by Paul O'Brien
“Lenny!” shouted Ade.
He stopped and carefully walked a few steps back toward her, as she marched toward them.
“Keep going,” Lenny said to Kid.
“He’s going to kill your boy in the ring, come time, Lenny.” Ade said.
“No, he’s not, Ade. There’s no match.”
“What?” For every slow step that Ade took forward, Lenny balanced it out with a step backward.
“The boxer chickened out. We did everything we could to get him to face the wrestling champion. Everything.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you heard? The boxing heavyweight champion is scared of us.”
Lenny fired a magazine from his pocket toward Ade. She had no clue what was going on, as she picked it up. On the cover was a full-sized picture of Kid, and a small picture in the bottom corner of Jinky Keeves looking over his shoulder. The headline read:
The Kid Who Killed Boxing
This was a long con—Ade knew that wrestling magazines needed at least a week to turn up on the shelves. This magazine edition was dated for the next day, and it couldn’t have been more like wrestling if it tried. In the real world, the wrestler was literally running from the boxer. In the press, however, the wrestling side had it printed that it was the boxer who, after being legitimately humiliated at the press conference, wouldn’t fight.
Lenny knew that by getting to the press first, meant their side of the story was the correct one. The boxing world was already on the defensive. There was nothing like a four page story with quotes to get the narrative straight.
“Lenny?” Ade asked.
Her face was riddled with confusion and sadness. “What are you doing?”
Lenny turned back. “Fuck you, Ade. Don’t pretend that you didn’t deserve this. And don’t forget to tell Jinky that a good wrestler will always beat a great boxer.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
New York.
Fourteen days after Lenny got out.
1984.
Lenny got his father to drop him off in midtown. He was embarrassed by the ride, so he had asked to be let out a couple of blocks before Benson’s.
His press conference angle was everywhere—on every paper and every news bulletin—but he still couldn’t afford a cab into the city.
He thanked his father, and walked two blocks, until he saw the red canopy shoot out onto the pavement in front. Lenny had seen Ben Benson’s, but he’d never been in there before.
He knew however, that it was where Joe would be, and Lenny wanted to find Joe before Joe found Lenny.
He walked in, and was met with a good lunchtime trade. He passed the large ‘PRIME MEATS’ sign that had the bull’s head on it, and walked to the nice corner table, where Joe was sitting with Donta Veal.
Before Joe could say anything, Lenny slapped the New York Times down on the table. “They’re all the same. We got the cover in every newspaper in New York. Every builder, cop, postman, and firefighter in the city is talking about us, again.”
Lenny sat down beside Donta, facing Joe. Lenny nodded to Donta before he began talking.
“Nice to see you both, again. I now have the most talked-about champion in a decade,” Lenny said. “We both know that he’s money. Correct?”
Joe was out-played by a rookie boss, but what could he do? He considered his first words carefully. “You’re a fucking cunt, and not smart enough to construct something like this, yourself.”
Donta snorted a little as he sliced up his steak.
“Those boxing guys were pawns to raise our profile. I’ve done that. Now it’s time to talk about our business. We need to do what Danno wanted done: we need to unify our two wresting heavyweight titles back together tomorrow night.”
“That’s what I said the other night by the river,” Joe replied.
“You make it sound like we had a nice stroll, or something, Joe. Do you mean the night that you sent this piece of shit to come drag me out of my father’s house? The night that you threatened my life? My family’s lives? You mean that night by the river?”
Joe knew that Lenny held all the cards, this time; he’d just have to listen, and try to get a fair deal for himself, this match.
“Well, things have changed since that night,” Lenny said.
“Changed?” Joe asked.
Lenny answered. “Now we get eighty percent of the gate, and my champ goes over.”
“You want eighty percent and the win?”
“I don’t just want anything; that’s what’s going to happen. Eighty percent my way, and we get to unify both heavyweight championships.”
