A Matter of Life and Death Read online

  Joe was wearing a T-shirt, sweatshirt, and pants over shorts. He stripped off the tee, sweatshirt, and pants and stuffed them in a duffel bag. He would fight shirtless so his opponent would have nothing to grab.

  Joe started to work up a sweat to loosen his muscles and make it even harder for his opponent to get a hold on his slippery skin. As he warmed up, Joe scanned the crowd. Some of the women wore jewels and designer clothes and were with men who would have been at home in a country club. Others in the crowd looked like they would never have been allowed on the country club grounds. There were bikers, sharp-dressed men with wads of cash, and men and women who looked like they belonged in a movie about drug cartels.

  While he was surveying the crowd, Joe saw the Asian woman get to her feet and stagger out of the barn. She was in bad shape, and Joe wondered if there was a doctor present. He stopped thinking about her when the referee stepped into the cleared space and called the names of the muscle-bound black man from the van and the lanky, nervous man who’d sat beside him. The black man laughed as he walked through the crowd. His opponent looked frightened.

  “Next up,” the referee said into his handheld microphone, “we have Mustafa and Alan. Place your bets, and we’ll get started.”

  There was a flurry of activity as the fighters warmed up. Mustafa flexed his muscles and smiled at his opponent, who didn’t make eye contact. When the bets had been placed, the man in the blazer nodded.

  “Okay, fellas,” Sal said. “Let’s get it on.”

  Mustafa charged. Alan slipped to one side and slammed a foot into Mustafa’s knee. A look of shock crossed Mustafa’s face as the knee buckled. Alan torqued his hips and followed the kick with a vicious elbow strike to Mustafa’s temple. The big man sagged to the ground. Alan leaped on his back and threw on a choke hold. Mustafa lurched backward, but his tormenter rolled with him. Mustafa threw a wild punch, but Alan buried his head behind his victim and ground his teeth into Mustafa’s ear. The black man screamed, and Alan tightened the choke hold. Mustafa grabbed Alan’s arm and tried to loosen the hold, but he was weakening, and moments later, he was unconscious.

  While Sal was raising Alan’s hand, the man in the blazer walked over to Joe.

  “You’re up. Good luck.”

  Joe walked into the open space and tried to block out the crowd. He always had prefight jitters, but they were worse tonight. He ran to keep fit, but he worried that the lack of sparring would affect his timing.

  Joe was rotating his neck and loosening his shoulders when Sal led his opponent out of an office near the back of the barn. Joe thought it was odd for the referee to bring a fighter into the ring, but he needed to concentrate on the fight, so he tossed the thought aside.

  Joe’s opponent was taller and heavier than Joe, but he was flabby and looked older by several years. Joe knew better than to underestimate an opponent, but the man looked out of shape, and that gave him hope. He decided to box at a distance and wear the man out, then finish him when he got tired and his hands started to drop.

  Sal stepped between the combatants and spoke into the mic.

  “Next up, we have Joe and Carlos. You fellas ready?”

  Joe nodded, but Carlos just stared. His eyes looked glassy, and Joe frowned. When the spectators finished laying their bets, the man in the blazer signaled the referee.

  “Okay, gentlemen. Let’s get it on.”

  Joe was a professional boxer, and boxers were only allowed to use their fists in a fight. But Joe had been in more than his share of street fights, where you used every part of your body in an effort to stay alive. In a boxing match, you only had to worry about the reach of an opponent’s arms, but Carlos could use his legs, and Joe made a mental calculation of the reach of both sets of limbs as he stepped forward with his hands up.

  Carlos charged, but he was slow. Joe sidestepped and landed a punch to his opponent’s neck. Carlos staggered. Joe was tempted to step in and land another punch, but he didn’t know how much the punch had affected Carlos.

