Killing a Snitch: The first of the Christopher Aiden Mysteries

by Brian Bradford

  Juvenile hall trained him to wake up early and boxing required endurance, so he woke up and ran five miles every morning before school. He showered at the school and enjoyed the free breakfasts and lunches. He didn’t have a girlfriend, a job, or a car. For pocket change he would flip a “ho-ho.” He would buy ten dimes of crack from a friend for $35 and sell them to a few family friends for $8 each. A week later he was caught with an eight ball of cocaine and sent back to Oak Hill for 90 days. He missed the trip to Kansas City.

  When Will got out he vowed he’d never touch cocaine ever again. The drug had done enough damage to his life. He invested in a trainer at the neighborhood boxing gym. Dave was a washed-up former contender, a “has-been that never was,” but he was what Will could afford. Dave was a drunk. Even when he was sober he was so punchy from a long career in the ring that he slurred his words, talked too fast and repeated a lot of his sentences, many of which ended with “you got me”.

  Dave, his trainer, had started boxing in Lorton and when released, he fought his way up the ranks for fifteen years and lost two title fights. At 50 years old, he lived with his mother and had no job, rarely saw his kids and spent most of his time in the gym. He couldn’t read and used words he didn’t understand, but he knew everything about boxing. Dave was the best trainer Will ever had.

  Dave was finishing a 40oz. of Blue Bull the first day Will walked in the gym. He offered his services at $250 a week. Will countered with a more reasonable $50 a week and Dave announced, “You’ve got yourself a deal.” The training was top-notch but Will always doubted Dave’s expertise and vowed he’d get a real trainer as soon as he had some real money.

  ` Will argued when Dave told him it would be at least six months before Will’s first pro fight. Dave explained that it would take that long to get him in boxing shape to be competitive against a professional boxer. After three months Will demanded Dave book him a fight or their business relationship would have to end.

  Will went pro only because he couldn’t afford to keep paying both his gym fees and Dave’s training fees. His first pro fight was a four- rounder in Virginia Beach. He and Dave took a Greyhound down and only had enough cash to rent one room at the Motel 6.

  Will was 18 years old and he was paid $400 to fight a guy twice his age. He was as afraid as he was that first day in the Oak Hill bathroom. Same results. He knocked the guy out cold in the first round. That same King of the Hill feeling came over him again as he and Dave celebrated alone in the middle of the ring.

  He knocked out his first six professional opponents and quickly earned the reputation of a knockout artist. Promoters up and down I-95 were falling in love with “Six Hands” Johnson. He didn’t dance or run around the ring; he didn’t showboat. Will stood in the middle of the ring and traded punches until the other guy fell on his back and rolled his eyes up in his head.

  Will knocked out four more guys, but he wasn’t earning any money until a local drug dealer named Fats Harrington offered him a job. Will served as Fats’ bodyguard as he went around to nightclubs, strip clubs, after-hours and gambling spots. Will made sure no one snatched the necklaces off of Fats’ skinny neck or pulled a wad of cash out of his pockets. The little money Fats paid him kept him alive, but barely. He was still living in the projects and piecing together meals of potatoes and hot dogs at night.

  When Fats offered him a management deal, Will thought his boss was doing him a favor. Fats brought in his lawyer, Theodore Pearson, and the three men met for lunch at Charlie Palmer’s downtown one day. Will was the only guy in the restaurant who wasn’t wearing a suit and tie. When he saw the menu, he knew he was about to eat the most expensive meal of his life.

  Fats told him, “We are your team. You just keep knocking people out and we’ll take care of everything else.” Will asked him if he was taking care of the bill and they all laughed. Will wasn’t joking but he smiled and then he felt great. He had seen a few guys in Lincoln Heights get recruited to big colleges to play sports and had heard about how the recruiters and boosters would take care of guys. He felt valuable being wooed by wealthy investors.

  Fats told him, “Yea, that’s what I’m talking about. You just worry about boxing.”

  Fats promised Will his first fight with them would be a title fight against Hector Santiago in the Tropicana Casino in Las Vegas. Theodore looked at Fats as if he were crazy. Will smiled and asked, “Where do I sign?” He inked a management deal right there. He didn’t even pretend to read the contract.

