Spirit of a Champion (Sisters of Spirit #7)

by Nancy Radke

  SPIRIT of a CHAMPION

  by Nancy Radke

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  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26

  CHAPTER ONE

  Victoria Tempest Drake, known to all as "Stormy," threw the last of her father's clean socks into his suitcase, stuffed them down into any remaining spaces, and pressed it shut. All she needed to do now was to call the cab and arrange for it to take him and her brother to the Boise airport. Then she would have her father's house all to herself while she decided what to do with her Masters in applied mathematics.

  She had three universities trying to recruit her at the present, she mused as she picked up the phone. Actually four.

  "...results are not good."

  “Tell me.”

  The line was being used. Stormy started to hang up.

  "You have three soft spots—one very large. If you fight again—ever, it will kill you."

  Who? What? She caught her breath and yanked the phone back to her ear as the voice continued, its tone harsh with urgency.

  "I'm telling you this as your doctor and your friend. You must cancel your match with Killer Kyle."

  "I can't." Her brother's voice. Stormy suddenly realized the importance of what she was hearing.

  "Jerry?" she cried out, alarmed. "What’s going on?"

  "Stormy? What are you... Get off the line!" Her brother's voice, outraged, took Stormy aback. "This is a private conversation!"

  "I...I...."

  "Hang up," he demanded. "And don't you dare repeat anything!"

  "Sorry." Her heart raced as she turned off the phone and dropped it back into its charger.

  Soft spots! She knew about them. Weak places in a person's brain that could not take any more blows. For a prize fighter, they were deadly. She stood still, confused. Why had Jerry said he couldn’t cancel the fight?

  Her brother could die.

  She sat down on her father’s bed, trembling with shock.

  Jerry hadn't had all that many boxing matches, she thought, desperately trying to negate what she had heard. Compared to their father’s prize-fighting career, Jerry was still at the beginning. He had only been boxing as a heavyweight for three years. Maybe the doctor was talking about someone else.

  But no...he had said "you." "You...must cancel your match with Killer Kyle."

  The upcoming bout with the champion. Two weeks away. Fifteen rounds with a man whose long arms and deadly fists blasted most opponents out of the ring in less than three.

  Last night Stormy had watched some footage of The Killer’s last fight. He didn't waste time with body blows; he went for the head.

  She sprang to her feet and paced across her father's bedroom, barely mindful of its somber brown colors. What should she do? Her fingers plucked at the sleeves of her shirt, grasping and releasing the material as she tried to understand what she had heard.

  She had to talk to Jerry. There had to be some explanation. No one would deliberately put themselves into such danger.

  She ran out of her father’s room and down the hallway to her brother’s bedroom. Knocked on the door. Tried to open it, but it was locked. Frantic, she pounded on the door with her fists.

  No answer. She ran back to her father’s room and went inside to get his suitcase. She’d tell her dad. He would know the danger and stop Jerry from fighting.

  "Stormy! Stormy!" Her brother walked down the hallway, shouting her name.

  "Here," she replied, running over to open the door. He would tell her what was going on. She and her brother—younger than her by two years—had always been close, she helping him through the mercurial times when their father's prizefighting career took its highs and lows.

  Without a mother, she had become one in her early years, taking care of her younger brother while her father was gone, more often than not, training for another match, trying to reach championship status. He acted as a father when he remembered, showing them how to fish and hunt, but he did not know how to teach Stormy much about being a girl.

  When Jerry was old enough to start boxing, Stormy entered swim meets and marathon swims and other events as a way of seeking her own championships. She had a box of ribbons and medals in a drawer.

  “I’m here, Jerry.”

  Jerry was already halfway down the stairs and turned back towards her. Tension twisted his otherwise good-looking features. He was dressed in a light sport shirt and slacks, ready to travel to Las Vegas.

  She stopped and looked anxiously down at him. "What did he mean? Your doctor. What was he talking about?"

  "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. How much did you overhear?"

  "Just...you have soft spots—"

  "Not me. My sparring partner."

  "Ted?" She gripped the railing hard and stared at him in disbelief. That wasn't the way she had heard it.

  "Yeah. I'll have to let him go."

  "But...but Ted isn't lined up to fight The Killer. You are."

  "I know. It might have sounded like that, Stormy. But it wasn't. You didn't hear what you thought you heard. That happens when you come into the middle of a conversation."

  "But that was your doctor. Not his."

  "Both of ours."

  "Oh.” She felt some relief. Yet, had she really heard it wrong? By now she wasn’t sure. “You’ll have to tell Dad. As your trainer, he has to know."

  "I will. Not you. I know the whole story, you don’t. And that was a confidential conversation you overheard. Confidential. Or don't you know what that means?" Jerry could be sarcastic at times when he wanted something. Like now.

  "I know all right."

  "You just have the wrong slant on it."

  "I heard enough. I don’t believe this is about Ted. The doctor said those soft spots would kill you."

  He put his hands on his hips, cocked his head to one side. "Now, Stormy. Do you actually think I would fight if that were true?"

