Title: Into The Underground
Summary: When a murdered Naval officer is found in the Miami River, suspicions of his involvement in an illegal boxing circuit arises and Harm is sent undercover to investigate. What he discovers sends him on a roller coaster ride of emotions that may affect his relationship with Mac. Appearances by: Harriet, Bud, Cresswell and Coates.
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This was one of my two stories that I wrote during FOJ – Friends Of JAG's (On ezboard) Summer Season. So, what do you need to know? Mac's in San Diego (so are the Roberts and Coates). And Harm is in London. They are together, but Harm still had to do a stint in London until the General was able to fill the billet. If you guys want more info, please visit FOJ and read the rest of the stories!
Since these were meant to be like "episodes" I wrote it as such, just like JAG episodes with a Teaser and then, commercials… etc. The commercials were cheesy, but I kept them on for entertainment purposes. ;)
Total number of chapters is – 5 – I think. ;) This is to keep your appetites at bay until I get somewhere with… Whatever I am calling the Paraguay story now. Actually, I am up to Chapter 4 and I am loving it at the moment, save a smut part that I can't get past LOL! I suck… Anyway… enjoy gang!
Fasten your seatbelts, JAG takes off next.
Near Downtown Miami
The abandoned warehouse situated just off of the Miami River had once been used, as storage for cargo vessels and even in a Sylvester Stalone movie. Now, it sat there, rusting away, waiting for real estate to buy up the land and make, yet another, high-rise condo. Though it had outlived it's commercial usefulness, some members of the Navy and Marine Corps found it to be the best location for The Underground, an illegal boxing circuit where men, without the formalities of rank or service, battled and bet away their frustrations. The Miami-Dade Police Department wouldn't interfere with the proceedings and most government officials had been paid hush money by the founder of The Underground, a man who's identity was more secret than the club itself.
Smells of sweat and blood permeated the confines of what they called the fighting room which was, effectively, an massive, metal storage room with double doors that would shut by themselves. The room was chosen because there were no pilings in the center for men to use as a weapon. In fact, it was completely bare save for the sprayed-on circle on the ground signifying the area of battle.
That night, forty-eight shirtless and barefoot men stood around that circle cheering on the two gladiators of the evening. It was quite a soundtrack: the sound of men cheering, combined with the sounds of a solid punch hitting bare flesh with the occasional sound of bones and cartilage breaking.
"C'mon Max, I got a hundred on you!" One of the men yelled as Lt. Commander Maxwell Riedling, one of two men in the fighting circle, connected with a right hook. "Yea! Nail him!"
The Underground was run in complete secrecy and one could only join if they'd been asked by one of the members. Corporal Paul Greene, the second man in the circle, spun around, kicking Max's arm. "Atta boy, Paulie!"
Of course, there were rules – no shirts, no shoes, no weapons of any kind. The fight would only end if one of the men were severely injured, knocked unconscious or tapped out. For the most part, those that were in the service opted to tap out before they had to explain too much to their spouses or commanding officers. "C'mon! Take your best shot!" Paul dropped his hands, leaving his body open for a beating. When Max missed, he fought back with a jab.
The location rarely changed. In fact, they had not had to move out of the warehouse for several months now. So good was the secrecy that The Underground held. Then again, some of the men knew that it was more than secrecy and rather, threats and blackmail that had kept everything quiet.
To the back of the fighting room sat the only fully clothed man dressed in black BDUs with a cellphone to his ear and a wad of money in his hands. He'd been 'lovingly' deemed 'The Messenger.' "Three hundred on Greene? Done."
For all of his bravado and cockiness, Greene soon found out that Riedling had a few tricks up his sleeve. The man attacked him, delivering a combination of punches that had nearly knocked the lights out of Greene's head. Blood trickled down his right nostril which he brushed it away only to stare at the blood that was now on his hand. "You fuckin' son of a bitch!" He angrily glared up at Riedling and then attacked. With a quick movement, Riedling was on the floor. He tapped once and then twice, and yet, it didn't stop Greene from kicking him with an animalistic rage. He kicked hard, landing a solid blow to the other man's abdomen. Swiftly, as Riedling was attempting to bring him down to the ground, Green jumped on the other man's body, grappling with him. Managing to partially straddle the officer's body, Green held rose Riedling's head up only to ram his forehead into it.
"Rumor has it that you were going to give us up Commander. . .It isn't going to happen." His voice was low and menacing. The look in his eyes was that of a caged animal out for his first kill. "Help him up!" He ordered, glancing over at two men who had that similar look in their eyes. "Let's take him out and make sure he's okay." The rest of the men, cheered him on, raising his hands in victory.
Soon, Greene joined the other two men, Lance Corporal Mike Sutton and Lance Corporal Tate Donovan, who were dragging Max's partially limb body down a narrow corridor. "Hold him up." They straightened Reidling's body, each man holding an arm roughly. Green struck him, again and again to the point that another blow would have cost him his life. "Secrets are meant to be kept, Commander." He struck hard again, this time, miscalculating and slamming his fist to an area of the face that Marines used to kill a man.
When his body went completely limp, Sutton glared at his comrade, his look of pleasure turning to one of fear. "You moron! You were just supposed to scare him!"
"He won't say anything." Green shrugged. To him, one unconscious officer meant nothing. Especially when the man was such a push over. Officers, in his opinion were nothing but lazy pricks who served to make enlisted folks miserable.
Donovan shook his head, then came down next the body noting the sliver of blood that was coming out of Riedling's ear. "No, of course he won't say anything! Paul, you just killed an officer!"
"Grab his body, dump him in the river." The men spun around as they heard the order from the shadows where a someone, silhouetted in darkness, stood amongst a cloud of smoke which emanated from the cigar in his mouth. "That's an order." Without another word, they took Lt. Commander Maxwell Riedling's body and tossed it into the Miami River.
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