Women of the Otherworld 10.5 - Counterfeit Magic (8 page)

Over breakfast, we went through the half-dozen business cards and compared recollections of those who’d slipped them into her pocket. When we reached the last, I took one look at the name and slapped it onto the table, brushing the others aside.

“This one,” I said. “Call it a hunch.”

“Right.
The day you or Lucas act on a hunch is the day I give up spell-casting.” She lifted the card and peered at it. “Travis Nichols. Say, isn’t that—”

“The manager of the young man who died last night.
Davy.”

“Well, he definitely needs a new fighter. He just doesn’t realize it yet.”

* * * *

As we headed up to our room after breakfast, I suggested ways I could be in on the interview, without actually being there.

“We should have brought that new spy camera the Cabal tech lab gave Lucas,” I said. “I’ve been dying to try it out.”

“Geeks and their tech toys,” Savannah said. “Let’s keep this simple, shall we? You want to be in on the interview? Come along.”

“Right.
Help you find a new manager after you fired me.”

“I didn’t fire you. You quit. Just when my career starts to take off, and I need you more than ever.
Ungrateful bitch.”
She opened the hotel room door. “But just to show
there’s no hard feelings
, I’m going to let you come with me.”

“You’re too kind.”

* * * *

When Travis Nichols opened the door and saw both of us standing there, he stood there, gaping, then snapped his jaw shut and waved us inside with a smile as phony as his hair-weave.

“Come in, come in.
So happy to see you.
Both
of you.”
He cleared his throat. “Georgia, could I speak to you for a moment? If you’ll excuse us, Miss… Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Manager,” I said. “Ms. Ex Manager.”

He stumbled and stammered about misunderstandings, and how he hoped he hadn’t stepped on any toes, and he didn’t realize Georgia was already represented or he’d never…

“It’s okay,” I said. “You were right. She needs someone else.
Someone with experience.”

I followed Savannah into the living room, turning to wave the startled Nichols through as if he was the guest.

I continued, “I’m not a professional manager.
Just a friend looking out for Georgia.
Now that she’s won her first official bout, I’m happy to step aside. But, being a friend, I’m not going to just walk away. I’m here to hear what you have to offer and help her make a decision.”

That put him at ease, and he laid out his offer. I had to nudge Savannah a couple of times to remind her to at least appear interested. She was restless, shifting and squirming and trying to hurry his pitch along so we could get to our part.

Finally he finished. I asked him some questions. Savannah didn’t. I doubted she’d been paying enough attention to know what to ask. Then, as we relaxed with coffee and slid into the “getting to know you” part of the interview, I asked, “So, were you at the club last night on business? Do you represent one of the fighters?”

“Davy Jones.”
He laughed. “And, yes, that’s his real name, poor kid.” His smile faded and he reached for his cell phone, checking it. “I’ve left him a few messages. That was a bad fall he took last night.”

“I saw. What happened?”

“Lousy refereeing, that’s what. Believe
me,
I’m going to have a talk with Ethan about that. Clearly Leo cast one of those knockback spells right at Davy’s head, and that’s against the rules. He’s just lucky my boy didn’t get a concussion or I’d have his ass kicked off the circuit.”

“Is the refereeing there always so bad?” Savannah asked. “Ethan was talking about setting me up in a match against Tommy, but maybe it’s not the best place for me to start a career.”

“You against Tommy?”
Nichols’ dark eyes glittered. “That’s gold, girl. Doesn’t matter if you win or lose, it’d get your name traveling through the circuit. Tommy’s good. Damn good. Too good for…” He stopped, shrugged. “Well, you know.”

“He’s professionally trained, isn’t he?” I said.

“Hell, yeah.
State champion in high school, and that’s just boxing. He racked up medals in wrestling, too. Everyone expected him to hit the pro circuit after graduating. But Ethan wanted him to go to college.
Nothing wrong with that, of course.
Ethan only wanted the best for his little brother. He didn’t get to finish college himself. Their folks died when he was in his first year, and Tommy was only a kid and… Well, I’m sure you don’t want to hear this.”

“Actually, we do,” I said. “If Georgia’s going to fight at the
Gallantes
’ club, I’d appreciate a little background. So Ethan raised Tommy?”

“Right.
He sent him off to college. Can’t remember what he majored in. Didn’t matter, really, because everyone figured he’d graduate and go back to fighting. Only he didn’t. Not on the pro circuit, anyway. He got a job working at a gym downtown.”

“What happened?” I asked. “Was he injured?”

“No, it’s just…” Nichols rubbed his mouth. “Word is
,
Ethan didn’t want him playing pro. He didn’t think Tommy had what it took, and didn’t want him wasting his time on it.”

“Nice brother,” Savannah muttered.

“How did Ethan stop him?” I asked.

Nichols shrugged. “Just talked him out of it, I guess. Convinced him he didn’t have what it took. I don’t know the whole story. That’s just the rumor. Anyway, I’m sure Ethan thought it was best for Tommy. Few years later, they opened the club together, and I think that was Ethan’s way of making it up to his brother. Tommy sure as hell doesn’t bear him any ill will. Those two are as close as ever. Still live in the same house where they grew up.”

