HARD CASE (A John Harding Novel - Special Ops, Cage Fighter, CIA Agent)

Chapter One

John Harding

He hit me a glancing blow I pulled away from. His follow up roundhouse kick I deflect with my left wrist. All the time, I’m watching my man. Tommy gives me the signal to go down. I take a hard right, slipping it a little, and drop to my knees. My opponent, big, dark, with a gold tooth, smiled down at me. He didn’t even wear a mouth guard. That’s confidence. He’s sweating in the heat. I’m a little hot myself. We’re throwing hands and feet in the middle of around thirty well dressed men and women. Tommy’s making bets for us. I’m a big guy too, six foot five in my bare feet. My weight runs around two fifty, so this guy I’m tussling with has about thirty pounds on me and maybe an inch.

How I got to doing what I do is a long story. I spent time in uniform, and six years in special ops. In younger years growing up my old man and me had to travel a lot. He whipped me good and often. Only thing was… I got to liking it… not so much the beating as the pain. When I hit fourteen we lived in an old shack of a place near the Mahoning River in Leavittsburg, Ohio. My Pa came home drunk deciding it was time for another beat down. It was. I broke his jaw and then his arm. While he lay screaming in pain I kicked him right in the nuts as hard as I could. Pa quieted down then.

I took what money he had, some clothes, and his car. Heading South, I found a place down in Texas called Plano where I hired on at a fast food joint. I stayed in the back of an old man’s junkyard. Pete, the junkyard owner took a liking to me. He helped me get a driver’s license and birth certificate. That’s when I became John Harding and a very young eighteen year old. Pete told me the service would be a good place to get my GED and some money saved. The Marines needed a few good men. They took me anyway. Nothing much was happening back in 1997; but I went Recon and saw some neat foreign places: Kenya, Kosovo, and the Philippines. It turned out I had a penchant for learning languages and the Marines began training me in a few helpful ones… helpful for them. Nine eleven hit about the time my four years were up. At nineteen I was in Afghanistan. Being a vet by the time they started doing special ops in Iraq I thought it best to hone the only damn skills I’d managed to attain.

Now I’m out, sort of, and free lancing with odd jobs. I tried getting into the extreme cage stuff but the referee was slow stopping my first fight and I killed a guy. It was bad publicity for the sport so they told me I needed a cooling off period. Tommy saw the fight. He recruited me. Tommy Sands grew up in East LA. He’s the guy Barrack Obama said his grandma used to hide from on the street. Tommy and me hit it off right away. He’s smooth with the side bets. We have an understanding. He knows the pain don’t bother me much. I know he don’t mind watching me take some. The impromptu money fights are more my style anyway. It allows me the leeway for my other enterprises.

Here I am, making a little money. I get up at a slant, sliding inside another kick. Stumbling around a little while my new buddy attacks, I keep Tommy in sight while I’m slipping punches and covering up. Then I see her: Tess Connagher, my other sometime employer. She ain’t happy. She’s standing with her arms folded across her chest in that
I’m irritated as hell
look she does so well. Tess is about five foot seven and a hundred thirty pounds of well educated Boston confidence. Long red hair, green eyes, and just a few freckles, Tess looks like just what she is: a lawyer. I throw a few left jabs to keep my sparring partner on his toes while I locate Tommy. I see him. Tommy nods.

My left hook catches the big man coming forward, a real hurtful shot in the solar plexus. His hands drop. My right smashes him flush on the left temple. He crumples in a heap, rolling with sightless eyes to his back. The crowd is groaning because I’m not the favorite. Tommy looks at the other fighter’s handler. The man nods his head angrily. I stretch out my arms, watching the crowd closely. I strip off the thin fight gloves and stuff them in my waistband. Every once in a while one of our patrons gets upset at the outcome and decides to change it. Tess is coming toward me, her body language announcing she’s upset with me. A thirty something, pasty faced guy in the front ring of people reaches into his suit. I have his wrist in my fist the next split second, having covered the distance while my eyes were still registering his movement. Tommy covers my play.

The man’s girlfriend, a nice dressed blonde starts screaming. Tess gives her hair a yank and she quiets down. Pasty face is on his knees with his wrist in my vice when I relieve him of the Glock he was pulling on us. I hand it to Tommy and let the man up. Tommy pops the clip and checks the Glock chamber before handing the piece back to the guy. He won’t be allowed in the circle again.

“You get our money, T?”

“Yeah, John. Hey, I thought I told you not to bring the girlfriend along when we’re entertainin’.”

“I heard that!” Tess calls over her shoulder as she gives blondie a helpful push toward her boyfriend before walking over to us. “You stink, Hard-head.”

“Sorry, Tess, I’ll use more Sports Stick next time.”

“Can we get out of here?” Tommy pulls on my arm. “We’ll treat slinky to a coffee somewhere else but I think we need to go now.”

“Slinky…” Tess starts in on Tommy but we’re already heading away from the parking lot in the Embarcadero and Fifth Avenue area of Oakland, Ca. Tess follows, cussing out Tommy all the way over to our cars with Tommy laughing at every jibe.

We all know each other. Tommy’s my manager and agent. I hate the business stuff. I’m no gamer. He knows my skills and how to market them. Tess’s firm uses us when they need something more potent than a lawyer or run of the mill PI. Usually it’s protection or a skip trace. I back their play while they do the investigations. When one of their clients skips out, they find the location and I handle the retrieval. I’m good at tactical stuff. Much to Tess’s dismay, Tommy’s real good at bartering for our fee.

