Get Hit, Hit Back (Fight Card)

by Jack Tunney

  "Another of those'd be great," he said.

  When I returned, he threw it back, then crumpled the cone and tossed it toward his garbage can.

  "So, what did you see?"

  "See?" I said.

  "Checking out the place," he said. "You were gone awhile. Did they do anything?"

  I figured I might as well tell him the truth. The cops would be here to discover it soon enough, and I had no time to fix it.

  "The place is a mess. It's been tossed," I said.

  "What, like they were looking for something?" he said.

  I ran a hand across the back of my neck as if thinking it through.

  "I guess," I said.

  There was a loud banging as the gym doors slammed open. Two officers came in, followed by two medics trying to get a stretcher up the stairs.

  "You call us?" the first cop said.

  Before I could respond, the second cop stepped around him and pointed at me.

  "Say, you're that bank guard, right? The one what plugged that robber!"

  "Yes," I said.

  "Nice work, kid!" the officer said. "So, what are you wrapped up in this time?"

  I took the four men to Harry's office and told them what had happened.

  "How'd you tumble to it?" the cop asked.

  "I box here. I came in for a late workout and found Harry like this."

  "If I didn't know better, I'd think you was to blame," the other cop said. "Strange coincidence to be mixed up in two things like this in a week, don't you think, Dick?"

  The first officer took off his hat, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.

  "Aw, give the kid a break," he said. "He's a regular hero, this one."

  The medics had moved Harry to the stretcher and were replacing the butterfly bandage with their own handiwork. While they worked, the cops took a quick look around. As the medics lifted Harry from the floor, the cops returned.

  "Hey pops, you keep the crown jewels hidden in those heavy bags or something?" the first officer said.

  "Naw, they're in my mattress at home," Harry said, some of his spunk returning.

  "Well, someone thought something worth having was inside," the officer said. "That or you've got one hell of a hard-hitting pug in this place. They was torn to bits."

  "Yeah, that and everything else," the other cop said. "Whoever it was did a number on this place."

  "Hey, Griff," Harry said. "Would you mind cleaning up tonight and opening the place in the morning? None of the boys can afford to take a day off."

  "Sure, Harry," I said.

  The cops walked alongside Harry as the medics took him toward the door.

  "We'll talk with you once you're feeling a little better," the second cop told him. He then turned and looked back at me. "We'll need to talk with you, too, bud. Stop down the station tomorrow afternoon. Got it?"

  I assured him that I did, then went back to look at the heavy bags. The two better bags could be salvaged. I stuffed the batting back in as best I could, then zipped them up. The rips were small, and could be repaired with a stitch or two. The third bag, however, was a loss. It had been torn stem to stern, and had hardly been able to hold its stuffing in the first place. I sifted through the wadding still left in the bottom of the bag, hoping to find a clue – or better yet, some of the money – but uncovered nothing.

  The bag was hung from a large hook in the ceiling. I pulled over a chair, climbed up and took it down. I stuffed it with the batting from the floor, then carried it over to the large garbage can by the door. As I was about to drop it in, I looked in and saw the crumpled poster advertising the barnstorming fighter.

  I pulled it out and smoothed it against the wall. My eye moved to the line that promised, "Last three rounds, win $25,000." I hadn't given much thought to this, knowing how much Harry hated anything that wasn't pure boxing. But with him likely out of the picture for a while, and with me suddenly in need of a lot of money...

  ROUND 11

  I woke early the next morning, so I decided to go for a run to clear my head. After closing up the gym the night before, I drove home with my head swimming. I'd think about the money, then the bank, then the robbers, then the barnstormer... it was an endless loop with one thing fading and the next rising to take its place.

  Somehow I fell asleep and got a pretty decent six hours or so, but when I woke it was the same thing. I hoped pounding the pavement would knock at least a couple of those things from my head and let me concentrate on some solutions to my problems.

