Before he could continue, Jack removed a hand from the dying man’s throat and was about to reach for his gun when sirens wailed nearby. His brother at the top of the grassy embankment shot a sideways glance and took off leaving his sibling behind. Jack looked down at him. “So much for family loyalty,” he said before taking his gun and pressing it into his gut and firing it twice.
Seconds.
That’s all he had now.
The sound of gunfire, along with 911 calls from scared neighbors, would bring down the strong arm of the law and he didn’t have time to do that dance with them. Jack took off regrettably aware that one of them had escaped, and Pope would now know he was behind the hit.
Chapter 24
As darkness fell over New Mexico and the criminal element crawled out from the underbelly of society, Jack arrived in Albuquerque. There was a risk in showing his face. He knew that for sure. The one that got away would have alerted him and Pope being the man he was wouldn’t let such an act go unpunished. However, he was a businessman first, driven by money and greed just like Gafino, and a lot of money was riding on the fight that evening. If Albuquerque’s fights were all that Tyson had made them out to be, disappointing paying customers by calling off a fight to enact vengeance would be far worse than biding his time and waiting until after.
It was for this reason, and because of Tyson’s mother, that he found himself purposely approaching the twenty-two story, pinkish skyscraper with a pyramid-shaped roof. It rose up beside another tower like a finger pointing skyward. The tip of the pyramid shone a brilliant white light cutting into the night, and the countless windows let off a warm yellow glow.
Jack had no idea what to expect going in but he knew the chances of getting out alive were low whether he’d killed Pope’s men or not. The manner in which Pope reacted to Tyson told him more than enough about the kind of man he was.
Like many skyscrapers there was an equal amount of glass to concrete. The ground floor had large tinted windows, and multiple entry points into the building; however, he’d been instructed to locate a set of pink double doors on the northwest side just off Copper Avenue. Like a downtown bar that was hopping with activity and attracting passersby, a crowd of people were streaming into the building in an orderly manner. Outside four meatheads were stopping them to make sure their names were on a list.
When Jack reached the front of the line, a bald-headed, heavyset guy in a long trench coat glanced at his phone.
“Name?”
“Jack, uh… Weslo.” He almost said Winchester.
The guy jerked his head and he stepped forward to where another guy patted him down for weapons then stamped his hand with the phrase Rage in the Cage. From there he was directed into a corridor with smooth granite walls, and over to one of the eight elevators. Shiny gold doors reflected the faces of the excited, and the vibe inside the lobby was of subdued anticipation. Whispers spread throughout as some recognized him, and a couple of people looked as if they wanted to approach. Fortunately the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Jack entered the elevator that would take him to the 13th floor at which point he would have to cross to another elevator that would go up to the 22nd.
The doors closed with him and ten other people squeezed inside the mirrored elevator. He breathed in deeply and kept his eyes fixed on the red digits as the elevator shot up through the levels, then got off and made the switch to the second elevator.
From what he could tell the entire building had been set aside for offices, most of which were leased, though others looked as if they were empty while waiting on new occupants. He’d seen signs for investment companies, and property management.
As the elevator chimed and the doors opened, it was like entering a nightclub. The entire floor was taken up for the event. Stepping out, he saw that the main lights were dimmed. The latest trending track of music blared out, and the corridor was crowded with the upper crust of society. It was a stark difference from the previous fights where ticket holders were blue-collar working class. This time around most were dressed in suits, and their female companions in cocktail dresses. Glasses were clinked, hors d’oeuvres were served on silver platters and the occasional person wiped white dust from their nose. For a second Jack thought that perhaps he’d gotten off at the wrong floor until he spotted Pope.
Jack squeezed through, making his way over.
One of Pope’s heavies leaned into Pope, muttered something, and he jerked his head towards Jack. Pope’s entertaining smile left his face and was replaced by a smug look as if he was a spider seeing a fly caught in a web.
As quick as a flash he got theatrical.
“Jack! You showed. Huh, I was just saying to my colleagues here that you would probably be a no-show but here you are.”
“Here I am.”
He nodded and placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard. “There you are.”
Pope studied him and the smile left his face.
Those around Pope chuckled as if they were privy to some inside joke.
“Well let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” He leaned to his right and one of his men disappeared into the crowd. A minute later the music stopped and the lights came up. The same dwarf announcer he’d seen at all the previous fights emerged, though tonight Gimpy was dressed to the nines and carrying a thick suitcase.
“Tonight, four fights, and five of the best fighters all vying for one prize.” He opened the case to reveal a large sum of money. “Five hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” He handed off
