Shadowboxer

by Jessica L. Webb

  “And you’re dealing with public panic and pressure from the top to figure it out,” Jordan said.

  “You got it,” Rachel said. “And the pressure has just intensified tenfold to root out the Unharm protest group. Even an unfounded threat to the city’s water supply is a serious criminal act, and my supervisors want someone in custody yesterday.”

  Jordan glanced at Ali as her stomach rolled with unease. She was sitting at police headquarters talking arrests and criminal acts. And she was going to give her suspicions about her kids? This seemed wrong.

  “It’s okay,” Ali said quietly. Jordan wasn’t so sure.

  “Your text said you have suspicions,” Rachel said. Her tone sounded neutral. Jordan wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  Jordan opened her mouth to speak. The words were right there, but she couldn’t find the breath to give them weight.

  “Jordan is worried her kids are mixed up in this,” Ali said.

  Rachel nodded as if it wasn’t odd that Ali was speaking for Jordan. “How long have you been concerned about this?” She spoke directly to Jordan.

  “Since the needles,” Jordan said, finding her voice. These were her kids, her concerns. The blame and guilt could belong to her as well. The words fell out as she stared down at her hands. “Whoever served those trays of needles were young and should have been in school, and I started thinking about it. Why would they be involved? Maybe they were hired to do it. Maybe that was it. Or it was fun, like the graffiti.” Now that Jordan had started, she had a hard time stopping. “Seamus was involved in that recycling bin tower thing in the Heights. But I could pass that off as wrong place, wrong time. And the kids have been weird recently. Off, somehow. They keep checking in with each other, like there’s a secret.” She looked up at Rachel. “Those kids can’t keep secrets, they’re horrible at it. You know that.”

  Rachel nodded again. “I know them, Jordan. I’m not getting a lot of specifics, here.”

  Jordan sighed. “I know. I don’t have any specifics, not really. Last night at the end of the workout, all their cell phones went off at once. Like someone was sending them all a message. It just made me think something was up. And maybe I should bring it to you.”

  Rachel’s cop stare was unnerving, but Jordan expected no less. There was a lot riding on this. “Do you know who contacted the kids last night?”

  “No, Madi redirected their attention back to the workout.”

  A long silence, tension, unease. Jordan really wanted to be out of here.

  “I’d like to ask you about Madi.”

  Jordan sat up straight in her chair and swallowed her defensiveness. “Okay.”

  “Do you think she’s involved?”

  “I have no evidence that she is.”

  “I understand. The question is do you think she’s involved.”

  How to answer this? Her instinct fought to protect Madi, keep her sheltered and close in a way she never had been. “I think she knows something, yes.” The words made her sick.

  “Can you tell me about that?”

  “She’s acting strangely. She’s distant and not really talking to me. Everything I do makes her angry.”

  “I understand,” Rachel said, though Jordan wasn’t sure she was making sense. “Where has Madi been spending her time recently?”

  “Same as always,” Jordan said, trying to temper the defensiveness in her tone. “Work at the mall, the gym, group, and home with her aunt. She goes out with friends sometimes, but not much.”

  Rachel took a few notes, then looked up again. “You said group. Is that the one Helena Cavio runs?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’ve been thinking for a while that your relationship has been changing. It’s good for Madi to depend on other people. I think you even said you wanted to help her create that space in her life. To teach her it was okay.”

  Yes, all of those things were true, Jordan thought. Maybe that’s all this was, the long drawn-out fading of supports and friendship as Madi found her own way into the adult world. Maybe Jordan had conflated the two things when in fact they weren’t related at all.

  “Madi wanted you off the task force,” Ali said. She pressed her leg lightly against Jordan’s. “She was pretty clear about that.”

  “Yes, but what does that really prove?”

  Jordan didn’t have an answer to that. After a moment, Rachel slapped her hand down on the small table.

  “There’s a pattern here, actually.” She pointed at Jordan. “You’re the pattern.”

  Jordan’s stomach dropped, but Ali spoke.

