“You a runaway?” Sonny didn’t look concerned when Starkey nodded. “What you running from?”
“I was in a…group home. For kids having problems.”
“What’s your problem?”
Take a chance, tell him the truth. Well, one true story of many. “I was in boarding school and I pulled down the water tower behind the dorm.” Don’t mention that the Voices had told him that the water was poisoned. When he tried to warn the headmaster, he wouldn’t listen and the other kids made fun of him, beat him up.
“How’d you do it?”
“Middle of the night, I looped cables around the wooden stilts that held up the tower and I attached them to the tow hook of the maintenance truck.” Starkey was thrilled with Sonny’s rapt attention. “I was in first gear when the stilts cracked, then I shifted to third and gunned the motor. Pulled it right down behind me.”
“Lucky you didn’t drown.”
Don’t tell him you were prepared to drown to save the school from the poisoned water. That’s what Warrior Angels do. We sacrifice ourselves when there’s no other way to complete our Mission. “Turned out there was no water in the tank.”
“Did you know that?”
“You think I’m that crazy?” He made himself laugh. Don’t tell him how surprised you were to find out the tank was dry. It had been a test from the Creator.
“What kind of test?”
“A test for my stepdad’s lawyers. Cost him plenty to keep me out of jail. I was expelled and they sent me to the Family Place.” Was it the Family Place or some other place? He suddenly couldn’t remember. There had been so many places. None of them had meant anything until he found The Book, and discovered Sonny and his true Mission.
“The Family Place?” Was Sonny really interested or was he trying to trip me up?
“The group home. I eloped.”
“Eloped?”
“That’s what they call it when you run away from a loony bin, an elopement.”
Sonny nodded. “They looking for you, your folks, cops?”
Starkey looked at him warily. “Probably. Does that make you nervous?”
Sonny smiled. It was the first time Starkey had seen him really smile. He even had dimples. “Nervous? You came to save me, right?”
He felt pure joy surge through his body.
The next day a TV crew showed up to shoot Sonny boxing Rocky.
“You want me to call the shots?” asked Starkey.
“You think you should be on TV?”
The Voices snickered. He doesn’t really want you.
“Sure I do,” whispered Sonny. “But people aren’t supposed to know where you eloped to.”
“No problem,” said Starkey, relieved.
“Let’s do it,” said Sonny.
“Jab, two,” said Starkey, trying to sound crisp as Sonny’s left snapped out into the dummy’s mouth. “Jab, seven. Right, four. Hook, nine.”
He forced his mind into a laser beam, thinking through the combinations, a jab, sometimes three to set up the big punch, a straight right or a hook, then quickly follow with another punisher or shake up the rhythm with another jab. He could see Sonny was getting into it, appreciating that he wasn’t just calling out shots, he had a plan, the Warrior Angel knew what he was doing.
“Jab, seven, nine. Right, four. Hook, thirteen.”
Someone rang a bell and Sonny ended with a flurry of belly punches, then threw up his arms. The fighters and trainers applauded and whistled.
“You got enough?” said Johnson. “This is a workplace.”
“We’re good,” said Dick, a silver-haired sportscaster Starkey had seen on ESPN. “Quick interview with the champ and we’re out of here.”
Johnson grumbled and shooed the boxers and trainers back to work. While his crew set up for the interview, Sonny asked, “How’d you know I was here?”
“Little bird,” said Dick. “Actually a big one. I was eating at Jelly Belly’s. What about Hubbard? Don’t you have a contract?”
“He’ll get his cut, all he cares about,” said Sonny.
“When he sees this, he’ll be on the next plane,” said Dick.
“I’m a free man,” said Sonny. “I’ll tell him I’m back with Henry Johnson. And my little brother here.”
This time the joy made Starkey dizzy.
They watched the news while they ate spaghetti with meatballs and a salad, a gift from the Italian restaurant up the street. No question the word was out that Sonny was back. People dropped by to watch him train. Sonny seemed cool about the attention. Starkey thought he accepted it as his due. He wondered how long before other people would start getting between Sonny and him, how long before the private dinners would be over, before Sonny would be staying somewhere else. Would there be time to complete his Mission?
