Hook and Shoot Read online

  CHAPTER 3

  The limo slipped into a small covered parking area notched into a three-story building. We were somewhere northwest of the Strip. Lots of trees and flowers probably got bottled water while the landscapers drank from the hose.

  Burch opened the door for Eddie and the heat clamped down on us. Eddie didn’t seem to notice. Burch led the way to a thick, unmarked steel door in the corner of the parking area and pushed a button set in the frame.

  We waited, Burch checking the corners behind us, then his watch.

  Eddie stared at the door, leaning forward on his toes.

  I checked my phone to see if my provider was allowed within this property value.

  A black guy about my height and age opened the door, all smiles. He wore a dark suit and a shirt and tie I knew were a shade of lavender, but I’d call them purple if anyone asked. It moved on him like feathers on a peacock. “Mr. Takanori, welcome back.”

  “Dorian, sorry for the drop-in.”

  “Please. Come on. Get out of this furnace.”

  Burch turned to me. “Okay here?”

  “For what?”

  “Be right back.” He stepped past Dorian into the building and left Eddie with me.

  Dorian said to Eddie, “Something wrong?”

  “He’s very careful.”

  “Needs to be more careful with those shoes. Drier than a Mormon funeral.” Dorian examined me. “Dumpster’s around the corner.”

  Eddie said, “This is one of my guys. We need something for him to walk around in today and half a dozen or so fitted as soon as possible. Head to toe.”

  Dorian cocked an eyebrow. “You take a shower today?”

  Burch came to the doorway. “All clear, Mr. Takanori.”

  We stepped into a short hallway, then through another unmarked door and down a set of narrow stairs. Pushed through a heavy black curtain into a cool, round, semidark room of solid wood panels lined with suits and angled shelves of ties, handkerchiefs, shoes, and socks. Everything glowed with indirect lighting, the kind that requires engineers and technicians and Mayan calendars to dial in.

  Dorian nudged me. “First time?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “This is gonna be fun, man. Lighten up. Enjoy it. My suits can’t do a thing for you, walking around with that look on your face.”

  “What look?”

  “Put your arms down. Relax your shoulders.” Dorian checked his work so far. “Why are your hands so big?” He came back in with a tape measure, pins, and chalk.

  Eddie sat in a leather chair and knocked back an espresso, staring at the recessed plasma screen showing financial news with the sound off.

  Burch patrolled the suits and rubbed a few ties before he finally stopped in front of me and got down to it. “Mr. Takanori tells me you’ve worked executive security before.”

  “That was a while back. And security might not be the right word. Security wants to avoid trouble. I usually got hired to make some.”

  “So you know what it looks like.”

  I checked one of the six mirrors in front of me. “Pretty much.”

  “We’re going to a meeting after this. Just do what I tell you. Anything seems off, don’t keep quiet about it.”

  “You got a phone book? Only a couple pages of guys better qualified than me.”

  “That’s not an option right now.”

  “Why not?”

  Burch glanced at Dorian, who kept working and said, “With these acoustics, I can’t hear a thing. Never do.”

  Burch came back to me. “We don’t know why yet, but no one will help us.”

  “You mean no one will help Eddie. Why are you here?”

  His eyes were ice chips. “I’m a soldier, mate.”

  I made sure Eddie wasn’t listening. He was miles away. “What’s he got on you?”

  “Just do what I say, leave the stories for Valhalla. Dorian, how much longer?”

  “How good does he need to look?”

  “No arrests for exposure.”

  Dorian stood, touched a white cloth to his forehead. They both stared at me. I felt like a piece of bad furniture.

  “I’ll cover him up,” Dorian said, “but he’s going to look like a side of beef in a potato sack.”

  “Twenty minutes?”

  “Fifteen. I have another client coming.” To me: “What are you carrying?”

  I looked at my hands.

  Burch opened his coat, showed me the pistol holstered against his ribs. He let the coat fall and the tailoring made the rig disappear—no bulge, no shadows. He tugged a pant leg up so I could see the strap around his ankle but not what it held.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Dorian looked at Burch, who shrugged. “Boy likes to get his hands dirty.”

