Trainer (DS Fight Club Book 2) Read online

  That was the last time Derek’s mother had spoken directly to him.

  It made Junior sick to his stomach. Derek was his parents’ only child. He couldn’t imagine cutting a family member off like that.

  “I should have known.” Priscilla Martin flattened her mouth even more until her lips all but disappeared. “How long have you two been sneaking around?”

  Derek chose to ignore his mother’s negative comments and tried to have a civilized conversation. “You’re looking well, Mother.”

  “How dare you? I’d heard you were back, taking care of your father, but I figured you’d . . . scamper back to whatever den of depravity you’d rolled out of before he got so ill.”

  “That ‘den of depravity’ is called Manhattan, Ma.”

  She sucked in a breath, and silence spread among the neighboring tables as people became aware of the potential confrontation.

  Priscilla Martin leveled her index finger directly at Junior. “I should have known. I should have known! It was all because you corrupted him. He was never that way before he started hanging around with you.” Priscilla shuddered and actually looked like she was going to be physically ill. “Depraved, both of you. It’s a blessing that you didn’t have children.”

  “Jesus Christ, Ma! What the hell is wrong with you?” Derek could do nothing but stare at her with his mouth open.

  Priscilla’s attention snapped to Derek, and she pointed her finger at him. “You do not get to call me that. I have no son,” she spat before she stormed out the door.

  The restaurant was completely silent, and Junior could feel the other patrons’ attention focused on their table. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers as he tried to formulate something—anything—to say in response to Derek’s mother’s scene.

  “Well.” Junior inhaled and picked up his fork and knife. “What were we talking about? Oh, yes, meals for one.” He cut a piece of brisket that was on his plate and began telling Derek how to cook a whole chicken in a crock pot.

  The restaurant slowly returned to normal noise levels, and Derek and Junior finished their meal.

  Junior came into the De La Garza Fight Club to find Manny in an uproar and Nanda in furious tears because of another visit from two thugs looking for a still-missing Gene.

  “Did you recognize either of them?” Junior demanded. “Have you ever seen them before?”

  “Junior, stop it! God, no! I’ve never seen either of them before!” she spat. “But thanks for making sure I’m okay.”

  Shit. “Nanda, I’m sorry. Come here. Come here.” He pulled her into a hug. “Oh my God. I’m sorry.”

  Junior cupped Nanda’s face in his hands and looked her in the eye, or rather, he would have, if she’d look at him. The fact that she wouldn’t look him directly in the eye made him suspicious.

  “Tell me what happened, Nanda. Please.”

  Nanda wriggled away from him and gave a little shrug. “I was making receipts and recording payments because someone obviously doesn’t know how to use a pen and a receipt book.” She shot a death glare at Manny, who just shrugged. “I was just doing my job, you know? Trying to get back to normal. These guys come in here, and I’m immediately suspicious. No gym bags, nice slacks, expensive shoes, and sport jackets with bulges that let me know that they’re carrying. One comes up to me, uses my fucking name, and asks me if I’ve seen Gino lately. I tell him no, which, of course, is the truth, but he keeps on leaning into my space, following me around when I move, just generally being a creep.”

  “He put his hands on her.” Manny had his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw clenched tight. “He put his fucking hands on her. Show him, Nanda.”

  “Manny . . .”

  “Show. Him.”

  Nanda rolled her eyes but pulled up her sleeve to reveal bruises that were already appearing on her forearm.

  “Motherfucker.”

  “Yeah.” Nanda jerked down her sleeve. “I’ll tell ya, he was quick, to be as big as he was.”

  “And you don’t have any idea who they were?”

  Nanda shook her head. “Junior, I swear I’ve never seen ’em before, and I’m not blowing smoke up your ass. I swear.”

  Junior put his hands on both of Nanda’s shoulders, ready to lecture her, when his phone chirped.

