The Thumper, A Jake Stone Thriller (Book Six)
By T.L. Peters
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 T.L. Peters
License Notes
This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To read more about the author and his other books, go to http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tlpeters.
“I grabbed the first volume of The Jake Stone Thrillers for $0.99 and started reading out of curiosity—after a few pages I couldn’t put it down. Mr. Peters writes in a very fresh, authentic style, and the characters have a real charm. The plot is well developed and keeps the pages turning. I’m already buying the next few books in the series. Do yourself a favor and check it out.” Tiger03.
“There’s no question that Peters is a master wordsmith.” Gerry B’s Book Reviews
This book comes with a bonus short story at the end, A Sweeter Rhythm.
Chapter 1
First a steel cage match, and then things get interesting.
The red haired bruiser strode to the middle of the twenty by twenty foot steel cage to confront her opponent, a paunchy, soft chested man with a black mustache and oily black hair who went by the name, El Diablo. She was in the silver trunks and was wearing a standard polyethylene red chest guard shirt with built in padding to protect her breasts, ribs and sternum, not that these ample and sturdy anatomical features of hers needed much in the way of reinforcement.
El Diablo was in the black trunks and danced cockily on the balls of his bare feet as he listened to the referee's terse instructions.The match was not "anything goes," but it was the closest thing to a death match that a casual fight enthusiast might encounter in the relatively placid environment of northeast Mexico. The referee, a gray haired fellow in a loose orange T-shirt and black trousers, shouted at the two fighters that there would be no eye gouging, hair pulling, spitting, biting or rabbit punches to the spinal area. But everything else, he said, was fine, including body slams and kicks to the groin.
The fight was to be a maximum of three five minute rounds with a minute rest in between. The match would end with one of a number of possibilities—a knockout, a technical knockout where the referee stopped the fight, a submission where the defeated fighter tapped out, or a decision by the three judges if the match went the distance.
No one in the raucous crowd of some three hundred onlookers believed that the fight would go the distance, not with the brawling red head, Betsy Grimes, as the head liner. Jake Stone, from his perch in the front row directly behind Betsy's corner, doubted if the intergender match would even go past the first round, although he wasn't entirely sure that Betsy would come out on top. She was an effective striker, both with her hands and feet, but her grappling skills left a lot to be desired. If her sturdy opponent could wrestle her down to the canvas, he might be able to straddle her between his pudgy legs and then "ground and pound" at her with his meaty fists to a quick and bloody victory.
Why Betsy was not a good wrestler, Jake had no idea. She certainly was strong enough, strong as your average bull in fact. She could bench four hundred pounds on a bad day, and as part of a light warm up at the gym she could do ten repetitions of fifteen hundred pounds on the leg press. But wrestling was also about balance, stamina, quickness and the ability to use one's hands, and in these categories Betsy seemed deficient.
Snowflake had been personally training Betsy until the doctor had ordered Snowflake to complete bed rest. Apparently, it was going to be a tough pregnancy, and now Jake was in charge of the novice cage fighter, at least for the next five months until the baby was born, which was a headache Jake strongly felt that he didn't need.
Jake wanted to be at Snowflake's side to comfort and encourage her. That was where he believed he could do the most good. But Snowflake had insisted that Maria could handle these household and nursing chores, as she derisively called them, while her other principal assistant, Julie, was busy running their far flung fitness and martial arts business. That left the overseeing of Betsy's budding pugilistic career to the reluctant Jake.
Jake liked the wise cracking Betsy, at least most of the time. She was a big boned Pittsburgh girl with plenty of attitude, his kind of chick, and her assistance in defeating the green eyed and genetically engineered blond mega woman had proven invaluable. But Jake wasn't all that crazy about spending his Saturday evenings in a hot smelly warehouse surrounded by shouting, spitting, sweating young Mexican males.
That night most of them were rooting for Betsy. She was a curiosity, after all, a big beefy woman, and no spring chicken either, who claimed she could go toe-to-toe with any man. And so far she had backed up her boasts with lusty, bone jarring action. Three fights, and three KO's, all against men.
El Diablo though was her most challenging opponent to date, coming in with a record of twenty three victories, fifteen by knockout, and only three losses, all by decision. But El Diablo had never fought the likes of Betsy Grimes before, and his cockiness was knocked out of him at seven seconds of the first round when Betsy clobbered him on the side of the head with a looping round house kick.
She followed it up with two jabs to the chin and a robust knee lift to the belly, all of which staggered El Diablo back to his corner, where he quickly covered himself up in a tight crouch as Betsy continued to wallop him with both hands and feet. But she wasn't landing anything especially damaging, and Jake soon stood up and yelled at her to back off. He didn't want to see his star fighter lured into some exhausting and crafty rope-a-dope stratagem, during which she might easily turn into a sitting duck for one of El Diablo's lethal right hooks.
Exhaustion was a real risk for Betsy, because she could barely jog a mile even on a cool morning before collapsing into a panting heap of sweat and muscle. Jake believed that she could stand to lose a few pounds from her six foot, two hundred forty pound frame. But Snowflake hoped that with a little more conditioning Betsy would be able to keep the extra weight, which Snowflake believed accounted for much of the explosive power in Betsy’s punches.
Betsy sure could punch. Jake could attest to that. She had flattened him more times than he could remember in their frequent sparring matches at the gym under Snowflake's watchful eye. But that was in a controlled and friendly environment, not in a grimy plywood and canvas ring surrounded by ten foot high chain link fencing, with an assortment of cigarette smoking bookies hugging the sides taking bets, even now as the fight lurched into its second violent minute.
