Chapter 2 - THE GYMIron Crown MMA occupied an old brick warehouse on the south side of the city, squeezed between an auto-body shop and a wholesale flooring company.
I arrived at 9:07 the next morning.
No uniform.
No medals.
No old photographs.
Just jeans, work boots, and the faded flannel shirt Claire had given me three Christmases earlier.
My name is Thomas Mercer.
I was fifty-seven years old.
Gray beard.
Bad right knee.
Scar across my left forearm from an accident I rarely discussed.
To the young fighters inside Iron Crown, I probably looked like someone’s father coming to complain about membership fees.
That suited me.
The gym smelled like disinfectant, sweat, rubber mats, and old ambition.
Heavy bags hung from chains.
A chain-link cage filled the rear half of the building.
Twenty or thirty people were training.
A muscular man behind the front desk glanced up.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Derek Kane.”
His expression changed.
“You media?”
“No.”
“Manager?”
“No.”
He looked me over.
“You owe him money?”
“Other way around.”
That got his attention.
Before he could answer, laughter came from the cage.
Derek was inside.
I recognized him from Claire’s photographs.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark hair.
Tattoo wrapping around his ribs.
He was sparring with a smaller fighter while six men watched.
Derek caught the kid with a hard body shot.
The kid dropped.
“Come on,” Derek laughed. “That all you got?”
His friends laughed too.
I had seen men like him before.
Men who confused the ability to cause pain with authority.
Derek finally noticed me.
His smile disappeared.
He stepped through the cage door.
“Well, look who finally showed up.”
Several heads turned.
So he had expected me.
Good.
Derek pulled off his gloves.
“You Thomas?”
“Yes.”
“Claire’s daddy?”
I didn’t answer.
He laughed.
“Man, she really ran home crying, didn’t she?”
The room slowly became quieter.
I took out my phone.
“Last night you sent Claire several messages.”
His smile tightened.
“She showed you our private conversations?”
“She was unconscious when you sent some of them.”
A few fighters looked at Derek.
He shrugged.
“Couples argue.”
“Did you hit her?”
“No.”
“Did you shove her?”
“She came at me.”
“Did you prevent her from leaving your apartment?”
His jaw shifted.
“You a cop?”
“No.”
“Then why are you asking questions like one?”
“Because I’m giving you an opportunity.”
He laughed again.
“For what?”
“To tell the truth.”
That got more laughter from his friends.
One of them, a thick-necked heavyweight leaning against the cage, shook his head.
“Old man came in here thinking he’s Judge Judy.”
I ignored him.
Derek stepped closer.
“You know what Claire’s problem is?”
I waited.
“She’s spoiled.”
I felt my hands tighten.
“She wants everything her way. You probably raised her like some little princess who never heard no.”
“Did you fracture her ribs?”
His face hardened.
“I said she came at me.”
“She weighs one hundred twenty-eight pounds.”
“You calling me a liar?”
“Yes.”
The laughter stopped.
Derek took another step.
His chest was almost touching mine.
“You walk into my gym and call me a liar?”
“Is this your gym?”
“My coach owns it.”
“Then why do you keep calling it yours?”
Something flickered in his eyes.
That was useful.
Ego makes people careless.
A bald man around fifty emerged from an office.
“What’s going on?”
Derek glanced at him.
“Nothing, Coach.”
The man looked at me.
“I’m Rick Dalton. Owner.”
“Thomas Mercer.”
Recognition did not appear in his face.
I was glad.
Rick looked between us.
“Problem?”
“My daughter was hospitalized last night.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed.
“Claire?”
“Yes.”
Several people went still.
So they knew her.
Derek waved a hand.
“She fell during an argument.”
I looked around.
“Anybody here believe that?”
Nobody answered.
Derek’s expression darkened.
“Get out.”
“Gladly.”
He seemed surprised.
I turned toward the door.
That was when the heavyweight called after me.
“Thought you came to teach him a lesson.”
I stopped.
Looked back.
“No.”
Derek smirked.
“Smart.”
“I came to see who would lie for him.”
Silence.
Derek’s smile vanished.
I lifted my phone.
“The answer is apparently a lot fewer people than you think.”
I walked out.
He followed me into the parking lot.
“Hey!”
I kept walking.
“You threatening me?”
I turned.
“No.”
“Because if you are, say it.”
“I’m not.”
He moved closer.
“You think because you’ve got gray hair people are gonna treat you like some wise old tough guy?”
“No.”
“Claire told me about you.”
That made me curious.
“What did she say?”
“That you were military.”
I said nothing.
Derek grinned.
“She acts like you’re some legend.”
“I’m not.”
“Marines, right?”
“Yes.”
“What were you? Cook?”
“Sometimes.”
He laughed.
I had cooked plenty of meals over the years.
He clearly thought the answer embarrassed me.
It didn’t.
Derek tapped my chest with two fingers.
“Here’s what you need to understand. Claire is dramatic. Whatever she told you, she started it.”
I looked at his fingers.
Then at him.
“Don’t touch me again.”
His smile widened.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The tough-guy voice.”
He shoved me.
Not hard.
Just enough to provoke me.
I stepped backward.
Did nothing.
His expression changed.
He wanted retaliation.
He needed it.
Because if I swung first in his parking lot, he could turn himself into the victim.
“Come on,” he said.
I noticed a security camera above the entrance.
I looked directly toward it.
Then back at Derek.
“No.”
His jaw flexed.
“Coward.”
“Maybe.”
I got into my truck.
As I closed the door, he leaned toward the window.
“You tell Claire she belongs with me.”
I started the engine.
“No person belongs to you.”
Then I drove away.
At the first red light, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A young man whispered.
“Mr. Mercer?”
“Yes.”
“My name’s Eli. I train at Iron Crown.”
I recognized the smaller fighter Derek had dropped.
“What can I do for you?”
He took a breath.
“You asked if anyone there believed Derek.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t.”
May you like
I waited.
“There’s something you need to see.”
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