Hook and Shoot (8 page)

“Yeah.”

He paused. “Is it pretty nice?”

“It's not bad.” The statues heard me through the glass and raised their eyebrows.

“Well, this can't be good. What's he selling?”

“Actually, he needs my help.”

“What, moving furniture?”

“Don't get mad.”

“Oh, Jesus. Hold on. Okay, tell me.”

“You recording this?”

“I got a paper clip ready to stick in the electrical outlet. It's the only way I'll learn. I'm ready.”

“Stop it. Eddie needs extra security for a while, asked me to do it.”

“Is this connected to the thing from before?”

I wanted to lie but knew he'd see through it. “Yeah. The Yakuza's after him. For more than money.”

“Come on.”

I told him about the possible fight with Zombi and the four-fight contract Eddie would sign if he lived long enough.

“I'm going to kill that bastard myself,” Gil said.

“You heard of this Zombi guy?”

“Don't change the goddamn subject. No, I haven't.”

“We're gonna need some tape on him, see what he brings. Oh, and Burch says we can't have anybody coming and going, so you'll have to train me remotely.”

I smiled into the silence. Gil was probably staring at his phone, wondering why it had stopped making sense.

“Who the fuck is Burch?”

“The driver. English guy who picked me up yesterday.”

“That prick. He's kidding, right? He understands that if you're fighting I'm training you wherever and whenever I want. Right?”

“I think he suspects it but doesn't fully grasp what he's dealing with.”

“I'll have a chat with him.”

“He wants to be my sparring partner.”

“Tell me which hospital he goes to. I'll visit him there. Jesus, these guys. Marcela called.”

“Yeah?”

“I told her you were out running. She said she'd watch for it in the news.”

“Hilarious. I'll call her back.”

“And tell her what?” Gil said.

“Everything is fine.”

“I can lie to her. You can't.”

“That's not a lie.”

“Well, it ain't the truth. Be careful. I'll start digging on Zombi. Hey, see what I did there?” He hung up.

The statues peeked over berms and around shrubs to see what I'd do next.

I got Marcela's number on the screen. The numbers were a symbol for her, the curves and angles and straight lines. There should be more numbers; these aren't enough to represent her. She requires decimal points and commas.

I still didn't know what to say.

I canceled the call.

The statues looked away.

Burch walked into the gym with a cardboard box that almost hid his face. He dropped it near the steps to the cage. “Sponsor gear. See if anything in here gives you the grapes to fight me.”

He bounced up the steps and started doing jumping jacks. He wore running shorts and a sleeveless white shirt. He was lean, bands of muscle and sinew strumming under pale skin. I'd fought wiry guys before and didn't enjoy it very much. They're strong and have too many sharp points. As far as I knew I'd never sparred with a wiry trained killer, but I expected the same.

I poked through the box, found some shorts and hand wraps that looked like they'd fit, a boil-and-bite mouthguard still in its package. No luck on cups or supporters. “No kicks or knees.”

“Those are for girls anyway. You and I shall be pugilists today. Peek under the apron. Should be more gear.”

I lifted the heavy draping and saw three storage tubs with no lids piled with boxing gloves, focus mitts, and headgear. I dragged them out. “This stuff needs air and sunshine, otherwise it breeds.”

Burch ignored me and stretched his legs by bringing his toes up to the opposite outstretched hand. Once, twice, that was enough for him. He started wheeling his arms around. “We had a bit of fun in the SAS called the hooded box drill. You stand
in the middle of a dark room with a black hood over your head, and when you least expect it they pull the hood off and you're faced with between one and three blokes set on ruining your day. Your job is to treat them likewise.”

“Bare knuckle?”

“Nah, small gloves and headgear with face shields.” He didn't seem to appreciate the face I made. “How many press-ups can you do?”

“What the hell's a press-up?”

He dropped to the canvas and started banging out push-ups.

“Oh. I don't know.”

“You don't know? Thought you trained.”

“Not for a push-up contest.”