  Likes to stay out of prison, too.

  Burch said, “Mr. Takanori, we can be at the meeting in thirty minutes.”

  Eddie stared through the TV, the wall, the city. “Make the call.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The suit Dorian pulled off the rack for me fit like a layer of oil. I sat in the back of the limo and didn’t have to push the coat out of my face or shake the legs down so my knees wouldn’t show. It was a new shade of black with a gray shirt and tie, matching socks, black shoes. The knot in the tie was so big I had to feed it every half hour.

  Eddie stared out the window at everything starting to brighten up as the sun went down.

  I said, “Where we going?”

  “I don’t know. Mr. Burch handles that.”

  I kinda missed the old Eddie. At least brash assholes aren’t boring and depressing. “Who’s the meeting with?”

  “Just shut the fuck up and let me think, will you?”

  I kinda missed the new Eddie. I checked my suit, made sure I hadn’t gotten anything on it yet. Dorian said he’d call when the six custom fits were ready. My old clothes and shoes were in a plastic bag in the trunk. Burch didn’t want to sully the rags he used on the tires.

  Eddie said, “Sorry about that. No offense, but I’m not thrilled I had to come to you for help.”

  “So it’s unanimous. You can let me out here.”

  “Brah, you been listening? Warrior is on the endangered list. If it goes, you got no fight contract, no promoter, nothing.”

  “Sounds terrible. Wait, that’s exactly what I have right now.”

  Eddie opened another cabinet, took out a stack of papers, and set them on the seat. “This is your four-fight contract. It includes the fight against Zombi.”

  Ring that bell, Pavlov. “Gil’s gonna go through that thing with a microscope. I’m not signing anything until he likes it.”

  “You can get John fucking Hancock to autograph it, won’t mean a thing.” He tossed the stack in the cabinet, left it bent and creased, closed the door. “I haven’t signed it yet.” He crossed his arms and waited for my reaction.

  I chewed my tongue and ran the options.

  I could strangle Eddie before he pushed the panel button. Even if he got to it, I’d have his head off before Burch stopped the car.

  The other option was to sit here and take it.

  I checked the seat for a coin to flip.

  Eddie said, “If this meeting goes well, I’ll sign it soon as we get back in the car. You and Gil can take all the time you want, get a pre-nup, whatever.”

  “We’re meeting the Yakuza?”

  “Don’t be naïve. Listen, you see any Asians besides me, set the place on fire and get me into this fucking car. Clear on that? We’re meeting one guy. His driver, if he has one. Guy’s a clown, though, probably leases a Fiat.”

  Now Eddie wanted me to dig at him, pry the information out so he could feel important and show off a bit. I looked through the moonroof and picked at something in my teeth.

  He got impatient. “Say you get bit by a snake. Zap, right on the hand. The venom is potent, spreading toward your heart. What do you do?”

  “Immediately regret shaking hands with you
.”

  “Play along. You might learn something. You chop the hand off. Maybe the whole arm, make sure you get rid of every drop of poison.”

  The limo turned into a narrow lot that cut the city block in half. I didn’t know where we were. All I could see were cinder-block walls and service doors.

  Eddie said, “But check this: what if you knew you were gonna get bit before it happened? What would you do?”

  “Kill the snake.”

  “Kill the entire Yakuza? Not an option.”

  He waited again. Typical Eddie. He had a point to make but wanted me to do the heavy lifting.

  “I’d get a suit of armor. Let the snake dull his teeth trying to sink in.”

  “Not bad. But there’s no armor against these guys. The correct answer is what I’m about to do: buy an extra arm.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Burch led us through a service door, past some cooks too busy to notice us, and down a hallway. It was an Italian place, garlic and wine heavy in the air. We stepped into a closed-off room, a space reserved for wedding receptions, first Communions, and contract killings.