  It was a standard contract with no signing bonus. Will had to continue working as Fats’ bodyguard but three months later Fats and Frank came through on their word…sort of.

  The fight was supposed to be aired live on ESPN2. Will had trained for Hector Santiago every day for three months. Dave had gotten three videotapes of Santiago fights and he and Will studied them nearly every day. Santiago was a lefty so Dave had left-handers come into the gym and spar with Will so he could get used to fighting against an unconventional style.

  Will taped a picture of Hector Santiago up in his bedroom. Hector was the first person he saw when he woke up and the last person he saw when he went to sleep. He had several nightmares about fighting Hector Santiago. For three months, Will allowed his feelings about a stranger to rise from indifference to pure hate.

  Fats drove his truck up to Atlantic City. Will, Dave and Theodore rode with him. On 40 East Will stared out of the window at farms and American flags on porches. He saw small towns with Main streets and farm towns with fairs that made him wonder if he were in New Jersey or Kentucky. He wondered what his life would have been like had he been born in a different city to different folks. He imagined how his life was going to change after he took the world championship from Hector Santiago.

  He listened to Fats and Theodore compare war stories about lost money in crap games and realized he had never been to a casino before. These guys had flown to Vegas and lost more money gambling than he had earned in his entire life. They talked about how shitty Atlantic City was compared to Las Vegas, but when Will saw the boardwalk, he thought it was beautiful. They arrived just in time to see the sun set. Theodore had watched the sun set in the Tahiti Islands and seen it rise in Venice, so he wasn’t impressed with the Jersey Shore. Will damn near cried at the rare feeling of peace and freedom he felt.

  They all checked into Caesar’s Palace. Theodore and Fats got separate suites and Dave and Will shared a double room. They had roomed together the night before every fight of Will’s career since the Motel 6. It was a good luck thing. They all met for a buffet dinner and afterwards Dave gave Will two sleeping pills.

  Will was the fourth fight on the undercard and was scheduled to fight at 2pm. He and Dave went to the convention center early to watch the first three fights on the card. The place was nearly empty. Will was surprised no one recognized him considering he was about to fight for a championship.

  After the second fight Will and Dave went back to the dressing room. Will was so nervous he started to cry. He kept closing his eyes and praying.

  Fats came into the locker room and started talking fast. “Listen champ, the kid Santiago backed out – said he broke his thumb yesterday…”

  “What?!” Six Hands jumped off the table. Dave stood with his hands on his hips.

  “It’s not a problem. I got another guy out there for you named Hernandez – looks just like Santiago – you wouldn’t have known the difference if I hadn’t told ya,” Fats said.

  “Bullshit,” said Dave.

  “Easy win,” Fats snorted.

  “I bet,” Dave replied. Fats glared at Dave.

  “Six, this kid Hernandez is jus’ like the guy you trained for,” Fats said calmly.

  “Whatchu know about this dude?” Dave asked.

  “He’s Mexican, mutherfucker,” Fats glared at Dave for a beat. “He’s gon come forward just like Santiago. And all he gotta do is knock the motherfucker out and we go home.”

  “What’s the guy’s record?” Da
ve asked.

  “I don’t know. What difference does it make? They both weigh the same. What? Is he scared?” Fats asked.

  “Hell no,” Six Hands answered.

  “How da fuck you schedule a fight, and don’t know the other guy’s record?” Dave asked.

  “Man, it’s like 7 and 3 or someshit like that. And I told you, the other spic dropped out.”

  “Right, he broke his thumb - yesterday,” Dave said.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And you got the fight sanctioned dat fast?” Dave said.

  “Fuck you,” Fats said. He then turned to Six Hands and smiled. “How you feelin, champ?”

  “I feel great,” he answered. And he did. Six Hands felt more confident when Fats was around. Dave was realistic. Fats talked a lot of shit and made Six Hands want to believe it.

  “Six, knock this mufuca out so we can get that five-fight deal with HBO,” Fats said. Dave curled his mouth and shook his head.