Joe threw Donta a quick look, telling him to not react.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, all of a sudden?” Joe asked.
Lenny stood up. “It’s up to you, Joe, to make sure that this match makes it to the Garden.”
Joe popped up out of his seat, too. “Sit the fuck down.”
Joe knew that, with this much interest, money—and more importantly, publicity—now involved in the unification meant that nothing bad could happen. The world was watching New York wrestling, once again, and that meant that they all had to be seen in their best Sunday suits, and fine shoes.
Joe knew the fledgling cable deal would also evaporate if there was any scandal or bloodshed surrounding the business.
Joe Lapine was caught.
“Lenny, wait,” he said, as he followed him through the restaurant. “Eighty percent is fine, and you can have the match.”
Lenny stopped, and smiled. “All the momentum is on this side, now, Joe. But I will pay you back every cent you put into New York, while I was inside. I’d be grateful to you if I didn’t know you so well.”
“Lenny, you’re willing to screw over Ade Schiller, Maw Maw Vosbury, Tanner Blackwell, and me all in the same move? Come back to the table, and I can protect you.”
“You have no choice but to protect me, or your house of cards here in New York will all be for nothing. You made yourself the face of this territory when you had no right; now you have no choice but to make sure that it’s the cleanest territory in America. See you in the Garden tomorrow night.”
Lenny was pulling off the greatest act in wrestling history. He actually started to believe that he wasn’t petrified.
Donta walked up behind his boss. “Why don’t you let me sort this out, once and for all? I’ll harass them a little—frighten their families. Nothing too bad.”
Joe shook his head. Donta wasn’t a finesse kind of guy. Joe needed subtlety, a plan, and more time.
Donta knew by Joe’s silence, as they walked back to their table, that he wasn’t going to be used. He was beginning to get sick of just sitting around.
Sometimes the most unshakeable people waver, and Ginny was wavering badly. He didn’t know why they had him packed, and by the door. Where were they bringing him? Why couldn’t he stay in his room?
Where was his ice cream?
“Hello? Where am I going?” he asked the people coming into the building to visit their relatives.
“Where am I going?” he asked some delivery guys.
He began to panic a bit—everything was changing. He remembered his suitcase beside him, and remembered having it on the road to all the matches, and all the towns. He remembered all the great times he had as a proud, professional wrestler, as well as all the great times he’d had with Ricky.
He remembered Ricky, and the life they’d had. How very much he missed him.
Ginny cried, and wiped his nose. In moments of clarity like this, he knew what was happening to him. There was nothing scarier than knowing that your whole life was being deleted day by day, and minute by minute.
He’d gone from being a tough, strong, independent man to an old fool who people looked past whenever he spoke.
As quickly as everything had come back to fill him up, it went away, again.
“Hello? Where am I going?”
“This way,” sa
id an orderly.
Ginny stood, and put out his arm for the man to take. He didn’t, so Ginny shuffled behind him. His heart was thumping, the fear inside him was swelling, and he was feeling weak.
“Hello? Where am I going?”
Upstairs, Ginny was shown to his new room, and his new roommate. His bill hadn’t been paid, and the nursing home wanted Ginny’s prime first-floor room for someone else.
He was now on the fourth floor, where all the other forgotten and agitated old people were.
Ginny ran fast, straight, and upright. He took the stairs down three flights before anyone even knew that he was gone.
His heart beat strong in his chest, and, as he burst through the front door, he saw that there was nothing or no one there for him. He couldn’t see his father or his brother, and the outside didn’t look like the street that Ginny had grown up on, at all.
He was totally confused. In his mind, he was a boy, and this was where he lived. He knew he was a man, somewhere, too, though—somewhere else, maybe.
“Is Mr. Lennon still alive?” Ginny asked a passing person.
Mr. Lennon had taught Ginny how to wrestle. He had taken him from the street, taught him manners, and showed him how to be a man.