The anchor introduced an exclusive on the sports report.
Dick’s face filled the screen. “If, as I did, you wondered where the heavyweight champion of the world, Sonny Bear, disappeared to after that last stinker in Vegas, here’s some good news for a change. He’s back in his home gym in Harlem and back to basics, preparing for his rematch with the ex-champ Floyd (The Wall) Hall.”
As Rocky appeared on the screen, Dick said, “That’s not just any dummy Sonny Bear’s beating up, that’s Rocky, the target of thousands of his training punches over the years.”
On-screen, Sonny began hammering Rocky as Starkey called out the punches off camera.
The Voices whispered, Sonny told Dick to keep you hidden so he can get rid of you later.
The camera pulled back to show Starkey at Sonny’s side. Dick said, “That’s Sonny’s young assistant trainer, calling the punches.”
Sonny elbowed him. “Assistant trainer.”
The Voices again: Sonny told Dick to put you on TV so Stepdad’ll know where to find you.
The broadcast cut to Dick interviewing Sonny.
“What happened to you in Vegas?”
“I was flat. Couldn’t get off.”
“We’ve known each other awhile, Sonny. That wasn’t you. There were rumors that you were seeing a psychotherapist.”
“Do I look crazy to you?” snapped Sonny.
“Hostile, just hostile,” said Dick, smiling. “And that’s your job.”
The broadcast cut to the anchors, chuckling. One of them said, “Maybe you have to be a little crazy to fight the Wall.”
Starkey thought, They’re always doing that.
“What?”
“Jokes. About being crazy.”
Sonny shrugged and kept eating.
“Never bother you?” said Starkey.
“Might, if I was crazy.” Sonny thumbed the remote.
The Voices whispered, He thinks you’re crazy.
Starkey struggled to keep control, to squeeze the Voices out. A quarter dosage isn’t enough. Finally he said, “What…doooooo you meannnnnn?”
“You okay?” Sonny’s face lengthened, his eyes turned red. He hit the mute button on the TV. “Man, you sound weird. You doing anything?”
Starkey tried to answer but nothing was coming out that he could understand. He narrowed his mind, focused, pushed the Voices to the nooks and crannies of his skull. It was exhausting, but it was working. Slowly he found a clear channel to think and then speak.
“I’m okay.” He tried to smile. “Better not have dope. Not when Alfred comes around.”
Sonny’s body jerked. “Alfred’s coming around?”
Starkey felt the clear channel vibrating. Don’t want to lose this moment. “He’s waiting for your call.”
“You don’t even know him.”
I know you all from The Book, Starkey wanted to say, but he said, “Alfred knows you’re here. Johnson would have told him. But he can’t call you because you walked out on him. You have to make the call.”
Sonny shrugged.
“Yooooou heeearrrr meeeeeee?” Starkey took deep breaths, but the gym floor wouldn’t stop rippling, the heavy bags were swaying in a cold wind up
from Hell, and the Voices were back now and they wouldn’t quit anymore tonight.
Sonny stood up. “I’ll think about it.”
They cleaned up silently. Sonny was back inside himself. Did I drive him there? But I had to. Don’t have much time left to save him. Not unless I can get more meds. I had to go for it. Can’t read him right now. Is he thinking about calling Alfred? Or is he just shutting me out for going too far too fast, blowing the Mission?
Before he tried to sleep, Starkey checked his backpack. Laptop, red cap, The Book. He fingered the ridge in the binding over the razor blade.
15
ALFRED’S WIFE, LENA, was waiting for Sonny at the railroad station. He felt his nervousness drain away when she hugged him and said, “He was so happy you called.”
The familiar white HandiVan was out in the parking lot. “How is he?”
“Good days and bad days. He keeps getting these infections. They can knock him down for a week. But he bounces back—you know Alfred.”
Alfred was in the driver’s seat. He was thinner than Sonny remembered, dark circles around his eyes. A year ago he would never have waited in the car, no matter how hard it was to climb out and into his wheelchair. He must be in a lot of pain.