  “Thank God for boyfriends with impeccable timing. I owe him a shot next time we’re all out.” Nanda wriggled away from Junior and made an obscene hand gesture. “Answer the damn phone, Junior. Jeez.”

  “I’m not finished talking to you, Manita,” Junior called with a chuckle as he answered the phone. Nanda flipped him off over her shoulder and disappeared into the ladies’ locker room.

  “Uh, Junior?”

  “Sorry, man. Hey. Things were a little nuts when I got back to the gym.”

  “Nothing too bad, I hope.”

  “Um, well . . .”

  “Look, I know we had lunch today, but since it was kinda ruined by . . . you know . . . why don’t you come by for beer and burgers?”

  “Sorry, man. I can’t, but I do wanna tell you what’s going on, okay?”

  Junior told Derek about his baby sister and the mess she was apparently in. His babbling continued until Derek interrupted him.

  “How can I help? What can I do?”

  “Not a thing, but it’s nice of you to offer. I don’t want you getting mixed up in this, whatever it is. I have some things to check out, but I’ll call you if it’s not too late, okay?”

  “Sure, Junior. Sounds good.” Derek waited a beat and then exhaled. “Be careful, okay?”

  “Always am. Talk to you later, D.”

  “Bye, Junior.”

  Junior tossed his phone on the counter and rubbed his face with his hands. He really needed to find Gene, preferably before the goons that harassed Nanda today did. It wasn’t going to be easy now that Nanda was on the alert. Not much got past her, period, but when she was on the lookout for something? Forget about trying to be sneaky.

  Fuck.

  Junior heard someone clear their throat. He turned, and the fight club custodian was giving him the eye while bagged up some garbage.

  “Hey, Junior. Do you think you can help me with this trash?” The little guy made faces and ducked his head toward the side entrance. “You know, the trash?”

  “Oh! Yeah, yeah, anything.”

  Junior followed Twitchy Tony out to the dumpster.

  “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but Gino might just be having some good times at the go-go club. I’m just saying.”

  Junior grinned. “Oh, yeah? I know exactly what you’re saying. Thanks, Tone.” Junior grabbed the large black garbage bag and tossed it into the dumpster. “Tell my sister that she needs to call one of the girls to pick her up. I got an errand to run.”

  Twitchy Tony winked and went back into the fight club, and Junior trotted to his car.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Junior sat at the bar of the Good Times G0-Go Club, chatting with the bartender and a dancer while alternating his attention between the front door and the back hallway. The dancer talked his ear off about her kids and her mom, very pleased with the hundred-dollar bill Junior slipped her to provide information on Gene and as a cover to avoid any other dancers.

  She sidled up to him, stroking a taloned nail down his big bicep. “Manager at my six. He’ll make me move along if I don’t look like I’m actively engaging you to get more money.”

  Junior smiled at her and signaled the bartender for another drink. Then slipped her another fifty, making sure the nosy manager saw the exchange.

  “I’ll return that in a few minutes,” she whispered in Junior’s ear while she stroked his bald head.

  “Nah, keep it. Consider it combat pay.”

  The dancer looked at him. “You sure I can’t help you take the edge off for real? It’s the least I can do.”

  He chuckled. “No, I’m good. You’re not exactly my type.”

  “You like redheads? I got a red wig . . .�
��

  Junior laugh and shook his head. “No, sweetheart, you just don’t have the right equipment. But again, thanks for the offer. You’re a doll.”

  The dancer frowned for a moment, and then her eyes popped wide at her sudden realization. “Oh, baby, that is a real shame. I bet you break all sorts of hearts.”

  Junior shrugged and got ready to make a comment when the bartender slammed another ginger ale in front of Junior, saying, “I think your fellow just came in the front door,” before she walked away.

  Junior glanced at the front of the club and spied an unkempt man standing in the foyer of the restaurant, looking like he was going to jump out of his skin.

  Junior was going to make sure Gene’s bad day got worse.