  “What do you mean?”

  Rachel glanced at Ali, then spoke to Jordan. “You keep getting warned away. That’s why you two were approached on Grafton Street by those three guys. I think the break-in at your gym was another warning to stay out of it. And I think Madi’s behaviour is a way of keeping you distant.”

  “She has a key,” Jordan mumbled, staring down at her hands.

  “What was that?” Rachel said, leaning in.

  Jordan sighed. “Madi has a key to the office at the gym.” She waited for Rachel’s admonishment at keeping this piece of information. But all she saw was understanding.

  “It was your kids,” Rachel said. “They were trying to scare you away. I can see Madi leading that charge.”

  Jordan shook her head. “She doesn’t need to protect me.”

  Rachel gave a sad, tired smile. “I’m going to let you sit with the stupidity of that statement for a moment while I go talk to my supervisor. I’ll be right back.”

  Then Rachel was gone, and Jordan and Ali sat alone in the tiny alcove that reeked of old coffee.

  “Stupidity?” Jordan said finally, turning to Ali.

  “It was a dumb thing to say.”

  “Not really? Madi doesn’t need to protect me.”

  “You’re looking at it the wrong way. If Madi knows something about this, knows you’re on the task force, knows you’ve been approached…What are her thoughts about your involvement?” When Jordan still couldn’t answer, Ali tried again. “Think about it from her perspective, not from yours.”

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said. She couldn’t evaluate this.

  “What would Cay say if she were here?”

  Jordan cracked a smile. “She’d say I was being stupid. And blind.”

  Rachel returned just then. “I’m coming to the workout tonight. I’d like to question the kids. My supervisor wants to take any avenue of any lead. The kids might be the lead that breaks this open.”

  Before Jordan could work through why that didn’t sit quite right with her, Ali jumped in.

  “Not a good idea,” Ali said reasonably, but the edge was back in her tone. “A lot of them are underage. You’d need a parent or guardian present to question them.”

  “Let me rephrase,” Rachel said, her tone just as reasonable and just as edged. “I’d like to have a community forum, open a space for the kids to speak. I’ll let them know I’m there as a police presence. I’ll give them a sense of the seriousness of what we’re dealing with and the potential consequences of both coming forward and staying silent.” She shrugged. “It might work, it might not. But we need a lead.” She looked at Jordan. “And I want to support you in this. There are some serious allegations around this Unharm group. I don’t want any of them anywhere near it.”

  Jordan felt the offer of friendship through the tension. She wanted to take it, but she also wanted to run away from it. “Yeah, okay. I can end practice early. We’ll see what happens.”

  “We’ll see what happens,” Rachel echoed and gave Jordan’s shoulder a quick squeeze. Then she turned to Ali and stuck out her hand. “Counselor, it’s been good working with you,” she said with mock seriousness, her eyes dancing.

  Ali shook Rachel’s hand and said in a similar tone, “Same with you, Constable.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jordan—Twenty-one

  Fight night, and it’s
hot, so hot. Jordan is all sweat and muscle and fear. Perspiration is already collecting along the satin waist of her boxing shorts. The insides of her arms are coated, a layer of heated fear. Her scalp itches and burns. She’s not yet used to the tight cornrows that make her look fierce and fight-ready. They make her feel stretched and taut, one pluck away from breaking.

  Jordan stares at the carpet of the hotel room floor, counting shades of blue and grey. Bento is rubbing a roll of tape between his hands in a rapid, practiced movement. It warms the fibres, he says, in his growling Portuguese-Quebecois accent. Jordan finds a fifth shade of blue as sweat collects at the base of her spine under her tank top. She searches for the word that means these irregular patches of colour as Bento lifts her left hand without a word and begins to wrap gauze around her knuckles. The pattern is the same every time. It’s all patterns, Jordan thinks. The word for colour still eludes her. She wishes Bento would turn on the air conditioner. He will, of course. On their way out to the fight. She’ll sleep in a frigid icebox tonight. Maybe a winner, definitely bruised.

