by Jack Tunney
Donny Wayne pointed. “That’s the guy.”
We watched a small, wiry man with a moustache and thinning hair step out the door and lock it behind him. He zipped up his jacket, said good-bye to his co-workers, and then made his way down the alley with his head down. Nothing else happened until nine, when a squad car pulled up to the back door. A man hurried out with a large green canvas bag in his arms. He locked the door and slid into the front seat of the cop car.
“All you got to do is drive,” Donny Wayne said.
“And steal a car,” I added.
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “So what? You know how to do that,” he said. “You boost the car and bring it here. Me and another guy go inside while you wait. We’re in and out in five minutes.”
“It won’t be that simple,” I said. “Nothing’s that easy.”
Donny Wayne shot me a look. “That’s the beauty of this,” he said. “We’re in and out before the cops even know what’s going on. By the time they figure out there’s a problem we’ve changed cars and hit the road. We’re thirty miles away and counting our money.”
“When’s this supposed to go down?”
He shrugged. “Depends on when our guy works. His schedule. Things like that,” he said. “Won’t know until a couple of days before it happens. But it won’t be for a couple more weeks. Gives us a little more time to plan.”
I took a deep breath. A couple of weeks. A lot could happen before then.
“Easy money,” Donny Wayne said.
That was supposed to reassure me. Instead it hardened the lump in my throat.
ROUND SEVENTEEN
Sometimes September days were as hot as July. It was ninety degrees and impossible to stay cool. I wiped a rag across my face and finished filling up the De Soto at the pumps. Took the five dollars from the guy behind the wheel and went back to work on the Chevy parked inside the garage.
Mr. Roach handed me a Dr. Pepper.
“Been thinking about your fight. Saw an article in the paper on the Liston fight,” he said. “Mentioned you and Diamond on the undercard.”
I looked up from the engine. “I missed that.”
“Don’t worry. The wife clipped it out.”
“Appreciate that,” I said. “Tell Mrs. Roach I said, ‘thanks’,”
“This Johnny Diamond is a real tough son of a gun. He’s got size like Bobo Olsen, and punches like Jake LaMotta,” he said.
I worked a wrench on the carburetor. “I saw him fight on Cavalcade of Sports one time,” I said. “He hits hard.”
“His right is pretty mean.”
“His left isn’t too shabby, either,” I said.
Mr. Roach took a swig from his bottle. “This is a big fight,” he said. “A lot’s riding on it and it’s a big commitment. If you need time off to train, you let me know.”
“Appreciate that,” I said. “But I got a commitment here. I don’t want to leave you short-handed while I’m training.”
Mr. Roach smiled. He started saying something else but a knock on the door and the sound of somebody clearing his throat stopped him. We looked up to see an old guy, white hair, wearing a wrinkled suit two sizes too big standing in the doorway. He had a battered old suitcase in one hand and an overcoat in the other. His face was tired, and he looked like he had been around the track a couple of times.
Muldoon.
“Heard there’s a fighter around here who can use a little help,” he said with a smile.
***
“This Johnny Diamond fight is a big step for you, Kiddo,” Muldoon said, leaning into the table with his elbows. “You ain’t been in the ring with someone like him before. Ain’t like those tomato cans and local losers you’ve been squared off against down here.”
“No offense,” he said with a nod to Mr. Roach.
Mr. Roach returned a smile. “None taken.”
“This is a big fight for a guy who ain’t fought in three years.”
“What do you call those fights at Jeff City?”
“Ahhh ...” Muldoon waved his hand. “That ain’t the same.”
I poured cream in my coffee and went back to my apple pie while Muldoon dug into his chocolate cake. We sat in a booth in the diner. Mr. Roach had insisted on taking Muldoon out for something to eat when we closed the garage, and Mrs. Lester beat a steady path to our table with plates of food all evening. Muldoon ate everything she brought and kept asking for more.
Mr. Roach hit it off with Muldoon right from the beginning, especially when I told him Muldoon worked Mickey Walker’s corner.
“Best fighter I ever saw,” he said. “Saw him beat Tiger Flowers in Chicago when I was a little kid. The guy never shied away from a fight, even against bigger guys.”
“That was Mickey,” Muldoon said.
“Never did much as a middleweight,” Mr. Roach said.
Muldoon speared a hunk of cake with his fork and gave Mrs. Lester a smile when she passed.
“Mickey didn’t care who he fought, and didn’t care about the spread on the scale,” he said. “He loved to compete and he loved to win. He was fast, aggressive, and deceptive.”
Muldoon turned to me. “You could be that,” he said. “Only one thing you got to do. Listen.”
“Been trying to do that ever since I got out,” I said.
“Well, you listen to me and we’ll have you ready to give Diamond all he can handle,” he said.
It didn’t take long to get Muldoon settled in Flat River. Mrs. Lester found him a room at a neighbor’s house, not far from the YMCA and around the corner form me. Mr. Roach got him a part-time job at the auto parts store downtown, and Muldoon picked up some extra scratch pushing a broom at the Y when he wasn’t working at the store.
