Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (10 page)

“Wyatt is something of a mystery. Whether he’ll be there or not, I don’t know. You’ll have to come and find out for yourself.”

She was still angling for something, I could feel it in my bones. The same way Ma knew about an impending storm when her elbow started getting sore. “What is your help going to cost me? A kidney? My firstborn?”

“Do not take that tone with me, Rosalyn. I’m doing you a favor. All I expect in return is that you show up wearing something appropriate.”

“I can do that.”

“And come for dinner one night next week. There’s an internist I want you to meet.”

There it was. The price tag. “I’ve heard all about him from Jacks. His ass is the talk of the town.”

“Don’t be crude. You don’t have to marry him, just meet him. What else have you got going on?”

“I’m working two jobs.”
And exclusively working Sullivan.

“What exactly is this current case anyway?” She grabbed the bread plate I’d just dried, then snatched the towel out of my hand. “This is your grandmother’s wedding china. If you don’t dry it thoroughly, you’ll have spots. There.” She handed it back.

I couldn’t possibly tell her about Rob and the underground fight club, but I had to throw her a crumb. I decided to give her a bare bones rendition. “A man died. He did a few odd jobs at the dealership. Looks like suicide, but I need to be sure.”

One of her brows raised a fraction of an inch. “Why would Will Carlucci personally know someone who does odd jobs? That’s like asking your father about an orderly at the hospital.”

I shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

“All right, Rosalyn, keep your secrets. But I expect you to show up for dinner.”

I tried to wipe the crystal to my mother’s satisfaction, even holding it up to the light. “Sorry, Mom, I’m not doing that.”

She closed her eyes for several seconds. “Fine. Have it your way. Remain single. Alone. Childless. Stuck in a horrible job with no education. You’ll only have yourself to blame.” We continued the dishes in silence. Fine by me. I used the time to mentally catalog my wardrobe. The dress I currently wore was the most decent thing in my closet. Maybe I’d have time to go shopping tomorrow. There was a discount department store not far from Andre’s office.

As soon as we finished washing up, I quizzed Jacks about the cocktail party. She was going too, so I made plans to meet at her house beforehand. Then I kissed Scotty goodbye and headed to the door.

My mother followed me outside and stood on the front step. “Don’t be late tomorrow night. You know how I feel about tardiness.”

I knew how she felt about
everything
. Barbara Strickland refused to suffer in silence.

According to Sugar, the fights started at ten. Jimmy “Kiss My Ass” Duncan promised to leave our names at the door so we shouldn’t need tickets. Question: where does one get tickets for an illicit fight? Just another unanswerable to add to my growing list.

I left my parents’ house and tootled over to Roxy’s place—a saggy, temperamental Victorian that had been dissected into tiny apartments. Architectural history aside, it came equipped with tricky plumbing and a stingy boiler.

With a smack of her gum, Roxy climbed into the passenger seat. “Heya.”

I glanced at her princess dress and suddenly had a major sugar craving. The material was dotted with colorful cupcakes, its glitter icing sparkling beneath the car’s interior light. To top it off, she wore a headband featuring a life-sized cupcake with a swirl of pale pink frosting and a cherry on top.

“You look delicious,” I said. “Tell me that cupcake isn’t real.”

“Duh, of course it’s not. It’s made of clay. Sugar knows an artist who sells them.”

I leaned toward her and, using one finger, poked at it. Allen’s birthday cake had tasted like carrot dust. On top of that, I suspected it was gluten-free.

Roxy smacked my hand. “What’s the one rule I have, Rose? Don’t touch the hair.” First time I’d heard of this rule. “How was dinner with the fam? And what happened with Andre?”

“Andre found out about my private inquiries. He wasn’t happy, but he hasn’t fired me. Yet. In fact, we’re teaming up, Dynamic Duo-style.

“Dinner wasn’t as bad as I expected. My mom’s getting me into a cocktail party tomorrow night. Will Carlucci might be there. So I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Uh-oh, here we go.”