Emboldened by her initial success and the cheering, boisterous crowd, Betsy was jumping up and down firing up the audience even more, while purposely lowering her guard as she taunted her wary male opponent to throw another punch. Why did that crazy chick always have to get so cocky, Jake wondered as he watched El Diablo oblige her by landing a right left combination that seemed to stun the big red head. The crafty Mexican then launched a flurry of jabs and crosses, which quickly staggered Betsy to her corner.
As the wild roar of the crowd overwhelmed Jake's frenzied shouts of advice and encouragement, El Diablo pounced on her, grabbing her around the neck and flipping her over his outstretched ankles. She hit the canvas hard and then rolled over onto her knees, while El Diablo managed to circle around her and climb awkwardly onto her broad shoulders.
Now it was over, Jake thought glumly, sitting back down and resigning himself to the inevitable take down. But Betsy must have been paying more attention to her grappling lessons with Snowflake than Jake had feared. The red head rocked one shoulder down toward the canvas and then flipped her feisty male opponent over her head.
He landed hard on his back and seemed confused for a moment, and Jake thought that Betsy might try to win the match with a quick pin. But instead of jumping on top of him and risk getting her chest clamped inside a suffocating leg scissors, Betsy wisely hopped to her feet and calmly waited for her opponent to get up.
As the crowd shouted both insults and encouragement, El Diablo grabbed the fence and slowly pulled himself to his feet. Adopting a classic defensive boxing stance, he then cautiously edged toward her. This time, however, Betsy would not be lulled into over confidence. She hit him with one flurry of jabs after another, mixing in a few kicks to his legs and ribs just to keep him honest, while never letting herself move in too close where he could land a lucky knockout punch. Then, with just thirty seconds left in the round, she landed a vicious side kick to El Diablo's right temple.
Instantly the Mexican's legs wobbled and his dark eyes glossed over. Jake rose with the rest of the audience to his feet, expecting a quick conclusion to the match. He wasn't disappointed as moments later, with a little additional prodding from Betsy in the form of three quick upper cuts to the chin, El Diablo was sprawled over the canvas pawing helplessly at the air.
The referee quickly knelt over him and dramatically belted out a ten count as the stunned fighter was unable to rise. After calling for the ring side doctor to check out the still groggy El Diablo, the referee waved his arms over his old gray head and announced that the fight was over.
The crowd went wild as the referee lifted Betsy's sweaty and heavily muscled right arm high into the air. Jake sank back into his chair, relieved not so much that she had won the fight, but that they could now go home where he could see his beloved Snowflake and tell her the news. But Betsy had other ideas. She wanted to revel in the adulation for a while and even allowed some exuberant Mexican teenagers to hoist her over their heads and parade her around the ring to the standing applause of the excited onlookers.
It was two hours before Jake and Betsy were back in Snowflake's white Hummer heading home. Betsy hadn't even showered, because she said that the locker room was "way too gross." Instead she had spent much of the time answering questions from the Mexican press. It seemed that Betsy had her eyes on the Mexican cage fighting championship as a launching point for a world wide career.
The problem was that Mexico at the time had no officially sanctioned cage fighting championship, although the popularity of the sport was growing rapidly and there were many underground bouts. But such technicalities didn't bother Betsy. She had finally found something she loved doing and wanted to keep at it any way she could.
"Not so fast," Jake said after she'd finally quit chattering like some frenetic school girl. "Your wrestling skills are still not up to par, and no state in the Unites States would ever sanction a championship bout between a man and a woman anyway. It's just not going to happen."
"Who cares where we stage the bout?" she snapped, her husky voice pulsating with a tense mixture of indignation and pride. "We could hold it in Asia, or even here in Mexico. With the Internet, everyone will be able to see it, and everybody will know who won, namely me."
Jake shook his head gloomily.
"I don't know if you're ready yet. You better wait until Snowflake is back on her feet."
"That'll be months from now," Betsy growled. "What's the matter with you anyway? Why can't you be my full time manager? You're a lawyer. You ought to be able to handle it."
"I was a lawyer," Jake corrected her. "And besides, only Snowflake can train you to the level of competition where you'll need to be if you want to be champ."
"You're ducking it," Betsy snorted, folding her thick arms over her even thicker chest. "I'm not ducking it," Jake replied, lazily rolling his eyes.
Betsy was a real pistol, but she had a good heart, or at least so Jake believed.
"You just don't think that a woman can do it, I mean rise to the top of the men's division."
"That's nonsense," Jake said testily. "I'm married to Snowflake, aren't I? I, more than any man, know what a woman can do when she's properly trained."
"Then what's the matter?" Betsy spat. "Aren't I good enough for you? Am I just too low brow and common for your refined tastes?"
"That has nothing to do with it."
"What's your problem then?"
"What about your job?" Jake asked, searching his mind for some excuse why Betsy's grandiose plans just weren't feasible, at least not in the short term.
"What job?" Betsy shot back. "I can still teach my three kick boxing classes a week. They'll be a good supplement to my training regimen. And as far as my security duties are concerned, ever since we took out that big green eyed chick, the place has been as quiet as a church on a Monday morning. No drug runners trying to bust everything up, no kooks spewing bullets all around, not even any pick pockets or casual thieves."
"This is still Mexico," Jake reminded her. "You never know when things might heat up. Snowflake and I have plenty of enemies, you know. One of them might decide to crawl out of the woodwork at any moment."
Betsy grimaced fiercely.
"That's pretty lame if you ask me. And even if things were to heat up, you've got plenty of other bodyguards. I never saw so many iron pumping females working out in one place in my whole life. There are even a few male studs showing up now."
"Maybe so," Jake grunted miserably, hating to admit that she was right. "But you were hired as our chief bodyguard, and that's your main job, especially now that Snowflake is laid up."