  A man sat alone at the middle table, hunkered over a basket of bread and a tumbler of whiskey. Clinks and conversation came from the other side of curtained glass doors. The man was in his fifties, too old for how long his hair was in back. It was gone on top, sidling away from a bloodhound face that made me want to give him a smack, tell him whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.

  He looked up, nodded at Burch like he knew him, and started to say something to Eddie. Then he saw me in the suit. “You said no lawyers.”

  Eddie gaped. “Him? How drunk are you?”

  “So what? You brought muscle.”

  Guy didn’t recognize me from the Burbank fight or otherwise. I started drafting a valentine to my new suit.

  “He’s my bullshit detector. My other one’s out of juice from the last time we talked.” Eddie sat down across from the guy, a second glass of whiskey waiting there, and waved me to the next table over. Burch stayed by the door.

  The guy said, “I’m not the one pulling all this last-second cloak-and-dagger crap. I had to ditch my wife to get here.”

  “You’re welcome. So let’s get it done.”

  “I told you last time what I need. Otherwise we got nothing to talk about.”

  “Lou, I’ve seen your books. You’re hemorrhaging faster than an Ebola clinic. You want—no, you need—to off-load Elite as soon as possible. I know this. I already won. All that’s left is the pillaging, and I’m willing to work with you on that.”

  So this was Lou Gerrone, owner of Elite Combat Sports. Five years ago it was a major player in MMA. Now guys went there to get careers started by beating up on guys who didn’t know theirs were over.

  Lou plucked a piece of bread out, tugged the crust off. “You gonna change the name?”

  “Don’t see why. It’s a recognized brand.”

  “I just figured you might call it Warrior Triple A or some shit. Banzai Eddie’s Personal Developmental League.”

  I expected the nickname to get Eddie screaming. He either didn’t hear it or pretended not to. Distraction or diplomacy, I got a better grip on the significance of this sit-down.

  “Doesn’t matter what the name is,” Eddie said. “It’s never gonna be on the same level as Warrior. No offense, but when this is done, at least your guys won’t have to slog through a shitty contract before they get a chance to fight for me. If they show me something, I’ll bump ’em into Warrior right away. Regardless, the name is staying.”

  “You gotta treat my fighters right.”

  “I told you everybody’s safe. Nobody’s getting cut until he deserves it. Or she. I’m keeping the women’s divisions too. For now.”

  “And the tax thing.”

  Eddie nodded. “You’re staying on as vice president—”

  “Now see, we’re right back where we were.”

  “Jesus, all right. President, okay? And you don’t have to do shit. Just collect your check and stay out of the press.”

  “No bullshit shareholder meetings, any of that?”

  “How about I tell security not to let you in? Case you happen to wander into the building during a bullshit meeting.”

  Lou barked at that. “Ain’t gonna happen, trust me. I’m getting my ass down to Mexico, see some real water. Not this blue chemical shit. Any of you guys ever smell the water in these fountains? No? I’ll save you the trouble, just piss up your nose.”

  There was a moment of awkward appreciation.

  Eddie said, “I’ll have the papers drawn up, get them to you Monday.”

  “First thing?”

  “Monday.”

  Lou stuck his hand over the table. Eddie shook it.

  “You got a big debut planned?” Lou said. “Hey, don’t give me that face. I’m just curious, one promoter to another.”

  Eddie eased down in his chair, took his first sip of whiskey. I watched the tension roll off him. “I have something working, nothing official yet. There’s a Japanese fighter wants to jump into Warrior. I’m gonna let him dip his toe into Elite first, see if he squeals.”

  “Oriental guy? Huh.” Lou killed his drink. “Man, I don’t know if that’s gonna draw for you.”

  “And that’s why I’m leaving here with your company.” Eddie winked and stood up.

  I nodded at Lou and got the droopy lids from him.

  We walked down the hallway, Burch on point checking the kitchen, doorway, parking lot.

  Eddie put an elbow in my ribs. “Nice work. Looks like you’re off the hook for the Zombi fight.”