  The tape is next, and Jordan watches as Bento smooths the tape against her skin with wide sweeps of his thick thumbs. Their skin is nearly the same colour. Bento is gruff and curses at her in Portuguese when she loses focus. He sets a punishing schedule to keep her body conditioned for each bout on her way to the division championship. But she feels the care in this small act. It is not love or family. Jordan does not have those. But this care is important to her, and she absorbs it through her wrapped hands.

  “You’re ready.”

  It’s not a question. It never is with Bento. It’s also not the truth, but Jordan stands anyway.

  Jordan’s anxiety intensifies as they make their way into the arena. Jordan pulls herself up onto the mat, the smell of dust and sweat and hurt filling her senses. Each step of the pre-fight routine is familiar: the sound of the disinterested crowd, the starkness of the lights, and the hazy and oppressive wall of heat and expectation.

  Then the gloves. Shards of fear spike painfully against her ribs. The softness of the gloves is unbearable, and their weight makes her weak. Bento slips them over her wrapped hands and begins the lacing pattern. They do not speak. Jordan’s heart pounds out a rhythm she has heard for so long.

  Imposter, imposter, imposter.

  Her opponent is in the ring, going through the same routine. She bounces and flexes and postures, the intricate French braid of her long hair and the lilac sparkle of her skirt shining in the overhead lights. Jordan drops her gaze to her own black sports bra and black shorts with MCADDIE in white letters across the front. The show does not matter. Jordan knows even the beauty queens turn into beasts in the ring.

  One last tug on her gloves, and Bento drops her hands. The extra eight ounces quadruples with the weight of her fear and uncertainty. She cannot do this. Not again.

  “You will fight well.”

  Jordan closes her eyes as her coach seals her fate. A command and a prediction. They are the last four words she will hear until the fight is over. Jordan makes space for the words in her chest beside her traitorous, disbelieving heart. The war inside becomes fuel, becomes tension in her arms, becomes the heat and flex of her muscles.

  Jordan raises her gloves.

  * * *

  Jordan was tense and jumpy. She felt like one of her kids, distracted by every sound and unable to sit in her living room for longer than a minute. Music thumped in the background through the shared wall with the gym as Jordan tried yet again to sit and focus on her assignment. Ali was curled on the couch with her laptop, alternately typing rapidly and watching Jordan pace.

  “You’re a disaster, McAddie,” Ali said after Jordan had jumped up once again to look out the window at her empty parking lot.

  “Forecast said rain. That always keeps kids away.”

  “Then you and Rachel will talk to the kids who show up,” Ali said with a calm confidence.

  Jordan wasn’t interested in logic. “Maybe we should wait for a day when more kids are going to be here.”

  “I don’t think Rachel wants to wait. Things are moving, Jordan. She wants the kids to get the message sooner rather than later.”

  Jordan pressed her forehead against the cold glass of her newly replaced window. She didn’t want the kids to get the message. That was part of the problem.

  “I don’t even know if Madi is going to be there tonight.”

  “She said she was.”

  Jordan turned around. “You heard from Madi?”

  “A little while ago. She asked if I was coming tonight or if I was…” Ali picked up her phone and scrolled through it. “Or if I was ‘kicking international corporate ass’ tonight instead.” Ali smiled as she put her phone down again. Jordan wanted to return her smile, but it wouldn’t surface.

  “Okay, good.”

  Ali tilted her head. “That doesn’t sound like it was good.” When Jordan didn’t respond, Ali put her laptop on the coffee table and approached. Jordan warred with herself to stand still. Accepting closeness right now was a battle. Ali stopped about a foot away from Jordan.

  “Easy. Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

  Jordan didn’t move. It would be so easy to back away from this conversation. Jordan swallowed.

  “I don’t know where to start.”

  “Can you tell me your worries about tonight?”

  Jordan blew out a breath. “God, so many.”

  Ali took a step closer and touched Jordan’s arm. “Give me one. The biggest one.”

