“Shut up, Jack,” Alexander orders.
“Eat shit, Ray.”
“Thanks, Jack. It would have spoiled things if I had. I owe you one.”
“It was a pleasure watchin’ you work. See ya’.” Jack walked away without a glance in Alexander’s direction.
“Some big names dropped a bundle tonight, Harding,” Alexander informs me. “Mostly to you.”
“Boo hoo.” No need getting wordy here.
“What’s your point, Ray?” Tommy’s looking as confused with this discussion as I am. “You want us to send flowers or somethin’?”
“Just sayin’. Business is business and tonight’s outcome set us back in the goodwill department.”
“Boo-fucking-hoo.”
“We could get shut down, John,” Bonasera explains. “You know how some of these suits are. They’re all good sports until they drop a bundle. Then all of a sudden our sporting enterprise is a blight on the city. Ray and I were thinking maybe it would be a good idea for you to take a break.”
“Or maybe we could make a very profitable deal,” Alexander adds. “It’s not like you and Tommy don’t use some showmanship already.”
“Well damn, John, it sounds like these gentlemen want you to take a dive.” Tommy’s addressing me but he hasn’t looked away from Alexander for a second.
“Ray didn’t say anything about taking a dive,” Bonasera hurriedly counters.
“We get it. I’m not taking a dive or engaging in any showmanship for you two so we’ll take a break.” No use gettin’ mad over this. It’s not like this is legit. Bonasera’s right. The politicos in Oakland think they’re potentates of some third world kingdom. “Me and Tommy have a gig that’ll keep us busy for a while anyway.”
“Fuck you, Harding!” Alexander’s having a hard time taking no for an answer.
I can tell Tommy wants a piece so I move in front of him. I’m looking around the warehouse storage areas above us but it’s too dark to see anything. We’re still in the spotlight.
“C’mon T, let’s get out of here. Ray wouldn’t be shooting off his big fat mouth if he didn’t have someone with a bead on us.”
“You right about that, you cheap pug.”
“Calm down, Ray!” Bonasera urges, moving around in front of his partner. “I know Harding. We won’t always be standing here in this warehouse with backup. He killed Ishmael Ali last night. Don’t you read the papers?”
“What?” It looks like Alexander didn’t read the papers. I can tell he knows the recently deceased Ali’s rep. “How come you ain’t in jail, Harding?”
“I was. Self defense. What say we part now as business associates and don’t say anything else that might get one or more of us killed?”
“Go on, John.” Bonasera holds his hands up in a gesture meant to soothe. Alexander keeps his mouth shut. “We’ll call Tommy if things cool off in the future.”
I nod my understanding. I grab up my equipment bag and pull Tommy along with me, backing to the door. Alexander’s going to end up chucked into the back of the same junkyard on 12th Street that cat killer ended up in, only I may play with Ray for a time before planting him. When we reach the door, Tommy hands me my windbreaker and draws his piece, a Beretta 9 mil. We get down the street without incident to where he parked. Dennis and Tess are waiting near Tess’s BMW a little further away. I turn to Tommy when we come abreast of his ride. The street’s nearly deserted.
“You go ahead and split, T. How much we take in tonight?”
“It’s the biggest payday yet, John.” Tommy grins for the first time since our business meeting. “Nearly twenty-five grand.”
“Nice. Give me a few bucks to take my associates out with. A few hundred will do.”
Tommy fishes in his bag and hands me a fist full of twenties. “Want me to come along? I know you and this Dennis guy have some history I probably don’t need to know about.”
“You already negotiated our fee so this is more of a supply meeting. I’ll call you tomorrow. Want to have breakfast at the Buttercup?”
“What time?”
“How about eight?”
“Make it brunch at eleven. I’m celebrating a little tonight.”
“Eleven it is.” I try handing the remaining towel to Tommy.
“Burn that thing, John.” Tommy looks distastefully at the balled up towel and gets in behind the wheel. “Don’t give the city fathers any reason to lock you up tonight.”
“Ali had to die, T. It was an exception.”
