everything is in order. Because after all, why would you try to screw with someone who can kill you with his bare hands?”

  “Quite.” He clicked a ballpoint pen and handed it to me.

  “There you go.” I signed “G Cooper”—I’d been practicing. “Now, I need to get laid.” This wasn’t strictly true, after my night with Kieran, but I was horny enough to make it convincing. I stroked the bulge in my pants. Jackson stared, licked his lips, cleared his throat. “Any suggestions?”

  He lowered his voice. “This is not a good idea. Not here.”

  “Then where?”

  He was about to come up with a suggestion, but his phone rang. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the room was bugged. “Hello, Tom Jackson. Oh, hi. Yes. Yes, absolutely.” He turned away from me, avoiding the distraction between my legs. That suited me; I went up behind him, put my hands on his hips, and pressed my groin against his ass. He didn’t miss a beat, just carried on talking on the phone.

  “Yes, everything’s ready for tonight. Everyone’s been briefed, and I’ve checked with the ve
nue. Of course I’ll be there.”

  I pushed against him; he braced himself and pressed back. Reaching a hand around, I found out that he was as hard as I was. I stroked him gently through his pants.

  “They’re all ready. Yes, it’s all arrived, no problem. I think so, yes. Oh, yes, it’s a very good one, I think. Yes. Yes.”

  I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but I was sufficiently master of myself to realize that something important was going down tonight. My main objective was to get Jackson “on side,” however terrified he was of Vaughan. From the way he was pushing his ass into me, and the way the veins were standing out in his neck and forehead, I seemed to be winning. I grabbed his balls and squeezed; he went up on tiptoes, gasped a bit but disguised it as a cough, and managed to wind up his phone call without losing his cool.

  “You fucking bastard,” he said, with a smile on his face.

  I span him around so our cocks were pressed together, my hands on his ass. “You going to suck me off?”

  “Not now.”

  “Okay.” I let him go. “But you’re going to, some time, and it had better be soon. I bet you’re good at it.”

  He said nothing, but looked cocky.

  “And I bet you’re a great fuck as well.”

  “Mr. Cooper, I’m going to have to leave you now. Take time to read through the papers. You’ll see a few things on your schedule.”

  “And what about this?” I grabbed my dick, which was genuinely rock hard and in need of attention.

  “You’ll think of something,” said Jackson. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  Oz was waiting for me. “So? Are you working here now?” He was bouncing up and down on his feet, like an excited five-year-old.

  “Yeah. I’ve signed up. I’m on the payroll.”

  “That’s fantastic, Greg. Thanks mate. Really, I won’t lie, I’m pleased about that.”

  “Okay, buddy. Calm down. It’s just a job.”

  “Yeah, but it means that Mr. Vaughan has some respect for me. He listens to stuff that I say.”