When Ricky told them he grew up one suburb over and had gone to the same school the kids were in, bang, he was in the tribe.
‘If you earn it, Coach’ll give you something he used himself.’
‘I got leather gloves.’
‘I got a book about how to think when you fight.’
‘Muhammed Ali picture magazines for me.’
‘Headgear.’
‘Training pads.’
‘Floor to ceiling ball, but Leila got the best.’
Leila wasn’t interested in this stranger, and with her usual energy danced from one foot to the other, wanting to get back to the real business. ‘Coach gave me his sixty-kilogram punching bag,’ she said. ‘That is never leaving my house.’
Charlie took Leila’s cue. ‘Let’s get you started, Ricky.’
He thought a moment then led the boy across the wooden floor to where Leila had dashed back for her jump rope. As they went he said, ‘What’s the late news on Charlotte?’
‘I did what you said. I talked to her and found out about her interests. Mr Smoke, she’s so boring I wanted to die.’
Leila was into about twenty double-unders straight.
‘You won’t be too bored here.’ He got Leila to stop. ‘You help Ricky out today.’
She didn’t quite look at Ricky, but nodded, putting the jump rope aside. Charlie backed off and called out for everyone to hear.
‘Friends, no going easy. If you had any, keep those breakfasts down. If you can’t, there’s the grass outside. But that doesn’t constitute a break—you come straight back. Burpees and push- ups, twenty and ten over sixty, thirty break. Clock’s ticking.’
Charlie checked that Leila would decipher that for Ricky.
‘That means twenty burpees and ten push-ups for every sixty seconds. With a thirty-second break between rounds.’
‘What’s a burpee?’
She demonstrated it for him, lithe as a panther.
‘Okay …’
Charlie started them off, then he moved around, talking, encouraging, correcting. He tried not to think about how he wanted to go stand with Holly, take her into a corner away from all these eyes, but he kept glancing back to make sure she was still there. After three rounds he clapped his hands for the break. His crew breathed hard and heavy. Ricky’s face was very pink. Charlie took the opportunity to step toward Holly, watching the session from a back wall. Before he could get there Ricky appeared at his side, wiping his face with the front of his T-shirt.
‘What’s next, Coach?’
‘You’ll see.’
Charlie slipped Joe Pacca’s battered old stopwatch out of his pocket and clapped Ricky on the arm, then with a grin back to Holly led him across the floor.
‘Weights here, guys. The ones who were sparring, time to swap for the pull-up bar and heavy bags. You four, including you, Ricky, time for sparring. Gloves and headgear. Lose your temper and you’re on the sideline. These are drills for moves not strikes. Practise getting out of trouble and taking tiny steps in and out of position. I’ll be coming around.’
As others got themselves ready he gave Ricky his gear.
‘It’ll be strange at first but follow Leila and get your rhythm. It’s not about winning or losing.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘This is your mouthguard, nice and new. I’ve got a hundred of them.’
Yes, Ricky would be safest with Leila, their undisputed number one in bobbing and weaving. Sometimes Charlie thought even he’d have a hard time getting a glove to touch her.
‘Don’t try to crowd Leila. If you do she’ll step back and that’s her trap. Remember the quarter-turn, then a quarter-turn again. She wants you to follow her so she can clip you with an uppercut. Or maybe she’ll get herself to the side and give you a couple to the ribs, something sneaky behind the ear. So keep your gloves up, don’t let them drop, elbows in tight. Meanwhile.’ Charlie grinned. ‘Just relax.’
Leila made her quick quarter-turns, always getting away from Ricky. In return Ricky was flat-footed and lost.
‘Slow it down,’ Charlie told them. ‘Ricky, step, step, turn. It’s so much like dancing, a few weeks from now you’ll be good for a ballroom … Okay, that’s a lot better, nice easy shots. Don’t even try to make contact. In these routines the spot you want is one inch off the mark, no one’s hurting anyone else.’
Ricky and Leila did their little dance, moves and turns improving. Charlie noticed that most of the others hadn’t started their own activities, preferring to watch.
‘Leila, give him something he can use. Let Ricky get the feel of sparring. Love taps.’
She popped three unhurried jabs off the padding of his headgear, then gave a slow-motion uppercut that only just kissed the fabric of the T-shirt at his belly.
‘I thought you said an inch in front.’ Ricky’s voice was muffled through the mouthguard and headgear.
‘Little touches to give you an idea of where a glove’ll land. Now, Leila’s jabs—try to slip them. To the left, to the right, like we did at your place that time. Let her glove pass your face. She’ll go slow.’
Ricky couldn’t slip them; maybe he was too nervous or anxious. His head guard met five glancing strokes of leather.
‘Don’t worry, now you—’
Ricky swung with his right just about as hard as he could. Leila slipped under his fist and countered with a hook that put him on his backside. There was a loud cheer.
‘Everyone get to work!’
Charlie took a deep breath and made an effort not to look in Holly’s direction. Leila helped Ricky to his feet.
‘Ricky. What the hell did you just learn?’
‘First one to lose his cool—’
‘That’s right. And you, Leila?’
‘Dunno, Coach.’