I’m a killer. I don’t take life too seriously, mine or anyone else’s. Tommy keeps me in line like they used to in the service. Tommy trusts Tess to yank on my reins when I do work for her firm if I start going overboard on a case – if she gets close enough. Tess and me been around the block a few times. She’s seen the look. I don’t kill randomly but I’ve killed folks no one knows I’ve killed. They were dangerous. I’m not getting paid to die. I listen to what Tommy and Tess have to say where it concerns my civilian life. I weigh the pros and cons. Then I take care of business. One time Tess had a client - some slimy drug dealing pimp who wanted more from Tess than her services as a lawyer. When the firm kicked free of the pimp, Tess got her tires slashed, weirdo calls, and then her cat Pretzel was gutted. The pimp came around the next day at Tess’s office asking how her cat was.

Tess loved Pretzel. She was real mad, and scared too. We’d worked together before. Tess knew my background. She put me on the payroll through Tommy as a bodyguard. I do okay as a bodyguard but I’m better at killing. I gutted the pimp, quiet like, and heaved him over into a junk yard on East 12
th
Street. They didn’t find him for weeks. I liked Pretzel too. I was careful. Oakland doesn’t have CSI teams for dead pimps anyway. Tess asked me about it. I shrugged like I had no idea what happened to the guy. She didn’t believe me. Her firm stopped using my services for a while. Like Tommy says though, we’re unique. He can dress my white ass up in a tux or put me in street clothes and I blend real good in spite of my size. I secretly think Tess was mad because Tommy billed them for the weeks before they found the scumbag in the junkyard.

Tess and I slept together once. It was the second time working together. Her firm made bail for some gangbanger over in East Oakland. He missed his court date. They sent a couple of those ‘Dawg The Bounty Hunter’ TV show types over. It didn’t work out. Tommy negotiated a nice fee for us. See, Tommy knows when they decide I’m their boy we get double the standard fare. Tess insisted on doing a ride along. Tommy didn’t like it. What can I say? I’m a sucker for redheads. I went in around two AM, told Tess to wait in the car, and brought the guy out sweet and easy. Only thing is, Tess ain’t in the car. Couple bottom dwellers spotted her outside the car and decided to get lucky. They dragged her down the block between two houses. It’s quiet at that time in the morning. Although the lovers must have had Tess’s mouth covered, I still heard them scuffling down the block a ways.

“Lucky,” I says to the gangbanger I have cuffed, “you wait in the car until I get back. Don’t make a sound or I’ll cut your nuts off and shove them down your throat. We clear?”

Lucky nodded his understanding. I go in search of the erstwhile redhead. Granted, I came up on the young men slow and careful. It wasn’t because I wanted Tess hurt. I wanted to get us both out without a body count. I didn’t trust Tess not to turn me in. I have trust issues except with Tommy. So I’m standing over the lovers before they realize I’m there. One, I drop kick in the side. I hear his ribs crack. Second lover pops up with some Bruce Lee crap. We mix it up a little. He probably started eating whole food again a few months later. I pick Tess up. She’s looking pretty good, all mussed up, and biting her lip to keep from crying out. I like a woman who doesn’t complain much.

We drop Lucky off and get his ticket. I buy Tess breakfast at an all night Denny’s thinking to calm her down. She’s pumped. Never seen anything like that. Thought she was going to die. Yada… yada… you get the drift. I listen, drink my coffee, and nod at the appropriate times. Tommy says I can be real charming when I work a job. I take Tess home after the adrenaline rush passes. I walked her up to the two-story she owns in Piedmont. Then, Tess wants to get romantic. I guess I shouldn’t have let her drink coffee. Anyhow, I’m no celibate and I like redheads. Some things I’m real slow with my hands doing.

Tess starts calling Tommy, wanting me to meet her for dinner and such. See, I don’t talk on phones. I enjoyed my night with Tess so I’m willing. I agree to a meal over at her house a couple nights later. Tess answers the door, already blushing. I like that. I kiss her and we nearly don’t make it in to eat. The now deceased Pretzel came by to rub up against me and purr, recognizing me from the other night’s sleep over. Tess has the table all fixed nice with candles and everything, serves me and sits down. All of a sudden, it’s you need to answer your phone, and I’m not comfortable with this, and I never did anything like go to bed with a stranger, and I need to know more about what you do. Well, I ate my dinner, listened, nodded appropriately, sipped my coffee, and enjoyed her voice. Even when Tess complains her voice gives me chills. Not a whole hell of a lot in this world gives me chills of any kind.

“What do you think about what I said, John?” Tess leaned forward as if anticipating some form of applause.

I keep it simple.

“I don’t answer phones. I’m sorry you’re not comfortable. No one will ever know what happened the night we picked up the gangbanger, not even Tommy. Your firm already has my stat sheet and qualifications. You have a beautiful voice.”

Tess blushes again. Sometimes I don’t blink or look away from people when I talk. It unnerves them but I don’t mean anything by it. I find people interesting. She launches again, restating pretty much what she’d already said. Tess did add one thing I really liked. She told me no guy had ever made her feel like I did the other night. That was sweet.

“Thank you,” I replied, which caused Tess to get the little downturn at her mouth I think is cute.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?” Tess allowed the tiniest bit of irritation to creep into her voice.

“Sure, if it’s on a different subject.”