  “Ladies, it’s been a pleasure. I’ve got to go take care of some business. Take care.” Junior downed the last of his drink and made his way across the club, his eyes riveted to Gene’s shabby figure as the other man made his way to the back of the club.

  He caught up to Gene in the men’s room, where he was muttering to himself while he used the urinal. Junior didn’t approach him. He waited patiently for Gene to finish his business, blow his nose, and pop a few pills. When Gene finished his murmured conversation with himself, he turned and walked directly into Junior’s hard, six-foot-four frame.

  “Watch it, you . . . ,” Gene spluttered, stopping dead when he looked up and faced Nanda’s glowering giant of a brother. “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up, Gene.”

  Gene licked his lips and swallowed hard, darting his eyes around the small bathroom. “I heard you were in town. You, um, came to check on Nanda, huh?”

  That was interesting. “Heard from who, exactly?”

  “You know, just heard. From around. You know how people are.”

  Junior cleared his throat and backed Gene against the wall, boxing him in and drawing attention to his huge, tattooed biceps. Gene fidgeted, his eyes still darting around the room nervously.

  “Yeah, I know how people are.” Junior cracked his neck and his jaw. “So, tell me what happened that night. Walk me through this.”

  Gene shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell. I was a little drunk, a little belligerent. We argued a little bit.”

  “About what?”

  “The same shit we always argue about.”

  Junior motioned for him to go on but didn’t say anything.

  Gene licked his lips. “I don’t know man, just the usual stuff.”

  “So then what happened?”

  “I had had enough of her nagging and I left.”

  “You just . . . left?”

  “Yeah, man. I left! You know Nanda—there’s no dealing with her when she gets like that.”

  Junior pushed on Gene’s chest and got in his face. “I think you left out a little bit.”

  Gene looked honestly confused. “What? I left! I went to the go-go club, blew off a little steam, and when I came back to try to talk to her again, the place was swarming with cops. You know cops and I don’t get along, so I took off.”

  “And?”

  “I went upstate to visit my Nonna—she’s not doing well, you see—and when I get back, I heard Nanda was in the hospital, really hurt. I just got back in town, I swear!”

  Junior let Gene go and stepped back one step to take a good look at him.

  “Is she okay?” Gene stammered.

  “She will be.”

  Gene exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank God. Man, I never meant for her to get tangled up in this.”

  Junior backed him into a corner. “What the fuck have you gotten Nanda involved in? Hmm?” he demanded, giving the smaller man a shake. “Tell me, you piece of shit! Who were those guys? Guys that work for your boss? Huh?”

  Gene stammered a nonanswer, and Junior shook him harder.

  “Man, I don’t know what you’re talking about! I swear!”

  Junior slammed Gene against the wall, and his head made an ugly cracking sound. By this time, Gene was sobbing big, ugly, snotty tears, and Junior actually lifted him off the floor. With his feet dangling in the air, Junior asked one more time, “Gene, what have you gotten Nanda involved in?”

  “Okay! Okay, okay, okay! She’s not involved. She doesn’t know anything about it, but I panicked and I hid it in her apartment. I was going to come get it tonight!”

  Junior growled with frustration and shook Gene again. “What were you coming to get?”

  “The black book! The black book!”

  Junior blinked. The black book? Oh, no . . .

  “Gene, whose black book?”

  Junior looked into Gene’s eyes and repeated the question when Gene began crying harder.

  “Luca Fiore’s black book.”

  Junior let go of Gene, and he dropped to the floor with a thud.

  “Fiore? Like Vince Fiore’s kid?” Gene nodded. “You have lost your goddamn mind, Gene. Do you realize the world of hurt you’ve brought on Nanda?”

  Gene sat on the floor and sobbed, and damned if Junior didn’t feel just a little bit bad for the guy.

  “Why, Gene? Why would you do something so fucking risky?”