Neither did Charlie. He would have sin-binned both of them, but Ricky pulled out his mouthguard, held it in the fat palm of his right glove, and said, ‘That was fantastic.’
‘I can do it again.’
Charlie stalked away, going to Holly. Leila and Ricky could figure out the next bit for themselves.
‘Tough to watch?’
‘Sort of.’
‘They’re having fun and learning a few things.’
‘The truth is, I can’t watch.’ Holly had her half-serious smile. ‘Your children somewhere they might get hurt … that feeling you want to protect them is right here.’
She didn’t mean her head or heart. Holly touched her belly.
And just like that shame covered him like one great stinking coat of pride and fear. How did he deserve a daughter when she needed help and he refused?
‘That feeling you want to protect them is right here.’
‘Leila,’ he called, then he pressed the stopwatch into the damp wrap protecting her right hand. ‘Give it your best.’
Charlie didn’t speak another word. The glance that passed between Holly’s eyes and his own said that maybe somehow she understood. It could be that Holly Banks had things just about as right as Joe Pacca did all those years ago.
‘You can keep away from trouble all you like, Charlie, but that’s called running, not fighting.’
…
Diego Domingo polished the mahogany of his bar while Esteban and the kitchen hands made lunch and dinner preparations. From the kitchen came their voices, loud, some of it angry, some of it laughing, all of it to the accompaniment of an old-time radio station playing operatic love songs. Diego liked those heartfelt melodies but was thinking about this wonderful pile of extra money he’d cajoled from Junior. He was happy at this outcome, if not at the unkind words levelled against him, or the unanticipated blow to his side. Young men, they had no class and no respect, but none of it mattered because this new lump of cash gave Diego his second wind. Terence Junior was about to see
just how adroitly a man like Diego could turn loss into stunning victory.
So it was a good day, a beautiful Sunday.
To start it Diego had spent extra time on his hair, brushing it into the waves he liked, then a close shave with the lathering brush and cut-throat. Not just any good suit today, but one of his best. Preparations just as important as opening your eyes to discover you’re still a traveller on the face of this world. His side throbbed from Mike’s fist, and from Miranda he’d had to hide the skin already black and blue, but whenever you entered a ring you expected discomforts, and the end of this particular match wasn’t even in sight.
The tinkling of the doorbell made him look around, expecting Roberto.
‘Carmelino.’ Diego stopped wiping and put the cloth aside, then replaced several crystal decanters and long-stemmed glasses. ‘Too hungry to wait for lunch service?’
He watched the way Carmelo entered, looking around as if to see who else might be in. And he was wearing what looked like training clothes.
‘Miranda told me you’d be here.’
‘You called the house?’
‘I stopped by. She was just home from church.’
‘Oh?’
‘She said she’s praying for you and Roberto.’
‘You need a good woman too, Carmelino.’
‘You need prayers, Diego?’
‘Who doesn’t?’ Diego stepped around the bar. ‘I’ll say one for you,’ he spoke, and made a joking sign of the cross in front of Carmelo. He moved in for a hard embrace. At the touch of Carmelo’s shirt so damp he laughed. ‘In training again?’
‘It’s the kids. Sunday morning classes.’
He took a moment to look into Carmelo’s face. ‘You’re here for a reason.’
‘News about Bobby’s problem is getting around.’
Diego gave himself a moment to absorb the fact that Carmelo had said ‘Bobby’s problem’.
‘So … my Robertino and his little problem?’
‘Yes.’
Diego still needed extra moments to wrap his mind around this.
‘Sistine?’
Carmelo nodded. ‘She says you haven’t got the cash to fix it.’
‘True,’ Diego replied, meaning to reveal nothing.
‘How could you let your boy do something so stupid?’
‘You understand … a young man’s mistakes, how they break a father’s heart.’
‘So what can you do to help him?’
Diego spread his hands, helpless.
‘Have you spoken to these men?’
‘I’ve wanted to keep this quiet,’ Diego started, keeping himself guarded, wondering why Carmelo might have such interest in his affairs. ‘But I’m forced to put my business up for sale. I’ve tried for months. Sales agent after sales agent. All buffoons. The market’s too depressed, now isn’t the time, story after story. All to say the Valley’s turned into a slum full of prostitutes and delinquents, and no one wants a bistro even as a gift.’
‘Huh.’
‘What are we, Carmelino? Old men with no money. The boxing game was never as lucrative as it looked from the outside. Now the restaurant game, it’s hardly worth trying any more.’
‘I don’t know, Diego, I don’t know anything about this place. It always looks good to me. But Sistine says I should help so if you really do need a hand, for Bobby I mean, I guess I’ve got a bit of extra money.’
‘Aren’t you a bricklayer living in the middle of nowhere?’
‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
‘So what are you referring to?’
‘Just what I said.’
‘Why would you make this offer?’
‘I told you. For my daughter.’
‘Your daughter … Carmelo, maybe you don’t have this situation quite right in your head. The debt is substantial.’
‘That’s what I heard.’
‘It’s more than an honest man like you could make in two or three lifetimes.’
Carmelo didn’t reply.
‘Look at the way you dress. Think of the way you slave in the sun. And I’ve seen that piece of rubbish you drive around in. What extra money could you have?’
