CHAPTER 28 IRON JACK
IRON JACK
Ileave my bike parked at a grocery store a few blocks away from Grey Beast’s gym to avoid attention. I want to keep the element of surprise.
Grey Beast knows I’m coming. He practically requested me. But he won’t know when.
The walk from my bike to the front lot of his gym is quick. I tuck my hair up in a skullcap to avoid easy recognition.
My footfalls make deep treads in the snow on the ground as I leave the sidewalk and cut through cars to the side wall of the gym’s brick building.
There are windows all along the front, but like a lot of gyms, they are blacked out from the bottom up to about shoulder height. Because of that, I can walk along them, only my eyes and skull cap showing if someone is looking.
But I can see in.
The space is one big room. There are weight racks on the left side, punching bags in all sizes along the back, and one regulation-sized fight cage taking up a huge chunk of space.
It’s a shrine to Grey Beast, all right. Life-size banners of him in fight gear hang from the ceiling. He wants to be known and recognized.
I spot Grey Beast right off, standing at the top of the steps to the octagon, shouting and air fighting as he instructs the two men who are sparring in the cage.
They look young, barely twenty. Grey Beast is in his late thirties, tall and dark and heavily tattooed, even on his bald head.
He took his name from his beard, which is prematurely white, thick and cropped short.
He’s more built out than when I knew him. He’s a force now, fierce and strong.
But my determination doesn’t waver.
He may not have been driving that eighteen-wheeler, but he killed my parents just the same. He made it happen. I’ll find out how.
And he will not enjoy the fame he’s found at their expense.
I will make sure of it.
When I reach the end of the building, I keep going toward the convenience store next door as though it was always my destination. I wait about ten minutes, then I make a second pass in the other direction.
This time, I assess everyone else inside.
There are the two young fighters in the cage, welterweights I’d guess by their size. Scrappy, based on how they spar.
A behemoth of a man hangs on to the side of the cage, yelling instructions with as much fervor as Grey Beast. He’s probably the trainer.
An older, smaller man in gray sweats sits on a bench and watches less attentively. I’m guessing he’s a medic or the cutman, ready to patch up either of the fighters should they bleed from the blows.
Two other muscled men in fighter shorts bash the heavy bags in the rear of the room. While I watch, a third one emerges from a door behind the bags, probably the dressing room or an office. There could be others I can’t see. A manager, maybe.
So, five fighters plus Grey Beast, a medic, a trainer, and possibly more.
I’m not worried about taking them on, but it would be messy with so many. I don’t really want to take out an innocent fighter whose only mistake was associating with Grey Beast.
And somebody could be carrying a gun. I can disarm one or two, but while fighting, I can’t watch seven closely enough to know if a weapon has come out.
I keep walking for a moment, going half a block before circling back to the convenience store.
I keep my hand on the hilt of my blade. I didn’t bring a gun. I don’t bring guns to a personal vendetta, only big confrontations involving multiple men on both sides. I prefer the close combat of street fighting and looking the enemy in the eye as it all goes down.
I lean against a tree in the cold, keeping my eye on the gym. There are seven cars in the lot. I’ve seen eight people. There’s no telling if there are others or not.
One of the cars is clearly Grey Beast’s, a shiny silver Mercedes with a license plate that reads “GBeast.” Another one is a huge black Cadillac SUV with darkly tinted windows. Maybe the trainer. Maybe a manager or bodyguard I can’t see.
Three of the cars are total clunkers. I’d bet those belong to the young fighters, who haven’t made any money on their early fights yet. They’re still scrapping along.
My options are to go in and take them all on, or wait for more favorable conditions. I don’t know if Grey Beast will be the first to leave. I can’t follow him easily with my bike several blocks away.
I glance around the lot of the convenience store. There’s a decent-sized dumpster between the two properties. I could park on this side of it and still have quick access to it to follow Grey Beast.
That will be the way of it. I’ll move my bike here. Commence a stakeout. If I can improve the odds by having a couple of the young fighters out of the way, then it will be time to strike.
I like the gym better than the house. A gym is where the rivalry began. Where I beat Grey Beast for the position he wanted, and he made the choice to take it by any means possible.
And I do like to finish things where they started.