  Gene blew out a breath and began explaining his thought process. Frustrated with the lack of upward mobility, Gene decided he needed to do something bold to get his boss’s attention. He’d been running book for almost ten years, doing everything except dealing with the high rollers, who Luca always handled personally. The new kid on the block, Nick Sharkey, had been eyeing the Fiores’ bookmaking enterprise and promised Gene he would have a major piece of the action if he could secure some of Fiore’s high rollers.

  “So I’m at the club for our weekly meeting, you know, to see who’s caught up and who might need a little bit of . . . encouragement, when a fight breaks out. Now, normally, Books and Banksy would just take care of it and throw the idiots out, but that afternoon it was two of the girls fighting, right there on the stage! Everyone, including Luca, ran out to watch because, hey, who doesn’t wanna see a naked, big-titty girl fight, am I right?”

  Junior narrowed his eyes at Gene, tightened his grip on his shirt, and growled.

  “Anyway,” Gene stammered, “I saw the book on the desk and I grabbed it. Slipped it into my jacket. Easy-peasy. No one was the wiser, right?”

  Or so he thought.

  Of course, if one is a drug lord who is running his businesses that tend to be not quite legal, one might be a touch paranoid and have a closed-circuit monitoring system installed in all areas of the club where one does business. And Luca Fiore was very paranoid, and thus, taped absolutely everything.

  As Gene continued to talk, Junior grew angrier and angrier at the pointlessness of hurting Nanda.

  “You are a worthless piece of shit, Gene. Worthless.”

  Junior was scrubbing his face with his hand, contemplating what to do, when Gene smashed the side of his head with a can of air freshener. Junior touched the side of his face where the bottom edge of the can had cut him.

  “Holy shit, I actually hit you!”

  “You little fuck!”

  Junior exploded into a blur of motion, pummeling Gene while he pled for Junior to stop. It was Gene’s lack of crying that brought Junior to his senses. He looked at Gene. The man was slumped against the wall, not making a sound, and was unrecognizable, his face beat to a bloody pulp.

  Junior swallowed hard and looked at his hands. His knuckles were split, swollen, and bloody, and now, shaking.

  “Oh, Dios, what have I done?”

  Junior looked at Gene, lying on the floor in a heap, and made a decision.

  He pulled Gene over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and made his way through the club, where no one batted an eye. He drove to the hospital and dumped Gene’s body in a wheelchair.

  Then he drove to Big Tommy’s bar, where he knew there was a rare, working payphone across the street. He made a call to the police, providing an anonymous tip about seeing an unconscious, bloody man outside the
ER. Finally, he went into the bar, went straight to the bathroom, and washed his hands.

  After getting a shot and a beer, he pulled out his phone and thumbed through the contacts, contemplating his next move.

  The phone rang even as he hovered over Derek’s contact. Junior sighed and answered.

  “Hey, man. I, uh, was just thinking about you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I never imagined myself doing this again, you know.” Derek placed two bags of frozen peas on Junior’s knuckles. “God, how long has it been? Thirty years?”

  Junior chuckled. “Probably. Once I enlisted, I made sure to keep my nose clean so they wouldn’t boot me out, so it was before then.”

  “You gonna tell me what happened?”

  Junior shook his head. “No. The fewer people who know about the specifics, the better.”

  Junior flexed his left hand, forming and reforming a fist. He laid his hand flat on the table and Derek replaced the bag of peas.

  A timer went off behind them.

  “You want some escarole? I picked up some from McNulty’s. There’s plenty. You still eat bread?”

  Derek patted Junior’s shoulder and began tearing bread from the loaf and ladling soup into bowls.

  He put the food on the small kitchen table and sat down.

  “Eat, Maldonado.”

  Junior chuckled. “You sound like my sister.”

  “I was imitating Frank’s ma. As soon as we walked in the house, she was shoving food at us. That’s why I started working out.”

  “Thanks, Derek. For seeing me and feeding me.”

  Junior sucked in a breath when he wrapped his fist around his spoon because the splits on his knuckles reopened. “Dammit.”