I hit the gym with more energy and focus. It was good having Muldoon in my corner again, giving advice and correcting the little things I did wrong. You missed things like that when you trained on your own. And I liked hearing his voice in my ear.
I listened to everything he said.
“Ain’t seen Johnny Diamond fight up close, but he’s a fast one,” Muldoon said while I worked the speed bag. “You got to be quick. Take the fight to him and don’t give him time to breathe.”
I kept popping my jab.
“Thing you got to do is work your balance,” he said, bending down to the floor. He pulled out a two foot length of twine and tied the ends to my ankles.
“Marciano used to do this,” he said. “Teaches you how to make adjustments and position your feet. Helps distribute your weight and gives you balance.”
“I feel like an idiot,” I muttered.
“If it was good enough for Marciano, it’s good enough for you,” he said. Then added, “You remind me of Marciano. You got power, but sometimes you throw your punches awkwardly. This will help.”
I moved from side to side and snapped jabs at the heavy bag, then pumped in uppercuts and hooks. I kept my head down and popped lefts and rights into the same worn-out spot on the bag. I dropped my left shoulder, shifted my weight, and banged rights into the bag again and again.
After a while, I forgot all about the twine.
Later Muldoon sat with me in the locker room while I toweled off.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asked. “This Big Mike character don’t sound like a straight shooter. You sure about getting together with him?”
“I can’t trust him,” I said. “I know that.”
“Heard you tell me stories,” he said. “About what he did and how he left you holding the bag when things went bad. A leopard don’t change its spots.”
“He got me Johnny Diamond,” I said. “I owe him for that.”
Muldoon stared at me. I knew that look, I’d seen it too many times.
“Just because you got a debt, it don’t mean you got some kind of obligation to do something you don’t want to do.”
I wished it was that simple.
ROUND EIGHTEEN
I was on top of the world. The f
ight was less than three weeks away and everything was good.
Then Donny Wayne called early one morning.
“It’s all set,” he told me. “We’re on for the eighteenth. It’s a Monday.”
It felt like somebody kicked me in the gut.
“That’s only a couple of days before my fight,” I said.
“Plenty of time between now and then to check out the town again and get a car lined up,” Donny Wayne said. “Besides, you’ll be done with this job and back in the gym like nothing ever happened.
***
“Are you nervous?” Sally asked. “Scared?”
I took a bite out of my bacon and tomato triple decker and washed down the sandwich with a big sip of Coke. The lady behind the Woolworth’s counter eyed the empty glass for a moment, then refilled it from the fountain without asking. This Woolworth’s wasn’t much different than any other I’d ever been in.
“I don’t know too many guys who aren’t just a little bit scared before a fight,” I told her. “Guys back at St. Vincent’s. Old pros I ran into when I started boxing. Even the cons at The Walls who had a hundred fights inside and outside the ring. They’re all scared.”
“So, I’m a little scared, too,” I said.
Sally put her hand on top of mine and gave it a squeeze.
I covered her hand with my other hand and gave a squeeze in return. I felt like I hadn’t seen her in forever. Muldoon had me in the gym for hours every night. Between school, our jobs, and the gym, we barely had any time together. I missed her.
Every night I dragged home from the YMCA. My muscles ached with a good kind of hurt. It was the kind of hurt that told me my hard work would pay off. I felt confident and ready for anything Johnny Diamond could throw at me.
“I worry about you sometimes,” Sally said.
“I’m okay when I’m with you.”
“You’re not such a tough guy,” she said with a smile.
“Not the kind of thing a boxer wants to hear,” I said.
Afterwards we walked around the Main Street, holding hands like it was a first date. “I don’t want to mess this up,” I said.
“The Johnny Diamond fight?”
“You and me.”
“You won’t,” she said.
“I’ve been down some bad roads and made dumb decisions,” I said. “I feel like I finally got a second chance.”
“You’re a good guy who made a mistake,” she said. “But you paid for it.”
“Wish it could have been different,” I said.
“People in town like you, Billy,” she said. “You haven’t been in Flat River that long, but people who know about your mistake accepted it. Nobody holds it against you. You paid the price.”
“I’m not proud of what I did,” I said.
“You faced it like a man,” she said. “I think Father Tim would be proud of the man you are.”
I squeezed her hand a little tighter and pulled her closer.
“Glad we took a ride tonight,” she said. “It’s nice to get out of town.”
“Me too.”
“This is a cute little town,” Sally said. “What’s the name of it?”
“Arnold,” I said. “Name of this place is Arnold.”
ROUND NINETEEN
I woke up the morning of the 18th tired and exhausted. I hadn’t slept in days. My head hurt and my body ached, and it wasn’t from boxing or long sessions in the gym. It felt like I had the weight of the world on my shoulders. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread surrounding me. The sun was shining, but the dark cloud that had followed me for weeks hadn’t disappeared.
I knew what I had to do.
By ten-thirty business in the garage and at the pumps had slowed enough to take a break. I pulled myself from underneath the Packard and its leaky transmission, and asked Mr. Roach to use the phone. He smiled and shook his head when I told him I would pay for the call.
Donny Wayne answered after two rings.
“I’m not doing it,” I told him straight out.