‘Enough for what you need.’
Studying that brown face, the obvious burn of the sun accentuating the scar tissue around his eyes, Diego Domingo asked, ‘You like to joke with me?’
‘It’s not a joke.’
‘But … I can’t understand.’
‘Doesn’t matter what you understand except that I can help, so stop asking.’
Diego did stop, for several moments, wanting to make sense of this man. Then he couldn’t help but wonder if his life’s incredible good luck was somehow about to continue.
‘How much do you want to cover?’ Diego spoke. ‘These individuals aren’t interested in scraps.’
‘Depends how much you put in.’
‘Me? Faced with the impossibility of selling my bistro, nothing.’
‘That’s what I thought you were going to say. All right. Listen, I’m good for the full amount.’
‘The full amount.’ Diego watched Carmelo, waiting for the trick, the twist. All that came was a nod. ‘But Carmelino, this generosity today. A true miracle, and you, maybe a saint. Yet you seem almost ashamed.’
The muscle in his old adversary’s jaw twitched. Diego let their silence continue. Then he spoke more softly still.
‘Ashamed to have so much money on hand?’
Why wouldn’t the man reply?
Diego continued to consider his old adversary, his damp T-shirt and shorts, his cheap gym shoes like scraps pulled from a rubbish tip. Then, as if it came against his own will, slowly, slowly something dawned on him, and he started to see the true shape of the man in front of him.
‘Oh, no.’ Diego shook his head. ‘No, no.’
‘Let’s just get this business out of the way.’
‘Carmelino, but you mean it was you?’
His face, how it told the truth. Diego felt a wave of awe travel from his mind into the very pit of his groin. Something that happened so long ago now made just one small breath of sense. It was far in the past but felt as terrible as yesterday.
‘They said whoever killed Old Terry disappeared with a quarter-million. And in pounds, not dollars.’
Carmelo gave a shake of his head.
‘No?’
‘Truth is I’m not sure.’
Diego walked back to the shining mahogany of his bar, trying to absorb something that made his mind reel. He almost needed to hold on to the side of that bar for support. Then he set up two glasses and poured Brandy de Jerez.
‘Better come here, old friend.’
Carmelo did. Diego slid a glass toward him. Diego took a sip. Carmelo didn’t.
‘Will you tell me?’
Diego saw how Carmelo Fumo started to refuse.
‘It’s possible you want to get it off your chest.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You do. Go on.’
Diego waited, then when they came Carmelo’s words were very quiet.
‘When it was … our big fight, I took the five thousand Old Terry offered. I know you got twenty-five at least. Plus you kept your title. But I would have beaten you.’
‘You made the smarter decision.’
‘They didn’t give me much choice.’
‘Now you’re saying that wasn’t the end of the story?’
‘Inside, Diego … inside everything was going crazy. Crazy at you, them, maybe mostly at me. Then I wanted to get even. I wanted to show Old Terry and every bastard hanging around you guys that no one was as smart as they thought. Everyone was happy to cheat me of my career and not think about it twice. You know that’s true. You had your hand in. Three months my fathe
r and Joe Pacca trained me for our fight, and the night before it Old Terry turns up with his men to tell me what to do. It was like this big hole opened up in the ground right in front of me. I couldn’t say anything to my old man, to Coach Joe. What if they got sucked into that same stinking hole of Old Terry’s? So I kept quiet, but Tracy got it out of me. Even before we were married that girl could read me like a book. And the more we talked about it, the more we found an answer. Fuck Terry Darcy. Fuck all you guys. Day of the fight I had a plan clear in my head. After the bout was over I knew you’d be celebrating with the crowd and all I had to do was make sure I’d get put in the hospital.’
‘You weren’t that bad. If I’d hurt you I would have known it. We were great actors. That was our stage.’
‘You at your party, me knocked senseless in an emergency bed. Watched by medical staff and plugged in with tubes. That’s all there was to it. We had perfect alibis so it could only be an outside job. Then it was a matter of slipping out of that bed and getting to Terry’s office. Break in, then back again and lights out.’
‘It couldn’t work, Carmelo.’ Diego’s eyes narrowed, wondering if for some reason Carmelo was making this all up. ‘It’s impractical. A hospital isn’t a hotel, especially in an emergency ward. Some doctor or nurse would have known you were gone, even for a minute.’
‘What if I made sure to be moved out of Emergency and into a room?’
‘And why would they do that? With a fighter, fresh from a ring, constant observation—’
‘Who was on duty that night, Diego?’
‘How would I know?’
‘You don’t have to know. Just figure it out.’
Diego shook his head. ‘Impossible,’ he muttered. ‘These are lies and I don’t know why you’re telling them.’ His eyes met Carmelo’s and neither man looked away. ‘Wait … maybe … in the hospital you had help?’
‘Of course I had help.’
‘Dios, I see. That heartbreaker, face like an angel. Tracy. She was a nurse.’
‘You think she wasn’t as angry as me?’
‘All it took, in the investigation, was for no one to feel the need to say you had a girl and she worked in that hospital.’
‘No one even knew her in those days.’
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