by Jack Tunney
"A bank guard isn't exactly success."
"You're still boxing."
"Yes."
"Still winning?"
"I had a pretty great fight last night, actually. Really cleaned the guy's clock," I said.
"Then you are making a living, pursuing a dream, and remaining pious, I hope," he said. "That fits my definition of success, son."
Before I could think up an excuse about missing mass too many times lately, he spoke again.
"This must be costing your boss a fortune," he said. "If you need me, call again. In the meantime, look into your heart, Griffin. You know the right thing to do. God will show you the way."
I thanked him, said goodbye and hung up. I looked up and saw Mr. Turner hanging out near his door, watching me through the window. I worried that he had listened in, but when I saw him look at his watch, I realized he probably was just anxious about the cost of the call.
"All set, my boy?" he said as he came through the door.
I thought about telling him right then about the money, but I thought it would be better to just bring it back in the morning and let the chips fall.
"Yes, sir. Thank you for that. I feel much better."
He smiled then and clapped me on the back.
"Good, good," he said. "Well, time to close up shop. I'll see you in the morning."
I nodded, then got up and headed out of his office. I grabbed a few things from my locker in the back, and then headed out into the crisp fall night.
ROUND 9
I turned the corner and headed to my car. It was six, and the tall buildings on either side cast the alley in shadows as the sun sank below the horizon. Mr. Turner usually walked the three blocks up the hill to his home north of downtown, so mine was the only car in the little gravel lot.
It was in the last spot next to the back wall of the building facing the opposite block. As I came around the back of my car and reached for the door, I heard something behind me. Before I could turn, I felt a poke in my back.
"Don't turn around, champ," said a voice. I was pretty sure it was the large robber. While I was thinking about this, someone materialized in front of me, stepping from the shadows at the front of my car. I couldn't make out much in the encroaching darkness, and he had a bandanna over his face and a fedora pulled low. I guessed it was probably the getaway driver. Without warning, he socked me with a vicious right to the stomach. In the ring, it wouldn't have fazed me, but out here, unprepared, it took the wind out of me. I doubled over, keeping my arm out to protect against a knee to the nose.
"Not so tough without a gun in your hand, huh, kid?" came the voice from the back.
"Or while his guy is facing him, right?" said the man who had hit me.
By way of response, the man behind me put a boot in my back and pushed me to the ground. I sprawled on the gravel, the stones skinning my palms as I caught myself. I started to roll over, but the move was met by a fierce kick to the ribs. I scooted so my back was against the wall, then drew my knees to my chest and covered my head with my arms.
"Not much of an offensive threat, I see," said the larger man. "Why don't you sit up and cower in the corner over there. I have some questions for you."
I did as I was told. The fearlessness I had felt in this alley just two days ago was gone. I had been in control of that situation, improbable though that was, but here I clearly had no control.
"So, let's make this easy, kid. Where's the money?"
I knew that's what this was about, but still, the directness of the question startled me.
"The money? How would I know?"
The man sighed, pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. I couldn't make out his features through his bandanna, but it was easy to tell he wasn't happy. He walked toward me, dragging his left leg a bit.
"Is that where I hit you? In the leg?" I said.
He stopped short.
"What are you talking about, kid?" He was close enough for me to see he had a fedora pulled low and a bandana covering most of face. "You haven't gotten a lick in yet."
"Not today," I said. "The other day. After the robbery. I shot you in the leg as you jumped into the car pipsqueak here was driving."
The small guy stepped in and gave me a kick in the side. The bigger man shoved him away.
"Take it easy," he said. "I want the bruiser here to be able to talk."
I tried to take a deep breath, but my side screamed with pain when I did. I closed my eyes tight and said a prayer of thanks my next fight wasn't for a couple of weeks. When I opened them, the man was in front of me, down on one knee.
"I'll ask again, and I'd like a different answer this time, keeping in mind you were the last guy I saw with the bag of money," he said. "I believe you were kneeling on the friend of mine you shot in the back."
"Yeah, shot him like a coward!" said the other guy. The tall guy looked up with a glare that wasn't compromised by the rest of his face being covered. The small guy slunk off toward the wall and leaned against it. I used that moment to catch my breath.
"Why don't you ask your buddy Turner?" I said.
I could see the crook's brow furrow.
"What are you talking about? Who's Turner?"
"You know, the bank president," I said.
"What, you're saying they got it back? Why hasn't that been in the news?" he said.
If Turner was in on it, this guy was doing a good job of pretending otherwise.
"Never mind," I said. "I don't know where it is. I assume it's at the police station, or wherever they keep evidence. I know the bank doesn't have it back yet, but that's all I can tell you."
The man stood up and shuffled away a few steps. Then came back.
"Then why are they saying they don't have it?"
"I don't know," I said. "I'm not a cop. Maybe they think you'll make a play for it. Maybe they're watching me right now."
The small guy looked around furtively, but I could tell by the crinkle around his eyes that the big guy was smiling.
"If they are, then I'd question that whole 'serve and protect' thing, kid. They've let you take a pretty good beating so far," he said.