  Carlos shuffled toward Joe and threw a few ineffectual jabs. Joe kept just out of range. Carlos lunged forward and threw a slow, looping roundhouse right that Joe blocked easily before kicking Carlos in the shin. Carlos dropped his hands, and Joe threw a vicious hook. Joe wasn’t wearing boxing gloves, which would have blunted some of the force of a punch. His knuckles were wrapped in tape to protect them, and the tape ripped open the skin over Carlos’s eye. Blood ran down, blinding him. Joe moved to his opponent’s blind side and hit him in the jaw.

  Carlos staggered back and raised his hands. He looked groggy. Joe shot a kick to the bigger man’s groin. When Carlos sagged, Joe broke Carlos’s nose. Carlos flailed in defense, but his punches were very slow. Joe’s next flurry sent Carlos to the ground, and Joe leaped on him, landing punch after punch to the head.

  The crowd roared with bloodlust. Sal kept his distance. Joe raised his hand to land one more blow when he noticed that his opponent’s eyes were closed. Fear gripped him, and he leaped to his feet. He’d lost himself in the fury of the fight. Boxers wanted to win, but most fighters never wanted to seriously injure another fighter so badly that it would affect his livelihood. Carlos looked like he might be in very bad shape.

  “We need a doctor!” Joe shouted.

  Sal rushed to the fallen man. Then a skinny man in a gray suit carrying a black bag knelt beside Carlos. The man in the blazer joined Sal and the doctor, and they conducted a whispered conversation. After a minute, the man in the blazer walked over to Joe.

  “Wait here while I clear the barn.”

  “What’s wrong?” Joe asked nervously.

  “I’ll explain in a minute,” he said. Then he took the microphone from the referee.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation that needs attending to, so I’m afraid our evening is at an end. Please leave the barn in an orderly manner, and thanks for coming. We’ll notify you about the time and place of our next event in the usual way.”

  The crowd rushed out. Joe heard car engines starting and the crunch of tires on gravel as the parking area emptied. The man in the blazer moved Joe far away from Carlos.

  “Is he okay?” Joe asked nervously.

  “I’m afraid Carlos is dead,” the man in the blazer said.

  “Oh no,” Joe whispered as his knees buckled.

  The man with the blazer laid a gentle hand on Joe’s shoulder.

  “You’re going to be okay. I’ll see to that.”

  “But I…”

  “You didn’t do anything, and you didn’t see anything. Forget you were ever here. Understand?”

  Joe nodded. He felt numb.

  “Give me your hand wraps.”

  Joe gave the hand wraps to the man, who handed him an envelope stuffed with cash.

  “There’s a little extra in here for your troubles. Now, go outside and we’ll get you home.”

  Joe left the barn in a daze. Maybe they had made a mistake, he thought, and Carlos was just unconscious. He hoped that was the case, because it would be hard to live with himself if he’d killed Carlos.

  * * *

  “He’s hurt bad, Kevin,” the doctor told the man in the blazer when the crowd and the fighters were gone.

  “Okay, Doc, thanks.”

  “He should go to a hospital.”

  Kevin smiled. “Great advice. I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you take off?”

  “But—”

  Kevin handed the doctor an envelope filled with cash. “I appreciate all you do for us. Go home, get some rest.”

  The doctor left, and Kevin knelt next to Carlos. He was emitting rasping breaths but wasn’t doing much more. The truth was that Carlos never stood a chance after he drank the drug-laced water Kevin had given him before the fight.

  Kevin stripped naked to keep blood, which would be trace evidence, off his clothes. After wrapping Joe’s hand wraps around his knuckles, he pounded Carlos until the breathing stopped. Kevin checked for a pulse. When he didn’t find on
e, he called over the men who had carried the Asian woman out of the ring.

  “Get rid of this sack of shit where I told you to dump him,” Kevin said as he took off the hand wraps and put them in a plastic bag.

  The men carried Carlos outside through a back door while Kevin dressed. Kevin had recruiters in the homeless enclaves who scouted talent for him. When the recruiter told him about Joe, he knew he’d found the perfect patsy and the key ingredient in a big payday. When he was alone, Kevin took out his phone and sent a text that read, “ALL GOOD.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Joe paced back and forth next to the van. Fifteen minutes later, the giant who’d driven Joe to the fight walked out of the barn and opened the van door. Joe climbed in, expecting to see the other people who’d driven to the barn with him, but he was the only passenger.