  Dave didn’t like Fats or Frank. He had even asked Six Hands not to sign with them. Six Hands told Dave to limit his advice to inside the boxing ring. Six Hands was so impressed with Fats and Frank that he was ready to look for a new trainer if Dave, Fats and Frank could not co-exist. Fats and Frank were rich, so it seemed to Six Hands that they knew more about life than Dave.

  When Will walked out into the arena he was very disappointed. It was still eight hours before the main event and spectators were sparse.

  The Hernandez kid was right-handed and much faster than Santiago. While Santiago was a defensive boxer who waited to counterpunch, Hernandez was an aggressive offensive charger. The two fighting styles couldn’t have been any more different.

  The Hernandez fight turned out to be the hardest fight of Will’s life. Despite a broken nose and bruised ribs, Six won a TKO in the sixth round. The few hundred or so spectators scattered around the arena gave him a standing ovation. Dave lifted him up over his shoulders and Will felt great. He didn’t care about the small crowd, the intense pain he felt or not getting the belt. The thrill of victory compensated for the lack of glory.

  After each fight, the boxers had to be examined by a doctor. Will was in the locker room with the doctor when Dave handed him a flyer. It was a glossy postcard promoting The Epicurean Gentlemen’s Club. A beautiful redbone in a thong was sticking an oiled-up ass at the camera and biting her bottom lip.

  Six smiled but then said, “That’s for you man. I ain’t goin to no strip clubs.”

  “Look at the other side.”

  The other side was a promotion for a Hernandez victory party. He was from New York and a large contingency had followed him to Atlantic City. Will got up off the table and left the dressing room. He marched down the hallway and around the corner. He excused himself through a crowd of family, friends, and security and walked into Hernandez’s dressing room.

  Hernandez was on his table getting the tape cut off his hands. He was surprised to see Six Hands. Six wasted no words.

  “How long have you been training to fight me?”

  “…Three months,” he answered, frowning.

  Will didn’t confront Fats at the time because despite the lie, Fats had just shown Will the time of his life. It was the best experience of Will’s young life. Dave had almost ruined a great experience by exposing the trick.

  Will iced his face and hands most of the next day as they drove back to DC. At home, he was exhausted and sore. He was buoyed by his win, but disappointed that he did not return to the city as a champion. He had seen bright lights, gorgeous women, and gaudy palaces. He had stayed in a beautiful hotel; filled his belly with shrimp, lobster, and champagne; and had gotten a full-body massage and a facial. While it was as cozy as a home should be, Will was no longer happy with living in a studio apartment.

  He trained harder and stayed on top of Fats and Frank to get another deal done with Hector Santiago. Will had been paid $2,500 for the fight in Atlantic City. He knew he had to win a world championship to make any real money. When he tried to pay Fats his ten percent manager’s fee Fats just smiled and said, “Na, you keep that, Six.” Will felt like a small man for offering such a paltry sum. He knew $250 was what Fats spent at an Asian massage parlor. “You can pay me later.”

  A month later Fats came through with a contract to fight Richard “The Tank” Langston in Las Vegas. Langston was ranked #5 by the WBO and a win against him would assure Six Hands a spot in the top ten.

  This fight was being promoted by a company named Short Circuit. Fats had always wanted to do business with Short Circuit. He was so impressed with the way the CEO, Rodney Mobin, took huge risks and made huge profits.

  A month before the fight, Fats was proud to announce that Will would be going away to training camp. Short Circuit Promotions was paying for them to go to the Cayman Islands for a 30-day boot camp. Will had never heard of the Cayman Islands but he was thrilled about his first trip out of the country. He was embarrassed when he saw how wide he smiled in his passport picture.

  It was Will’s first time in an airport, of course. He followed the others as they checked the bags and retrieved the boarding passes. He had no idea how the gates worked and was surprised to see restaurants and shops in an airport. He just had not imagined that.

  The plane was smaller than he had imagined. The seats were too close together and he felt claustrophobic when the doors closed. He was amazed at how fast the plane taxied down the runway. Will jumped and grabbed the seat’s arm rest when it took off the ground.

  Fats laughed, and Franklin smirked.

