by Jinx, Hondo
“Small card,” Trongo said, shaking his head. He glanced at Johnny. “Get a load of this girl, will you? Small card. There is no such thing. You go in there, you fight, doesn't matter the size of the card. You win or lose, and there’s no asterisk next to record, you know what I mean? All that stands is the win or the loss. That’s what matters.”
Freddie nodded. “I just mean it’s no big card. Strictly amateur, I think.”
Trongo spread his hands, which were knuckled in gold and diamonds. Whoever this guy was, he had money and wanted everyone to know it. “Again, what’s it matter? I mean, it does, of course. But that comes later. The lights, the noise, and the size of the purse… for these things, the card matters. The excitement matters. Purses are the thing. A girl and her purses, right, Freddie?
“But for now? Forget about it. Right now, we’re building something, all right? It’s you. That’s what we’re building. Okay? All that hard work, these fights, the way you carry yourself, it all matters. Later, sure—the rest of it, the card, all that, it matters. Big crowds mean big money. And hey, what are we doing here? It's all about the money, kid.”
“Someday,” Freddie said.
Trongo raised a finger, grinning. “Someday is right. And sooner than you think, Fearless Freddie. You're special, kid.” He patted Johnny’s arm. “Am I right or am I right?”
“She’s special,” Johnny said.
“Mr. Trongo, this is Johnny.”
“Johnny, huh? Nice to meet you. A good name, Johnny. What are you, her boyfriend or her trainer? I’m just messing with you, kid.”
“Johnny’s a fighter,” Freddie said. “He’s working with Marvella, too.”
“A fighter? Of course, he’s a fighter.” Trongo shook Johnny’s hand, giving him an appraising look. “I could've told you were a fighter. One look and I could’ve told. The jaw, the hands. And I gotta say the black eye’s a giveaway. I hope you got that in the gym, Johnny. A man who cannot control his aggression outside the ring will never make it. Some do, sure, but sooner or later, it catches up to them, you understand me? Keep your fighting in the ring.”
Johnny nodded. “I’ll try.”
Trongo grinned a little. “He’ll try. Look out for this one, Freddie. A real cool customer. Can you punch, kid?”
Johnny nodded.
“He can crack,” Freddie said.
“How’s his chin?”
“Solid,” Freddie said.
Trongo clapped Johnny on the shoulder. “Now, Freddie tells me you can fight, that means something. You’re not a bad-looking kid, either. What’s your record, son?”
“I haven’t fought yet.”
“Well, good luck to you, then. You fight a couple times, win, look me up. Look, I gotta go. But hey, Freddie, truly, you look like a million bucks. A billion. You win that fight, okay? That’ll be number five for you, right?”
Freddie nodded. “After that, I’ll be in the open class. Can't wait.”
Trongo put an arm around her shoulders and leaned close.
Johnny felt a twinge of animal aggression. Absurd, sure, but real. What did that mean?
“Look, Freddie,” Trongo said in a low voice. “You didn’t sign with anybody yet, right? We have a deal, right?”
Freddie laughed. “I don't know about any deal, Mr. Trongo. You’ll have to talk to Marvella about that. But no, I haven't signed. When I'm ready, you’ll be the first to know.”
Trongo smiled, pulled a powder blue handkerchief from his breast pocket, and dabbed at his hairline, darkening the silk. “It’s hot in here. All this humanity, all this excitement, all these big electronic boards,” he said, gesturing toward the ceiling and its streaming river of flashing, pixelated images.
“Maybe you should take off your jacket, Mr. Trongo,” Freddie suggested.
“Freddie, my dear, I cannot take off my jacket. Nor can I loosen my tie. Alas, these luxuries are not permissible for a man of my station. But hey, let me know, okay, Freddie? I’ll be expecting a call. And you, Johnny, I look forward to seeing you in the ring. I got a good feeling about you, kid.”
As they drifted back toward their seats, Johnny said, “Who is he, a manager?”
“Yeah, one of the best in Fight Town.”
