by Jack Tunney
Across the ring, Johnny O’Hara got to one knee facing his corner and made a quick sign of the cross with one glove. He got back to his feet, put his gloves on the top rope for a moment. With his back still to Ben, he slipped out of his robe.
The kid was pink all over. However, he had broad shoulders and muscular arms. His back tapered at the waist, just like a fighter’s should.
Ben didn’t know what to make of the ref’s announcement, or what the corner man had said. He knew it probably wasn’t a good idea to trust anything Joe might say, but had Victoria played him for a fool? Johnny O’Hara looked like a fighter – how could he be winless?
Then the kid turned around and everything made sense, especially Joe’s clue.
D.O.A. Eddie O’Brien.
Throughout the movie, a tough guy, Ben couldn’t recall the name of the character or the actor, kept the Eddie O’Brien character subdued by punching his midsection – “I’m gonna give it to you in the belly,” the tough guy kept saying. “Can’t take it in the belly.”
Johnny O’Hara’s belly looked like a pink throw pillow.
Ben turned and glanced down at his corner man, who nodded and grinned as he handed up a mouthpiece. Not Ben’s mouthpiece. A mouthpiece.
The skinny ref waved an arm. “Let’s go.”
The bell rang from somewhere in the darkness and Ben danced to the center of the ring to square-off with O’Hara, whose pink throw pillow belly jiggled just a bit with his every bounce.
The kid moved left, testing Ben’s guard with a set of weak, probing jabs. “Guess you decided to try your hand after all, huh?” he murmured around his mouthpiece.
“Yeah.” Ben circled right. “Figured why not?” He threw a hard jab at the kid’s guard, which held.
“Yeah.” The kid stepped inside Ben’s guard, drove a left hook into Ben’s ribs, then caught him with a right cross on the cheek bone.
Both shots hurt.
Ben stepped back, blocked a straight left, then fired a straight right of his own that split O’Hara’s guard and snapped his head back.
The kid stepped back, his guard still up, and shook off the shot. He moved forward again, circling left.
O’Hara had a punch and could take a punch, but his zero-and-five record had to come from somewhere.
Eddie O’Brien.
The kid moved in again. Ben looked to move left and get an angle, but O’Hara stepped to his left, cutting Ben off and unloading with piston shots to the ribs.
Ben tucked his elbows and the kid’s gloves flashed upstairs, landing three quick hooks to his face, two lefts and a right. Ben staggered back and his spine touched rope.
The crowed heaved forward in their seats, gasped.
O’Hara moved inside and threw some sharp hooks at Ben’s body, but they mostly found elbows and forearms this time.
Ben showed the kid his shoulder then stood him up with a straight left. He finishing his sequence with a roundhouse right aimed at O’Hara’s middle.
The kid jackknifed away to avoid the blow like a spastic marionette. When his feet hit the mat, his trunks slipped below his navel and the whole pink throw pillow bounced out.
Ben pounded his gloves together and moved forward.
The crowd exchanged glances and nods.
The kid grabbed at his waistband, but abandoned the action as Ben approached and threw a wild overhand punch.
Ben ducked right and fired a right over the kid’s guard, which found the mark. O’Hara staggered back a step, his right arm up, and Ben planted his right foot on the inside and powered a left uppercut to the kid’s belly.
Wuhhhfff, was all O’Hara had to say as his mouthpiece flew out and skidded across the canvas.
Ben glanced at the thin ref. There was no move to step between them, so Ben pressed forward. He pounded the kid’s right ribs with a left hook, then pile-drove a straight right into the pink throw pillow, which gave way until Ben was almost in to his wrist.
O’Hara staggered back, arms wrapped around his middle, and ate a right hook from Ben that spun him into the ropes.
The crowd coursed forward.
The kid backpedaled to the corner. He tried to meet Ben coming in with an uppercut, but something inside him appeared to seize and the blow sailed past Ben’s chest.
Now inside, Ben threw a four-punch combo to O’Hara’s middle, which turned strawberry red. The kid grunted, groaned and jerked with each shot. He leaned his rear end on the turnbuckle, his guard a worthless dangle.