  Joe felt sick during the ride to town. He kept picturing Carlos’s battered face. When the van stopped, the door slid open, and the driver sat down across from Joe.

  “We need to talk,” the giant said.

  “About what?”

  “About your future.”

  The driver showed him his gun. Joe tensed.

  “Stay calm. This is just to get your attention. The last thing I want to do is shoot you.”

  “What … what do you want?”

  “I want to help you.”

  Joe was confused. If the giant wanted to help him, why did he have a gun?

  “Here’s what you need to know. There’s a recording of your fight that shows you beating a man to death. The recording will be given to the cops along with the location of the body, unless you do what you’re told.”

  Joe thought he might throw up. If he went to prison, how would Maria and the baby survive? The driver could see that he’d lost Joe.

  “Hey, snap out of it and pay attention.”

  Joe took a breath and stared across the van. The driver was holding out his hand. There was a phone in it.

  “Keep this with you at all times. Someone will call you and ask you to perform a service. Do it and the recording disappears forever. Plus, there will be a nice payday for you.”

  Joe took the phone.

  “Now count the money you got at the barn.”

  Joe opened the envelope and counted the money. Instead of the three hundred dollars he’d been promised, there was six hundred dollars.

  “We take care of our people,” the giant said.”We know you got a wife and a kid. They shouldn’t be living here. It ain’t healthy. You get them and your stuff, and I’ll drive you to a decent motel. You ready to do that?”

  Joe had dreamed about moving his family to safety, but he was certain that he would be asked to do something really bad in exchange.

  “I can read people, Joe,” the driver said, “and I know you’re thinking about running. You don’t want to think that way. We’ll be watching you 24-7. Try to run, and bad things will happen to your family.” The man smiled. “You’ve got a cutie-pie for a baby and a looker for a wife. Cross us and you won’t like what happens to them.”

  Joe flushed with anger, but he tamped down the urge to attack. It would be useless. Even without the gun, he would be no match for the giant.

  The driver waited until he was certain Joe had his temper under control. He smiled.

  “Now you’re thinking. That’s good. Go get Maria and Conchita and your things. I’ll wait for you, but don’t take too much time. You don’t want to make me nervous.”

  Joe weaved his way through tents, tepees, and a few shacks constructed from wood or corrugated metal until he found the tent where his family was living. Maria was sleeping, but everyone in the homeless encampment slept lightly. She looked up, alarmed, when Joe ducked in. Then she smiled and placed a finger to her lips.

  Conchita was curled up beside Maria. Joe knelt beside them.

  “Pack everything,” he whispered. “We’re moving to a motel.”

  “We can’t afford a motel.”

  Joe opened the envelope with the cash and tilted it toward Maria.

  “Where did you get the money?”

  “I didn’t rob anyone. I earned it.”

  “How—?” she started to ask, but Joe shook his head.

  “I’ll explain later. Right now, we got to move fast. Pack our stuff. Then get Conchita ready. I’ll pull down the tent.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Joe led Maria and the baby to the van. Maria stopped when she saw the driver.

  “He’s okay. We’ll be fine,” Joe told Maria.

  The driver smiled. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. I’m glad we can help you and your family. Now hop in back, and I’ll drive you to the Riverview Motel. It ain’t fancy, but it’s a real step up from where you’re staying.”

  Maria didn’t look convinced, but she carried the baby into the back of the van.

  “What’s going on, Joe?” she asked as soon as the door slid shut. “How did you get that money?”

  “Fighting,” Joe told her. “They have these fights in the country…”

  “Are they legal?”

  “I don’t know,” Joe lied, “but I won and got paid enough to move us out of the camp to a safe place while I try to find work.”

  “What if the police—”

  “The police won’t be a problem, and I won’t do it again, but I had to get us to someplace safe.”

