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“Okay.”

“As you know, the upstairs of my building holds a ring. I got trainers up there for fighters. One of them, Jackson, had a promising kid and said he had great potential. Last week, the kid ended up beaten to death and tossed in an alley. The weekend before, an older fighter died who fought in the amateur ring. Two weeks before him, another kid died, who had strength but no technique. Only one has survived, and he’ll have severe brain damage.”

“Damn, man, that’s harsh.”

“I’ve sent feelers out. I’ve got rumours of a brutal ring. Fighters sign up thinking it’s just an underground bout. Turns out it’s a death match,” Tiny continued.

“You can’t get an invite because of who you are,” I guessed.

“Nope. No one around me knows anything about this. It appears the invites come out of the blue and are attached to a burner phone, which is junked after each evening. None of our allies is organising this,” Tiny elaborated.

“Have you checked with Washington? He still keeps his ear to the ground,” I inquired.

“Yeah, and he’s got zilch. And he’s currently in a jungle excavating something. Kate’s on a dig.”

“And where his wife is, you’ll find Washington,” I added with a laugh.

“Exactly. I called Adam, but he’s drawn a blank. Even more worrying, the Juno Group can’t find shit. This is organised, and I don’t think many are involved.”

“Fuck. I gotta say we’ve heard nothing. If we had, we’d have reached out.”

“Kinda guessed that, but it was worth a try.” Tiny sat back and ran a hand over his face. “This scares me. I’ve got some talent at the gym. I’ve contacted several local gyms. None of them have been targeted.”

“Could this be aimed at Hellfire?”

“No. Because when I reached out to the surrounding counties, this has been happening for about six months. They target an area, and when the bodies mount up, the outfit moves on. Nothing screams new set-up; this is established. This might have originated from other states, and now it’s our turn before they move on.”

“I hate to say it, Tiny, but there is one person you haven’t tapped.” I hated even suggesting him.

“That’s because he’s no Washington.”

“But Salisbury is afraid of Washington; it’s well known he prefers to keep Washington at a distance,” I said.

“I wouldn’t say he’s frightened, more wary. If Washington decided to retake his kingdom—Salisbury would have a bitter fight on his hands.”

I sat back, surprised. “Is Washington making motions towards that?”

“No. But Salisbury doesn’t know that. He’s got a man locally; maybe we ought to pay him a visit.” Tiny tapped his chin.

“Well, guess I’m your wingman,” I said, standing up. “Mobridge or Pierre?”

“Neither. Felix Locke recently set up base in Custer. There was trouble with drug dealers, and Locke cleaned up and stayed. Salisbury wanted a man down here. Vaughn runs Aberdeen now alongside Mobridge.”

“I missed that memo.” Felix Locke was one of four men whom Clive Salisbury trusted implicitly. He’d recently been betrayed, and Salisbury and his four right-hand men had cleaned up.

“It was done quietly.”

“No shit,” I quipped as we both left the clubhouse. To be safe, I texted Inglorious, telling him where I was heading and with whom.

We parked our bikes after a forty-five-minute drive outside the strip club that Felix Locke had made his headquarters. We’d not called in advance to inform him we were coming, wanting the element of surprise. Yet his men were waiting for us at the entrance as we arrived.

It was a display of strength, and I acknowledged it, although I wasn’t impressed. We’d know if someone crossed into our territory; Locke was no different. I considered what I knew about Felix Locke. He was known as The Psycho, the henchman with the most explosive temper. Whereas Salisbury was calm and collected, Locke was infamous for his harsh methods of retribution.

We followed the guards into his office. It was impressive and richly decorated, but with class. One wall was a giant two-way mirror that looked down on the strip club floor. Locke stood by it, watching a stripper work the pole below him.

“What do you think?” he asked.

We watched for a few moments. “She’s amateur hour. Has the enthusiasm, but not the skill. Invest in her, and she’ll be good,” I finally said.