I shrugged and waited for the next blow. It didn't come. Instead, he reached out his hand to me. I grabbed it, warily, and let him pull me up. He dusted off the back of my jacket and then gave me a light slap on the face.
"Let's just say I don't believe you, all right? I think you have the money, and I want it back. I'll give you twenty-four hours to come up with it. We'll meet you back here tomorrow night. You have it in your trunk," he said. "We'll make the transfer and then you'll never see us again."
"Why wouldn't I just tell the cops to come by and pick you up?" I asked.
"Because I'll tell them you were in on it, the inside man. You'll serve just like us," he said.
"Why would I shoot part of my own crew?"
"You wanted a bigger take. You didn't want to arouse suspicion. How should I know?" he said. "I know you have the money, and if you try anything funny, the cops'll know it, too."
He leaned down and opened my car door.
"Until tomorrow, Mr. McCann," he said. He waved to the small guy, who walked over. "Give Mr. McCann here a reminder of what will happen if he doesn't get us what we want."
The small guy came over and reared back to hammer me in the stomach again. This time I was ready, and tensed my stomach for the blow. He connected, his fist smacking into my taut muscles.
"Oww!" he said as he pulled his hand away. The big guy shook his head.
"Next time, you won't see it coming, champ."
***
I warmed up a can of beans for dinner, reading a fight magazine I'd picked up the day before. There was a write-up about Kid Gavilan. He had gone up in weight to challenge Bobo Olson for the middleweight crown, but lost by decision. Sugar Ray Robinson had successfully made that jump a few years before, and the sportswriters started calling him the best pound-for-pound fighter in the game. He was the favorite
of most of the guys at the gym, but I always favored the Kid, mostly because he was a lefty like me. I had really been pulling for him to beat Olson and prove he was good enough to move up, partly because I wanted my favorite to win, and partly because I thought it would be a good sign for my future. I patterned my style on the Kid and, if he could succeed at that level, maybe I could, too.
Instead, he had overreached, trying to get something that was beyond his grasp. Bobo just stood in against Gavilan, taking everything he had and dishing out more. I couldn't help but think of my own predicament. I had a good thing, but I overreached when I took that money. There might be a way to make this work, but I had to admit there were a lot of potential Bobos in the way, able to dish out more than I could take, like the cops, Mr. Turner, and especially the crooks.
While driving home, I realized I should have told the big guy to lay off. If they rough me up or turn me in, then the money's as good as gone. Still, that was a short-term solution. Sitting there over my cooling beans, I knew the real way to fix this was to come clean. I might lose my job, might even do a little time. But it beat the alternative.
After I finished eating and cleaned up, I grabbed my gear, planning to head to the gym to work out. It would probably be closed at this time of night. If I was lucky, I'd find the place deserted again and could get the money without being seen.
I stepped out of my door and ran into Tess.
"Griffin!" she said, placing her hands on my chest and we collided. "I was just coming to see you. Where are you going?"
I told her about the crooks jumping me and my plan to get the money and turn it in.
"Oh, darling, I'm so happy!" she said. "Well, not about those bad men hurting you, of course. But I really think this is the right decision. No good can come of that money. I'm sure Mr. Turner will forgive you. You can say you were keeping it safe, that you got scared and didn't know what to do."
I nodded, hoping she was right.
"So, why did you come over?" I said.
"Oh! I almost forgot in the excitement. Our sink is backed up, and Sandy suggested I ask you to come over and take a look."
"Can't your super take care of it?" I said.
"He's not in, and I was hoping to wash my hair. Do you have a minute to check?"
I agreed. She had her car, so she told me she'd meet me after picking up some shampoo. I had a key, so I grabbed my toolbox from my trunk and went up. I knocked in case Sandy was there, and was surprised when she answered as I was sticking the key in the lock.
"You the plumber?" she said as she let me in.
"I guess so," I said.
"Thanks," she said. "Glad Tess decided to keep a man around."
I walked past her to the bathroom. I could never get a read on Sandy. She was nice enough at work, but she seemed to resent that Tess and I were an item.
The sink was backing up, so I turned off the water at the wall and grabbed a wrench to pull off the trap. It was filled with a disgusting mass of hair that I pulled out and tossed in the garbage. It took about fifteen minutes, and I was just reassembling the pipe when Tess came in with a bottle of shampoo in her hand.
"Did you figure it out?" she asked.
As I tightened the trap, I told her to try the tap. The water flowed smoothly down the drain. She giggled and gave me a hug.
"Thank you!" she said. "Now you know girls sometimes do wash their hair, and it's not just an excuse not to go out. But maybe tomorrow?"
I told her that was a good idea, and said she should think of something for us to do in Ottumwa.
"I'm tired of hiding out," I said.
"Of course," she answered. Her arms were still around my neck. She pulled me down and gave me a big kiss. When we broke, she looked into my eyes for a long moment. "Good luck tonight. You're doing the right thing."
I nodded to Sandy, who was on the couch with a movie magazine, as I left.