  I was sore from the beating I'd taken from the crooks, but I worked most of that out as I ran. I knew I'd need to be in top shape if I planned to take on that bruiser. And I needed to take on the bruiser so I could get the money. And I needed to pay back the money to make things right with the bank. But what about the robbers? And what if I didn't last long enough with the barnstormer to get the purse? Whoever was backing him wasn't promising that kind of money with the idea that some two-bit in every town could take it from him. It would be tough.

  By the time I made it back home, I had a plan. I would go open the gym, then see Harry, then sign up for the fight, then... it all broke down after that. I wanted to go to Detective Gleason and tell him about the crooks, but if I didn't have the money, I'd like end up in jail with them. I might anyway, but having money to give back would certainly help my case.

  What would solve all of it, of course, was if I could figure out who took the money and get it back. It must have been the thugs as Harry's description certainly fit the bill. But they obviously hadn't known where the money was when they jumped me, and I didn't tell them. The only one who knew was...

  Tess? Had she told someone? Had she told the robbers? Surely not, I thought. I tried to run through others who could be involved. Maybe it was Sandy. How would they know her or Tess? Or maybe it was Mr. Turner. If he really was in league with the crooks, and suspected I had the money, he could send them right here to the gym. Could have been one of the guys from the gym, I thought. Really, it could have been anybody. I didn't know anything – who to watch out for, who to fear.

  The he-man fight was two days away. I needed to get signed up and prepare, and then needed to stall the crooks long enough to devise a plan to set them up. Then I could turn over the money to the cops and get the bad guys all at once.

  I took a quick shower, threw on some workout clothes and headed down to the gym. A couple of guys were milling about in front of the door, checking their watches as they paced the sidewalk.

  Eddie, the welterweight, pushed himself off the wall where he was leaning and walked up to me as I opened the door.

  "Hey, Griff," he said. "Where's Harry?"

  "The gym got knocked over last night," I said. "Harry got roughed up pretty bad and the place was a mess."

  "Wait, what happened?" he said. "Somebody robbed the place?"

  "Yeah," I said as I pushed through the door and headed up the stairs, the fighters trailing behind me. "Harry's at Ottumwa General. I'm gonna go see him after I open up."

  I unlocked the door at the top of the stairs, pushed it open and went inside. I had straightened up the best I could the night before, but you could still tell that things were out of sorts.

  "Who did it?" Eddie asked.

  "Cops don't know yet, I don't think," I said. " Harry said it was some toughs, said they were after dough."

  "What made 'em think they'd find it here?" Eddie wondered.

  I shrugged, then went into the big closet next to Harry's office and pulled a stack of worn towels from the shelf. They had once been white, but were now a nearly threadbare gray. I walked them out to a bench in the gym and set the pile down. I then climbed into one of the rings and whistled to get everyone's attention. There were six guys there in various states of preparation for a workout. Clete, Dan, and Frank came over and joined Eddie and the others to listen.

  "In case you didn't hear me before, Harry got beat up pretty bad last night. Some thugs broke in
and robbed the place, and they licked Harry pretty good before they tore the place up. Took three of them to put him down," I said, drawing some catcalls and prideful nods. "Harry asked me to open up and get you mugs going, then I'm gonna go visit him.

  "So, do your warm ups, then pair up like you would if he was here – a couple in the ring sparring, a couple on the heavy bag, a couple on the speed bags. Switch up after twenty minutes or so, and keep rotating until you drop or someone comes to put a stop to it," I said. "I'm going over to see him."

  I climbed out of the ring and headed for the door. Frank called after me.

  "Griff," he said. "You tell Harry that when they find the guys who did this to him, we'll settle it outside the ring for him."

  The others nodded in agreement. I gave my own nod, then turned and headed down the stairs.

  ***

  Harry seemed worse this morning than he had the night before. I suppose being in a hospital bed makes anyone look a bit peaked, but his face was lacking the ruddiness it had when he was sprawled on his office floor. Then, he seemed more angry than hurt. Today he looked sallow and drawn, his hair a mess of gray shoots sprouting from his scalp.

