Jezebel (30 page)

For the next
half hour, Celeste was prodded, measured and poked. That was the
easy part since she only had to stand there. If any brain cells had
been involved they were thoroughly occupied by analyzing every single
detail of her conversation with Shane.

What did he
mean by he was going to make things right?

Shane
grimaced. The right hook landed solid, almost knocking the wind out
of him. If he’d possessed a glass jaw, he would’ve landed
on his back. Instead, two sparring partners bobbed and weaved just
out
of
arm’s reach.

“
The aim
here is to avoid getting hit!”

Shaking the
stars out of his head, Shane bit down on his mouthpiece. Hands up,
arms tucked close to his sides and head down, he advanced on Luis.
Quicker and more agile, his sparring partner retreated, remaining
just out of reach of Shane’s retaliation.

Smart guy. He
might be slower, but Shane had hands of stone.

“
Move
those feet!” Ollie barked. “He’s leading you on a
merry chase. Connect already!”

Frustrated,
Shane ground his teeth. His head wasn’t in the ring, hadn’t
been for some time. Still, he needed to keep up pretenses. Train
like he always had even though it was all for n
othing
.

Keeping his
eyes on his opponent, Shane digested all of his coach’s verbal
abuse. He circled Luis, waited for his next move.

Sure enough the
younger fighter doled out several body shots, but none of his punches
knocked Shane to his knees.

Instead, he
retaliated with two left jabs followed by a surprise right hook, one
of his favorite moves, but didn’t connect.

“
For
Christ sakes stop wasting my time.” Ollie yanked his cap off
and slammed it on the canvas. Both boxers stopped and waited for the
old man to crawl through the ropes. “Hit the showers, Luis.”

Before Shane
could do the same, Ollie stepped forward and placed his hands on his
shoulders, staying him.

“
What’s
up with you?” He stepped forward, lowering his voice.
“Headaches
plaguing you again?”

Shane dropped
his gaze and proceeded to pick at the laces of his gloves. “What
makes you ask that?”

“
Your
timing’s off. You’re all over the place. You’re
shuffling your feet. I don’t like the look of it.”

“
My
mind’s someplace else that’s all.” It wasn’t
exactly a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either.

“
Well,
straighten your act or I’m calling Dr. Rubenstein.”

“
If I
trip over my own two feet, you’re threatening me with that
hack,” Shane said, tired of Ollie acting like a mother hen.

Ollie refused
to be waylaid. “If you want me to call the fight, I can.
Maybe you should take a—”

“
I gotta
to go,” Shane interjected. “I’ve got to meet
somebody.”

Ollie’s
eyes narrowed as he pulled a bit-up cigar from betw
een
his lips. “Off to see that gal again?”

Shane
stiffened. He didn’t like the other man’s tone. “What’s
it any business of yours?”

“
Plenty
if she’s affecting your boxing. I thought you were better than
that.”

With
red hot fury pumping through his veins, Shane grabbed the front of
Ollie’s
shirt
and pulled him close. At the drop of a dime, the gym came to a
standstill, the constant thumping of punching bags, jumping ropes and
speed bags ceased.

“
She’s
better than you and I put together.”

“
I…I
didn’t mean it like that,” Ollie rushed to explain. He
clawed at Shane’s fist, but the attempt was futile. Shane was
in a mood to bash someone’s face in. “I thought you wuz
better than letting some dame get in the way of you and the title.”

Caught off
guard, Shane loosened his grip. “She’s not the reason I’m
a lump in the ring, Ollie.”

Ollie took
advantage of Shane’s contriteness and stepped out of harm’s
way. “Then what’s got into you?”

“
Just
nerves.” Shane racked his brain for a valid excuse. “My
first shot at a title and all.”

To Shane’s
relief, his coach nodded in understanding. “Don’t you
worry your head none, you got this in the bag.”

Ollie planted
his feet, lifted his fists, and then pretended to shadowbox, backing
Shane into a corner. “Mountain Man Jim Clarke is a hack. You’re
going to win and win big. I’ll bet my life on it. Heck, I’ll
bet the entire bank.”

Feeling as if
the wind had been knocked out of him, Shane turned away and leaned
against the ropes.

“
What’s
wrong with you?” Ollie squeezed his shoulder. “You look
white as a sheet.”

Shane shrugged
off Ollie’s hand. “Delayed reaction. I guess Luis hit me
harder than I expected.”

If
Ollie found out about the mess he was in, it would break his heart.
The old man believed in him. From day one he’d taken him under
his wing,
helped
him get out of that
worn
out gym in Kansas City and made him into who he was today.

“
I
guess we’re done here.” Ollie reached out to unlace his
gloves
.
Shane
backed away from him.

“
I can do
it myself.” Shane faced Ollie’s hurt look head on. He
needed to get used to it because he’d see it again when he
wound up breaking the old man’s heart. “I’m going
to hit the showers.” He removed one glove tucked it under his
arm, and then attacked the other.