But Betsy would not be swayed, clamping her hand over Jake's shoulder and squeezing until Jake let out a weepy yelp.
"You don't need me for that," she barked, a haughty look creeping into her eyes as Jake was moved to voice another measly yelp. "The best thing I can do now is fight," and she emphasized the point by pounding her large bony right fist into her left palm, the force of the blow emitting a sharp thud that sent a jolt up Jake's wavering spine. "Just think of all the prize money I can earn. Promoters would die to put on competitive, top notch fights between a man and a woman. Just imagine all the buzz we could generate."
"What professional fighter is going to want to fight a woman in public, especially if he thinks he might lose?"
"Men are all so arrogant," Betsy snarled. "They always think they'll win. Besides, plenty of guys will take the chance if the money is good enough."
"We'll talk about it later," Jake deadpanned.
Betsy again crossed her arms over her chest and sulked and pouted the rest of the way home. Jake, who had feared that she might decide to beat the snot out of him instead, was relieved by her relatively tame response and wisely kept his mouth shut as the Hummer sped along the lonely, dust covered road.
Chapter 2
Jake hated to see Snowflake this way. It reminded him of the time that the big nameless green eyed blond had nearly killed her in their first encounter. There Snowflake was as he walked quietly into their bedroom, on her back stretched out on the reinforced king sized bed that Jake had bought for her when the doctor had given them the bad news. She could get up to go to the bathroom, but that was about it. The rest of the time she had to lie quietly and rest.
Jake had expected Snowflake to be miserable. She was such a vibrant physical creature that he feared she would go insane at the prolonged months of inactivity. But so far the reverse was true.
Snowflake seemed buoyant with hope and expectation at the coming birth of their first child. She didn't even look all that bad, at least not to Jake. Her face was rosy and full, and her green eyes sparkled with a quiet sort of fire, as though she had just learned something that no one else knew or could even begin to fathom.
Naturally, her arms and shoulders and abs and legs had gotten a little soft and plump from lack of exercise. But the dynamic outline of her robust musculature was still plainly visible, even as she lay propped up on five huge spongy pillows in her fluffy pink nightgown with the fresh white covers pulled up to her hips.
Jake couldn't comprehend her relative equanimity, but there were plenty of things about Snowflake that he still didn't understand. What was one more enigma? Jake had decided to adopt his normal course of simply rolling with the punches and seeing what would happen next. With a dynamic and powerful woman like Snowflake, there was really little other choice.
Jake sat by her bed side and softly asked how she was feeling.
"I'm feeling great, but what about Betsy?" Snowflake replied brusquely, turning her head as her brow furrowed into a myriad of tight jagged lines. "I was expecting you to give me a call right after the fight."
"I didn't want to disturb you," Jake replied sheepishly.
"Oh, cut the crap, Jake," she shot back, rolling her eyes and frowning. "I'm just getting ready to have our baby. I'm not dying, not yet anyway."
"I wish you wouldn't talk that way," Jake whined. "It gives me the creeps."
She reached over and touched the back of his hand with her fingers. The soft warmth of her skin reminded Jake of the first time they'd met, in the grimy alley back in Pittsburgh where she had rescued him from a violent mugging.
"I'm sorry, Jake. Sometimes I forget how weak and wimpy you men can get. But tell me about our Betsy. How did she do?"
"She won," Jake said, grinning slyly. As much as Jake admired Snowflake's machisma, he was becoming increasingly enamored of her softer side, at least during those brief moments when she was disposed to show it. "It was a knockout. I still don't think the guy knows what hit him."
"A kick or a punch?" she asked quickly.
"A kick, a big round house to the head."
"Any grappling?"
"He tried to get Betsy down on the mat where he could tie her up, but she broke out of it."
"Good," Snowflake said, nodding her head briskly as she continued to gently stroke Jake's knuckles. "She's never going to be a top flight wrestler. She doesn't seem to have a good enough sense of leverage."
"You better talk to her then, Darling" Jake broke in, tenderness creeping into his voice as he gazed down upon his lovely Snowflake. "She has dreams of being the heavyweight champion of the world, officially or unofficially."
"Let her dream," Snowflake replied tersely. "It'll do her good, give her something to shoot for. I don't want her getting bored. It's been so quiet around here lately."
"But how can she win at cage fighting without superior wrestling skills?" Jake asked resignedly.
"If she's a good enough striker, she won't need to grapple. As long as she stays off the canvas, she'll be fine."
"Maybe she should go into boxing instead," Jake suggested tentatively, then winced as the bizarre import of his words suddenly hit him. But as a male surrounded by superior women, Jake had gotten used to the unsettling feeling that accompanied his second class status in a mostly female world. "The heavyweight division in men's boxing has been weak for years. Maybe the time is right for a credible female challenger."
"She can do whatever she wants," Snowflake sighed. "I just wish I could join her in the ring, but I have other fish to fry at the moment."
Jake lurched forward, fearing that she was in pain.
"Do you need anything, Darling? Can I get you something to eat?"
"I'm fine," she said, smiling vibrantly. "You are such a funny little guy at times."
"Humor is my specialty," Jake said wryly.
"That must be why I've kept you around for all these many years."
"And just think," Jake replied, smiling now too. "You only tried to kill me once or twice."
"I never tried to kill you," she said, her hand tightening around his.
"Sure you did."
"Name me one time."
Jake glanced up at the ceiling, but for some reason his mind drew a blank. Maybe she hadn't actually tried to kill him, after all. Maybe it just seemed that way. The thought made him suddenly love her even more.
"Well, I'm sure you thought about it once or twice," he croaked.
Snowflake laughed cheerfully.
