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“You shouldn’t be here, sugar,” Neck Tatts said.
“Um...”Tell me something I don’t already know.Cora looked at her phone again, then feigned confusion. “I’m so sorry. I think I took a wrong turn somewhere.”
“Barn’s that way.” The man pointed to a dirt road about twenty yards away. It was partially hidden by a copse of trees. “Came in on the wrong side. This is the lookout. You’re supposed to enter from the south.”
“Ohh.” Cora nodded, like that made all kinds of sense. She did the Bambi-eyed thing again, with the blinks and the vacuous smile. Not her proudest moment of cunning detective work, but hey. Whatever got results.
“S’all right, baby. Just head down that road about a half mile. The noise’ll hit you before the crowd does.” He chuckled and took another drag on his cigarette.
“Okay, thank you so much.” Cora threw her car in Reverse before they had time to ask her questions. And, also, before she had time to chicken out. Adrenaline pumped in her veins as she took the hidden back road leading to the mysterious barn. It was pitch-black out there, but she could see taillights from a car in the distance headed in the same direction. She focused on the lights and kept going.
She had no idea what she was heading into, but it sounded big. Neck Tatts had saidnoiseandcrowd. If that gas station was the lookout point, and Eli was up to something illegal, then those guys were there to watch for cops. No wonder Slice had been so reluctant to tell them what he’d been doing. With a jolt of alarm, she thought of Finn. What if he was there now? She picked up speed, bouncing over the dirt road until she turned a corner and slowed to a stop.
A sea of cars, trucks and motorcycles was parked haphazardly in an open field. In the far distance bright lights spilled from a huge wooden barn. Every once in a while the roar of a crowd could be heard from inside, the shouts and hollers interspersed with sharp commentary from someone on a microphone.
Cora found an open spot between two pickup trucks and parked. Then she stepped into the sticky summer heat, adjusting her custom sports bra with the concealed gun holster. Tonight she carried her Glock 42 tucked just under her arm. Its compact size was perfect for undercover work like this. The slight weight of it was negligible, and it didn’t show through her T-shirt. Though it gave her a sense of confidence to have it, she dearly hoped she wouldn’t need it.
She picked her way carefully through the wet, overgrown field, using her phone’s flashlight until the ambient light from the barn made it unnecessary.
The noise from inside rose and fell like a living, breathing thing. At the entrance people were so jam-packed, Cora had to scoot sideways to slip through. It was sweltering hot inside. The sheer amount of testosterone and the scent of mud, sweaty bodies and beer hit her in the face like a wet gym towel.
All she could see was a wall of backs. Bikers in Booze Dog leather jackets and men who looked like gang members shouted over each other, jostling for space. The few random women looked like they’d done hard time on a booze cruise, with harsh makeup, teased hair out to there and skintight clothes. Ear-splitting shrieks, drunken bellows and the cracking sound of fists hitting flesh made Cora feel like she was caught in a mosh pit at a death metal concert.
Inching along the wall, she ducked past a greasy-haired man waving a fistful of cash in his drunk buddy’s face. “Ten-to-one odds, you idiot! The window’s about to close, so place your bet now.”
Then Cora saw the cage. She sucked in a breath as everything snapped into place. The Booze Dogs were running an underground fighting ring.
A chain-link cage was erected on a raised platform in the middle of the barn. Inside it two shirtless fighters were locked in what appeared to be the tail end of a brutal battle. Cora understood martial arts, but this was something different. This wasn’t even boxing; it was more like the MMA fights she’d seen on TV, but without any rules. Kicks to the groin, elbows to the face and low-blow kidney punches appeared to be fair game here.
She winced as one of the men grabbed his opponent’s arm and bit down. The poor excuse for a referee broke it up, but he only gave the biter a warning. This was no Wild West brawl; this was more like a post-apocalyptic death match.
Dragging her gaze from the fight, Cora frantically began searching for Finn. When she’d eavesdropped on the conversation at Choppers, Eli had talked about theoddsandwinning. It dawned on her that he must’ve wanted Finn to be the bookie tonight. Finn was brilliant and trustworthy, so it only made sense he’d be asked to put his skills to good use. He was probably somewhere in this madness taking bets and keeping track of the house money. Guilt lay heavily on Cora’s shoulders when she thought of him enduring all this chaos just to do her a favor. She had to find him and make sure he was okay.
Spying a wooden crate near the wall, Cora moved in that direction, turned it over and climbed up to peer over the sea of people. Once she tracked Finn down, she would keep an eye on him until the last bet closed. If all went well, he’d never even know she was there.
An air horn screamed, signaling the end of the match. Music swelled from speakers attached near the rafters, and the winner did a victory lap as the other man hobbled out of the cage.
Cora exhaled in relief. She’d witnessed her share of fights, but this savage style of combat was hard to swallow.
“And now for tonight’s grand finale,” a man on a microphone boomed. “I’m not going to drag this out because you all know why you came tonight.”
Techno music, heavy on the bass, began thumping over the noise. Everyone grew louder, more frenzied, jostling this way and that like a herd of restless cattle.
Cora teetered on the rustic crate, bracing a hand against the wall to keep from slipping. Her makeshift stool was rickety, but it gave her a good vantage point to see over the much taller crowd.
“I’m talking about the bone crusher,” the man on the mic said theatrically. “The annihilator. Your reigning champion. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for... Meat!” The microphone echoed on his name.
Cora whipped her head to the doorway.Meat?
A giant mountain of a man burst through a double set of doors on the far side, surrounded by an entourage of guys holding back the crowd. She recognized him instantly. He was the biker with the dead shark eyes from the garage outside Eli’s shop. He was even more intimidating tonight, with his pale, steroid-pumped body in blood-red shorts and gloves. Yoked with huge slabs of muscle around his shoulders, chest and back, he had to be around six and a half feet tall, and with his Neanderthal brow and bald head, he looked like an orc heading into battle.
A tiny fissure of dread crackled down her spine.
“And here to challenge our champion tonight,” the man on the microphone shouted, “is a special guest many of you may remember. The legend, himself. A blast from the past. Still undefeated. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for... The Jackrabbit!”
Music boomed, the crowd roared and people began chanting,“Jack. Jack. Jack.”
Cora’s heart lurched, then kicked into a gallop. Eli Shelton’s words came flooding back like a tidal wave.You know what I want.Jack.
