Little Saigon by T. Jefferson Parker

Author:T. Jefferson Parker [Parker, T. Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2013-12-11T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

THEY GOT TO THE SHERRINGTON HOTEL IN time for the first fight. He flashed his press pass at the door. The attendant checked his list and told Frye it wasn’t good anymore. Frye mumbled apologies, went to the ticket window, and came up with two ten-dollar seats way in the back.

The doorman took their tickets with a sigh.

“Where can I find Mr. Mack?”

“Never heard of him. Try the directory.”

On fight-night the ballroom houses the ring, and rows of chairs pressed all the way to the walls. Frye stepped inside. His stomach fluttered a bit, and he felt good at the lights and the ring and the ropes and the general carnival atmosphere. Cristobel took his arm.

He worked his way to the third-to-last row, from which the ring looked like a bright sugar cube. He checked his program. Stinson was in the white, out of Bakersfield; Avila in the red, out of Sonora, Mexico. At the bell they moved toward each other with the slowness of men wading through water.

Frye stood. “I’m going to find Mack.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sorry. I’ll be back in just a minute.”

He found the Elite listing in the lobby directory, and took an elevator to the eighth floor. Suite 816 was at the end of the hall, just across from the stairway. A small brass plaque said ELITE MANAGEMENT—PRIVATE. Frye knocked and waited; knocked again. The door was locked. He waited a moment longer, then headed back to the arena.

Cristobel smiled at him. “When you said a minute, you weren’t kidding. No dice?”

“None.”

He lifted his Bushnells and focused on the ring. Avila was a sinewy Latin, pesky, hard to hit. Stinson looked Irish, with heavy hands and thick calves. The kind of fighter who’ll run out of gas about the tenth, Frye guessed, if he hasn’t put his man away. But if he catches you with the right, you eat canvas. He’d seen Avila last year: The kid couldn’t be more than twenty.

He turned the binoculars ringside to see who’d gotten his old seat. It was Edison.

On one side of him was Lucia Parsons. On the other was Burke and his cowboy hat. Next to him was Paul DeCord. They all held gigantic beers.

Frye said nothing. He just looked through the binoculars and wondered what in hell his father was doing with Lucia Parsons and a man who kept spying on Bennett. He gave the glasses to Cristobel and looked down at the floor for a moment, thinking.

When he looked at the ring again, Stinson caught Avila with a right cross, then a left to the chin. Avila folded in the middle and plopped butt-first to the canvas. Frye could see he wouldn’t be getting up soon.

“Want to meet my dad?”

“A little early for that, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t know he’d be here tonight.”

She gathered up her purse and beer. “I didn’t know I would either. But why not?”

The ringside crowd thinned between bouts. Edison spotted him, blinked, then smiled. He gave Frye a Mafia bear hug and kiss, his standard public greeting.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.