As I drove, I laid out a theory that had been troubling me. Twice now, I’d quizzed Buster Madison about the fight club. Yesterday he’d turned so purple I was afraid he might have a heart attack on the spot. Despite my questions, the fight was still happening—business as usual. Either Buster
didn’t
tell the scary men in charge that I’d been sniffing around asking questions, or he
did
tell them, and they weren’t bothered in the least. Which was a frightening prospect. It had been my experience that ballsy criminals were more dangerous than your garden-variety lawbreaker.

“Maybe there’s too much money on the line to cancel the fight,” Rox said.

“It’s possible. But you can bet that if I ran an illegal operation and some random girl started asking a lot of questions, I’d have my guard up. Buster told me I should forget I’d ever heard about the club. He was shaken to the core when he found out Rob was dead.”

Roxy swiveled her head so fast, her cupcake flew into the backseat. “Dead? Rob is freaking
dead
?”

I smacked my forehead. “I forgot to tell you that part. Sorry. Feels like it happened a month ago, not this afternoon.” I explained the situation.

“You think it was staged to look like a suicide?” she asked.

“I do. Buster assumed Rob had been murdered too. He didn’t come out and say it, but he suspects the guys in charge of the fight club.”

“Holy crap. And we’re walking into the lion’s den tonight.”

I stopped at a red light and glanced over at her. “You can still back out. No reason to put yourself in danger.”

She slapped my arm and ignored my yelp of pain. “You think I’d let you waltz in there tonight without backup? I live for danger, you know that. Stop being such a dumbass, Rose.”

I nearly sighed with relief. Roxy had my back, just like always. Still, by bringing her and Sugar along, I may have been putting a target on them. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Or Sugar. If anything ever happened to you—”

“Yeah, yeah. Save the mushy stuff for Sullivan. I can take care of myself.” Roxy’s petticoats rustled as she reached into the backseat and grabbed her headband. “Back to Buster. He may not have even mentioned you to the head honchos. Though he could have been protecting you, he was probably covering his own ass.”

“Good point. If they found out we’d been questioning Buster, he’d be seen as the weak link.”

Driving north, we drifted into a nicer part of town—not luxe, but solidly middle-class—to pick up Sugar. I laid on the horn, and she pranced out of the house wearing a tight silver lamé dress with her hair swirled up in an elaborate ’do. She looked like a screen goddess from the fifties—if those screen goddesses sported tattoos and dyed their hair the color of raspberry Kool-Aid.

She slipped into the backseat. “Hey, girls. Ready for a fun night?”

Roxy turned around. “Rob’s dead. Things are getting dicey now. Rose and I do this type of thing all the time, so we’re used to it. But if you want to back out, we won’t judge.”

Sugar let out a gasp. “He’s dead? This is just like a murder mystery.”

I shook my head. “Um, not real—”

“Totally,” Roxy said.

Sugar thrust her head between us. “The first time I danced naked on stage I was terrified and exhilarated at the same time. My heart was racing and my palms were sweaty. It took three tries to unhook my bra, but it was the best feeling in the world. This is almost as thrilling. You girls know how to live big. I am so in.”

Chapter 10

She and Roxy wiggled their fingers together in solidarity, and I plugged the address Sugar had handed me into my phone’s GPS.

Backing out of her driveway, I laid out my plan for everyone. “We need to be on the lookout for Will Carlucci and this guy.” I had Roxy pull up a pic of Wyatt Sanders on her phone and show it to Sugar. “Jimmy Duncan works for him.” I explained how I thought Sanders might be one of the bigwigs behind the club. “Sugar, can you get Jimmy to introduce us to the other fighters? I want to find out if Rob had any enemies and uncover details about Wyatt Sanders.”

“Roger that, Rose.”

I took the highway leading to the industrial part of town. One-way roads kept us circling the blocks until we finally reached the warehouse district. Most of the buildings had been fenced off and were surrounded by covered pallets. A few appeared to be abandoned.

As I rolled through the open gates of the seventh warehouse on the left, there were no signs of life, but I heard a thunderous rumble coming from within the building itself. Around back, ten or twelve buses—extended black party buses with tinted windows—were parked in a row, along with two limos and two black SUVs. I guessed those belonged to the men in charge of the fight club.