Lena opened the front passenger door and pushed Sonny forward. All he could think of to say as he climbed in was “Alfred.”
Alfred glanced casually over to him and said, “You hungry, young gentleman?” as if they were picking up a recent conversation. They hadn’t seen each other in months. The van was moving before Lena had shut her door.
“Sure.” He relaxed into the seat. Alfred was going to make it easy, leave the past alone.
“Lena’s made some of that sesame chicken you like.” Alfred poked a button on his CD player. Old rock music poured out. Sonny could tell he didn’t want to talk right now. Fine.
“Where are you living?” Lena leaned over from the backseat.
“The gym.”
“Want to stay with us for a few days? Girls be thrilled.”
Sonny peeked at Alfred out of the corner of his eye. He was staring straight ahead. Lena must be talking for him, too. Sonny felt his neck muscles soften and relax. “Don’t have clothes or—”
“We didn’t throw your stuff out,” said Alfred. “Yet.”
They all laughed.
The house looked the same, a two-story white box on a quiet, shady street of two-story white boxes. Alfred had grown up in Harlem and wanted his kids to grow up in the suburbs. Little lawn out front, big backyard with grill and stone patio. Sonny had set the stones of the patio one weekend. It seemed like a long time ago. Two years?
Tamika and Lysa came home from school just as Sonny and Alfred settled in the den to talk. They burst in, squealing, and began hugging Sonny and throwing mock punches at his jaw. He got up and sparred with them until Lena dragged them out.
“You gonna be ready for the Wall?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Not my question.”
Sonny shrugged. “Should be in shape. But I don’t know what happened with Crockett.”
“Never saw you like that. Fighting in slow motion.”
“Felt like I was drugged.”
“Looked like you didn’t want to be there,” said Alfred. “Hubbard call you?”
“Doesn’t know where I am,” said Sonny.
Alfred laughed. “ESPN knows, everybody knows. He called me.”
“Why?” Sonny felt uneasy. Too much going on behind my back.
“Wanted to find out if I was going to be your manager again.”
“What did you say?”
“Been there, done that,” said Alfred.
Sonny wasn’t sure if he liked that answer or not, but he said, “That your final answer?” just lightly enough for them to both chuckle and move on. It felt like the early sparring in a fight when you’re looking for openings and weaknesses and blind spots.
“Who this kid you took in?”
“Starkey? He follows me on the bike, calls Rocky, cleans up the gym.” It was the first he had thought of Starkey since he saw Alfred. He felt a twinge of guilt.
“How old is he?”
“Seventeen?” He realized he wasn’t sure.
“Henry thinks the boy’s not playing with a full deck.”
“Starkey made things happen. Never would have broken loose from Hubbard without his e-mails, never would have gotten back in the gym without Starkey showing up.” He was surprised to hear himself talk so much, with so much energy.
There was still doubt in Alfred’s eyes. “He doing what you want or pulling strings for his own reasons?”
“He talked me into calling you.”
Alfred blinked at that. “Well, keep your eyes open. Sometimes rich kids get hung up on fighters, rappers, even thugs. He’s a jock sniffer.”
Sonny wanted to say, I feel good when he’s around, like having a little brother who can help you. But he settled for a quick jab. “You rather I’m still with Malik and Boyd?”
It scored. Alfred’s lips tightened, but he moved on. “Sure he’s not using?”
Sonny thought about the way Starkey slipped in and out of moods, the way his voice got weird sometimes, muttering. But he said, “Never saw anything.”
“Just don’t be carrying for him.” Alfred winked.
Sonny let himself laugh, a little loudly, he thought, but it was good to let it out on something deep in the past that only he and Alfred could laugh about. It was less than four years since Sgt. Alfred Brooks and his Port Authority narcotics squad had busted him for carrying drugs. Dumb seventeen-year-old right off the Reservation, a mule for a Times Square dope dealer.
“Long time ago.”