  On the island, Will ran the 7-Mile Beach and trained all day. He had a nutritionist and a strength coach. His days were spent running, sparring, punching the bag, watching tape, and lifting weights. He went to sleep and rose from bed early. Fats partied all night every night and, through red eyes, told Will all about the island’s nightlife at breakfast every morning.

  Theodore flew down on the weekends. He and Fats slept with all of the beautiful women on the island and then flew in more. Will and Dave remained focused on Richard “the Tank” Langston. Reporters flew into the camp and interviewed Will about his life and his career. He was nervous and gave very short answers. He could not imagine what they would write about him.

  After two weeks, Will wanted to go home for a weekend. He told Fats he was tired of the island and its crazy cars driving on the left side of the road. He was tired of the same hotel and the fast food didn’t taste right. Fats suggested they fly to Miami for the weekend and Will was happy and anxious again. Fats asked him to continue training every day in Miami and Will could not have agreed any faster.

  Will asked if a few friends could visit and Fats said sure. The only friends Will held close were the other boxers at Knuckles Gym and his big brother Melvin. Fats flew them down first class and put everyone up in the Ritz Carlton on South Beach. The boys enjoyed Mojitos and shrimp cocktails poolside while Will sweated it out in a Cuban boxing gym. Sunday night, everyone partied at the Shore Club on South Beach. On Monday, the new entourage flew back to the camp in the Caymans and Will continued his routine.

  The party continued when they flew to Las Vegas. Will stayed in a nondescript hotel away from the media and away from the glitz of the strip. Meanwhile, his crew took advantage of every perk possible. His boys accepted every comp the casino offered from free food to show tickets. Will spent most of his time in the gym or sleeping.

  Will left “the Tank” flat in the third round. The fight was surprisingly easy. The Tank telegraphed his punches and didn’t move his head well. Will rarely got hit and beat on the Tank unmercifully.

  The problems started after the fight. When Fats paid Will, his purse was eighteen thousand dollars less than what he had been promised. When he asked about the tax Fats explained that the training camp was his expense and that the Short Circuit had merely advanced him a loan against the winnings. All the partying his crew did was charged to him. Will was left with a check for two thousand dollars.


  Fats and Frank had a different trick every fight. Will stayed on them to get a fight against Santiago. Fats offered a tomato can--an easy win--on television in Madison Square Garden. He kept telling Will about what an honor it was for him to be boxing in “the Garden.”

  “You know the Garden still uses the same ring they used way back in the day?” Fats asked.

  “Whatta ya mean?” Will said.

  “I mean, you’re fighting in the same ring that Sugar Ray Robinson, Muhammad Ali, Hagler…Frazier…Marciano and all dem muthafuckas fought in.”

  It wasn’t an aspiration before, but suddenly that seemed important to Will. He admitted to himself that he did start to dream when he saw the big, framed pictures of the greats lining the hallways. There was a statue of a boxer outside one of the fancy steakhouse restaurants in the Garden. It was a tradition to rub the statue’s wrist for good luck. Hundreds of boxers, including the illustrious gentlemen Fats listed, had done it before Will, and he felt he was summoning their strength when he rubbed.

  He was only getting paid $20,000 for knocking out Bobby Joyner. There would be no training camp this time. Will stayed in DC until the last week before the fight and only traveled to New York when it was imperative that he do press junkets. He did not pay anyone’s way to the fight except Melvin. Melvin had a room in the hotel, and a hooker, but Six Hands and Dave shared a room, as was their custom.

  Six Hands was ecstatic about fighting on television. The network executives kept stressing to him that he had to be exciting and aggressive. “No one wants to see a great boxer,” one of the old suits warned him. “Everyone wants to see a good brawler.”

  Will understood that if he wanted another televised fight he had to be brutal. Outscoring an opponent and winning a decision was boring. He had to look sharp if he wanted to be a TV fighter. He had to be flashy, live up to his moniker and perform like a showman. Will wanted to draw blood and knock his opponent out. The quicker the better. Fats had lined up an easy win so he could look good and Will was ready to take advantage of the opportunity. Only Bobby Joyner did not turn out to be as easy as expected.