I slowed my car, angled my head, and stared up at the building through the windshield. No visible windows, but security lights jutted from the rooftop. “I wonder if there’s a predestined meeting place for the spectators. The buses bring them here, that way there’s no long line of cars or road congestion getting in and out of this place. Less conspicuous that way.”

“Makes sense,” Roxy said. “You don’t want to bring attention to your illegal fight. This keeps things nice and quiet.”

“Are you sure we can get in, Sugar?” I asked.

“Jimmy said it wouldn’t be a problem. There must be a VIP list or something.”

When Roxy and I climbed out of the car, Sugar stayed inside and opened her vintage clutch. One of those old-fashioned numbers like my great-grandmother Strickland used to have, buried deep in her closet next to the fur coats and tweed jackets. Sugar withdrew a gold compact and dark red lipstick. She did a touch-up, then checked her hair.

In the heavy night air, I waited impatiently, my skin becoming damp from a case of nerves and the high humidity. My phone rang, and I ripped it from my bag. Sullivan.

“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, distracted.

“Sugar, move your ass,” Roxy yelled, tapping her foot. She loved this undercover stuff more than I did. While it made my insides cramp, it amped her up.

“Where are you?” he asked. “You left me a message earlier.”

Sugar finally slinked out of the car, smoothing a hand over her skintight dress, and gave us a photo-ready smile.

“Um, can’t talk right now. I’ll fill you in later.” Then I hung up on him for a change.

“Okay, girls,” Sugar said. “Let’s go.” She strutted toward the building, acting like the world was her catwalk. Tall and self-assured, her hips swayed seductively with each step.

When she knocked on the metal door, a bouncer/human boulder opened up. His biceps were as big as cantaloupes. Wearing a buzz cut and a squinty stare, his glance dismissed Roxy and me, focusing only on Sugar. Loud, cheering voices burst into the night and competed with the crickets before he shut the door and cut us off from the raucous noise.

“Turn around and leave, ladies. This is the only time I’ll say it.” The seriousness of his threat was lessened by the expression of pure lust on his face. Sugar’s tits had him in a daze.

She slinked forward and ran her finger over his bulging arm. “Jimmy Duncan invited me. Said I could bring friends.”

“You must be Sugar.”

“Guilty,” she practically purred.

His voice dropped to a deep bass. “You sweet all over?”

She laughed, a sultry, husky sound that had him leaning even closer. “Maybe I’ll let you find out.”

Roxy huffed out a sigh and smacked her gum. “Are you going to let us in or what?”

Buzz Cut tore his gaze from Sugar’s cleavage, this time taking in the whole Roxified package. “Is that a cupcake on your head?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“Won’t it melt?”

Her eyeballs completed a full rotation.

“Yeah, go on in. And you”—he dipped his head toward Sugar’s ear—“make sure I get your number.” He opened the door for us. When we stepped inside, the cacophony of music and voices crashed over us like a tidal wave.

I brought up the rear, trailing Roxy. Stopping at the threshold, I glanced around and soaked it all in. I’d expected a gritty warehouse, men huddled around the ring, shouting and screaming for their top pick. To my surprise, this reminded me of a restaurant. The dim lights cast an intimate glow over dozens of round tables, each containing a small shaded lamp. A quarter of the spectators were women who’d dressed to impress—designer gowns and jewelry that flashed with diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires against their throats and wrists.

At the opposite end of the building, hidden in the shadows, an enormous framed dais stood fifteen feet off the ground. It didn’t hold my attention for long though. Instead, I turned my gaze toward the fighters, who’d just started a fresh round. An octagon rose up from the middle of the room, surrounded by an eight-foot black fence.

Whoever staged these fights didn’t spare any expense. This wasn’t a seedy brawl. It was an event.

The men—featherweights, maybe—circled each other, punching and kicking. I mentally named them Black Shorts and Braveheart—not because he wore a kilt, but because he had a giant red heart inked across his throat.
Ouch
.

Roxy elbowed my side. “This is big time, Rose. There must be a shitload of money tied up in this racket.” No kidding.

A man in a white jacket appeared in front of us. “Ladies, we encourage the spectators to remain seated. Let me show you to a table.”