  He made it sound like she was the one being unreasonable. Stormy paused to consider his words. Maybe she was. "No."

  "Of course not,” he scoffed. “No prize money is worth a person's life."

  "You’re right."

  "You haven't been here long enough to know what's going on. So don't go upsetting Dad—"

  "I wouldn't do that—"

  "Promise me."

  "I...."

  "Promise. You always keep your promises, Stormy."

  She looked down at her bare feet. She never wore shoes in the house if she didn’t have to. "Fine. Okay. If that's what you want."

  "I do. Especially when you don't have all the facts."

  "What are they?"

  "I'll tell you...some day. Right now I've got to finish packing. Don’t make me one of your causes. Go save the penguins."

  Her causes were a sore spot with him. He could never see why she put so much time and energy into them. But someone had to. "All right. I'll call the cab. That's why I picked up the phone in the first place," she added, to let him know she didn’t make a habit of listening in on other people’s phone conversations.

  "Thanks." He glanced at his watch. "Our plane leaves in less than two hours. We need to allow time to go through baggage check."

  "It'll be hot in Vegas. Do you have plenty of sunscreen?"

  "Yes, mom." He rolled his eyes.

  "Sorry. Just habit."

  "I've got a wife to do that now."

  "I know.” She liked Amy. The young woman was deeply in love with Jerry, but still able to see his faults. “Will Amy be joining you?"

  "Only the night of the fight. I don't want her around while I'm do
ing my last two weeks of training. She's too distracting. Besides, she has her job in Reno that she doesn’t want to leave early. I don’t think she thinks I’ll win, so she’s not about to stop working. And I don’t need to be getting those vibes while I’m training."

  Stormy bit her lower lip. "Does Amy know about...? No, of course she doesn't."

  "Stormy. Remember? Wrong message. Forget it!"

  She threw up her hands. "I'll call the cab."

  "Do that." He stalked past her back to his room and Stormy continued on downstairs and used the kitchen phone to call the cab company.

  That done, she wandered into the living room where her father stood in front of the TV, a remote control in his left hand. His dark hair was peppered with gray. Ring scars marked his face, giving it a weather-beaten appearance. Like his son, he was dressed to travel.

  "Cab's on its way," she said. "Your suitcase is ready."

  "Thanks. I'm about done here."

  She walked over and stood beside him, looking at what he had on the TV: a DVD of one of The Killer's fights.

  The Killer was pounding his opponent unmercifully, battering him to the canvas. A final, lethal blow to the head ended the fight and left the champion raising his arms in victory.

  Stormy felt sick. Head blows. He could kill Jerry, as surely as he had just knocked out his last challenger. Jerry had said he would not fight if he was in any danger, yet she could not throw off her sense of foreboding...or the sounds of urgency in the doctor's words.

  A close-up focused on The Killer's triumphant expression as the referee finished the count. He had asked no quarter and given none.

  "See that." Her father clicked off the picture. "The Killer's last fight...he used his left more than he usually does. He might have injured his right shoulder." He turned, hesitated. "Would you file that in my collection, please?"

  She nodded.

  He walked out and Stormy followed him into his office, wondering what to say without breaking her promise.

  Trophies filled a cabinet—those of her father, Elston "King" Drake, and of her brother, "Prince'" Jerry. Photos graced the wall, showing scenes from their fights and victories. All displayed except her father's last two fights, when he had been knocked unconscious by his opponents while trying to make a comeback.

  A white sign hung above the photos, computer-printed on an eight by eleven piece of paper. "NEVER GIVE UP"

  Would that motto kill her brother?

  CHAPTER TWO

  Her father sat behind his large oak desk which he’d gotten when a lawyer went out of business, and scribbled on a notepad. He signed his name to a check and placed it with the note. "Give this to the housekeeper, will you?"

  "Sure."

  "Thanks. You've been a great help these last few days. Enjoy the house. Stay as long as you want."

  "Thank's Dad. I'm going to put my resume′ out on the internet. See if I get any more offers."

  "Great."

  "I've got my old lifeguarding job this summer. It's relaxing after school all winter. As soon as I start getting paychecks again, I’ll find an apartment so you can have the house to yourself."

  “No need. You can stay here. Jerry will be back in Reno. I’d like to have you.”

  “Thanks. I might do that.” She’d need some money saved so she could move to her teaching job. And to live on until her first paycheck came in.

  “You’ll be gone for good as soon as you start work at one of those universities. Or get married.”

  “Not for good. I’d come to visit.” She wouldn’t be like her mom, who had left him and never come back. Her dad had his faults, but none that would drive Stormy away.

  He laid down his pen. "You're coming to the fight, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "I'll get you a ticket, ringside."

  "Thanks. I'd like to sit with Amy."

  "Will do. See you there." He stood up and pushed in his chair.

  "Dad...." Stormy said, stepping in front of him, so he had to stop.

  "Yes?"

  "About Jerry."

  He looked puzzled. "What about him?"

  She twisted her hands. "He's been checked by a doctor, hasn't he?"

  "Of course."

  "And everything's fine?"

  "Sure."