ROUND 10
When I got the gym, everything was dark. There was a bank of windows that faced the street, and they glowed with warm light when the gym was open. Harry kept irregular hours, so for most of the guys, the presence of lights, or lack thereof, told them whether it was worth trudging up the stairs. The door to the street always was open, and a few of us, including me, had a key to the door on the second floor that gained us entry to the gym.
The darkness told me everyone was gone and that I'd have the place to myself. I climbed the stairs, fishing the key out of my pocket as I went. But when I reached the second floor, I could see that the door was cracked open and the lock was busted.
I pushed it open slowly, cautious now. I stepped into the gym and looked around. Nothing looked out of place. Then I saw the door to Harry's little office ajar. His desk lamp was on, and it cast a slash of light across the floor. It wasn't enough to register from outside, but it was a beacon now.
"Harry?" I called quietly. "You here?"
I stopped to listen, but heard nothing. I took a few more steps in that direction, confident I was alone. Why would someone break into the gym, I wondered. Harry doesn't keep cash around. Then it was as if I had snapped awake. Sure there was money. A lot of it. That was why I was here, after all. I moved quickly over to the light switches on the wall and threw them all on, then looked over to the corner at the heavy bags. All three were ripped open, the stuffing leaking from the tears. I started to run over there, but was stopped dead by what I saw in Harry's office out of the corner of my eye. The old man was sprawled on his back on the floor, blood pooling next to his head.
I rushed into his office and knelt next to him. He was bleeding from a cut over his right eye and a welt on his cheek was swelling.
"Harry!" I said as I shook him a bit. He didn't respond. I went out into the gym and grabbed the first-aid kit he kept next to the ring and brought it back to his office. I popped the latches and lifted the lid of the tin box. I rooted around until I found smelling salts, then snapped one under his nose. He shook his head back and forth a bit, then brought his hand to his head and groaned. He looked up at me through squinting eyes.
"Griff? What's going on?"
"It looks like somebody jumped you," I said. "Are you feeling all right?"
Harry winced as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, and leaned against his desk for support. He spied the first-aid kit, pulled it onto his lap and dug around until he found a mirror. He held it up to his face and turned his head from side to side.
"Whaddaya mean do I feel all right? Do I look all right?" he said. "Those guys did a number on me for sure."
The cut over his eye was still oozing and had puffed up his brow so that the eye was swelling shut.
"Guess I should have taught you sooner about how to fix someone up in the ring," he said. "Always meant to have you guys as seconds during fights so you'd learn a little something, but I never got around to it."
He reached into the kit and pulled out a butterfly bandage, some gauze and medical tape.
"You've seen me do this enough times. Hell, you've been the patient more times than I can count," he said. "Patch me up, Griff."
I found some peroxide and cotton balls in the kit and used them to clean up the wound. He didn't move a muscle, though I knew it had to hurt. I then grabbed the bandage and stuck it on the cut to hold it together.
"So, what happened?" I said. "You said guys, so I assume there were at least a couple of 'em. Otherwise they'd have never gotten the jump on you."
"Aw, save it for someone who'd shed a tear," he said. "I was in here working on some things when I heard someone messing with the door. I figured one of you knuckleheads wanted back in for a late workout, so I went out. Before I could open it to see who it was, it bounced open and two swells in dark suits and fedoras stormed in. They were surprised to see me."
"Yeah, the door had been popped open, probably by a crowbar," I said. "What did they do then?"
"The bigger of the two grabbed me by the collar and pulled me close. Stuck a gun in my face and asked where t
he money was," Harry said. "I told him I don't really keep much around, but he was welcome to what was in the office. They dragged me in here and I showed him the cashbox."
Harry kept a little money around to make change for the kids who paid a monthly fee to use the gym. It couldn't have been more than fifty bucks.
"The guy laughed and told me they had a little more in mind, then smacked me in the head a couple of times with the gun. That's the last thing I remembered until I woke up to your ugly mug a minute ago."
"What do you need?" I asked.
"The cops," Harry said. "And probably an ambulance. I don't know if I can walk."
"Sure, sure," I said. I left him propped against the desk and picked up the phone. I tapped to get the operator, then told her to send the police and an ambulance, then gave the address.
I thought of the torn open heavy bags, and realized the police would start asking a lot of questions.
"Harry, let me go get you a glass of water, all right?" I said.
"Sure, kid. Whatever."
I left the office, but instead of turning left for the bathroom sink, I went right toward the back corner of the gym. Things were in disarray. Benches had been turned over, the skirts around the two rings had been pulled off and the lockers along one wall had been pried open and their contents spilled. And in the corner, the three heavy bags had been unzipped, then torn still further and most of the stuffing had been pulled out. I pushed past the front two to get to the third. The stuffing had been removed completely, and sat in piles on the floor around the bag. The package of money I had jammed into it and painstakingly surrounded with batting a couple of days before was gone.
"Griff!" It was Harry, yelling from his office. "Where's that water?'
I rushed back toward the slash of light cutting across the gym floor from his office door.
"Sorry, Harry. I was just checking out the rest of the place. I'll get the water."
I went to the bathroom, pulled a paper cone from the dispenser and filled it. I walked it back and handed it to Harry. He downed it in a gulp and handed it back.
