Granite Grit (Fighting's in the Blood #1) by Lee Cooper

don’t make any profit from this. I’m just doing Bull a favour.”
      This day was getting stranger with every passing hour. Bull seemed like a big-time criminal. I felt myself getting sucked in. I wanted to find out what was in the briefcases.
      “So, how do you make your money ‘en? Surely can’t all be from thieving?” I asked.
      “Thieving? Less o’ the swearing. I suppose I can tell you, but it stays between us.”
      “Well, I don’t think I’ll be talking about this day for a long, time so I think you’re safe.”
      “See this unlicensed show we’re going to? Mike and Bull pay me to train the guys and find the fighters. I make a lot of money on the night, placing bets on who I think will win an’ most of the time, I know. Plus, the thieving adds up, then there’s the wee bit of scrap dealing I do.”
      The part about Mike and Bull paying him to find and train the guys, I figured out for myself on the way to Montrose. The betting I couldn’t have known about.
      “Bets? What bets? There’s betting at these things?”
      “There’s always a bookie at these shows and whoever runs the show, provides the bookies. It’s one o’ the main reasons they happen. It’s a major slice o’ the profits.”
      “You betting on me?”
      “Don’t worry about that. Just do the business the night. I never bet on my own guys if I think they’re going to lose. There’s usually about three or four fights a night, so there’s a good chance of making a few quid.”
      Things starting to fall into place, here. Tim thought he’d get me in the door, use me as a puppet to make some cash, not thinking twice about playing with my emotions, or my safety. Not sure he would be betting on me tonight, but my instinct told me he would.
      We spent the rest of the journey to Dundee discussing how much money he made in the past. Tens of thousands, he said. Saying he had a gift, able to pick the winner just by the return of a look. Involved in the game for years, it became second nature.
      I quizzed him on the rules for the evening, looking to ease my worry. The fight would take place in a ring, I would wear gloves. That was all I needed to know.
     
     

Chapter 17
     
    The Venue:
     
      Edging closer to Dundee, taking a slip-road off the dual-carriageway onto some country roads, Tim found himself lost, and me confused. All I could see was green Scottish countryside, fences, sheep and cattle. Pretty much in the middle of nowhere.
      “I can’t fuckin’ remember where this place is.”
      “What kind of place we looking for?”
      “A massive shed covered wi’ blue cladding.”
      “Got a postcode?”
      “No, I’ve not got fuck all like that. Been ages since I’ve been here. Got lost last time, as well.”
      We drove around a little more. Taking his time to get his bearings, although still seeming disoriented, Tim stopped dead in the middle of the road and pointed out the window.
      “That’s the bastard over there, the blue roof, you see it?”
      It was pretty well concealed from the road, the height of the birch wood virtually hiding the shed. Driving a little further along the country road, taking a turning onto a farmer’s rigid dirt track, where a row of ancient trees overhung the road on each side. The woodland surrounded the shed on the left hand side as the road opened up to a big patch of an uneven, hard, muddy surface.  A large shed to the left and a farmer’s cottage over to the right.
    A collection of guys hovered outside the large roller-door, including Mike and Bull, the only two I recognised. Most of them dressed casually, except two guys who stood out, one in an immaculate Italian-cut, three-buttoned duke blue suit, smoking a skinny cigar, gold rings on his fingers, looking misplaced in this company.
      Beside him was another well-dressed man. About the same height, but stockily-built, at five foot six. Dressed in sleek pressed trousers, t-shirt and suit jacket, all