The…maître d’?…circumvented the grouped tables, so as not to impede anyone’s view, and led us to the far side of the room. He waited until we were seated, then handed us a cocktail menu.

Roxy shoved another piece of gum in her mouth. “This place doesn’t look dangerous.”

“From what Jimmy told me,” Sugar said, “they set these up on the fly. The Joes don’t even know where it’ll be or when. It’s all a big mystery until the morning of.”

“How do they buy tickets?” I asked.

Sugar leaned her elbows on the table. “Not sure, but I’ll find out for you.” She glanced around. “I know a lot of promoters and club owners. Whoever is throwing this shindig hired professionals.”

A few moments later, a waiter arrived. Since I was driving, I ordered a coke, and the girls decided to split a bottle of champers. But the waiter didn’t walk away. He gave me a strange look and nodded at the menu.

Eyeing him warily, I opened the oversized, leather binder. This wasn’t a wine list. It contained the fight lineup and included the fighters’ stats—their ranking, height and reach, past wins and losses. This guy wasn’t here to take our order, he was here to place our bets. Freaking ingenious.

I glanced up at him. “Can you give us a few minutes?”

He nodded once and walked away. As soon as he left, I huddled in. “Girls, this is a menu for the fights.”

Roxy grabbed it out of my hand and read the first page. “That’s crazy brilliant.”

“How much are we wagering?” Sugar asked.

“Nothing. We can’t afford it.” I glanced around the building, checking out the “Joes,” as Sugar called them. I didn’t see any fighters, but I did spy a door catty-corner from our table. “I wonder if that’s the locker room. Anybody want to come with me and find out?”

Sugar raised her hand. “Me, me, me.”

Roxy closed the menu. “I’ll stay here and mingle. See if I can uncover any clues.”

Sugar stood, grabbed my hand, and wiggled her way to the door. As I followed, my gaze fell on the octagon just in time to see Black Shorts throw a haymaker and knock Braveheart back a few steps. Braveheart staggered. His nose immediately swelled and blood ran freely down his chin. Black Shorts seized the advantage, knocking Braveheart to the ground before delivering a series of brain-rattling punches.

When Braveheart’s eyes rolled upward and his body went slack, the ref stepped in and stopped the fight. The crowd erupted around me, pushing out of their chairs and clambering to their feet. The cheers were almost deafening.

I turned away, feeling slightly nauseous, and teetered behind Sugar. When we reached the doorway, she glanced at me from over her shoulder and dropped my hand. “Ready?” she mouthed.

I nodded.

Sugar strolled into the room, putting all of her allure into every ass-thrusting step. I popped in behind her to check out the scene. A few couches had been set up beside three rows of small lockers. Two dozen dudes—some half-dressed, some straight-up full frontal—swaggered around in a parade of flesh. Abs and butts and dorks, oh my!

“Oops,” Sugar said in a loud, sexy growl. “I don’t think this is the powder room.”

That got their attention. Every head, big and otherwise, whipped toward Sugar. I used the diversion to scour the room. I spotted Carlos, the guy Roxy had been talking to at the gym yesterday.

I sidled up to him. “Hey, remember me?”

“What the hell are you doing here, lady?”

By this time, Sugar had a group of men circling her. And some still hadn’t pantsed up, which didn’t seem to faze her in the least.

“So,” I whispered to Carlos, “you said Rob Huggins almost lost a fight a couple weeks ago. To whom?”

He glanced around, made sure no one was eavesdropping. “Tyler Godfrey. Where is Rob, anyway? Haven’t seen that guy for days, man. That ain’t like him.”

I avoided his direct gaze and stared at my feet. “I’m still looking for him.”

“Well, good luck. You need to leave now. I got a fight to win, can’t be having no distractions.”

“Sure. Break a leg or whatever.” As I walked toward Sugar, the guy from the gym yesterday—Mohawk—caught my eye. Wearing nothing but a pair of tiny green shorts, he propped his hands on his hips and glared at me. This guy obviously had an issue. Time to find out what it was.