“That’s great, Freddie. He seems really excited about you. Will you sign with him?”
Freddie frowned. “I don't know. I gotta talk to Marvella about it. So much depends on my next fight.”
“You'll do great,” Johnny said.
Her frown became a half smile. “Don't bullshit me, Johnny. You don’t know I’ll do great. Nobody does. Yeah, I’m 4-0 and working my ass off, but who knows? My next fight, I might draw somebody who goes on to be the professional featherweight champion of the world.”
He shook his head. “Not possible.”
“Of course, it’s possible. You think just because it’s the novice division that can’t happen? Everybody, even future champs, have to start in the novice division.”
“I know, but your next opponent can’t go on to become the featherweight champ.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you are going to be the featherweight champ, that’s why.”
Freddie grinned. “Well, I suppose if you're going to bullshit me you might as well go all the way.”
They topped the stairs, reentered the main arena, and found their row, then started shimmying toward their seats.
Johnny reached his seat first but waited for Freddie to take hers before sitting down. “So if you sign with Trongo, do you go straight from the novice class to the pros?”
Freddie's eyes bugged out. “And get my block knocked off? No way. See, sometimes, when a young fighter shows promise, managers will offer contracts early. It’s a preempt. They offer good money to claim the prospect early and avoid a bidding war with other managers later.”
“So why not sign with Trongo? You said he’s the best in Fight Town.”
“One of the best. But if I hold out and keep winning and more managers show interest, my signing bonus could go up… a lot. And the more skin my manager has in the game, the harder he’ll work to make me a success.”
“Makes sense.”
“Like if I held on and won the city championship, I could make ten times as much, maybe more, you know? And maybe even a regular stipend so I could quit my job and focus on boxing full-time. That’s the dream. Well, the dream on the way to the big dream.”
“Which is…”
“You already said it. I want to be the professional featherweight champion of the world. Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing. Not at all. I believe in you, Freddie. You can do it.”
“Yeah, well, don’t go betting your hat on me or anything. I’ve only had four fights.”
“And you won them all. Look, I’m serious. I believe in you. And we’re going to push each other every step of the way, right?”
“Right. So I shared my goal. What’s yours?”
“Well, if you’re going to be the best, I’m going to be the best. I just don’t know what weight class.”
Freddie leaned back, looking at his body. “Light-heavy, probably. That’s 175. That’s probably where Marvella will start you in the novices. But she’ll have you suck down to middleweight, 165, for the open class. If you can hold the weight, you’ll stick at middle, but my guess, with your shoulders and all, you’ll probably be a full-fledged light-heavyweight by the time you turn pro, maybe even a cruiserweight. You’ve got the punch for it. The chin, too. But whatever the case, I believe in you, too, Johnny.”
He held out his fist. “Champs together?”
She pounded it. “Champs together.”
“You still gonna feel that way at quarter of four tomorrow morning after staying out late?”
Freddie gazed into his eyes, suddenly serious. “I never lie, Johnny. When I make a commitment, I stick to it. That’s why I don’t rush into things. I like to take my time, examine a thing from all angles, and make sure I understa
nd everything before pulling the trigger. Because like I said, once I commit, I go all in, no second-guessing, no regrets, no bullshit.”
“I like your style, Lopez. I’m the same way.” He held out his fist again. “To going all the way.”
She smirked at him and pounded her fist down onto his. “You wish, slick. You couldn’t handle this. And I’m serious. I might take my time coming to a decision, but once it’s made, it’s made. Period.”
“I’m serious, too. It’s the only way to be.”
Freddie nodded. “You know what I really want? My real dream? What I want even more than the belt?”
“Fame?”
Freddie rolled her eyes. “Fame is for fakers. No. I want enough money to take care of my family. My parents, I mean. My dad… well, if I was a champ, I could get Daddy some treatments that might help him. And even if they didn’t work, I would have enough money to buy them nice things, you know? And get mom some help around the house. I’d buy them a house, too, but they would probably never take it. They love that little apartment, noisy neighbors and all. It’s home, I guess.”