  * * *

  The driver checked them into the Riverview Motel at three in the morning. The idea that there was a river view was pure fantasy, but Maria was thrilled that they were someplace safe. They put Conchita on a sleeping bag on the floor and got into the queen-size bed.

  Maria was exhausted by the time they settled in, and she was asleep minutes after she closed her eyes, but Joe was still tossing and turning at 5:00 a.m. He couldn’t forget that he had killed Carlos, and he was terrified of what would happen to Maria and the baby if he went to prison. But would he go to prison? Carlos had agreed to fight him. He had died during a fair fight. Had he committed a crime? He had to find out. He remembered the name of someone who could tell him if he was in trouble.

  Joe put on a dark hooded sweatshirt and dark jeans and slipped out of the room. There were cars parked across the street, but the van wasn’t one of them. Joe hoped that the giant had been bluffing about the around-the-clock surveillance. If not, Joe would say he was going on a training run. He went to the far end of the second-floor landing, walked down the stairs, and ran into the night toward McGill’s gym.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Robin ran to McGill’s gym at five in the morning every weekday to work out before going to her office. When she walked out of McGill’s on Monday, she thought a man in a dark sweatshirt, hoodie, and jeans was watching her from an alley across the street. She crossed the street, and the man fell in behind her. Robin made some random turns and noticed that the man was still behind her. When she found a street crowded with people, she stopped and turned.

  “Are you following me?” she challenged.

  The man raised his hands and showed open palms. “Please, Ms. Lockwood, I just need to talk. I’m Joe Lattimore. You’ve seen me at McGill’s. I used to box professionally.”

  Robin stared at Joe. She did recognize him.

  “Why are you following me?”

  “Barry McGill says you’re a good lawyer. I was hoping we could talk and you’d give me some advice. I’m homeless, but I’m married and I have a little girl. I can’t pay you now, but I will when I get a job.”

  Joe seemed desperate. Robin made a decision.

  “The advice will be free, so don’t worry about the money. Let’s get something to eat and we can talk over breakfast.”

  Joe looked embarrassed. “I don’t have the money for breakfast.”

  “Don’t worry about that either. It’s on me.”

  * * *

  “Why do you need my advice?” Robin asked when they were seated in a booth and the waitress had taken their orders.

  Joe leaned forward and lowered his
voice. “This is just between us, right?”

  “Anything you say is protected by the attorney-client privilege and is completely confidential.”

  “Okay, then. I used to box until Maria got pregnant. I wasn’t making much money boxing, so I got a job as a short-order cook, but I got fired, and I haven’t been able to get steady work since, so I was hoping my manager could get me a fight. I was on a training run when this guy came up and told me I could make good money fighting in a no-holds-barred fight. I knew it was probably illegal, but I was desperate. We were living in a tent city, and I was scared all the time that something would happen to Maria and Conchita, so I did it.”

  Joe looked very upset. He took a sip from his water glass.

  “I killed the guy I fought.”

  Robin thought that Joe might cry.

  “I didn’t mean to. I never meant to hurt him bad. I just wanted to win and get the money for Maria and the baby. But he agreed to it. The fight, I mean. We both knew what we were getting into. So, I want to know if I’m in trouble if we both agreed to fight?”

  The waitress brought their order, which gave Robin time to think. Joe had asked for coffee, scrambled eggs, and toast, but he barely touched his food.

  “You probably are in trouble,” Robin said. “I can’t remember the number of the statute, but there is one that says that you aren’t justified in using physical force on someone even if you both agree to fight, if the fight isn’t authorized by law. I don’t think you can be charged with murder, but you might be charged with manslaughter or criminally negligent homicide.”

  Joe was quiet. Then he stood up. “Thank you, Ms. Lockwood.”

  “Don’t go. Sit down and finish your breakfast.”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite,” Joe said. Then he thanked her again and left.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Ian Hennessey’s Friday-morning docket had wrapped up by eleven. Both cases had been resolved with a plea. The only thing left on his calendar was a late-afternoon hearing in Judge Carasco’s court concerning a case that originally had been assigned to another judge but had been transferred to Carasco’s court that morning.