Hook and Shoot by Jeremy Brown Page B

opaque by the banks of lights that ran the length of the room. There were stretching stations all along the glass, individual yoga mats with Swiss balls, bands, foam rollers, and lacrosse balls for masochists.
    The wall on the left was adorned with pull-up bars, heavy bags in all shapes and sizes, free weights and kettlebells, and a squat rack with an Olympic lifting platform next to it. Gymnastic rings and a thick climbing rope hung from the ceiling. A wide opening in the far wall led to a white-tiled recess. I could see a glass door with a digital panel next to it—steam room—and the edges of solid doors with silhouettes for men’s and women’s bathrooms.
    I came to the middle of the gym and couldn’t help but smile.
    Thirty-two feet across, four feet off the floor,made of metal and padding and canvas and vinyl. A full-size mixed martial arts cage as approved by the Nevada State Athletic Commission.
    â€œThought you’d like that,” Eddie said. He stood behind us in the doorway wearing silk pants and a white V-neck shirt, a towel around his neck. His voice sounded better but still painful.
    I put my hands on the apron, smelled the canvas. “We can’t fit a full one at Gil’s place.”
    â€œIt’s from the first Warrior event. See that bloodstain looks like Alaska? That’s Badger Curry’s blood from the war with Martin. And that’s Martin’s blood over there.”
    â€œGuys were fountains,” I said.
    Burch made a face. “Seems unsanitary, having it in your home.”
    I looked at the steps and the open gate above them.
    â€œGo ahead,” Eddie said.
    I kicked my new shoes off and dropped my socks in them, took my time up the steps and onto the canvas. It was cool, a little rough from wear and exposure. There were other stains like fisherman’s islands around the legendary mass of the Curry/Martin drainage.
    I asked Eddie, “You train in here?”
    â€œI get my time in.”
    Burch tugged on his lower lip and looked at the yoga mats.
    Eddie strolled to the weight pile and picked up akettlebell, started doing curls with it for some reason. “You think this place will suit your training in case you have to fight Zombi?”
    â€œNo.”
    The smirk dropped with the kettlebell. “You’re joking.”
    â€œThe equipment’s great, long as Gil and the rest of the guys come with it.”
    â€œNot possible,” Burch said. “The three of us are the only people allowed through the door.”
    Eddie said, “What about Vanessa?”
    â€œAnd Vanessa. Once she’s here tomorrow, she stays until this is over.”
    â€œWho’s Vanessa?” I said.
    â€œShe takes care of the place, cooks, does laundry.”
    â€œSo we stop by the gym and grab the guys.”
    â€œNo,” Burch said. “Too many loose ends, too much exposure. If they get spotted coming and going, they’ll get the same offer as the security firms. Money or pain. Your man Gil leaves here one night and the next morning we get his ear in a box with a note telling us to send Eddie out. You want that?”
    â€œDid you see Gil’s ears?”
    â€œWe don’t need those guys,” Eddie said. “I’ll coach you and you can spar with Burch.”
    I took a moment to savor the situation. Rarely am I in the same position logically and physically, andI looked down upon the poor, naïve crowd. “Burch, how much you weigh?”
    â€œA bit over thirteen stone.”
    â€œEnglish, please. Wait, American.”
    â€œHundred eighty-five.”
    â€œRight. Don’t take offense—I’ve seen you with your knife and I’m sure you’re just as good with your gun—but in here with that gate closed, I’ll destroy you. You’re a warm-up.”
    He took his jacket off.
    â€œHold on,” said Eddie.
    Burch loosened his tie and unhooked the shoulder rig, staring me down the