Read Online Last of the Mighty by Phineas Foxx - Free Book Online Page A

the wagon look like it was always just barely muddling through. Stuck in a terminal Monday. It was going to make it, but it wouldn’t be easy.
    I checked the time. Ten fifty-six. A few minutes to chat with my hosts before eleven—when the bell would sound and the fisticuffs would begin. I got out of the Falcon and approached the house.
    It was one of those wannabe Italian jobs with two stories, earth-toned stucco, entry fountain, tiled roof, and a few twisty-branched olive trees. Larger than most homes and a long way from any neighbors. If it came to guns, no one would hear them.
    The Committee buzzed in my head, as it had been doing all night. In the past three hours, I’d heard “Gibborim” twice, the “Might One” three times, and “Mighty Man” once. (Gibborin was Hebrew for Mighty.) They were talking about me. Yet, when I’d tried to concentrate on a couple of voices and zero in, I couldn’t do it. My mind was too preoccupied with the likelihood of facing defeat tonight.
    An hour ago, I had been an invincible street fighter swaggering with bravado, and confidence. Now, I was a mouse, jittery with self-doubt. Tucker had destroyed me on the mat a few weeks back. He was stronger, faster, more vicious. Willing to do anything to win. Odds were, tonight’s battle would put me in a body bag. At least I had the assurance that Merryn was okay. I’d talked to her only a half-hour ago.
    I arrived at the door and knocked. Heavy footsteps came from inside, and the smell of a cigar. The door opened.
    Chool. As cute as ever. In a lopsided kind of way.
    â€œEvening, Mighty One.” His misshapen lips played with the cigar in his mouth. “Welcome.” His scratchy voice strove to be pleasant, his fashionable blazer and open-collared shirt an attempt to put me at ease.
    I relaxed. Not a trace of hostility about him. Sure, I would’ve loved to throw down with him right there, but Tucker was target number one now.
    â€œBoyfriend here?” I asked. “Y’know, Tucker? Got a delivery.” My chin motioned to Amos’s wagon. “Big order from BedWetter dot com.”
    Chool’s lumpy face tried on a smile. It didn’t quite fit. “Come on.” He turned and walked into the home.
    I followed, heart drumming. What other choice was there? Smiler had made a direct threat on Merryn’s life. Whatever the price for her safety, I would pay it.
    The place was clean and well-lit. Twenty-foot ceilings. Polished stone floors. Persian rugs and tasteful paintings in the style of the Sistine Chapel. Classical music from hidden speakers. Smell of potpourri. Dark wood, leather chairs, silver trays…that kind of thing. Stylish, but not overdone.
    I wondered who owned the joint. Was Chool a closet sophisticate or were Tucker’s parents on vacation at the Louvre?
    We took three steps down into a large room where Chool invited me to take a seat on an overstuffed couch in front of the cozy flames of a marble fireplace.
    â€œCigar?” he offered, and opened a wooden box full of them.
    â€œNo. But thank you.” I hoped my good manners would help lessen the beating I was sure to receive in about two minutes.
    â€œAugustine Caffrey.” An eight-and-a-half-foot-tall school bus smiled at me from the hall. “Welcome.” Gracious and engaging, he wore a short-sleeved silk shirt the size of a circus tent and loose linen slacks. Casual, elegant. He swirled the red wine in his glass and looked me up and down with something like admiration. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.”
    I stood as he came toward me, a seven-foot twig in his presence. He had the glow of a movie star, his face all symmetry, cheekbones, and jaw line, softened by a friendly smile and caring eyes. Even with such overwhelming height and width, he was approachable and in no way threatening, chummy even.
    He came at me with a tree trunk arm extended. On his other arm,