I changed in the men's room off the gym, white tile and indirect lighting with stainless fixtures and two shower stalls with frosted glass doors. The only color was a glass mosaic in the wall across from the sinks that showed a scene from the Trojan War, Hector getting dragged around the walls. Achilles looked slightly Asian, and there was a single blue tile in his black hair. I ran the mouthguard under hot water and let myself get upset over the fact that the second-best bathroom I'd ever been in was Eddie's locker room shitter.

When I came out Vanessa was sitting on a yoga
mat, her legs crossed at the ankles. She cheered my walk to the cage with a very quiet, “Yay.”

I dropped my clean clothes in a heap onto the mat next to her.

“Boooo.”

Burch had his gloves and headgear on. He had to take his mouthguard out to whistle at my shorts. “He's a big one, ain't he, Vanessa? Watch out when he topples. He might take the fence down with him.”

Eddie walked in wearing a thick black bathrobe, a phone pressed to his ear. “How soon can we get that done?” He rolled a finger at us to keep doing whatever we were doing.

I put headgear on and found the biggest gloves in the bin, carried them up to the threshold. It's not a casual act, entering a fighting cage to do work. I took a moment to show respect.

“Quit stalling and get in here,” Burch said. “Water's nice.”

I stepped in and felt the cool grip of the canvas under my feet. Pulled the gloves on and tipped back into the fence, let it take my weight and bounce me upright. The gloves had thick wrist straps with Velcro. I used my teeth to tighten them.

Burch was across the cage hopping from one foot to the other, his arms hanging loose. “Ready, sunshine?”

“I'm ready.”

Behind me Eddie said into the phone, “Hold on a second.”

Burch said, “Vanessa, if you would be so kind.”

“Ding-ding.”

Burch skimmed across, leading left. Decent head movement. I held my left hand up near my shoulder. He glanced at it and kept coming, flicking a jab out like a snake's tongue.

He closed the distance, jab-jab-jab.

When he was close enough I threw the left hook. Gil calls it The Dumpster Filler because of all the equipment I've busted with it. Burch pulled both gloves in to take the blow. My fist crushed his gloves against his head, split them, and drove through to meet his temple. His legs gave out on the first impact. The second sent him tumbling sideways until he hit the fence and dropped onto the canvas like a sack of gravel. He didn't move. Then he started snoring.

Eddie spoke into his phone. “Can I call you back?”

Vanessa knelt next to Burch with her eyebrows pulled together, looking from him to me and back like I'd shat on her birthday cake. Eddie stared at Burch through the cage, possibly trying not to smile.

Me, I was grinning like I was getting paid by the tooth.

“I think he's peeing,” Vanessa said.

Eddie ducked and looked between the cage frame and canvas, made a face. “Get him outta there. We need some bleach.”

“Well?” Vanessa stood and waited for me to do whatever I was supposed to do.

I raised my hand in victory.

“Asshole. He's hurt.”

“He's fine,” I said. I kicked Burch's foot to prove it.

“Stop. Eddie?”

“Woody, just pick him up. Make sure he isn't choking on his tongue or anything.”

Vanessa kept the sour face going and moved so I could tug Burch away from the fence and roll him onto his back. He was made of rubber. I took my gloves off and pulled his mouthguard out, a string of drool chasing until it broke and fell on his chin. I slipped his headgear off and set his head on the canvas.

“Burch.” I slapped him for a while.

Vanessa said, “Isn't there another way to wake him up?”

“Plenty.”

Burch's eyes opened. He looked at the ceiling, the windows, me. “What happened?”

“We sparred.”

“You look okay.”

“Thanks.”

He squinted and smacked his lips, saw Eddie through the fence. “Hey, boss.”

“What day is it?” Eddie said.

“Hold on. Ash Wednesday? That's the only one I can think of.”

Eddie glared at me. “Goddamn it.”

“My bollocks are wet.”

“We're gonna sit now. Ready?” I pulled him up and spun him so he could sit back against the fence. He enjoyed it.

Vanessa said, “He needs a hospital.”

“This happens all the time at Gil's. Get him some ice and water. He's good as new.”