  "I was just—"

  Elston scowled. "Now don't go being like your mother. She worried every time I went into the ring."

  "I know." It was the reason their mother had left him. At the same time she left her two children to be raised by an endless line of housekeepers—an act Stormy could never understand. Her leaving so suddenly still hurt Stormy, catching her at unexpected times.

  "But I think Jerry may have something wrong...." She trailed off, wondering how she could warn her father and still keep her promise.

  "Stormy." Her dad wagged a finger at her. "Stay out of it."

  "Just make sure he's checked, okay?"

  "Fighters get more physicals than anyone, except possibly astronauts. Don't worry. He's in better shape than he's ever been."

  He motioned for her to go ahead. Stormy preceded him out the door, then watched as he ran up the stairs.

  Her father still maintained his fighter's form, working out with his son whenever possible. He acted as Jerry’s manager and had been elated when the promoter they worked with had set up this bout with the world's heavyweight champion. Jerry was good, better than his dad had been, and had earned the right to challenge the champ.

  She walked over to the front door and looked out into the clear Idaho sunlight, waiting for the cab. She couldn't shake the feeling of doom. Her stomach felt tight and her mouth dry.

  The Killer had never killed anyone as far as she knew. It was a nickname, earned by the potential harm that dwelt in those lethal blows. That knowledge did nothing to ease her thoughts.

  The well-marked car entered their long driveway. "Your cab's here," she called out, feeling time running against her.

  Father and son came down together, laden with bags and suitcases. They were very much alike in looks and mannerisms. Handsome. Confident. Even their boxing styles were the same, smooth and graceful.

  Her brother nodded his head as he passed. "Keep cool, Storm-a-long."

  "You do the same," she countered. "Take care."

  They loaded the cab and were gone in a minute. She watched them drive away and said a prayer for their safety. If only she could talk to Jerry’s doctor herself and be reassured.

  Stormy re-entered the empty house to the ringing of the phone. Was there any sound more pleading? She ran over and picked it up.

  "Hello."

  "Mr. Gerald Drake, please."

  "You just missed him. May I take a message?"

  "Yes. Have him call Dr. Lloyd Williams. He has my number."

  "Doctor?” She couldn’t believe it. She was going to get a chance to talk with him! “About Jerry. Is he all right? Those soft spots on the brain you mentioned. Would he be killed if he—"

  "Who is this?"

  "His sister. If there's something wrong with Jerry, my dad needs to be told. He's Jerry's trainer, as well as his manager."

  "I've told Jerry. That's as far as I go."

  "But—"

  "Confidentiality, you know. I'm his personal physician, not a ring doctor."

  "Will they check...?"

  "They should. It's on their shoulders. Not mine."

  "But Jerry is determined to fight, anyway. Can't you stop him?"

  "I'm sorry. I told him of his condition. I did what I could."

  "But...you're saying, he really is in danger."

  "I can't say anything to you."

  "How about to his wife, Amy?"

  "Not unless he gives me permission...which he didn't. I've spoken too much already. Where can I reach him in Vegas?"

  "At the Old Ranchero Inn."

  "Thanks."

  "One more thing. Are you Ted's doctor too?"

  "Who?"

  "Ted Smythe.” She spell
ed the last name out. “His sparring partner."

  "Nope. Never heard of him. Is that all?"

  Not really. Her body had just turned to ice in the summer heat. "Yes."

  "Goodbye." He hung up.

  A shudder swept through her as she put the phone down. What was Jerry thinking of? Did he want the title so much he was deluding himself?

  She had to talk to her brother again. Had to make him see sense—or to at least consult another doctor before the fight. The sooner the better. She didn't have much time.

  Stormy dialed the airlines to see if there were any flights that would take her to Las Vegas today. There was—although she would have to go through San Francisco. She asked them to hold a seat, then went over to put away the DVD.

  Instead she sat down and watched the fight herself. It lasted one and a half rounds. It was like witnessing a murder.

  The Killer never let up. His opponent had no chance to recover from the merciless onslaught of blows; most of them to the head and face.

  The Killer didn't believe in outlasting his victim. He didn't use body blows which would wear the other boxer down. Instead he literally knocked him senseless.

  Sickened, Stormy turned off the DVD player and took out the disk.

  Whoever had given the Killer his nickname had known him well.

  She had to stop the fight whether Jerry wanted her to or not. Somehow.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Was she doing the right thing? After all, Jerry had made her promise. And to Stormy, a promise was something that shouldn’t be broken.

  She fretted about it all the way to the Boise airport. She had only promised not to tell her dad. Jerry hadn’t made her promise not to tell anyone else. Still, she knew he didn’t want her to.

  Finding an isolated spot in the lounge, she called her cousin, Perri. Although Perri and Hugo were newly married, she and Stormy still remained as close as sisters. They always talked over everything important and right now Stormy desperately needed to share her problem.

  As soon as Perri answered, Stormy said, “I’ve found out something that might kill Jerry, but he made me promise to not say anything.”

  “Is it pretty certain?”

  “Very.”

  “So what are you going to do?’