  He was asleep when I went in, so I pulled up a chair to sit with him a while. The chair leg screeched along the floor, and Harry stirred. I sat and leaned toward him. His arm was stretched atop the bed sheet, and I thought about taking his hand, but that seemed like something best left to relation. Harry was my boss as much as anything, and usually scoffed – or worse –

  at shows of affection. I didn't want to do something now that would haunt me. "You gonna hold his hand like a little girl like you held mine?" I could imagine him shouting at me during a slow bout. No thanks.

  "Griff?" he said, his voice a low rumbling croak. His eyes were open and he turned his head with what seemed to be a bit of pain. "Did you get the gym open?"

  "It doesn't look like that should be your first worry," I said. "Did they beat you up again once they got you here?"

  "What, an old man can't take a licking without wisecracks from some bum? Wait'll I get out of here. I'll show you what a beating looks like."

  "Settle down," I said. "I just want to make sure you're all right."

  "Didn't we cover this last night? No, I'm not all right. But I will be if you cut out the inquisition long enough to tell me whether the gym is open."

  "It's open," I said. "And full of lugs smacking each other around."

  "Thanks. None of 'em are worth much, but a day off would set them back more than I could fix, " Harry said. "Except you, of course. Your last fight, Griff, I'll tell ya..."

  His voice trailed off. He wasn't going to make this easy.

  "Yeah, Harry. About that. I've come up against a situation where I need a lot of money, fast."

  "Wasn't robbing a bank enough?"

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  "Ah, calm down. I'm teasing you. Someone has that money right? Thought maybe you were holding." Before I could think of a response, he continued. "Naw, I know it wasn't you. Even if I didn't know you, after seeing you fight the other night, I would have known. No one fights like that if he has a bunch of money at hand."

  Harry might know the fight game, but it was clear he didn't know much about human nature.

  "Anyway, I saw there’s a purse of twenty-five thousand for lasting three rounds with that Drexler guy, and I thought maybe I'd give it a try," I said.

  Harry rose up and then immediately slid back down, his face a grimace of pain.

  "It's a good thing I'm stuck in this bed too sore to move, 'cause if I wasn't I'd give you a good pounding," he said through gritted teeth. "What are you thinking? Actually, don't say anything. I already know the answer. You're not. You're just about ready to go pro and get some real fights, and you're gonna throw it away by getting pummeled by an ape!"

  "But you said it yourself just now, I'm ready. Doesn't that count for anything?"

  "What, you think it's gonna be like one of the kids from Des Moines coming down to spar? You ever wonder why a guy who can take on all comers isn't a champ? Why he's driving around the Midwest looking for poor farm boys to rough up?" Harry said. "He's a thug. Doesn't fight fair."

  "You've seen him?" I asked.

  "Don't need to," Harry said. "I know the type. Been seeing 'em for years. He'll gouge you, butt you with his head. He'll trip you. Kidney punch. Whatever it takes."

  I had come in with confidence, but Harry had shaken it. I didn't want him to see that, though.

  "I can take him. I'm quick. I'll stay away from him."

  "Kid, all it takes is one good punch and he'll slow you down. Maybe permanently," he said. He motioned toward the table next to his bed and asked me for a glass of water. I reached to grab the glass and handed it to him. He took a couple small sips, then passed it back. He was still for a moment, then looked over at me.

  "Aw, heck, Griff, why are we even discussing this? You aren't really gonna do it, are you? Why do you need money?"

  "It's complicated," was all I could think to say. I didn't want to fight Drexler, but I saw no other way to get the money. No way to save myself.

  "I have to, Harry. But don't worry. It's a couple of days away, so it's not like I can train for it. I'll keep up my regular schedule, and I'll make sure to open the gym and close it up, too."

  Harry held out his hand and wiggled his finger to signal he wanted me to lean in. When I did, he grabbed my shirtfront and pulled me close.

  "If you do this, you're throwing away what we have," he said. "I don't want you in my gym. I'll find a boxer to help me out."