I strode up to him, dodging two men getting dressed. There may have been bare butts involved. I hardly noticed. Twice. I nodded a greeting, but Mohawk continued to stare at me with a set of steely blue eyes. “I saw you in the gym when I was speaking to Mr. Madison.” He kept quiet and continued to stare. “Do you have a problem with me or something?”

His hands fell to his sides, and he fisted them before stepping closer. This guy was only two or three inches taller than me. While he wasn’t as bulky as some of the other men, his body was shredded, his muscles rock hard solid. “Yeah, I got a problem with you. You’re looking for Rob Huggins.”

I fought the urge to turn and run out of the room. His eyes were devoid of anything human, and he scared me. But I didn’t like bullies.
Time to be brave, Rose.

Taking a shallow breath, I flashed my own metaphorical balls and advanced on him, bumping his chest with my own. “What’s it to you?”

Instead of pounding me into the ground, he grinned. “You got guts, girl. I’ll give you that. Rob’s an asshole. Ain’t got no love for him. If he’s gone, good riddance.”

“Why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t like cheaters.”

Before I could ask for details, he side-stepped around me and left the room. “Well, thanks for nothing,” I said out loud, to no one.

I should get back to Roxy, help her question the Joes. I tried to let Sugar know I was leaving, but men continued to swarm around her, like horny little honey bees.

Putting two fingers in my mouth, I blew out an ear-shattering whistle. At the sound, everyone stopped talking and turned in my direction.

“I’m going to find Roxy. You good, Sugar?”

She gave me a bright smile. “I’m perfect. These boys will keep me busy for a while. Won’t you, gentlemen?”

She received a chorus of masculine agreement, mostly in the form of grunts.

All righty. I walked back to the main room of the warehouse where another fight was in progress. These guys were a bit beefier than the last pair. I skirted the tables, searching for Rox, and noticed her sitting with two couples.

I slid up behind her, tapped her shoulder. She stood and we moved to stand by the wall. “Guess what?” she asked. “I found out the name of the guy who almost beat Rob.”

“Me too,” I said. “Tyler Godfrey.”

“Hell, Rose. That was
my
news.”

“Sorry. Is he fighting tonight?”

She nodded, causing the cherry-topped cupcake to bounce back and forth. “The final fight of the night. Did you learn anything else? Where’s Sugar?”

“She’s got groupies. I found out that Rob may have been cheating.” Before she could ask, I held up a hand. “The guy who told me was very vague about it.”

She opened her mouth to say something when the crowd began cheering. I glanced over at the octagon. One of the fighters lay on the ground, unconscious. His left eye had swollen shut and his split lip oozed blood. I shuddered at the sight.

Then two enormous men opened the fenced door and stepped into the ring. With blue latex gloves protecting their hands, they hauled the unconscious man to his feet and dragged him toward the locker room.

I hated it here—the blood, the savagery—but I was determined to stay until I talked to Tyler Godfrey. How did Rob cheat? Did he beat Tyler by using some underhanded trick? Could Tyler have been angry enough to kill Rob and make it look like a suicide?

Leaning against the wall, my eyes flitted around the room, searching. For what, I couldn’t say—just something that would lead me to a freaking clue. Or Will Carlucci. Then my gaze landed on the dais.

Women, much less sophisticated than the other female spectators, flowed up and down the stairs leading to it. These ladies had crossed over the sexy line and veered into trashy town. Lots of big hair, artificial tannery, fake boobs, and slinky dresses in colors my mother would have deemed tasteless—hot pink, bright purple, orange. Leopard print.

I jerked my head toward them. “Do you suppose Carlucci and Sanders are on that dais?”

“Dais. That’s a word now?” Narrowing her eyes, Roxy craned her neck and tried to peer through the shadows. “If they’re here, that’s where they’d be. I say let’s go bold and find out.”

“Storm the dais?”

“Let’s go storm the hell out of it.” She held her fist out and I bumped it with my own.

Squaring my shoulders, I marched to that distant corner. During the intermission, people were milling around, so I worked my way through the crowd. When we reached the bottom step, a voice rumbled from the center of the octagon.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The next fight is ready to start.”