"Once or twice? What about dozens of times?"
"You never told me that," Jake said, feigning incredulity.
"I didn't want to scare you," she chuckled. "You always seemed scared enough of me as it was."
"But why didn't you ever follow through with your murderous impulse?" he asked, half kidding, half deadly serious.
"Pity."
"Pity?"
"Sure. It wouldn't have been fair to kill a helpless male."
"It never stopped you all those other times with all those other men."
She pulled his hand onto her chest and then lowered her head and stroked her moist lips over his fingertips.
"I wasn't in love with all those other guys. Besides, they were mostly just a bunch of thugs."
"I guess that love makes all the difference then," Jake said, suppressing a sudden urge to jump on top of her and kiss her wildly.
"It seems so."
"But do we fully trust each other now, Darling?" Jake asked. "Have we finally reached that point?"
She shrugged casually and then kissed his fingertips again.
"I don't even know anymore what trust means, at least between us. Our love has crowded everything else out. It's all there is now between us, all that there could ever be."
"But it's enough, isn't it, Darling? Tell me that it's enough to sustain us."
"It's more than enough."
"Then let me stay by your side, Darling," he said, leaning over her and softly kissing her forehead. "I hate it when I'm away from you for longer than five seconds. I feel so desolate inside."
Snowflake smiled brilliantly, and it seemed for a moment as though her smile would last forever, but then her face morphed quickly into an irritated frown. It was with great effort and regret that Snowflake had chosen to sour her expression. But Snowflake was well aware of Jake's many failings, and she hated to encourage his weakness any more than she had to.
"The last thing I need is for you to hang around the house like some pouty old dog," she snapped. "I want you to go and help Betsy. She can't afford to rely on her own training instincts. She's a good strong girl, but she's not exactly the brightest person ever to come down the pike."
Jake had feared such an admonition, but he was not yet willing to accept it.
"There are plenty of women at the gym who could take over her training. I'm not all that great of a fighter anyway. Isn't that what you're always telling me? I'd rather be here with you."
"Don't sell yourself short," Snowflake barked, releasing his hand. "You know more about fighting than you're willing to admit. I've trained you, after all. And you can handle the legal and business ins and outs too. You can manage her career in other words. She needs someone with street savvy in her corner, who also has a feel for all the technical and professional pitfalls and temptations that can sneak up on a young fighter. You're made for this job, Jake."
Jake closed his eyes and thought for a moment.
"But what about my criminal record?" he asked, his face suddenly lighting up with ironic glee. "I can't risk going back to the States, at least not in any public way, or I might get my rear end tossed into jail. Who knows? Some cop might even start a cold case investigation on the murder of Gerald Fish. You remember poor Gerald, don't you, the guy you slaughtered in that Pittsburgh night club?"
"The same guy who had betrayed us and was trying to kill us," Snowflake pointed out stiffly.
"I'm not saying that you did anything wrong," Jake protested. "I'm just saying that my mobility is limited."
"You don't have to base Betsy's operations out of the United States. There are plenty of fighters these days who live and work in Europe and Asia and Latin America."
"But the big paydays still usually come in the U.S."
"Well, go incognito then," she grunted. "You're supposed to be the brainiac of the family. You can figure it out."
Jake shook his head.
"But my heart won't be in it, not without you there."
Snowflake smiled cooly.
"Lean over and kiss me again," she ordered sternly.
Jake compliantly bent over and puckered his lips, only to feel the sudden jolt of her powerful fingers wedged around the back of his neck.
"This is how I killed Fish," she whispered into his ear. "I broke his neck with a simple jerk of my hand."
"Impressive," Jake wheezed.
"I always thought so," Snowflake pointed out calmly. "It was one of my better maneuvers. He just fell over like he was drunk. It seemed to take people forever to realize he was dead."
"Do you think you might let me go now?" Jake whimpered.
"Are you going to agree to manage Betsy's career?"
Jake nodded his head as best he could.
"Are you going to give me any more grief about it?" she asked, a slight smile returning to her lips.
Jake shook his head as best he could.
"Wonderful," she said, letting him go while planting a juicy smooch on his cheek. "Now get out of here and let me rest."
Just then Maria bounced in carrying a tray full of fruits and thick slices of broiled chicken. Jake backed away as Maria placed the tray over Snowflake's lap. Maria had recovered nicely from her bout with the so-called Amazon serum. She had also weaned herself from the effects of the mind altering drugs that the rogue CIA agents had injected her with in an effort to turn her into a fighting companion of the savage green eyed mega woman whom Snowflake had eventually killed.
Maria had shed about twenty pound since returning to their compound in the Mexican desert and resembled the petite woman Jake had first met months earlier when he and Snowflake had hired her as a servant. She was still strong though, fiercely so, and sturdy too. Jake couldn't help but admire the angular cut of her hips and thighs as she leaned over Snowflake's bed.
"Jake was just leaving," Snowflake intoned cheerfully.
"Poor Señor Jake," Maria laughed. "He never gets any respect."
"That's true," Jake said, backing toward the door. "Nobody appreciates my many talents."
Snowflake waved her hand imperiously above her head.
"Be gone," she ordered.
"But I'll be back," Jake replied briskly. You can't keep me away forever, Darling."
Snowflake smiled brightly as she leaned forward so that Maria could plump up her pillows.
"Take care of Betsy," were the last words Jake heard as he left the room.
Jake decided that he would confine Betsy's pugilistic efforts to the Monterrey area of Mexico where they lived, at least until Snowflake had her baby. That way he could stay close to his beloved wife.
As he walked slowly back to the gym Jake remembered that he had wanted to ask Snowflake if she had changed her mind about testing to see what sex the child would be. Snowflake had insisted that she wanted it to be a surprise, but Jake, ever the plodding lawyer, preferred a little warning and advance notice.