  He let go of my shirt and gave me a surprisingly rough push away. I tried to respond, but Harry already had pulled the sheet up to his chin and closed his eyes. I pulled the gym key from my pocket and laid it on the table by the water glass, making sure he heard the metal hit the wood. Then I walked out, hurrying before I teared up.

  ROUND 12

  Frank chased me across the ring so fast I nearly backpedaled myself right through the ropes. I bounced off, spun and kept dancing backward. He was relentless, taking big steps toward me, trying to cut the ring down and leave me nowhere to go. His left hand, which wasn't in a glove, was locked tight at his chest, while his right was cocked back ready to land a heavy bow.

  "Keep moving, Griff!" he said. He looked down at his right fist, which held a stopwatch. "That's only been one minute. You'll never keep away from him at this rate."

  I nodded and moved to the side. He followed, so I feinted left and went right, leaving him to lunge at the ropes to catch himself.

  "There ya go!" he said. "That's the kind of thing that'll buy you a few seconds of rest."

  After another couple of minutes during which our gloves never touched, Frank called time and we climbed out of the ring. It was charitable to call it a ring, actually. It was a plywood platform built about two feet off the ground, the boards sagging in spots. Eddie's granddad had built it for him at the family farm, and the bantamweight had said I could use it.

  After I had left Harry, I went back to the gym to tell the guys. As I walked up the stairs, I could hear the familiar sounds of shoes sliding across the canvas, a heavy bag being pummeled, of a glove connecting with a gut. I wondered if I would hear those sounds again. I came through the door and saw the guys – eight of them by now – in action.

  I told them about Harry, and told them they should maybe think about going to see him, though not all at the same time.

  "Let's get in a good workout so we look nice and tired first," Eddie said. "Harry'll bust our chops anyway, but at least he might go a little easy."

  "Yeah, come on, Griff," said Frank. "I'm tired of knocking these little guys around."

  I was silent for a moment.

  "What's going on," said Clete. "Spill it."

  "Well, I'm not going to be boxing here anymore," I said, not able to look at them as I said it.

  "Whaddaya mean?" Eddie said. "Harry will be back, ya lug. There's
no reason to get all emotional about it."

  "I know he'll be back," I said. "But I won't. I told him I'm gonna fight in that he-man contest this weekend, and he kicked me out."

  "You're gonna do what?" Clete said. "You know how Harry feels about that kind of stuff."

  "It's nothing but a circus masquerading as boxing," Eddie said, mimicking Harry's gravely growl.

  "I know," I said. "That's why I won't be back. That money is too hard to pass up. I think I have a real shot, and I need to do what's best for me. Harry can't see that, so when this is over, I'll have to train somewhere else."

  "Jeez, Griff, that Drexler guy looks like a killer," Eddie said. "You sure that's a good idea?"

  "No," I admitted. "But it's something I have to do, all right?" I said it with enough force it cut their comments short.

  Somebody said, "I'll come with you."

  I looked up. It was Frank.

  "I haven't been here long enough to fit in anyway. I wouldn't mind taking a crack at that monster myself. We can train together the next couple of days and give it a shot," he said.

  "Really?"

  "Sure," he said. "I drift around where the work goes, so it's not like I'm gonna put down stakes here and be out if Harry decides he won't train me. Let's try it."

  "What if we all go?" Clete said. "Harry would have to take us back. With no boxers, he wouldn't have much of a gym."

  "You're kidding, right?" Eddie said. "That Drexler guy has 100 pounds on you. One shot connects and you're in the third row wondering when the meteor shower started. Same goes for me and most of the rest of us. If anyone has a chance, it's Griff and Frank here."

  Clete kicked at the floor.

  "Guess you're right," he said.

  "But," Eddie said, "That doesn't mean we can't help in other ways. Griff, you know where my granddad's farm is, don't you?"

  "Harris's place?" I said. Sure. What of it?"

  "He built me a ring in the old barn to spar in when I was a kid," Eddie said. "It's a dump, but at least you'd be able to practice running away from that hulk and know how far you could go."