“Things happen. You’re the champ. I got a permanent ride.” Alfred slapped his wheelchair. “And Jake’s gone.”
Sonny lost breath. That was a sucker punch, he thought. “I never got the message.”
“You didn’t want to—you weren’t in touch. You running away again, Sonny.” Alfred’s thick forearms bulged as he wheeled the chair closer. “Ran off the Res, ran away from us, running from Hubbard.”
Sonny’s tongue was dry and filled his mouth. Finally, he said, “Starkey got me to come back.”
Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
That stopped Sonny. He had never thought to ask that question, to even think about it. He didn’t have an answer.
Tamika opened the door and stuck her head in. “Mom says dinner’s on the table.”
Saved by the bell.
He didn’t make eye contact with Alfred during dinner, but he didn’t have to. The girls had to catch him up on their lives. Tamika was on the basketball team, Lysa won the science fair, and when they found out he had met the rapper and the short movie star, they had a million questions. Lena kept telling them to let Sonny eat, but she looked happy. Alfred was quiet, but he was smiling, too. When the girls had to go to bed, they hugged him and whispered in his ears, “Sayonara, snotface.” Then they fell down laughing.
He watched the sports news with Alfred until he went off to take care of his catheter. Sonny remembered from the old days how much maintenance Alfred’s paraplegia needed: the bags and tubes and creams, the careful planned movements required for a bath.
Lena made up the bed in the den. She left a towel and a toothbrush on his pillow.
“We’re glad you’re here, Sonny.” She opened a closet in the den. His clothes were still hanging there. There were boots and running shoes on the floor, underwear and socks in a pullout wire basket. “Knew you’d be back.”
I’m glad I’m here, he thought. He enjoyed the comforting sounds of the house settling into nighttime, the whispers of TV from Alfred and Lena’s bedroom, the girls stomping off to the bathroom, the gurgle of water through pipes, the scamper of squirrels on the roof. He imagined Starkey curled up in Johnson’s office, dealing with the sounds outside those dirty windows. Give Starkey a call? To say what? Starkey can take care of himself. I d
idn’t force him to come to New York. He’s got Alfred’s number—he can call if he needs me.
It took him a long time to fall asleep, and then he had a dream.
He was fighting a smoker in a hillbilly town, but the ring was set up outdoors, Vegas style, in the middle of Jake’s auto junkyard on the Moscondaga Reservation. Half the faces in the crowd were cracker and half were Redskin, and all their mouths were open and dripping saliva, and they were all booing him as he came into the ring. They cheered as his opponent climbed up the ring steps, but Sonny couldn’t see his face—it was covered with the hood of his robe. Jake and Alfred and Johnson and Hubbard and Malik and Boyd were all in his opponent’s corner.
Sonny was alone. He gave the crowd the finger, but no one could see it because his boxing gloves were on. He pulled off his robe and whipped his ponytail against his bare shoulders. The crowd was laughing. He looked down. He was wearing only his jockstrap and his protective cup. He had forgotten to put on his trunks.
Doesn’t matter, nothing matters.
He came out for the ring instructions. Somehow he wasn’t surprised that his opponent was Starkey.
16
STARKEY WOKE UP jumpy. He felt a cold prickle among the hairs on the back of his neck. Jake said that was a signal that enemies were about to strike. It was in The Book. Running Braves could sense events before they happened. Like Warrior Angels.
Sonny had left Alfred’s phone number in case of emergency. Starkey thought about calling, but what would he say? I’m nervous? Yeah, right. Some emergency.
A night’s sleep had helped, and a quarter dose of meds.
He had found a few more pills deep in the backpack.
He decided to wear the Tomahawk Kid cap. He’d been careful not to waste its powers, but he just might need it today. He slipped on the backpack and rode the bike to keep the routine going. He pedaled even harder than he did when he was following Sonny. That cleared his head, made him feel better.
Energized, he scraped some of the crusty old grime off two front windows. Johnson showed up, noticed the windows right away, and gave Starkey a little nod. Starkey wished Johnson would say something nice, but a little nod was a good start.
Warrior Angel Page 7
