Mitch Reiser’s neighborhood was downright depressing. In all the years she spent in Snowbird Chelsea had never actually been to this part of town. The pavement was cracked and broken, the curb lined with litter – potato chip bags, take-out containers, and empty fifths of vodka and whiskey. The houses were large and old, and most of them were empty. Windows were empty or boarded up, some covered in thin, white sheets that flapped in the breeze. The day had started grey and chilly and the skies above threatened rain.
It was deserted and that made Chelsea nervous. She had been in bad neighborhoods before, but never one so desolate and empty. There were no children playing on the sidewalks, no teenagers walking together in large groups and laughing at some inside joke. There was one lone man, hunched low against the wind walking away from them; that was it, on the whole street there was just one man limping away.
Blue was less worried. They arrived at the house and he climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, the sound echoing up and down the street. Chelsea followed, but she hugged her sweater tightly to herself as she looked around.
“According to Paul this is the place,” Blue said as the stood in front of a large, dilapidated Victorian style house. There was a wraparound porch that must have been lovely once, but today it was covered in trash and spider webs and half the wood was rotting away. The many windows of the house were empty and dark and no sound came from them.
“Maybe he’s not home,” Chelsea ventured.
But Blue just pointed to the parking lot where a black SUV sat. It was the nicest thing on the whole block; there were no dents or scratches on it and it looked like it had just been cleaned. He walked confidently up the stairs and pounded three times on the door. Chelsea waited on the lawn as she looked up and down the empty street. Suddenly there was a flash of movement in the window near the door. One of the curtains had moved, Chelsea had seen it. At that moment she was very aware of the small gun sitting in her purse and she wondered how quickly she could get to it if she needed it.
“Open up, Mitch,” Blue said to the door. “I know you’re home and we’re not cops. We just have a quick question for you.”
The door opened a crack and Chelsea could see a man’s face in the open sliver between the door and the door jam. He was young, but his face had that look of someone who had been rode hard. He was overly tan and the lines and creases under his eyes and around his mouth were deep.
“Who are you?” he demanded through the door.
“I’m Blue DeMarco, Terrance’s son,” Blue answered.
“Terrance sent you?”
“The old man and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms. But I don’t want to talk about him. I want to talk to you. How about you let me in?”
“How about you get the hell off my property before I shoot you and that chick you got with you-” he turned to Chelsea and she watched as the part of the face that she could see went slack. Before they knew it, he had slammed the door closed, but then opened it again a moment later. He craned his neck and look past Blue, “No, it can’t be...” he started. He took off his hat and ran his hands through his thinning hair. “If I didn’t know any better I would swear that’s Chelsea Riley,” he said shyly as he twisted his cap in his hands.
“Yep, that’s me,” Chelsea said as she took a step towards the porch. She walked up the stairs next to Blue and put on her flashiest smile as she held her hand out to the other man, “Nice to meet you,” she said. She kept her smile bright and her eyes wide as she looked at the nervous-looking Mitch.
“I heard you was from Snowbird, but I never expected to actually meet ya or othing,” Mitch said. For a guy who worked for mobsters, Mitch was oddly bashful. His eyes would occasionally glance at Chelsea and then his face would turn beet red and once he made eye contact he would quickly look away.
“I came back for a visit. I wanted to spend some time with my family. But...oh Mitch, something awful has happened,” Chelsea’s eyes filled with tears as she reached out and touched Mitch’s arms. “My sister, my only sister, has been kidnapped and I’m so worried about her. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. Meanwhile my manager is losing her mind and she’s threatening to end my career if I don’t return to LA immediately, but how can I abandon my only sister? I heard from a friend that you might know where she is and if she’s okay. If that’s true you would be my hero, Mitch. I would be eternally grateful, so please, could you help me?” She kept her hand on his arm and her eyes locked onto his as she spoke. She could see as his expressions wavered and she wondered if she had said enough.
“Come inside,” Mitch said as he glanced up and down the street and then jerked his head towards the door.
He walked into the house and Blue and then Chelsea followed. The inside of the house wasn’t any better than the outside. Looking around Chelsea realized no one had made any changes to the house in what looked like seventy years. There were oil-filled hurricane lamps in the corners and ratty and broken furniture was scattered over the pockmarked and scratched wooden floors.
“You really Blue DeMarco?” he asked as the stood in the destroyed living room.
“Yeah,” Blue said, crossing his arms.
“I heard you were good,” Mitch said with an appraising nod. “Everyone was very excited to hear you were back in town. There was a lot of interest in seeing you go back in the ring.”
“He’s not going back in the ring,” Chelsea cut it. “That’s barbaric and wrong and you can’t make him do it.” Next to her she could see as Blue tensed and his jaw tightened.
“That so?” Mitch asked.
“I want to get Chelsea’s sister back. Where are they keeping her?”
“I don’t know,” Mitch said shaking his head. “That was a serious job. He brought in some guys he used to work with. That’s way above my pay grade.”
“Please, Mitch,” Chelsea said. “We’ve been searching for days, but we’ve only come up with dead ends. We don’t have anything; can’t you help us at all? Could you tell us about the men who took her, the men from Detroit? We would never tell anyone that you told us anything. I swear it.”
“I want backstage passes to all your concerts for all of time,” Mitch said after a moment’s thought.
“Done!” Chelsea said holding her hand out. Mitch reached out with his and she felt his dry papery skin beneath her own. She would have invited Mitch to live in her future guest house if he had asked. She had gotten off light with just the concert tickets.
“So, these guys have a good business up in Detroit. Drugs, girls, fights, you name it. Whatever you want, for the right price, they can get it for you. And by anything, I mean anything. But they were famous for their fights; they were real nasty, down and dirty affairs, so naturally all the businessmen wanted to come and bet and watch the fights.
The boys from Detroit made good money, they sold tickets and drinks and even took a cut of the bets. They were doing very well for themselves, but you can always do better, you know? So the boys began to organize a different kind of fight, something that would get them in a lot more trouble than just an underground fight club if the five-oh ever stopped by. These fights were for the richest and most depraved men. There was a one million dollar buy-in, but you had to be personally invited by one of the boys to get invited.”
“Whoa,” Chelsea said. “What made those fights so special?”
“They were to the death. One man versus another, no weapons, no gloves, no refs, just a fight to the death and then the boys get rid of the body and everybody goes home getting to feel like they lived for once in their lives. Mind if I smoke?” he asked, taking a shaky hand and pulling out a pack of Camel Lights. Chelsea and Blue shook their heads and he hit a cigarette, blew out a large plume of smoke and continued. “I went once. I did a personal run for one of the boys; he needed blow and his favorite hooker, I got them both and it wasn’t easy – the girl’s other client was very unhappy. But the boss was pleased and he brought me down into his basement to watch,” Mitch said, shaking his head. “It was awful. It was these two men who had nothing against each other trying to kill each other while a room full other men cheered and yelled and bet money. The memory of it makes my skin crawl.”
Chelsea glanced up at Blue and saw he was white as a sheet. He was looking intently at Mitch and every muscle of his body was tense.