“Yeah, but I’m referrin’ to Alexander. I can’t stand the sight of that turd but two killin’s in as many nights will get you a one way ticket to Folsom.”
“Me and Ray are golden, T. We’re just like brothers.”
Tommy laughs. He starts his car and drives away without another word. After shoving the towel in with the other blood stained stuff I join Dennis and Tess. “I could use a few beers and a late meal. I’m buying. If you two don’t want to join me can I hitch a ride over to The Warehouse Bar?”
“I can’t, John. The equipment’s in Ms. Connagher’s trunk. We start Monday night.”
“We staying in the East Bay?”
“The Jack London Inn will be our home base.”
“Nice. I’m meeting Tommy for brunch near there at the Buttercup. That place is a little downscale from what I’d figure you’d put Samira up at. They even allow dogs there.”
Dennis smiles at me. “Ms. Karim has a dog she insists on taking everywhere with her. I hear the mutt’s talented. You have a phone now. Keep it with you, John. I don’t have to tell you sharing info with your friends is a no-no, right? Ms. Connagher, can I speak to John alone for a moment?”
Tess looks surprised but she opens the BMW and gets in without comment. Dennis pulls me toward his car a few paces. He stops, looking around casually before handing me a manila envelope from inside his jacket. I put it inside the lining of my windbreaker without looking inside it.
“If you run into this guy anywhere, we’d like him to go away. We’d like it done quietly but no matter how you do it we’ll make sure you get clear. I doubt you’d get a second look at him. He’s a pro in the Carlos the Jackal stature. His name’s Claude Chardin. A few of our guys died finding out his name and what’s in the envelope.”
“What makes you think they won’t blow Samira up with one of those religion of peace suicide bombers. They’re shoving explosives up their ass and in their boobs now. Unless she’s touring in an explosives proof bubble this-”
“He’s not after Ms. Karim, John. We have intel he’s in the country. We don’t know who he’s been sent after. Chatter has it he’s linking up to the Fremont cell we told you about, possibly to trigger a much larger attack than crashing an airliner. Chardin has a multitude of aliases. He was born in Morocco of a French mother and Saudi father. Everything we know about him is on the disc inside the envelope, including the only picture we have of him. Use the software we’ve given you to make up a few images of what he might look like in disguise. I threw in a bunch of networked Blackberries for any crew you employ.”
“It’s nice of Samira to volunteer as bait for all these developments. I take it you have the sites you want checked out in the packet?”
“They’re in there. I’ll need a list of specifics concerning anyone traveling with you on this. We have a special limo for you to use whenever Ms. Karim goes out in public. Do you have a driver in mind?”
“Tommy or an acquaintance of mine named Devon Constantine will be sharing driving duties. I recruited a kid with language skills to be with Samira so I can pretend not to know what’s being said.”
“Nice. Send me all the particulars. Any problem with the promoters you met with?”
“Nothing major. They want me to take a little break. It seems some important people lost quite a bit of money tonight and the shills for our street battles don’t want to get outlawed.”
“They want you to take a dive.”
“You have a vivid ima
gination.”
Dennis shrugged. “It figures. What’d you tell them?”
“Now you’re gettin’ nasty.”
Dennis laughed and walked toward his car. “Stay out of trouble, John. Hell of a fight, my friend.”
“I’m not your friend.” My rejoinder gets no reaction. Dennis drives past me with a big wave. After I’m seated in Tess’s BMW with my bag between my feet she takes off immediately. Her hands twist on the steering wheel as if she’s channeling the temptation to start yelling at me through the grip she has.
“You know where The Warehouse Bar is, don’t you, Tess?”
“I know it.”
“Just slow down as you drive past and I’ll roll out.”
Her lips quiver, fighting off the smile trying to widen them. “You were going to kill that guy right on the gurney. I saw it in your face.”
“Do I smell too bad for the Warehouse? I toweled off pretty well.”
“You smell like peroxide. Don’t change the subject.”