  “That I’m turning them in. Betraying them.”

  “Are you?”

  The question hurt, but it was exactly the right question to ask. Jordan wanted to say yes. Talking to Rachel, to the police, had been a betrayal. Her suspicion was a betrayal. But it wasn’t, not really.

  “No.”

  “Then what are you doing tonight? Explain your intent.” Ali’s voice was direct and commanding, but her touch was gentle as she moved her hand from Jordan’s arm to her waist. Jordan anchored to the warmth.

  “I want to give them a safe space. Remind them they cannot mess up enough for me to stop loving them or being there for them. I want to show them what support looks like.” Ali nodded, but Jordan needed to finish the thought. “But I also want to remind them there are consequences to their actions and show them a way out of whatever they’re caught up in. If they’ll take it.”

  “So, basically what you always do for your kids. What did you call it? A war of constancy.”

  Jordan hadn’t thought of it that way. Tonight was not really that different. Maybe the stakes were higher, but her intention and her goal were the same. Love, support, problem solving, safe space. Jordan felt herself relax.

  “Yeah. Thanks. That helped.”

  Ali leaned in and kissed Jordan lightly. “You’re welcome.”

  Jordan thought about that kiss as they headed down to the gym to set up a little while later. It wasn’t the most intense kiss they’d had, but it had been tenderness and understanding. It was the simplicity of saying she was here, and the certainty of saying she always would be. She would try to let Ali carry some of the load. She would try to believe the same way she was asking her kids to believe.

  The rain held off, and the gym was packed. Searching now for collusion and secrecy, Jordan saw almost nothing different in the way the teens interacted in their after-school routine. They argued over the Taylor Swift selection for warm-up music, they lazed and lagged through the most hated stations and lingered over their favourites. They teased and fought, postured and laughed, engaged and entertained. Just another day at the gym.

  Madi, however, was different. Jordan wasn’t sure she would have caught it if she hadn’t been looking. Madi was in her workout gear tonight, and though she laughed and directed and cajoled like she usually did, Jordan could see the effort. Madi looked spent, her veneer of energy thinning as the evening went on. Jordan watched and fretted and tried not to read too much into i
t. Madi had always had highs and lows, but she’d learned to ride them, to allow for the dips, to pay attention to her heart and brain and body and fight for equilibrium, not camouflage. Tonight Madi was working to conceal, and it made Jordan nervous.

  Rachel came in about ten minutes into the warm-up. The mood had shifted slightly then, but the kids bounced back and accepted Rachel into their midst as they usually did.

  About fifteen minutes before their usual ending time, Jordan caught Rachel’s eye. With a definitive nod from Rachel, Jordan walked over and started the cool-down music, giving no response to the questions and exclamations of surprise. They’d know soon enough what this was about.

  Five minutes later, Jordan cut the music. This alone was enough to get the attention of the teenagers. Jordan was usually a stickler for serious warm-ups and cool-downs.

  “Grab some food and water, guys. Then come join me over here. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  The mood shifted to suspicious in an instant. The majority of them searched Jordan’s face, then checked in with each other.

  “Come on, guys,” Ali called out by the table she’d set up with vegetables, crackers, and a few small crates of orange clementines. “I went shopping this week, so lay all your complaints about the food on me.”

  Either Ali’s voice or the sight of the food broke the spell. The kids grabbed handfuls of food and balanced them on industrial brown paper towels before making their way back to Jordan at the front of the gym. Rachel joined them, sucking on a water bottle and wiping sweat from her face. Jordan wasn’t sure where to start. Nerves ate her voice. Ali approached with a clementine for both Jordan and Rachel before smiling and stepping back. Jordan accepted the distraction and the smile as well as the silent offer of support.

  “Constable Shreve and I wanted to talk to you guys about something. Give you a space to talk or reach out if you need to. No one needs to stay, no one needs to speak up. But it’s been a while since we had a community forum like this, and some things have come up that make me think we should have one.”