Ginny noticed that the gate was open. “You better mind that the dog doesn’t run out under the milk cart. Do you hear me, Tommy?” Ginny said to no one in particular.
He remembered the dog, and he remembered Tommy, who’d had his mother’s fat cheeks.
“Hello!” Ginny shouted.
“Wait,” came a voice from behind.
Ginny stood still, and did as he was told. He’d forgotten that he was going to bust out of there. He’d forgotten that he had good lungs still. He’d forgotten that he was going back to the fourth floor.
As he waited, a white truck drove past him, and played its musical horn. Pagladoni’s Ice Cream van pulled into a visitor’s parking spot.
He might have forgotten a lot of things, but ice cream was still his favorite.
“Are you for me?” Ginny wondered to himself. He was overcome with the need to know. “Are you for me?” he said a little louder.
Ginny began to walk toward the van. “Are you for me?”
Carlo Pagladoni walked around the back of his van, and pulled out Ginny’s favorite ice cream medley.
“Are you for me?” Ginny shouted.
“Of course I am, Ginny,” Carlo answered.
“Hello? Where I am going?” Ginny asked.
“You’re going back to your room. First floor,” Carlo answered.
It was the ice cream, and the fact that he was being brought back to his room that made Ginny happier than ever before in his whole life—as far as he could remember, anyway.
“Can I come, too? I’ll get one of Babu’s neckties,” Jimmy said, as he followed his father around Babu’s spare room.
“Not tonight, buddy.”
“But I want to be there, too.”
“I know, but you and I will do something tomorrow.”
“How can you take one of your children out for dinner, and not the other one?” Jimmy asked.
Lenny put on some cologne. “It’s business.”
“The family business, and I’m family.”
Lenny stopped getting ready, and paid some attention to his youngest son. He could see the frustration and hurt in his boy’s face. “You’re too young, still. And you don’t need to be around this business—trust me.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I’ll drop you off at Granddad’s before—”
“I don’t want to go there,” Jimmy said. “I want to go back to Mom’s.”
“Okay.”
“I want to go now.”
“You can’t.”
“I want you to bring me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? Cause your stupid fucking plan isn’t—”
“Hey!”
Jimmy shut his mouth quickly.
“Now, listen to me,” Lenny said. “I understand that you’re frustrated, Jimmy, but this is work. Your brother and I have to be seen out in the city. We’ve got a huge match coming up tomorrow, and I still have to prove myself...” Lenny sat on his bed, and patted the space beside him; Jimmy sat, but with his back to his father. “Do you know what it’s like out there when no one thinks you can do something? Especially when you’re trying to do the impossible? I’m going to be honest with you, son: I’m walking a fucking wire here, and I have to keep my eyes on the finish line for another few days. Then we are going to decide exactly what to do.” Lenny put his hand on Jimmy’s head. “You hear me, Jimmy?”
Jimmy nodded. He knew exactly what it was like to have to prove yourself, and he knew exactly how to do it.
Lenny and Jimmy rolled up to Edgar’s house in the back of a taxi. Lenny spotted his parole officer’s car parked a few doors down from his father’s.
“You can let him out here,” Lenny said to the driver.
Jimmy looked up ahead to see what the problem was, and he immediately saw what Lenny saw.
“This fucking guy,” Lenny said to himself, and he looked for his money.
“We should handle him,” Jimmy whispered.
Lenny knew that Jimmy was serious.
“No, we don’t deal with him—we avoid him,” Lenny said.
“He’s too tight around our necks, Pop,” Jimmy said.
Lenny nodded in agreement, kissed his son on the forehead, and opened his door.
“If he asks...”
“I know,” Jimmy replied. “I know how to avoid an interrogation.”
Lenny wished his son well, and continued in the taxi to the city. Jimmy decided that this was a great place to start showing Lenny his worth.