Ben stepped back, popped O’Hara’s forehead with a jab before loading up a right cross. He threw it, but the kid dropped to the mat in a fetal heap and the shot hit the turnbuckle.
Ben careened into the corner shoulder first, ended up straddling the fallen kid as fire arced up his right arm.
With the crowd on its feet, the ref pulled at Ben’s left shoulder. “Neutral, neutral.”
Ben pulled himself out of the corner, stepped over the kid, who hadn’t moved, and trotted to the closest neutral corner, shaking his right hand out.
The ref squinted into the darkness beyond Ben’s corner, nodded, then looked down at O’Hara. “Four…five…six…”
The kid just held his heaving gut until ten.
ROUND 8
“Nice fight, Harman.”
“Thanks.”
Back at the sleazy bar, the tipsy longshoreman moved on. He’d been the latest in a series to stop by Ben’s stool. Every time Ben felt a tap on his shoulder, his excitement to see her renewed, but all the taps, including this last one, were too hard. Ben drained the remnants of his second beer and signaled Roy.
The bar buzzed in a way Ben hadn’t experienced since he arrived in Mamaroneck. Everyone talked about the fights, the fighters and their own war stories about what happened to the money they’d laid down. Two uniformed cops, one of whom Ben saw by the door on his way out of the warehouse, sat at a corner table away from the lights.
Roy arrived and took Ben’s mug without a word. There was another tap on Ben’s shoulder. Too hard, just like the rest.
“There he is.”
Ben twisted on his stool and gave Joe something resembling a smile. “Hey, Joe.”
Joe was with a ruby-lipped brunette this time, along with scissor face and the beanpole who’d announced and refereed the fight. The thin guy pushed a hand at Ben between Joe and scissor face. “Nice fight. You took care of business. Name’s Terry, by the way.”
“Thanks.” Ben accepted Terry’s hand, but didn’t shake or squeeze it very hard.
“Terry took his hand back and put it on Joe’s shoulder. “I’ll see you, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Joe patted Terry’s hand. “You got it. Thanks, Terry.”
Terry disappeared into the crowd. Roy put a fresh beer down in front of Ben.
Scissor face took what Ben considered to be Vicky’s stool to his left, then signaled Roy to order a vodka stinger.
Joe guided the ruby-lipped brunette to a stool near the corner of the bar, then leaned in close to Ben. “The kid was something of a gift, but I still thought you handled him nicely.” He popped Ben’s shoulder with the backs of four fingers. “You been in there before. That wasn’t your first fight.”
Ben gave him a shrug and a smile.
“That’s what I thought.” Joe smiled. “That’s why I give the kid to new guys, you know? ‘Cause sometimes, big guys come in thinking they can fight, but can’t.” He mocked a gorilla’s stance.
Ben’s big brow knit. He pointed in the direction Terry had gone. “They said the kid’s never won.”
Joe shook his head, his rounded, symmetrical face twisted. “The kid’s a waste. With that jelly belly? Forget it.” Another four-fingered tap. “But that’s kids, you know? Thinks it’s all about how hard you can hit, meanwhile…” He tapped his own paunch. “Forget it.”
He leaned in even closer to Ben. “Best thing with him, he’s so hungry and stupid. I told him I’d only pay him when he won.” He laughed and tapped Ben’s chest
.
“Really?” Ben leaned back on his stool. Scissor face moved his stinger out of the way. Ben shook his head at Joe. “Jeez.”
Joe was still all smiles. “Speaking of pay...” He dug into his pockets and fished out a roll of green. He stood close to Ben, his shoulders rounded, using Ben’s body and his own to shield the roll from any prying eyes. He peeled five twenties from inside the roll and passed them to Ben, who slid them into a hip pocket with a nod. Joe pocketed the roll, stepped back from Ben and squeezed his shoulder. “As promised, right?”
Ben nodded. “Right.”
Joe gave his shoulder a little punch. “Want to go again?”
Ben shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. We’ll see.”
“I hope we do see.” Joe grinned. “I could make some real money off you with some of my top guys.” He flipped a thumb over his shoulder at nothing specific. “You see Jackson fight tonight?”