“You mind me asking what’s wrong with your dad?”
Freddie shook her head, looking sad again. “Traumatic brain injury. He worked for the railroad. There was an accident.”
Impulsively, he laid his hand on hers. “I’m sorry, Freddie.”
She forced a smile. “Thanks. It’s okay. I mean, it’s sad, you know? Daddy was one of these larger-than-life kind of guys? Big, booming voice, always telling stories and making everybody crack up. But since the accident, he hasn’t said word one. He just sits there most of the time. Oh, how I miss the sound of his laughter.”
Then she laughed, a sad, sniffing laugh, and wiped at her glistening eyes. “Look at me. Some tough boxer I am, huh?”
“Tough people feel pain, too. They just push through it. You’re plenty tough, Freddie.”
“Thanks.” She smiled at him, turned her hand over beneath his, and slid her fingers through his. “Look, Johnny. Let’s get this out in the open. I like you, okay?”
Johnny’s heart started beating like a speed bag, which was weird. He wasn’t some fifteen-year-old kid on his first date. But Freddie was different. And when he replied, he voiced the plain and simple truth. “I like you, too.”
Her smile broadened, but he saw something else in her eyes: caution. “That makes me happy, Johnny. It really does. I like holding your hand.”
“I like it, too.”
“But let’s leave it at that for now, okay? Let’s take our time. As a fighter, I stick and move. But as a person, not so much. I take my time. And if something’s right, I swing for the fences.”
Johnny gave her hand a squeeze and could all but hear Paul and Annabelle screaming as he said, “You take as much time as you need, Freddie. I’m not going to lie. I’m attracted to you. Big time. But I’m not just looking to kick ass and get laid. We’re partners, right? We’re going to support each other and work our way to the top together. Along the way, I hope we discover something more. A lot more, if I’m honest, but I’m not going to push you in that way. You take as much time as you need, and if you decide you want more, you’ll know where to find me: right beside you.”
Grinning, Freddie bit her lip. “You’re not going to make waiting easy, are you?”
Johnny shrugged. “Hey, I promised to give you time. I never promised I wouldn’t try to win you sooner.”
“Thanks, Johnny.” She leaned in and laid her head on his shoulder.
“Wow, I thought you said hand-holding only. We’ve already graduated to you laying your head on my shoulder?”
She twisted her face to grin up at him. “You complaining?”
“No way. This girl at the gym—super cool, drop-dead gorgeous, and a great fighter—she told me that complaining lets weakness reenter your body.”
Freddie smirked at him. “Well, she sounds awesome. You should listen to whatever she says.”
“Oh, I’ll listen. Just as long as she listens to me, too. I have a feeling we might butt heads from time to time.”
“I have the same feeling. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Nobody wants a pushover for a partner, and anything worth having is worth fighting for.”
Down in the ring, the announcer ushered in the first open-class amateur bout of the afternoon.
Chapter 24
“Here we go,” Freddie said, and gave his hand a squeeze. “Wait till you see this.”
For the next few hours, they watched a dozen open-class amateur boxing matches.
As soon as the first fight started, Johnny understood the huge step awaiting Freddie after her next fight.
A welterweight with only seven fights, in what must have been only his second fight in the open class, faced an opponent with 200 bouts and over 175 wins. Halfway through the second round, the experienced fighter, a rangy counterpuncher, caught his opponent with a clean right cross.
There was no need for standing eight count. The less experienced fighter went down and stayed down for the full ten count.
“Most tall, skinny guys can punch like bastards,” Freddie said.
Having suffered his first loss, the fallen fighter received a consolation prize of sporadic applause from the audience as he rose to his fight with the help of his cornermen.
Most of the matches were closer because most open-class fighters had a good deal of experience. But every third or fourth fight was a blowout.
"Open class is the real deal," Freddie said. "You get in there, it is baptism by fire. There's no place to hide. And everybody in the arena knows you either got it or you don't."