“Hello,” Jimmy said, as he knocked on Tad’s window. The parole officer was frightened out of his mind by the appearance of the little boy from out of nowhere. He had been making little cracker and cheese treats for himself that went flying at Jimmy’s knock.
Jimmy opened the door, and let himself into the passenger’s seat.
“Can I do something for you?” Tad asked.
“You want to catch my dad, don’t you?” Tad shook his head. “Then what are you doing here all the time?”
“I have the right to be where I want to be. Do you understand that?” Tad asked, picking a little cheese square from his shirt.
“I know what he’s doing that he shouldn’t be doing,” Jimmy said.
“Really?”
“Yeah: he doesn’t flush after he takes a shit, you pig, bacon motherfucker,” Jimmy said, as he got out of the car, laughing.
He stopped, returned, and opened Tad’s door, again. “You come around here again, and I’ll tell the chief of police that you stuck your little finger in my ass, just now.”
Tad couldn’t hide the horror on his face. Jimmy slammed the door again; he decided that he couldn’t have done a finer job.
The Holland Hotel on 42nd Street was where Babu and Danno had used to eat. So, it’s where Lenny and Kid met. They needed to look like they owned the city—like they were at the top of the tree.
The truth was that both of them could barely afford to be inside the doors. Lenny had some money left from what Ade had given him to buy a suit, and Kid had a few bucks saved that he’d wanted to bring home to his mom.
In the wrestling business, optics were everything, though. If they wanted to be treated like somebodies, then they had to go where all the somebodies went.
“Do you think you’ll want dessert?” Lenny asked, as he looked at the menu, and ran some math in his head.
They had just been seated, but Lenny was already afraid of the bill.
“I just want to hear what we have to talk about,” Kid answered.
Lenny understood; he couldn’t expect things to turn on their head in under a couple of weeks.
“What way do you see this match going?” Lenny asked.
“Whatever way you tell me it goes,” Kid re
plied.
“Well, we have a lot more freedom now, because of the awesome job you did at the press conference.”
“Am I winning, or am I doing the job?” Kid asked.
“We make the call on that, now. I want you to keep your belt, and get his, too. The money is in keeping you front and center. You’re the one in the papers; you’re the one who people are talking about. Did you hear that the Garden is sold out?”
Kid didn’t seem to care one way or another. “Okay.”
“I know it’s going to take time for us to work out—” Lenny stopped, and waited for Kid to finish. He wanted a sign that they were on the same page.
“I don’t have any hatred for you. I don’t have any love for you. I... just know that I don’t need you in my personal life. You’re my boss, or whatever fucked up thing this is. I don’t even know what’s happening.”
Lenny was just glad that his son was talking. “What do you mean that you don’t know what’s happening?”
Kid sipped his water, and thought about whether he even wanted to talk this out.
“One minute, Ricky and Babu are afraid of what you were going to do if you found me in the wrestling business, and now you’re like a pushy stage mom with me.”
Lenny smiled. “A stage mom?”
Kid tried not to smile back. “You heard me.”
“Can I get you gentlemen started with some drinks?” asked the pretty waitress.
“I’ll just have water,” Lenny said.
“Whiskey, sour, please,” Kid said.
Lenny was going to intervene, but he kept his mouth shut. If the champ was anyone other than his son, he’d be encouraging him to drink like a man. He wasn’t anyone else, though—he was Lenny’s son. That’s what made all of this so hard for Lenny.
“We’re going to go twelve minutes bell to bell,” Lenny said. “You’re going over. You’re both going to get color.”
Kid wasn’t sure what that meant, and Lenny could see.
“You’re going to win the match, and unify the titles. Both of you are going to “blade:” cut your foreheads,” Lenny said, to clarify. “You’ll be the undisputed heavyweight wrestling champion of the world.” Kid, of course, looked annoyed at Lenny for repeating himself, like he knew what he had meant the first time. “I want you to meet Babu in the Garden the day before to run through your match. He’s going to take you through it.”