There was a moment of silence and a deep breath before he spoke. “What’re you talking about?”
“I’m out,” I said. “This thing we talked about. I’m not doing it tonight. Or tomorrow night. Not doing it any other night either.”
Donny Wayne’s voice was quiet and measured. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said. “Probably just got cold feet. That’ll pass.”
He knew me well enough to know I never got cold feet. Never before a fight. Never before boosting a car. I wasn’t built like that.
“I need you on this,” he said.
“I’m not doing it,” I repeated.
“I need a car tonight,” he said. “Need somebody to drive it.”
“Plenty of places to get a car,” I said. “Plenty of guys who can drive one, too.”
“I need you,” he said. “This is important. Can’t trust nobody else.”
“It’s more important for me to stay out of trouble,” I said.
Donny Wayne’s voice got an edge. His tone hardened. “This ain’t a good thing,” he said. “You can’t do this to me.”
“It’s not about you.”
“Sure don’t feel like that.”
“It’s about me. It’s about losing what I got.”
“Feels like this is something personal between you and me,” he said.
“It’s not about you.”
“Then what’s it about?” he asked. “Is it about you trying to screw me because of what happened before? Maybe that’s what this thing is about?”
“It’s got nothing to do with that,” I said. “It’s about me not going back inside. Plain and simple.”
“Big Mike won’t like this. He got you this fight on Friday,” Donny Wayne said. “You don’t go through with this, he’ll make it so you never fight again.”
“So what?” I said.
My voice got a little too loud, and out in the garage Mr. Roach looked up for a moment. He paused, then went back under the Buick’s hood. “I don’t care what Big Mike likes or doesn’t like. It’s not his butt on the line. If this all goes bad, he’s not the one going back inside The Walls.”
“But it’s an easy job,” Donny Wayne said. “Nothing can go wrong.
I shook my head. “I’m not doing it.”
“What about the fight?”
“Maybe I’ll do so good against Johnny Diamond, I won’t ever need Big Mike to get me fights,” I said. “Maybe I will do so good, I can do it on my own.”
There was another long silence. “What about doing this for me?” he finally said. “I need you to drive. There’s nobody better behind the wheel.”
I kept shaking my head, even though nobody could see. “I got something here,” I said. “Got a lot to lose. I’m not throwing it all away.”
A car pulled up at the pumps. The driver looked over at me and I waved to let him know I’d be right there.
“I got to go,” I said.
There was another long silence, and the only thing I could hear was the heavy sound of Donny Wayne’s breath. “Did you ever have any intention of going through with this?”
“I’m not throwing away what I’ve got,” I said. “And I’m not going back inside. Can’t be any clearer than that.”
“I need you, pard,” Donny Wayne tried again.
I didn’t answer. The guy at the pumps tapped his horn and gestured impatiently. I caught Mr. Roach’s eye when he looked up and nodded. Letting him know I would take care of the car.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said to Donny Wayne.
“It’s too far past that,” he said. “I got to do what I got to do.”
The phone went dead.
I hurried out to the pumps, quickly apologizing to the customer and hurrying to fill his tank. I could feel Mr. Roach’s stare. When I went back inside, he didn’t ask any questions and I didn’t say anything about the phone call. But it hung between us all day. Every time the phone rang
, I drew a deep breath and wondered if it was Donny Wayne. Or Big Mike weighing in with his opinion.
It didn’t matter either way. I wasn’t changing my mind.
It was the longest day I ever spent working at the garage. The minutes fell slowly off the clock. I stayed busy, but it was impossible. I couldn’t concentrate. I jumped when the phone rang or a car ran over the air hose at the pumps.
I wondered if Donny Wayne could find someone to steal him a car, or if he was even going through with the plan. It was falling apart, but he was stubborn, the kind of guy who wouldn’t quit, no matter what.
When I finished at the garage I washed up and raced to the gym. Muldoon put me through my routines, but he could tell my mind was elsewhere. Halfway through the session he ended the workout.
“Got to hope this is just pre-fight jitters,” he grumbled as he threw me a towel.
“Something like that,” I said.
Muldoon pulled off my gloves. He paused and stared into my eyes. “Seen you fight a dozen times inside,” he said. “Don’t ever remember you being nervous.”
“First time for everything.”
He gave me a hard stare. “Hope you figure out how to pull your head out of your butt,” he said. “Don’t have a lot of time between now and Friday. Need you to be ready.”
“I’ll be ready,” I told him.
“Don’t need no distractions,” he said.
I stayed quiet. Whatever I could have told him about distractions I kept to myself.
ROUND TWENTY
It was past six on Wednesday when I closed up the station. Mr. Roach went home early, and a couple of last minute customers kept me later than planned, so I was in a hurry. Mr. and Mrs. Roach invited Sally and me to dinner. It was my last full meal before the fight and I didn’t want to be late. I never had a problem making weight before a fight, but I didn’t want to take any chances.
Besides, Mrs. Roach was making meat loaf and I didn’t want to be last to the table.
I heard the rumble of Donny Wayne’s care before it pulled into the station. I felt a kick in my gut as I flipped over the closed sign in the door.