I quickly decided that while Dennis has the best idea—beat the shit out of JT until he confesses everything—that is a crime we can’t afford to risk. Anything we got out of that wouldn’t be admissible.

No. Our best bet was to use my memory of the tattoo to identify my attacker, and leave it up to Lady Justice to force JT to give a DNA sample that would most definitely match the semen taken from my hair that night.

Taking Beck’s hand, I squeeze it and say, “Identifying the other men will be the icing on our cake if we can do that, but let’s keep our eyes on the prize, okay?”

“So brave,” Beck murmurs before giving me a sad smile. He then turns to Dennis and says, “We have our agenda. First is to get JT disconnected from me. That means out of The Sugar Bowl.”

“And he needs to be ruined,” I add. Dennis’ eyes swing from Beck to me with a glow of appreciation, and in that moment, I understand that he’s a man who personally understands retribution. I’m dying to know his backstory, but it would be totally in poor taste to ask, I think.

Leaning back in his chair, Dennis folds his hands over his stomach and turns to Beck. “Bottom line…JT is cash poor. Since The Sugar Bowl started three years ago and he paid your father back the start-up capital, his living expenses have exceeded his income. That means not only has he squandered every bit of his yearly income on a lavish lifestyle, gambling, and drugs, he’s got no appreciable liquid assets he can use to bail himself out. There are some modest investments in mutual funds, but most of his money is tied up in his Sausalito home with little to no equity. His credit cards are maxed out. Again, he might be able to scrape a few million together, but he’d need some time to do it. Rather than try to pay off his debt, he’s making the idiotic—and for us, very opportune—decision to double down to his bookie. If he loses, they will want immediate payment. And trust me when I say they will make him hurt to get the money. He’ll be desperate for help.”

Beck had told me about JT betting double or nothing on the Mariota-VanZant fight that’s going to be held on January 2nd. I don’t know anything about this sort of stuff, but I didn’t have a hard time figuring out that if JT loses, he’ll owe four million dollars, and based on what Dennis is saying, he will not be able to come up with that sum.

“How do you know all this stuff?” I ask Dennis with a mixture of amazement and skepticism. “I mean…JT’s personal finances, his gambling. I mean, how do you even know what he owes to a bookie and what he’s betting?”

Gone is the charming look of an Irish boy in an expensive suit and his eyes chill somewhat. It’s not enough to scare me, but enough to know that Dennis Flaherty is someone who walks a narrow line, not afraid to step off onto the dark side.

“Plausible deniability” he says coolly, but then tempers the rebuke with somewhat of an understanding smile. “You’re safer and more shielded the less you know about my methods. Just know that my resources are not only accurate but infinite, and when the money is right, such as what your boyfriend is shelling out, there isn’t much I can’t accomplish.”

My head swivels to Beck. “Just how much money are you shelling out?”

“No clue,” Beck says with a sheepish smile. “I gave him a blank check.”

“What the hell, Beck?” I say in exasperation. “You can’t just go handing someone a blank check without knowing what exactly you’re getting.”

“He’s getting a way to ruin JT,” Dennis says calmly, and my gaze slides back over to him. Gone is the ice in his eyes and instead he holds an amused smile. “But I haven’t filled the check out yet, because that all depends on what you want to do from here on out with the information I just gave you.”

“So tell me exactly what it will cost,” Beck says, his tone now all businesslike as he sits forward on the couch and rests his elbows on his knees.

“How much do you know about the UFC?” he asks, to both of us I believe as his gaze travels back and forth between us.

“A little,” Beck says.

“Nothing,” I say at the same time.

Dennis leans forward in the chair, matching Beck’s posture of elbows resting casually on his knees. “UFC stands for Ultimate Fighting Championship. It’s a promotion organization that sponsors bouts between fighters who practice mixed martial arts. MMA has come a long way since its inception in the early nineties when it was a rarely watched sport of just two men in a cage brawling it out with very few rules by which to abide. Today it generates over five hundred million dollars a year in revenue, and its pay-per-view events are becoming as popular as some premium boxing matches.”

“That makes it a popular sport to bet on,” Beck surmises.

“Exactly,” Dennis says with a nod. “But here’s why this is an opportunity for you. Most UFC fighters don’t make a lot of money. The median pay for a fighter hovers around the twenty-thousand-dollar mark with some bonuses thrown on top for a win.”

“Not a lot of money to get your ass kicked,” I mutter.

“It’s not,” Dennis agrees. “Sure, some of the top-billed fighters can earn hundreds of thousands for a match, but those are probably only the top one percent.”

“Where does VanZant fall?” Beck asks.

Dennis smiles, because Beck has caught on. “He’s undefeated, so he commands a bit more, but he’s only getting a hundred thousand for the fight, with a fifty-thousand bonus for the win.”

“So he can be bought?” I ask with skepticism.

“Maybe,” Dennis says as he pins me with a direct stare. “He’d have to weigh the risk. He could lose to Mariota, who is also undefeated and the reigning champion of his weight class. That would probably cause his earning potential to be crippled. The other risk is of serious injury. Fighters don’t last long in this sport, as the risk of debilitating injury is high.”

“What are the pros?”

“If he wins, he’s looking at potential lucrative endorsements. A higher salary for his next fights, probably with a cut of pay-per-view earnings. A win against Mariota could potentially send him up the ladder with the big boys who can earn half a million to a million on a fight.”

“So we have to make an offer to him that can’t be refused,” Beck says thoughtfully.