He considered returning to her room, but he quickly decided that Snowflake might not appreciate his reappearance so soon. It was another of the many subtle concessions and compromises that Jake felt that he had to make, all of which he considered a worthy price to pay for the privilege of living with such a strident and exciting woman. He then lumbered off to the gym, where he found Betsy hanging from the pull up bars doing frontal leg lifts to work her abs and obliques.
"Let's hit the mats," Jake barked at her. "Today we're going to work on your weaknesses, not your strengths."
"So, you're going to be my manager, after all," Betsy said, beaming as she dropped down from the bar.
"I'll be your manager so long as you don't lose a fight," Jake shot back. "But lose a fight, and you'll have to look elsewhere."
"Deal," she shouted, grabbing Jake's hand so hard that for a moment he feared that she had crushed his fingers. "You won't regret it."
Jake shook his head as he ambled grudgingly toward the padded exercise room where the grappling classes were held.
"What have I gotten myself into now?" he muttered just loud enough so that Betsy could hear him.
The big red head was wise enough not to stir the pot anymore and to just let the pejorative comment slide by. Instead she chose a more direct response befitting her character. She promptly applied a crushing head lock to Jake's angular skull, a crafty maneuver which he took some minutes to wriggle out of.
Chapter 3
Jake arranged a match for Betsy at a local fight club. The prize money wasn't much, only a hundred bucks for a victory and twenty bucks if she lost. But the club taped its fights and broadcast them over its web site, and its videos routinely got hundreds of thousands of hits. It was good exposure for the cocky new fighter, a chance to make a name for herself. She was fighting a man, of course, which was the way Betsy wanted it.
Women cage fighters still weren't taken seriously, and Betsy wanted desperately to be taken seriously, and to be respected and feared as well. Even though she, like Snowflake, viewed men as essentially inferior and weak, she had no wish to let her personal views get in the way of attaining her career goals, which included large portions of wealth and fame.
Jake didn't mind the big red head's insistence on fighting men, so long as she won. And if she lost, then he wouldn't have to be her manager anymore. That was their agreement. But still, Jake felt an obligation to do right by her. Betsy had worked hard, after all, and Jake wanted to put her in the most favorable circumstances from which she could show off her skills.
On that bright crisp Saturday morning, the most favorable circumstances meant the Monterrey fight club, a corrugated one story steel structure which from the outside resembled a warehouse for tractors and lawn mowers. Inside was a standard sixteen by sixteen foot boxing ring alongside an eight sided steel cage.
Betsy preferred the octagon to a traditional ring. With her great size and strength she liked to press her unfortunate opponent back against the metal links, where she could leisurely clobber him with her fists with little fear of retaliation. Perhaps the owners of the club had heard of Betsy's provocative fighting style and had not only refused to schedule the fight for the octagon cage, but had denied her the confining limits of the boxing ring as well. Instead she would fight her challenger, a bald fellow with a squarish head, a thick fleshy chest, a pug nose and what seemed to be a permanently snide grin, on the padded floor next to the general workout area.
The match was well advertised, and the place was packed with mostly curious young men and a few tough looking local girls mixed in around the edges. The owner of the club, a chubby fellow with dirty gray hair who was wearing a grimy brown pullover sweater and stained red shorts, motioned to the two fighters to step forward and tap their fists in a gesture of good sportsmanship.
Betsy, outfitted with her contoured, wraparound, open palm, open thumb, all leather, silver, five ounce gloves that Jake had bought for her out of his own pocket, enthusiastically bounced forward, her beefy shoulders hunched forward as she shadow boxed the air. Her opponent, wearing a cheaper version of the same style of gloves, though his were black, lurched toward her with his hands at his sides and his chest protruding cockily. The two fighters cautiously touched hands for the briefest of moments before again bouncing around on the balls of their feet and generally playing to the cheering crowd.
Cage fighters preferred the lighter, open palm gloves to the more traditional boxing gloves because they allowed the fingers to grab and pull. Jake wondered how much grabbing and pulling Betsy would be doing as he sized up her adversary. Betsy generally enjoyed the weight advantage over most of the guys she fought, but not with this fellow.
Jake estimated that he must have weighed close to two hundred seventy pounds, and most of it was muscle, a thick boxy sort of muscle that portended a furious power behind his punches. He had a huge head too. Jake had learned that guys with big skulls were often hard to knock down, much less knock out. But if Betsy wanted to be a champion, she would need to take on all comers, even this ugly pug.
Jake edged toward the far side of the mats where he would have an unobstructed view of the action. Carlos Menendez, the former CIA agent and Julie's new husband, had asked to come along and took his place next to Jake. The two men then listened to the club owner inform the fighters that there were no rules, other than that the match would only end when one of the fighters was either unconscious or dead.
"How did I ever let myself get talked into this craziness?" Jake muttered.
"Don't worry," Carlos said, patting him on the back. "Betsy can take him. Julie says that fighting Betsy is like trying to knock over a dump truck with your bare hands. It just doesn't work."
"Maybe," Jake smirked. "But why are you really here, Carlos? You're far too sophisticated for this kind of bawdy nonsense. Wouldn't you rather be back at the gym at your lovely wife's side?"
"Maybe I have some surprises for you," Carlos mumbled as he watched the two fighters retreat to opposite sides of the mats. The mats formed a ragged square about thirty feet in diameter, and beyond this padded surface the floor was hard bare concrete. "After all, I'm getting a little tired of this."
"Tired of what?" Jake asked, glancing at the younger man.
"Tired of getting pushed around," Carlos muttered.