  Funny thing about hooks: when you drop back onto them, they go twice as deep.

  CHAPTER 6

  Eddie stopped with one foot in the limo. “Sit up front with Burch. I need to make some calls back here. And one of you guys open this moonroof, huh? Air this bitch out.”

  “If Zombi’s going to Elite, who am I fighting? And when?”

  “Easy, brah. Call Gil and tell him we’re on the way. You wanna do Guy Savoy again?”

  The restaurant where Eddie had signed me to the Burbank fight and dumped me into the mess with Kendall. “No offense to the chef, but that place left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “Good point. We’ll figure it out.”

  He got in and Burch shut the door, popped the driver’s.

  I didn’t move.

  Burch eyeballed me. “I ain’t opening your door.”

  “I got that.”

  “Oh, your feelings are hurt. Don’t wanna ride up front with the help? How about the boot?”

  “Boot?”

  “Fucking trunk.”

  “Open it. We’ll see who goes in.”

  He stepped close. “Look, mate, you oughta know by now. We’re condoms to Eddie. He uses us to keep him safe while he fucks about, then tosses us in the bin. It’s on you to make yourself comfortable in here with the coffee grounds and banana peels.”

  “You’re comfortable?”

  “Places I’ve been, this is a bubble bath. Get in.”

  My suit didn’t seem to mind the leather in the passenger seat, so it was high quality.

  Burch started the limo. There was a click from somewhere in the panel behind us.

  “What’s the fucking holdup? Moonroof.” Eddie clicked off.

  Burch pushed a button on a screen set into the dash between us. It had a digital sketch of the limo and showed the moonroof sliding open. There were two ghostly figures in the front seat, one in the back in the middle of the seat behind us. They all had blank faces and round heads, no gender details. The passenger ghost was blinking red.

  “Seat belt,” Burch said.

  I buckled up. My ghost turned green.

  “Not so bad up here, is it? If you want to make rocket ship sounds, I won’t tell.” He got the limo moving.

  I called Gil and told him about the contract and Eddie buying Elite Combat. I left out Zombi and the Yakuza—no need for false hope
s or fears—said we’d be there to pick him up for dinner in forty minutes, according to Burch.

  “We’re talking contract?” Gil said.

  “Eddie has it with him now. Unsigned, far as I know.”

  “I’ll wear my negotiating boots.” He hung up.

  I said to Burch, “You want me to tell Dorian to cancel the suits?”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  I ran a hand down my tie. “Maybe I should get them anyway. How much we talking?”

  “You could trade that one in for a compact car.”

  “Yeah, let’s cancel the other six.”

  We hit a red light and stopped next to another limo. Thin white hands holding neon-green shot glasses flapped out of the windows. The driver slid his down and saluted us. We nodded. His passengers let out a collective screech; shot glasses were emptied. The driver winced, made a gun with his finger and thumb and blew his brains out.

  The panel behind us clicked. I expected Eddie to order a commandeering of the other limo, at least a closed moonroof, but he didn’t say anything. It clicked off. The light turned green and we rolled away.

  Burch said, “You did well at the restaurant.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Guy your size, I thought you might work the room like a dick-swinging contest, frothing at the mouth and bird-dogging everyone. But you played it right. Professional.”

  “How’d you end up in this kind of work?”

  “You make it sound like a last resort. You’re a fighter. Did you end up doing that? I’ll wager you found out you were good at it, even liked it, and sought the path to make a living at it.”

  “Okay, so you started out as what, a crossing guard? Then hall monitor, security guard, cop?”

  “SAS. Familiar?”

  “SEALs from England.”

  “I know some lads who’d slot you for saying that, but it’s close enough. I pulled the trigger a bit over in the sandbox, harassed the IRA boys, protected the Royal Family. Capitalize that when you say it, thank you.”

  “From royalty to Eddie? Steep drop.”

  Burch squinted. “Less incest.”

  The panel clicked. We waited. Again, Eddie clicked off without saying anything.