Lance Jackson. Joe’s champ.
“Nah.” Ben shook his head, reached for his beer. “I was still cleaning up, relaxing, you know?”
Joe put his hands out in front of his waist. “It was great. Knocked out this big guinea in off the island. Bam.” He punched his own palm. “Good fight. Lots of action in it.” He nodded at Ben, big grin.
“Yeah.” Ben nodded again, his lower lip pursed. “Sounds interesting.”
Joe’s baby blues lit up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ben smiled. “You know, we’ll see.”
“OK.” Joe showed his palms. “I’ll say no more. Come see me, or I’ll come see you this week. Maybe we’ll put you on again next Friday. Real fight this time.”
“Sure.” Ben smiled. “Okay.”
Fingers tapped Joe’s shoulder. He turned to face them, shook hands with whomever was there, then looked back at Ben. “I’ll be in touch. Tell Roy your drinks are on me.”
Ben gave a two-finger salute, his elbows on the bar. “You got it.”
Joe moved away into the crowd. In the narrow space between Joe and the shapely woman hanging off the longshoreman next to him, Ben caught sight of the man who’d tapped Joe’s shoulder. It was Pete. He and Joe moved toward a corner until the crowd swallowed them.
Ben turned back to the bar and sipped his beer. Scissor face was still in Vicky’s seat, his stinger in one hand and the other on the thigh of a homely waif on the stool to his left. Ben rolled his eyes and sipped his beer.
Another beer and a few more too-hard taps on Ben’s shoulder later, scissor face and the homely waif left, but Vicky was neither in his place nor anywhere in sight. Ben slid from his stool, gave Roy a wave and headed through the crowd.
There weren’t as many people in the bar at that point, but still enough that Ben had to maneuver his size through with some care. One drunken sailor tripped into him, but apologized immediately and stepped away. Ben passed near the corner where he thought Joe and Pete had headed, but there were two bleary-eyed girls slumped there instead.
Ben made it to the door just in time to meet Johnny O’Hara coming in. The kid stopped short. He tried to stand up straight, but he grimaced a little, one red hand gripped his stomach. Even so, he looked Ben in the eye.
“Good fight.”
“Yeah, you know what…” Ben jammed a hand into his pocket. He pulled Joe’s money out and separated one twenty from the other four. “You, too.”
The kid looked at the twenty in Ben’s left hand, then at the other four in his right, then back at Ben’s eyes. His jaw pulsed, then he ripped the twenty from Ben’s hand and marched past him into the bar.
No one remained in the lobby except the night man, who dozed in his chair behind the desk with a stag mag across his chest. Ben spared him no more than a glance and headed for the steps.
A man in a sharp suit stepped from behind a pillar opposite the staircase. Ben stopped short and his fists clenched. The man, who had a thin mustache and a hat in his hand, gave Ben a single nod and walked out the flophouse door.
Ben’s torso relaxed as he crossed to the steps.
Vicky stepped out from behind the other side of the pillar.
“Hi.”
He froze. “Hi.” He put his hands on his hips, then crossed them over his chest, then let them dangle. “What’s…did you see…see the…”
“I saw you.” She stepped in front of the pillar then leaned against it, her hands behind the small of her back. She wore red pumps and a dress to match. She tilted her head to extend the curtain of auburn hair across her face. “You were great.”
He smiled. “Thanks, but, you know…” A hand wandered away from his body, searching for the banister, but came up empty. “Wasn’t much of a fight.”
“I still liked it.” Her smile was sly. “What you did to him.”
“Uh.” Ben cleared his throat and turned his hips at an angle to hers. He extended a hand back toward the bar. “Did you want to have a drink? I’m sure they’ll still be open.”
She nodded up the staircase behind him. “You sharing a room up there?”
“No…”
“Let’s talk up there then.” She pushed away from the pillar and sauntered to his side. She curled a finger through the belt loop above his hip and gave it a little tug. “I want to hear all about what you did to him.”
***
She had her shoes off and knelt on the bed before he could lock the door. He turned around and she brightened, reached out to him. “Come.”