"Who pushes you around?"
"Everybody, including Julie."
Jake flinched a little and then returned his attention to the padded arena, where the two anxious fighters were waiting for the owner to signal the commencement of their match.
"That's what you signed on for," Jake admonished him. "The women run the show around here. Everybody understands that. We're just along for the ride. But I thought you enjoyed being around strong women."
"I do like it," Carlos said. "Julie's been great. I really love her. I adore her in fact, but it's just that..."
"Just what?" Jake asked.
Carlos's eyes wandered toward the arena where Betsy had just landed a right to the big mug's jaw. The sturdy Mexican had arrogantly chosen to confront her with his guard down, daring her to take a poke at him. He was no doubt expecting that her best shot would be little more than a love tap. Instead he found himself reeling backwards with his dark eyes turning a rather murky gray.
"This won't last long," Carlos said of the battle now being furiously waged before him.
"Betsy can't expect too many more fights like this where her opponent takes her for granted," Jake said. "This video will go viral for sure. From now on it's going to be a lot tougher scaring up fighters willing to take her on. No guy is going to want to get the snot kicked out of him by a woman, especially for the whole world to see."
"At least not most men," Carlos snorted. "Some might enjoy it though."
Jake chuckled grimly at the sexual overtones of the remark. But Jake didn't like to think of such naughty male secrets, which he himself occasionally shared, and chose not to pursue the matter.
"What were you about to tell me?" Jake asked. "What's eating you?"
The two men watched Betsy land successive roundhouse punches to the challenger's jaw. The blows were so fierce that Jake expected him to go down quickly, but his skull must have been even thicker than Jake had imagined. The embattled fighter was not only able to maintain an upright, albeit rather wobbly stance, but he actually managed to throw a few counter punches, ineffective as they proved to be.
"I'm tired of being a lackey," Carlos continued. "Plus, this gym and fitness business is kind of boring. It pretty much runs itself. Julie doesn't need me to help her."
"What are you planning on doing then?" Jake asked, his eyes brightening as Betsy continued to bludgeon her opponent with savage blows to the head and then to the torso. "See, she's getting smart. She's going after the body now. It's probably his greatest weakness. Once she buckles him over, he'll be through. All she'll have to do then is crack him across the back of the neck."
"I was thinking of starting my own business," Carlos said, still eyeing the increasingly one sided fight. "A sort of private eye and general investigative operation, and I was wondering if you might be interested in being my partner. We could split everything fifty fifty."
"Wow, did you see that left hook?" Jake gushed. "I doubt if even Snowflake could punch that hard."
"He's still on his feet though," Carlos replied hastily.
"Not for long," Jake said, grinning now. "But as far as this business idea of yours is concerned, I'm a little busy right now, what with the baby being on the way and all. Plus, I doubt if Snowflake would be too happy if I cut my time with Betsy to turn into some kind of private snoop."
"See what I mean," Carlos said. "We're just lackeys. It's not about what we want. The only thing that matters is what our wives want."
"Yeah, but our wives can kick the crap out of us whenever they feel like it," Jake pointed out dully.
"I appreciate that," Carlos said. "But that's more of a bedroom thing. Can't we break out of our routine for at least a little while?"
"I don't see how," Jake said. "It's a bedroom thing for you maybe, a sexual kind of kick, and maybe for me too, but for these women it's just part of who they are. They're a new breed of women."
"Maybe so," Carlos said, jerking his head back as he watched Betsy land three quick jabs to her opponent's chin. "There he goes."
Jake glanced at his watch as the Mexican slammed into the floor.
"It only took her two and a half minutes. When will they learn to try and tire her out before they attempt to go toe to toe with her? That's the only way to beat her, that and maybe get her onto the ground."
"So, you're going to take a pass for now on my little proposition?" Carlos asked.
"For now," Jake said, nodding. "Talk to me again in a few months after the baby is born. Maybe we can work something out."
Carlos frowned and then waited for the owner of the club to call the fight. The beefy Mexican lay flat on his back with his eyes closed as Betsy began stomping on his chest with her bare heel. Soon the roar of the crowd became overwhelming, and the owner hustled into the arena and waved Betsy off. Betsy got in one final stomp for good measure and then raced around the perimeter of the padded area slapping the outstretched hands of her many new admirers.
Jake watched the exuberant display with some amusement before turning again to Carlos. Jake was worried that he had been a little too abrupt with the ambitious young man and wanted to try and assuage any bad feelings. But Carlos was gone. Jake looked everywhere but didn't see him. He even called Carlos on his cell phone, but there was no answer.
"He'll probably take a bus home," Jake muttered, bracing himself as Betsy rushed over and gave him a furious hug that nearly squeezed all the wind out of him.
"I told you that I could do it," she shouted after letting Jake go.
"That guy was just a chump," Jake mumbled.
"Get me a match with a good fighter then," she exclaimed brusquely. "That's your job."
Jake looked around again for Carlos, and when he didn't see him he shook his head blandly and then patted Betsy on her rugged shoulders.
"We'll see what we can do, tough girl. But for now, are you hungry?"
"I'm starved," she said.
Jake took her to a nearby steak house and watched her devour three prime twenty ounce sirloin steaks, while he consumed a more modest dinner of chicken nachos and fries.
"Tomorrow we start getting serious," Jake said.
"It's about time," Betsy bellowed, pausing to flex her jagged and ripped arms. "Don't you just love my biceps? They're about twice as big as Snowflake's."
"Don't get any ideas," Jake cautioned. "Snowflake is about five times as fast as you."
"I know," Betsy pouted. "But it's nice to dream."
"Confine your attention to male fighters," Jake advised. "Leave Snowflake to me."