Chatter rose from the crowd. Feet scuffled against the concrete floor. At the sound of the emcee announcing the fighters, I hesitated. Two women rushed by me on the steps, racing to the top. Roxy poked my hip with her sharp nail to keep me moving.

It worked, and I started climbing again. I stood on the top step, and though the overhead lights had dimmed, there were tabletop lamps up here too.

Women darted about like colorful butterflies. Some stood in groups, drinking from champagne flutes, puffing away on filtered cigarettes. There were only four men up here, and none of them glanced my way. I took a moment to formulate an impression.

The platform was much larger than I’d imagined, holding several round tables. I shouldn’t have been shocked to see Al Bosworth, manager of Carlucci Motors. The girl sitting on his lap was young enough to be his daughter. Will Carlucci himself sat at an adjacent table, two brunettes on either side of him. He’d slung his arms around their shoulders, cupping a boob in each hand. My mom had been right—Carlucci was odious.

In the dim corner, at a table for one, sat Wyatt Sanders. Wearing a fierce expression, he watched the fight, never taking his gaze from the octagon. A fourth man sat at the farthest table. In his mid-thirties, his wheat blond hair and clean profile made him GQ handsome. Though girls hovered behind him, chattering like rabid squirrels, his eyes were fixed on the octagon as well.

I’d talk to the mystery man first—he had an air of being in charge. Besides, Wyatt Sanders was giving off an invisible “Do Not Disturb” vibe. I’d tackle him last.

“Rox, do you want to talk to some of these ladies? I’ll hit up Blondie, then we can tag-team Sanders in a minute.”

“You got it. We’ll get that bastard to squeal like a twelve-year-old girl. I brought my brass knuckles along, just in case we need them.”

“Seriously? You came prepared for a beat down?”

She stopped smacking her gum. “Rose, you can’t come to a place like this and not be prepared. Get with the program.”

Good point. All I had was a can of pepper spray rolling around in the bottom of my handbag. The next time I came to a warehouse for purposes of illegal chicanery, I’d be better armed.

I left Roxy at the top of the stairs and elbowed my way through a group of girls crowding around the blond Adonis. I made quick eye contact with Al Bosworth on the way. It didn’t look like he recognized me. Or if he did, he was too preoccupied by the barely legal double D’s bobbing in his face to care. 

The ladies didn’t like me jockeying for position, and I took a painful shot to the ribs before grabbing a chair. I scooted it close beside him and plopped down. “Who are you rooting for?”

He slowly turned his head and eyed me. “I didn’t give you permission to sit there.”

Haughty
. We weren’t off to a good start. “Is there a seating chart I should know about?”

His left brow twitched in amusement as his glance stole over me. “I know you. Rosalyn Strickland, right?”

My folks were the only ones who called me by my given name. “How do you know my parents? Same country club?”

“No.” He didn’t elaborate.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Hardly.”

Now I was puzzled. “You’re friends with my sister?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure.”

I refused to play twenty questions. “Well, you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“You’ll always be at a disadvantage with me, sweetheart. Get used to it.” Cocky
and
haughty. What an annoying combination.

“How do you know my name?”

He didn’t deign to answer, his gaze flicking back to the match.

“Are you in charge of the fight club?” I asked.

“Inquisitive. I’ve heard that about you.”

This deflection business was starting to piss me off. I gave him a onceover. “Am I supposed to be impressed with this too-cool attitude? Because I’m not.”

He chuckled low in his chest. “That’s your second mistake.”

“Really?” Curiosity got the better of me. “What was my first?”

“Being here tonight. This is hardly the place for someone like you. Little rich girl playing on the wrong side of the tracks. But you like danger, don’t you? Is that why you’re with Sullivan?”

My mouth popped open before I quickly snapped it shut. He must be one of Sullivan’s criminal counterparts. At least it made sense now—how he knew about me. Sullivan kept detailed records on everyone in his life, this guy would do the same.

“Funny,” he continued, “I don’t picture the two of you together. I think you could pull better, Rosalyn. Must be the bad boy thing, am I right?”

He didn’t know the first thing about me, let alone my complicated relationship with Sullivan. “It’s totally none of your business.”

His half smile mocked me. “Maybe I’m inquisitive too.”