Johnny nodded "That’s for sure. Seems like they would still match people by experience, though. I mean, it would make for better fights."
"Yeah, but then politics would come into it. People rigging matches, building up second-rate fighters. That stuff happens in the pros. Some managers and promoters maneuver their fighters like pieces on the chess board. Which is why I want a manager with some skin in the game, you know? A manager signs you for peanuts, sooner or later, you might end up as somebody’s steppingstone… even if you’re undefeated.”
“Your own manager would do that?”
“Some would. Look, people in boxing, they’re all out for themselves, Johnny. Remember that. Honestly, the only person who isn’t like that is Marvella. She actually cares about her fighters, stands up for them. Which is why she still sleeps on a cot in the gym.”
“She does?”
“Sure. How much have you paid her?”
Johnny suddenly felt like an asshole. “Nothing. I didn’t really think about it. Came in, paid my dues, and started training.”
“That’s the way people do it. I slip her a little money now and then. At least a quarter a workout. It isn’t much, but it’s something. And when I sign, I’ll give her a cut. But that’s the way it is for trainers. It’s a high-risk business. They don’t have contracts like managers and promoters do. They develop fighters, get them ready for the belt, and then some slick manager or promoter comes in, telling them if they come out to their camp and use their trainers, they’ll make them a champ. And the fighter dumps Marvella.”
“That sucks.”
“It does. I’ll stick with her forever no matter what. Like I said, when I commit…”
“Same here.”
“And now, seeing these fights, you understand why it’s such a tough decision whether to sign with Trongo. I win my next fight, I’m open class. Hell, I could end up fighting Dominica in my first match. Trongo’s taking a risk, offering to sign me that early, so he might give me a hundred bucks, maybe a hundred and fifty.”
“That’s pretty good money, right?”
Freddie shrugged.
Down in the ring, one fighter rocked the other, and the crowd started screaming for blood.
“On the other hand,” Freddie said, “if I hold off on signing and win some open-class fights, even five or ten without a loss, my bonus mig
ht be a thousand or more. If I take the city championship, it could be five thousand, maybe even more.”
“But then the risk is on you.”
Down in the ring, the staggered fighter swung wildly and knocked out the other guy.
“Exactly. It’s all about risk and reward.” Freddie frowned down at the ring. “I don’t know. I’ll probably just take the safe money.”
“I’d hate to see you sell yourself short, Freddie. But then again, what do I know? I believe in you, but I don’t want to mislead you. I guess the thing to do is talk with Marvella.”
Freddie nodded. “But the pros are a whole different game. We lose the headgear, and the gloves are so small you can feel your knuckles through them. We fight more rounds, too. Amateurs fight three rounds. Pros start at four and work their way up to fifteen-round championship matches.”
Johnny whistled, remembering how it felt, going just one round with Jobbo.
“You take more punches,” Freddie said, “harder punches. To make it in the pros you need to be able to crack, and you need to be able to take a shot. That's the biggest difference. In the pros, you gotta be able to take punishment. That's the plain, simple, ugly truth."
Johnny nodded toward the ring for two more fighters were getting ready to do battle. "And this is the proving grounds, huh?"
"Yup. This is where the truth comes out.” Freddie's hand had grown warmer in his and was damp with perspiration.
He wondered if she was afraid.
A strange thought, this talented, confident girl, “Fearless” Freddie Lopez, possibly sweating her future, but he supposed any trepidation made sense.
After all, she wasn’t like him, setting his sights high and fighting for himself and his riders; one more hard-knuckled young man hunting girls, gold, and glory.
She had a lot on the line. To her, winning equated with bringing her father back from the living dead.
And losing…
So yeah, it made sense she might feel nervous, spelling out her future.
Johnny and Freddie cheered loudly for the three fighters boxing out of the 8th Street Gym.
One was Orlando, his coworker, who slicked his way to a unanimous decision, his ninth win in fourteen fights.