Betsy was wearing a low cut nylon shirt, and Jake couldn't resist peaking at her massive and well defined cleavage. Betsy noticed the glance and heaved out her chest to give him a better view. Jake instantly turned red in the face and looked away. He then felt Betsy's leg brush up against his under the table.
That was the last thing he needed, Jake thought, an affair. Not only did he have absolutely no desire to fool around, but if Snowflake ever caught him she'd kick the tar out of him. Betsy was probably just overwrought from her stunning victory. Jake wasn't even sure that Betsy was attracted to men. She had never given any indication of it before as far as he could tell.
Jake pulled back his leg and looked nervously at his watch.
"Hurry up," he barked. "We've got things to do."
"Yeah," Betsy grunted back. "We've got things to do."
Jake once more searched the crowded restaurant for any sign of Carlos. He couldn't believe that the refined Carlos would want to take a bus back to their house. But Carlos was nowhere to be found.
After Betsy slurped down a pitcher of beer, which was her reward for a good effort in the arena, they boarded Snowflake's Hummer and took off for home. Jake kept his eye on Betsy, but she made no further physical overtures toward him. It was probably just an adrenalin rush from her conquest of yet another male challenger, Jake concluded as he watched the sun burn a soft orange haze over the far horizon.
Chapter 4
Over the next several weeks Betsy's training regimen was intense and disciplined. In the mornings she would work on her Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, No-Gi grappling, Judo throws and general wrestling techniques. After lunch and a brief rest she would work out on the treadmill before going for a half mile jog. Toward evening she would practice her knockdown Karate and Muay Thai kick boxing moves. After dinner it was back on the treadmill and then a robust session of iron pumping with free weights. Finally the day would end with a film session in which Betsy would study the fighting style of some of the day's leading mixed martial artists.
Jake was pleased with Betsy's progress. Not only was she beginning to hold her own in wrestling matches with some of the gym's best grapplers, both men and women, but her stamina was improving at an astonishing rate. Her half mile jog had nearly turned into a half mile sprint, and Jake was considering having her run in the Monterrey marathon in a few weeks just to see how she would hold up. Betsy needed a challenge anyway. She was becoming increasingly upset at the lack of top notch fighters willing to take her on.
Jake understood her frustration. As he had predicted, the video of her club match had received over five million hits on the Internet, and Betsy had quickly become a sub-culture sensation in the world of underground fighting. All sorts of men were calling up asking for a fight. But they were either punch drunk boxers looking for a last hurrah, or perverts who enjoyed getting the snot kicked out of them by a woman.
Top grade fighters were keeping their distance. It would take plenty of cash to get one of them off the sidelines, and Jake had visited a number of fight promoters around Mexico, all without success. He had even placed a few calls to somewhat skeptical promoters in the States. But the most that anyone was willing to put up was a twenty five thousand purse to the winner.
Jake had bandied the number around in fight circles, but twenty five grand was apparently not enough to entice a leading male cage fighter to risk three five minute rounds with the brawny "red headed thumper," which had become Betsy's nickname on the Internet. Jake suspected that it would take at least a hundred grand to scare up a worthy opponent. But none of the promoters was willing to put up that much cash, not on an untested woman fighter who lacked the svelte body and alluring face that these crafty and rather cynical promoters were looking for to sell tickets.
"Sexist pigs," Betsy spat when she heard of their reluctance to sponsor a match. "Anyway, plenty of men like my looks. You don't have to be some skinny super model to attract a man's attention. Men today like a meaty woman with a lot of muscle to back up her curves. These guys you're talking to are just a bunch of old fashioned fuddy-duddies. Isn't there somebody hip who sponsors fights?"
Jake, having witnessed first hand the huge crowds of panting youths at her various matches, tended to agree with Betsy's assessment of the modern male libido, but the promoters were adamant. Jake would need to look elsewhere to raise the money.
Of course, that meant Snowflake, but Snowflake was having an especially hard time lately and Jake hated to bother her with business matters. He preferred to spend his few minutes each day at her bed side gazing into her lovely green eyes and caressing her hand and telling her how much he loved her, even when she was sound asleep, which she often was, since the doctor was now prescribing some strong sedatives for her.
So, after much inward wrangling, Jake decided to go and talk with Julie. She was in charge of the day to day business operations and might be tempted to invest in the development of Betsy's career. But, like Snowflake, Julie had the reputation for being a tightwad, and just because Jake was part owner of the business didn't mean that he had some special access to funds.
Snowflake had set up a rigid system of internal cash controls that not even Jake could get around easily. That gave Julie a lot of power, but Jake was accustomed to dealing with powerful women and hoped that he could finagle a one time loan. They would only have to pay out if Betsy lost the match. And with the speed at which she was progressing lately in her fighting skills and overall stamina, Jake didn't see defeat as a likely possibility anytime soon.
Jake had tried to schedule an appointment with Julie, but she was all booked up for the day. So instead he decided to try and catch her right after her morning kick boxing workout. Julie never missed her kick boxing sessions, and as the class ended Jake rushed toward the svelte and sturdy brunette before she could disappear into the women's locker room.
Julie was wearing a gray cotton pullover and loose fitting black pants instead of her normal skimpy two piece exercise outfit. Jake thought that he noticed some slight widening of her hips and thighs, but he wisely decided not to bring it up.
"What's going on, Jake?" she asked, briskly toweling off her ruddy forehead and cheeks.
"I have a favor to ask," Jake blurted out nervously and with a gush of breath, as though he were speaking before a large audience. Jake didn't like to be in the position of asking for money, especially from his own company. But the women called the shots, at least most of the time, and Jake knew his place, for better or for worse. "We need to stand behind Betsy financially."