“You're a moron,” Eddie said. “I told you not to fuck each other up. Now we need a doctor to come here, and who can I trust?”

“I'm a doctor,” Burch said and kept a straight face. “Of love.”

I stood. “This is my favorite version of Burch so far. I vote we keep him this way.”

Eddie said, “Fix him.”

“It looks hard to be serious in a bathrobe. Is it? Okay, Burch, ready to stand up? Here we go.”

He wobbled a bit but stayed on his feet. I removed
his gloves.

“My mobile's ringing,” he said.

“Take it easy. Deep breaths.”

“Wait.” Vanessa turned her head. “I hear it too. Where's his phone?” She ran out of the cage and dug into Burch's shoulder bag on a chair just inside the door. She took his gun out and set it on the next chair over without a second glance, then came out with his cell phone. It chirped while she looked at the screen. “Complete Secure Storage. Should I answer?”

Eddie shrugged, frowned at me.

I recognized the name. There was a dead guy in a freezer on their property. “Last night.”

Eddie touched his throat and turned gray. “Answer it.”

“Hello? … Yes, this is Mr. Sheridan's number, but he's in a meeting right now.”

“That's called an alias,” Burch told me. “And I'm not in a meeting. He didn't even call my number. It's a forwarding system that—”

“Shut up.”

“Right.” He nodded and winked, our secret.

“Okay, thank you for calling. I'll let him know.” Vanessa poked at the phone, dropped it in the bag. “I guess that guy wants Mr. Sheridan—er, Burch—to come to his storage facility. He said somebody broke into the unit.”

We got Burch into the shower, clothes and all. The hot water brought him around. As soon as he started swearing at me I left to get cleaned up. I put the new suit on—even better the second time—and met Burch and Eddie in the foyer. Eddie wore a light gray suit with a black turtleneck underneath that covered his mottled neck.

“I'm starting to remember what happened,” Burch said. He was in his limo driver costume.

“Not a whole lot to remember.”

“We're not done in there.” He tilted his head toward the back of the house.

“I think one of us is.”

“You see what you two assholes have done?” Eddie said. “We need
one
guy to go check on the thing from last night. But guess what? We're all going, because my head of security has a concussion, and I'm not staying here alone with him, and I sure as hell can't send him by himself. Congratulations. You're wasting my time and putting me at the scene of a felony. Ready? Let's fucking go.”

Burch punched the location into the dashboard GPS
and got in back with Eddie, his legs still a little unsteady.

I drove with the privacy panel up and ran through the worst-case scenarios for what waited at the storage unit. I was at number seventeen when I arrived at the open gate.

There was a small pickup parked inside. A skinny balding guy got out and approached my window. He wore faded jeans and a green T-shirt with a breast pocket bulging with the outlines of coins. The weight of it pulled his neckline down, but it didn't seem to bother him.

“Back here,” Burch said.

The skinny guy changed vectors. “Mr. Sheridan?”

“What happened?”

I saw on the display panel that the back window was halfway open. I cracked mine.

“I didn't call the cops yet. I'm Mike, by the way, the site manager. I was doing my morning sweep and saw your unit had some damage to the door. I called you right away.”

“Anybody been inside?”

“Well, I think somebody has, but it wasn't me. I gotta file a report, that's policy, but didn't know if you'd want to take a look first.”

“I appreciate that. Any other units get broken into?”

“Just yours. Which is another reason I called. I
figured it was something specific.”

“Don't spend too much time thinking about it,” Burch said.

“No, don't worry about that. But once I do the report, I can tell you what the owner's gonna say. He doesn't want any trouble for the other customers, you know?”

“We'll find another facility. Thanks.”

“Like I said, his call, not mine. Go on back. I'll wait here in case you need anything.”

I parked the same way Burch had the night before. He and I stood outside the storage unit and stared at the black hole in the steel door. The entire lock system had been cut out with a torch and placed on the ground.

“Tidy,” Burch said.

Behind us, the limo window slid down a few inches. “Hurry,” Eddie said. The window went back up.