I hesitate for a moment. She’ll have to be aware. “Rankin’s connected, Tess. You can bet the Russian mob lost a bundle on their boy tonight. Sometimes they don’t let bygones be bygones. What’d you think Rankin would have done if he won, hold my hand?”
“Jesus… you’re such an idiot. As if risking life and limb weren’t bad enough, you battle a Russian mob thug. Why not just slit your own throat and save some time?”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
Tess takes a deep breath. She smiles over at me crookedly. “I felt sorry for Rankin when you drop kicked him in the ribcage.”
“Oh barf…”
Tess giggled. We rode the rest of the way in silence – a comfortable silence. At the Warehouse, Tess parked and we walked through the side entrance into the ramshackle historic building. The place is decorated top to bottom with cop and military memorabilia. There’re always cops there so cars and people get left alone. I guide Tess over to the bar end next to the exit rather than a table. It’s late and I know last call’s in half an hour. The bartender’s a middle aged blonde woman named Marla. With a great smile and easy going disposition, she fits here like a glove.
“What can I get you, Champ?”
“Two Bud’s and two double shots of Jim Beam, Mar. Is it too late to get a big Nachos?”
“Not for you it ain’t. I made five hundred on you tonight. I was sweatin’ bullets until Earl and ‘Rique busted in to give me the news. They’re back there playing pinball. What can I get you young lady?”
“An Irish Coffee, thank you.”
“Coming right up.”
Marla served us our drinks before fetching the Nachos. It was still fairly crowded. I could hear noise coming from the game room in the back so I knew Earl and ‘Rique weren’t back there alone. I could have walked around the partition and said hi but they sounded like it was a good time in the making. I drained one of the Budweisers. It tasted so good my eyes watered in sheer pleasure. I then sipped one of my whiskeys. Tess watched me with a slight know-it-all smile. Marla brought a huge bowl of Nachos for us, the cheese mixture covering everything – just the way I like it. She replaced my drained Budweiser and double without asking.
“I’m starting to clean up, John. If you need anything just holler.”
“I will, Mar. Thank you.”
“Good thing I’m driving.” Tess watches me eat some Nachos before draining another beer and double shot.
“Bud and Beam kill the blood taste. The Nachos makes sure it doesn’t come back.” Except for the usual ache in my hands and throbbing sides I felt damn good. Even that little bit of discomfort faded while I savored my third drink set. Tess barely sipped her Irish, probably because she pounded more than a few down last night. Marla motioned to her waitress for last call and set me up once more.
“You sure you’ll be able to walk out of here?”
“I’ll manage. Jafar’s all settled in at my place. He likes my home entertainment system.”
“He’s a nice young man. You’re not going to get him killed, are you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“What did Dennis talk to you about?”
“Just some peripheral stuff he’d like me to check on during Samira’s stay.”
I’ve eaten about half the Nachos by then. She figures the interrogation won’t turn up any new bits of information so she pitches in to help me finish the rest. While we’re chowing down, Earl and ‘Rique come around the corner of the gaming room with a tall gangly, young guy with sandy colored hair, cut short. Earl spots me before heading out the front entrance. He leads his companions over to the bar.
“John… my brother!” Earl is three sheets into the wind. ‘Rique looks only slightly more sober. Earl points at the young guy. “This is Jeff Furlong. He’s drivin’ tonight.”
Jeff smiles and shakes my hand. I saw him with the other cops tonight at the warehouse. “You guys know my business associate, Tess Connagher.”
“Happy to see you again, Ms. Connagher,” Earl says politely with ‘Rique and Jeff following his lead. “John here won us some bucks tonight.”
Tess shook each one of their hands. “Call me Tess. I guess with everyone but the mayor there, you guys didn’t have to worry about getting busted. I haven’t seen any Oakland PD doing security before.”
‘Rique pointed a finger at me. “Bigfoot attracts trouble. The gun thing last night worried the VIP’s so they wanted real cops on hand. We heard Bonasera and Alexander were puttin’ the squeeze on you after the fight.”