“Okay,” Savannah said. “So obviously with Tommy’s rep, getting a fight against him would be a sweet start to my pro career. But if the club is badly managed…”

“Hell, no, it’s one of the best around. The ref missed a call. It happens. Even I didn’t see Leo cast that knockback or whatever he did. I’ll talk to Ethan and, sure, I’ll give him shit for it, but that’s just me, watching out for my boys, like I always do. Just last year, one of them…”

He launched into an anecdote to prove to Savannah he’d make a good manager. I kept her from interrupting, but as soon as he finished, she said, “So the
Gallantes
are good? Fair? That’s what I’ve heard, but you never know.”

“I run my boys all up and down the fight clubs in this state. Even over to Texas when the money’s right. But all other things being equal, you’ll find them fighting for Ethan and Tommy. That’s my choice and it’s theirs, too. Now, some folks will say the
Gallantes
are too clean to run a fight club. I say bullshit. Those boys have carved out a nice little niche in the market for those who prefer a fair fight to a bloodbath.”

“But there’s a point where you can be
too
fair, overly cautious,” Savannah said.
“Like not wanting to call out a cheater in case you’re wrong.”

“Uh-uh. Believe me, with the
Gallantes
, fair means no cheating. They catch you, you’re banned for life.
Lost one of my own boys that way.
He was in a slump, started taking some junk, they caught him, and he was out.
Out of my stable, too.”

“Sure, but what about throwing games?
I heard there was an incident just a few months ago, with another teleporting half-demon. They suspect she threw the fight so her friend could cash in. If the
Gallantes
knew it and they let them go…”

Nichols laughed. “Oh, they didn’t let them go. Sure, the girl got away, but she left her friend stranded. And when that boy finally did leave, Tommy followed.”

The Art of Blackmail

“Man, that Ethan’s a piece of work,” Savannah said when we got into the car. “Can you believe what he did to his brother? Deciding he’s not good enough to turn pro? Tommy should have taken
him
into the ring years ago.”

I gazed out the window and said nothing. There’d been a time when Savannah had wanted a career as an artist, and while I’d never have denied her the chance to go to art school, part of me had wondered if encouraging her wholeheartedly had been the right thing to do.

Savannah had talent, but no more than thousands of other kids who dreamed of their first gallery opening. We’d subtly tried to steer her toward graphic design or another use for her skills so she could make a living while pursuing art on the side. She hadn’t been interested in that. She wanted to be an artist.

In the end, it was Savannah herself who changed her mind. As high school had progressed, her interest in art had waned. These days, it was only a hobby. She’d found her passion in her job. Well, not her actual job as admin assistant. What she loved were these forays into the field that she hoped would get her out of the receptionist’s chair for good. And they would, as soon as she’d matured a little more.

If Savannah had been hell-bent on art school, would I have found a way to convince her not to go? No. I couldn’t do what Ethan had done. But I’d have been tempted.

I had to admit, though, that it was different with Tommy. Being state champ meant he did have the talent to go pro. He might not have become a star, but he could have made a living at it for a while. Was that what Ethan feared?
A short-lived career?
Retiring young, bitter and disillusioned, with nothing to fall back on? Had he set Tommy on a different path to spare him that fate? As someone in a similar position—raising a younger “sibling”—I could understand that urge to protect. I just wasn’t sure I agreed with it.

Thinking of retired fighters reminded me of the scene I’d witnessed at the ring, Tommy talking to that former boxer. Had the man been trying to lure Tommy into a bigger arena? What had he said that had alarmed Tommy? Made him look over at Ethan and move the conversation to the office?

“Okay, you’re thinking something,” Savannah said. “What’s the plan, boss?”

“We need to speak to the
Gallante
brothers again.
Separately this time.”

* * * *

Finding an address for the
Gallantes
was easy enough. Nichols said they’d lived in the same house all their lives. A simple property search gave us a location on the other side of Santa Cruz.

While Savannah drove, I worked on theories. From Nichols, we’d confirmed that Jared hadn’t fought in the ring the night he died, which meant that when the
Gallantes
talked about another fighter’s death, they didn’t mean him.
Which left us with a problem.

I could see Tommy
Gallante
going after Jared and beating the crap out of him. I’d spent enough time around werewolves to understand that in some subcultures, violence was the language everyone understood. As even-tempered as Tommy seemed, he
was
a fighter.

So Tommy beats up Jared, who accidentally dies. Then they have a fighter who also accidentally dies, another who accidentally almost dies and another who dies last night… again, accidentally.

“Either these guys aren’t nearly as clean as they seem,” Savannah said. “Or I really hope all their insurance is paid up, because someone’s put one hell of a curse spell on them.”

* * * *

We found the house—a small, Southwestern-style ranch in an older neighborhood. The Mercedes was under a carport, but there was no sign of the truck.

“Ethan’s in; Tommy’s out,” Savannah said. “Good enough?”

I nodded.

We parked a couple of doors down and were walking toward the house when the front door swung open. I cast a quick cover spell. Savannah did the same.