Ben crossed the little room and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his thighs, fingers turning the key end over end. He glanced at his work boots, his feet still in them, next to her empty pumps on the floor.
He felt Vicky’s soft, bare arm slide over his back, her fingers squeezed his shoulder. Her other arm curled around his bicep and she pulled her body tight against his. She laid her head on his shoulder. “So, tell me.”
His body felt like a capped volcano. “Tell you what?”
“How it felt.” She squeezed his bicep. “To beat the kid into submission.” She gave his shoulder a little kiss. “To take his will to fight away.”
He played with the key. “It felt all right. You know.” He risked a glance at her, but that’s all. “You know I’ve had fights before, so…”
“Yeah, but that’s the first time you fought in front of me.” She ran her hand down his forearm. “How did that feel?”
“Well, you know.” The key felt slick with his sweat. He shrugged. “I didn’t know you were there until now, so…”
“But now you know.”
“Yeah.”
“So?”
He did it, he looked at her, right into the one radiant, green eye not shadowed by her hair. “It felt good.”
She smiled big, scrunched up against him a little tighter. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“Mmmm, I’m glad.” She closed her eyes and ran her fingertips up and down his arm. “I liked watching it. You looked so strong.”
He kissed her for three seconds before his mind caught up and realized what his mouth was doing. When it did, he started to pull away, but her soft, smooth palm on the side of his face kept his head, and his lips, in place.
He twisted on the bed, wrapped an arm around her waist. He brought his other hand to her knee. No stockings again. His hand slid over her red dress up her thigh, to her hip.
Vicky shifted her weight to one hip and put her legs over his lap. The kissing was fast, aggressive and continuous.
Ben let his hand wander over her belly to her ribs. He stayed there for several kisses, then inched his fingers up under her bosom and stopped.
Without breaking the kiss, she took his hand, interlaced her fingers with his and guided him to her chest.
They fell back onto the bed, Vicky on her back, Ben on his side tight against her. They kissed while their hands explored until Ben pulled his mouth from hers and, looking down at her, moved his hand to the hair that fell across the near side of her face.
She stiffened. “Wait.” She grabbed his wrist.
He froze. “What? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry…”
“No.” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “It’s just…”
He pulled his fingers from her hair and wrapped them around her hand. “We don’t have to do this. I mean, I guess we got a little caught up in the moment.”
“No.” She shook her head again, a tear pooled in the eye he could see. “It’s not that. It’s…” She turned her head away from him so her cheek lay flush on the bed. She pulled her hand away from his and pushed the hair away from her face.
A red ridged, crooked scar ran from the corner of her mouth to her ear.
She laid there, eyes closed, but tearing.
Ben put a wide, rough fingertip to the scar. Vicky’s entire body stiffened. She gasped. Ben traced his finger along the scar, barely touching it. He felt the tension melt from her body. He leaned over her and put his lips to the scar for the softest kiss he could manage. “Who?”
She looked up at him. A tear rolled from the corner of each eye. She reached up with the hand she’d used to stop his and caressed his face. She ran her fingers over his big ears, across the jutting ridge of his jaw, the thick bones around his eyes. Her hand went around the back of his head and pulled his face down to hers. After a moment, she ran her hand across the wide slope of his brow, and kissed it in three different spots.
He smiled down at her, tears in his eyes, too. “Victoria.”
ROUND 9
The next morning, Ben’s eyes popped open to sunlight assaulting the unshaded room, his arm laid across Vicky’s chest, which rose and fell gently as she slept. He squinted past her at his alarm clock on the bedside table.
At noon on the day after a fight, Ben was supposed to meet Pete in their spot for updates and to plan the scam’s next move.
Two-thirty.
“Jeez.” Ben kicked the bed sheet from over both of them and leaped to his feet. “Oh, jeez.”
Vicky stretched and yawned on the bare mattress. “What time is it? Whoa!” She bolted up, snatched the sheet from the foot of the bed and pulled it to her throat. “What in the world?”
“Sorry.” Ben patted the air between them, his shorts and workpants already on. “Sorry. I have an appointment and I’m late. Real late.” He tried to pull a sock on while standing and toppled over onto the bed.