“
Sounds
good.” Ollie hobbled over, picked up his hat, and placed it
back on his head. “A good hot shower should clear your head.”

He needed more
than a shower to clear his head. He needed to make things right.

***

The Parliament
was a hive activity. Money exchanged hands quicker than the horses at
Belmont Stakes. People cursed, others cried. A couple of lackeys
recorded the days’ results on a monstrous chalk board, running
half the length of the room.

S
lot
machines lined
two
walls and b
lack
jack and roulette tables peppered the main floor. At each and every
game, some unlucky bastard, unaware that the odds were stacked
heavily against them, was trying to beat the house.

Amazing, Shane
mused as he picked his way through the throng. There was a raging
recession and people still whittled away their money in gambling
holes.

At
the back of the room, Shane approached a steel door
which broke up the monotony of games of chance
.
With clammy fingers, he pressed the buzzer per the doorman’s
instructions. Almost instantly, a metal slat slid back.

“
What’d
ya want?”

“
I need
to speak to Mr. Ferruci.”

“
Who are
you?” The other man’s voice was so low and gravely,
Shane could barely make out his Brooklyn accent.

“
S
ugar
S
hane
Brennan.” Although he hated the moniker, Shane decided to throw
it in. It was the only reason he’d gained entrance. Only
people in the know or whales knew the whereabouts of Johnny Ferruci’s
racket located in the basement of a butchery located in the meat
packing district.

The pair of
eyes peered at him. “You’s got an appointment?”

Shane shook his
head.

“
No
appointment…no open sesame,
capisce
.”

“
How do I
get an appointment?”

The
man sighed heavily. “You got to go through his secretary Marco
Pirelli.”

“
A
secretary?” Shane ground his teeth. What was this the
utilities department? “And how do I get to see Pirelli?”
he asked with as much patience as he could muster.

“
He’s
upstairs,” then as if reading Shane’s mind, “but he
ain’t seeing anyone
today
.
Now scram
,
”
he
said then
shut
the metal slab.

Stunned, Shane
didn’t move just kept staring at the immovable object in front
of him. He was back at first base with no one to bat him in. He felt
cornered, hemmed in and he didn’t like it one bit.

Embarrassed,
furious and just feeling damned sorry for himself, Shane punched the
door so hard his entire body reverberated.

Yeah, it was
stupid, but he didn’t like feeling helpless or vulnerable. And
he hadn’t felt that way since he was a child when his father
used him as a punching bag.

Instead
of checking his anger, Shane let it swell and fester until it clouded
his better judgment. Hobbled with fury, he slowly turned around,
a
hot flush stealing up his collar. If he couldn’t get to Pirelli
or Ferruci, then he’d make them to come to him.

He scanned the
room, making note of Ferruci’s associates. Instead of gambling,
they watched the tables. Few in number, Shane surmised he could take
them if he had to.

Not wasting
another minute on inaction, Shane stalked over to the nearest table.
He bent his knees, grabbed the edge and flipped the table on end.

“
What the
fuck are you doing?” The dealer yelled.

“
Trying
to get noticed.”

While
all three players fell to their knees and scooped up cash, Shane
rushed another table. Seeing his approach, the dealer scrambled for
his deck of cards. He was too slow.

Shane, head
down and arms out, flipped the table so fast cards and money
somersaulted in the air. Not only players from the table, but
several people from nearby slot machines dove into the melee.

“
Thanks,
buddy!” one of the gamblers looked up from the floor and
winked. “I was in the hole.”

Ignoring him
and trying to keep out of Ferucci’s men, who’d finally
woken up, Shane skirted the throng crawling around on all fours and
set his sights on a craps table.

Made of cherry
wood and lined with green felt, the thing looked heavy. Still, he
could handle it. Grinning, Shane cupped the edge as he bent his
knees.

“
Heave
h—”

The
fist connected with his jaw, filling his head with stars. Shane
stumbled back. About damn time! He was about to wreck the goddam
place.

Another fist
slammed into his stomach, doubling him over, knocking the breath out
of him. He barely had any time to regain his bearings when another
fist uppercut him under his chin, spinning him around on his heels.

Sure, he
could’ve recovered and dished out as good as he got. But Shane
kept his hands down at his sides, accepting blow after blow until his
knees eventually buckled and he sank to his knees.

His
nose felt broken and his left eye was
swelling
.
In spite of the pain coursing through his body all he could think of
was Celeste.

“
You had
enough?” recognizing the man’s voice from behind the
metal slab, Shane lifted his head and tried to smile, but his lip was
busted.

“
Feels
like old times,” Shane paused to spit out blood. He barely
managed it. From his cheekbones down, he couldn’t feel a thing.
“Now do I get to see Pirelli.”