"You mean you need some money for a championship purse," she broke in. "How much?"
Jake let out a relieved sigh. Julie at least seemed amenable to his idea.
"I'm glad that you're so understanding."
"We women have to stick together," she replied harshly. "So many men are such turds. But we women will get there eventually so long as we don't get too cocky. I sometimes wish that I had gone into the fight game myself instead of the business side of things. But I guess you can't have everything."
"I guess not," Jake said. "I was thinking that a hundred grand would do the trick."
Julie frowned and shook her head.
"I guess if that's what it will take to get a top notch fighter off his butt and into a cage with Betsy, that's what we'll have to do. Do you think there's any chance she'll lose?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Jake said, hedging his bets. "We don't even know who is going to step forward and challenge her. And mixed martial arts bouts, as you know, can be highly unpredictable. All I can say is that Betsy has made great strides, especially in the last few weeks. She'll be ready to rumble. That I can guarantee you."
Julie frowned again. Jake noticed some lines radiating out from the corners of her thin mouth and looping around her dark eyes, and he remembered his conversation with Carlos at the fight club. Jake knew that he should have stuck to business, but he couldn't resist meddling a bit.
"How has Carlos been lately?" he asked softly.
Julie's eyes shot toward him, lingered for a moment, and then drifted casually away.
"Oh, he's fine, I guess. He's been away a lot lately. He says he's trying a few things."
"What kind of things?" Jake asked.
"He wouldn't say."
"What's the big secret?"
"He claims that he wants it to be a surprise."
"Do you believe him?"
Julie's eyes darted toward him once again.
"He's my husband. Of course, I believe him."
Jake decided to try a different tack.
"Carlos might be getting a little bored around here. He's accustomed to a more high flying life style. Maybe you two should take a nice long vacation somewhere exotic, maybe Brasil or China, just the two of you."
Julie sighed as her eyes fell languidly toward the glimmering hard wood floor.
"I wish I could, but with Snowflake laid up I'm just too busy."
"Things are going all right between you two, aren't they?" Jake asked after a brief pause.
Julie nodded unconvincingly. Jake instantly felt his stomach sour. He had seen this kind of thing before when he was practicing law. Two newlyweds so much in love, and then after a few months the doubts begin to creep in. He was just glad that it had never happened between him and Snowflake, not yet anyway.
"Give it some time," Jake said. "Things will work out."
Julie nodded vaguely, and then her face brightened.
"I'll tell my secretary to write out a cashier's check payable to any man who can beat Betsy Grimes in a fair fight. I'll make it two hundred thousand just for good measure. That should be enough to tempt some wimpy prize fighter to slither out of the darkness and take on a strong woman."
"Two hundred grand will be plenty," Jake said, grinning.
He then watched her walk quickly away. His initial observations had been right. Her hips were a tad thicker than he had remembered, which explained her loose fitting clothing. She had even tied a sweater around her waist, always a sign that a woman is worried about public perceptions of the size of her butt.
Julie was probably worried about her young marriage, Jake mused drearily, and that was why she was gaining weight. Snowflake would know how to fix things between them, but Snowflake was out of commission. Jake decided that he should take charge of the situation. He just couldn't bear the thought of such a wonderful couple breaking up over what he considered little more than temporary ennui after the whirlwind pace of events that had brought them together in the first place.
He was mulling over a plan of action as he wandered back to the exercise room where Betsy was training. That morning she was sparring with a beefy young fellow whom she must have picked out from the weight room. Betsy was always doing things like that, sauntering and strutting her stuff among the iron pumpers while daring any of them to fight her.
This guy was apparently already regretting his decision, since she had him pinned between her legs and was in the process of banging away at his shoulders and back with her fists. Jake had to rush over and pull her away before she killed the poor guy. He was still ambulatory though and jumped up right away and raced out of the room sputtering curses at the big red head. Betsy turned and smiled at Jake.
"I just love doing that," she said.
"You better be careful," Jake warned. "The last thing we need is a lawsuit, or even worse a murder investigation."
"I know what I'm doing," Betsy said. "I just rough them up a bit to show them who's boss. I don't even leave any marks on their face. I mostly work over their bodies. It's harder to leave a bruise there."
Jake shook his head wearily.
"It seems like you're not afraid to go to the ground anymore. You certainly had that guy nicely straddled."
Betsy nodded enthusiastically, her eyes gleaming, her plump cheeks shimmering with sweat.
"I've got this grappling thing down now. I can stay on my feet and punch, or I can go to the canvas and wrestle. I'm ready for anything."
"You'll need to be ready for anything," Jake said. "I'm just about to post an announcement on our blog. Two hundred grand to any certified mixed martial artist who can beat you in a no holds barred cage match of six five minute rounds. Do you think you can last for that long?"
"Sure, I can last," she shot back. "But I won't have to. I bet it won't go past two, three at the outside."
"You don't even know who you're fighting yet."
"It doesn't matter," she croaked. "I'm on a roll. I can feel it."
"Don't get too cocky," Jake said as he glanced casually toward the door leading to the main workout area of the gym.
He thought he saw a man rush past who looked a lot like Carlos. But it couldn't have been Carlos. Carlos hated working out, preferring to stay trim through a lean diet and occasional walks around the facility.
"I'd hate to have to explain to Snowflake how we lost two hundred thousand dollars," Jake continued. "You know how much she loves money."
Jake glanced back at Betsy, who was also now peering suspiciously toward the doorway. Then she frowned, and her eyes turned musty and dark as though she were disappointed about something. Finally she looked back at Jake.
"Do you want to wrestle?" she asked jokingly.
"Not at the moment," Jake replied. "Why don't you hit the treadmill?"