“Where’d you hear that?” I’m not sharing anything while wondering who did. Somebody had ears on us because the last thing in the world those two hucksters would want is word getting out about dealin’ up fixed fights.
“Some city councilmen came in to drown their woes at the bar. They heard it from a couple of those Russian guys been movin’ into the area from San Francisco.”
“You know me, ‘Rique. If I go down it won’t be for money. Hell, I heard people jawin’ about Rankin takin’ a dive. Did it look like he took a dive to you?”
I drew laughs with that comment, even from Tess.
Jeff speaks up for the first time after the laughter dies down. “I saw Rankin give you the finger on his way out. Man, that guy’s a glutton for punishment.”
“I bet they need to move around some filling to fix that nose,” Earl adds. “We gotta’ go, John. Good fight. Don’t kill anyone tonight.”
“It’s already morning, Earl. I needed to get the taste of Rankin out of my mouth. I may even approach my house from the back just to avoid trouble tonight. One overnighter is enough for me at the Steel Bar Inn.”
“Actually… you can kill as many Ishmael Ali’s as you want, John.”
“A license to kill, huh Earl?” That sobered him up a little.
“Don’t even think about taking me seriously on that.” Earl waves at Marla and gives me a head slap on the way out with ‘Rique and Jeff chuckling along behind him.
Chapter Seven
The Russians
Looking around the bar I notice except for a few voices belonging to people in the back room we’re alone. I stood up and put a hundred dollar bill on the bar. “We better call it a night. My attitude is much improved and Marla will want to get out of here. If dropping me off is a problem I’ll have Marla call a taxi.”
“I’ll admit after watching you tonight about the only thing I want to do is take you home.”
I laughed. Tess gives me a dirty look because I guess she thinks that would upset me. “I appreciate you coming in for a drink. I know you didn’t like the fight. You should have sent Dennis over alone. Bye, Marla.”
“Later, Champ.” Marla waves at me cheerily from the other end of the bar.
Outside the bar, three figures in suits and trench coats ruin my improved attitude, approaching us at a hurried pace from across the street. “Go back in the bar until I see what this is all about, Tess.”
My tone wakes Tess
out of autopilot. She sees the approaching men and tugs on my windbreaker. “C’mon back in with me.”
“Go on.” I give her a little push. She slaps my hand but moves towards the bar entrance.
“You stay, girlie.” One of the trench coats starts to jog over to block Tess’s path.
I plant him with a right hook that makes him airborne for a moment before he lands in an unmoving heap. I’m in the midst of his friends before they can react, inches away while watching their hands. “Nobody touches my friend or I kill the three of you right here.”
“It will be as you say, Mr. Harding.” The speaker is a lean, almost emaciated bloke with hollow cheeks, hawk like features and closely shaven hair. His voice sounds bass and bored. I’ll change that if I get bored with this meeting. He’s nearly my height. I’d bet knives are his thing. He shakes his head at the other guy, who looked ready to have a go. The friend is a couple inches taller with short black hair and looks like a walking cement truck. “We mean you no harm.”
“That’s good,” I tell him. Without taking my eyes off of Hawk-man and his still standing buddy I gesture for Tess to continue inside. “Go on inside, Tess.”
This time Tess takes my advice and I hear the door open and close. “Now then, what’s this all about?”
“My friends and I are investors in the sporting enterprise you participated in tonight. I am Alexi Fiialkov. This is Viktor Kenig. The man you hit is Mikhail Rowan.”
“Okay. We know each other’s names. What do you want?”
“We know you were approached about throwing a future fight.”
“How would you know that?” It was a rhetorical question. They had a bug on the meeting. That’s how the councilmen found out. A little Russian birdie told them. I wonder if Bonasera and Alexander were being aced out in the rumor mill. That could be interesting.
Alexi shrugged. “We have our ways. You cost us much money tonight. We are merely asserting our control in future sporting interests.”
“Since you know what was said, then you know I’m not nose diving for anyone for any money.”
HARD CASE (A John Harding Novel - Special Ops, Cage Fighter, CIA Agent) Page 8
