The VIP Room(15)

I laughed at his joke, since Le Blanc is infamous for being the most expensive restaurant in the city. "Do that, and I'll have to move out of my apartment to pay for it," I said. "Then where would I stay?"

"Don't know," he replied, before leaning in to whisper in my ear. "I think I have an idea though."

His hand came around to my lower back, pulling me in close to him, and he cupped the back of my head before kissing me. His lips caressed mine, and I threw my arms around his back, clinging to him while our kiss grew hotter and more passionate, only stopping when Helen discreetly tapped the register bell behind us. Mark pulled back with a soft chuckle, and I took a few moments to catch my breath before also laughing. "I'd never be able to bring you by the tavern," I joked. "I'd never get any work done."

"Well, I'm sure some day the bloom will be off this romance, and we'll be able to at least go a couple of hours without kissing or trying to take each other's clothes off," Mark said, holding the bill and stepping back. "But for now, let's pay this and get out of here. We've both got work to do tonight."





Chapter 9





Mark





I watched Sophie drive away from the parking lot of the strip mall where the Thai restaurant was located before heading down the street. I could have called for a cab, but I didn't want my movements to be tracked. Instead, I headed to my business meeting at a local boxing club in the Warehouse District a few miles away.

The walk was good, it helped me think about my work. Besides, even with my reputation, there was no way I'd bring my Mercedes anywhere near the Warehouse District. If Sophie thought her North Side apartment was in a bad neighborhood, she'd never spent any serious time in the Warehouse District. It was the sort of neighborhood where you didn't show any signs of wealth unless you wanted to be robbed, and you made sure to wear very specific neutral colors.

Arriving at the Warehouse District, I thought of the strange skills I'd picked up over the years. I found the boxing gym and went inside, taking a moment to watch the mid afternoon crowd of boxers training. They were a unique group, most of them journeymen who were trying to sharpen up before their next paycheck taking an asswhipping from some prospect, or perhaps dreaming of getting that attention grabbing knockout.

The place was anything but glamorous, with old bags hanging from the rafters wrapped in layer after layer of duct tape, to the point that you couldn't tell if the bag was really intact any longer, or if the guy was just punching a giant column of tape. It made Mickey's gym from the Rocky movies look shiny and well maintained, but it still put out some of the best boxers and MMA fighters in the area.

My client was the reason why. He was sitting on one of the benches that surrounded the fenced octagon cage in the corner. A great trainer, he was also an astute businessman, who knew both the good and the bad side of how to work contracts and fights in a sport where, if you dug hard enough, you tended to find lots of Sicilian names in positions of power, although there were also lots of Russians, Latins, and others in certain areas.

"Hey Greg," I said, sitting down on the bench next to him. "How can I help you out today?"

"Nothing too serious," Greg replied, his eyes never leaving the cage. "Kid up there has a fight coming up in a month. His opponent is pretty dangerous, and the odds right now are not in our favor."

"Okay, so you want a scouting report on him?" I asked jokingly. "Thought you guys swapped tapes nowadays."

"Not a typical scouting report," Greg replied. "Instead, I was thinking maybe you could pay his gym a visit, and.... verify a rumor I've heard that his opponent has a bad left knee. Nothing too serious, especially with the magnitude of this fight, but something that might make him a step slow on his takedowns, and a bit more vulnerable to low kicks."

"That sort of info would be very helpful to a trainer, especially if his fighter has a pretty good kick," I said. "What's the pay?"

"Not a lot," Greg admitted. "Say, ten percent of our winnings on the action, and of course you can put your own money in if you want."

I shook my head. "Greg, you know I don't gamble like that. You know I normally handle more high profile stuff than this, but I'll be happy to give this guy a visit. You got his information?"

"Of course," Greg said, reaching inside his shorts and pulling out an envelope. "It's on this SD card. Also a small gift, thanks in advance."

I felt the envelope, and felt both the data card and what was most likely a prepaid credit card, one of the methods of payment I preferred. "Mind if I take care of it this weekend? I can give you a call Monday if you like."

"Probably better to do it tomorrow, I've heard this guy doesn't like to do gym work on weekends," Greg replied. "But Monday is great. Like I said, this fight has some serious implications. There's going to be guys from Vegas at the fight, and they've been giving us a few calls. If my boy up there can get an impressive win, he's got his ticket to the big leagues all ready to go. So, thanks man. Say, you want to get some work in? Just take it easy on the kid, he's no match for you."

I chuckled and stood up. "No thanks, Greg. You know my style doesn't match up well in the cage." Greg nodded his head in agreement, then offered his hand to shake. We shook hands, and I was on my way.