Fight Town: Inspiration

by Jinx, Hondo

  “Of course not,” Freddie said. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t work with her. She wants to sell papers. I want to sell the fact that I’m an up-and-coming fighter. If I’m going to pass on Trongo’s offer, I have to work extra hard to get noticed. Getting to the top takes more than just training and fighting and winning. It’s about getting noticed. Getting people to talk about me. Getting managers interested. Like Marvella says, closed mouths don’t get fed.”

  Chapter 47

  Mrs. Lopez greeted them when they came through the door.

  A little stiffly, Johnny thought.

  Which was weird, since Mrs. Lopez had gotten so friendly over recent weeks. She still insisted on Freddie keeping her door open when they watched fights, of course; but she always welcomed Johnny warmly and had even taken to hugging him lately.

  But not today.

  Which meant Freddie had told her about the kiss. Maybe even about being in love.

  Well, good. He didn’t want to go tiptoeing around.

  Mr. Lopez sat at the table, staring through them.

  Johnny walked over and shook Mr. Lopez’s hand as directly and gently as he did every time he visited. “Good morning, Mr. Lopez. Freddie did a great job last night. That girl Washington was tough, but Freddie almost knocked her out.”

  Mr. Lopez nodded, but his mouth remained fishlike, and his eyes remained blank.

  Behind Johnny, Mrs. Lopez exclaimed, “You signed with Mr. Trongo! Oh, I’m so glad, Freddie.”

  “Mom—”

  “I know you were conflicted, honey, but I really think you made a smart move.”

  “Mom, I didn’t sign with Trongo.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Johnny drifted back in their direction.

  “But the ring,” Mrs. Lopez said. “He gave you the ring anyway?”

  “No, Johnny gave me the ring.”

  Mrs. Lopez looked incredibly confused. She turned to Johnny. “You gave it to her?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But you’re a dishwasher.”

  Johnny spread his hands. “A man’s gotta work.”

  “Yes, but last time I checked, dishwashers didn’t make enough money to buy juice rings. How could you possibly afford this?”

  “I had some money set aside,” Johnny said. It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was pretty much in spitting range and would have to do.

  Mrs. Lopez regarded him with open suspicion. “Money set aside? Money from what?”

  “I just had it. Doesn’t matter where from. It wasn’t—”

  “Oh Freddie,” Mrs. Lopez wailed, “he’s a bootlegger!”

  Freddie laughed. “He’s not a bootlegger, Mom. He’s not a gangster, and he’s not a bank robber. He told me he got the money fair and square, and I believe him. You should, too.”

  Mrs. Lopez shook her head, looking troubled, then came over to him with a dangerous light in her eyes. “Look, Johnny, I like you. I really do. Freddie’s been so happy lately. The happiest I’ve seen her since—”

  She glanced toward her husband. “Well, the happiest I’ve seen her in a long, long time. Maybe ever. And yes, she told me about… the two of you. Last night. I’m happy for you, really. You seem like a nice boy. But if you do my daughters wrong…”

  “Mom, stop,” Freddie pleaded.

  Mrs. Lopez stared at Johnny like a tigress defending her cubs. “Well, I grew up in the Avenues, okay? Don’t make me prove that to you.”

  Johnny raised his palms. “Hey, no need to pull your straight razor, Mrs. Lopez.”

  Mrs. Lopez turned to Freddie with a look of surprise. “You told him?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Freddie laughed. “But you sort of just did, Mom.”

  “Whoa,” Johnny said. “You really carry a razor, Mrs. Lopez?”

  “Like I said, Johnny,” Freddie’s mother said, and she jabbed Johnny in the chest with her fingertip. “Don’t make me show you where I’m from, okay? Don’t hurt my daughters.”

  “I’m not hurting anybody.”

  Freddie took Johnny’s arm and started toward her room. “All right, Mom. We’re gonna watch some fights.”

  “Don’t wake your sister. You know how she is in the morning.”

  “All right, Mom.”

  “And leave the door open, Freddie.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Freddie paused outside her door. “You might want to avert your innocent eyes, Johnny. There’s no telling what Lennie’s wearing in there. At bedtime, she dresses like a stripper in a heat wave.”

  Johnny stood outside, staring across the room toward the open balcony.

  He heard Freddie open the door and flip on the lights. “Wake up, fat ass! Johnny and I are gonna watch James Toney vs. Michael Nunn.”

  “What the hell, Fred? What time is it?”

  “Noon.”

  “Why you gotta watch so early?”

  “Early? The day’s half over, Len.”

  “Whatever. Fine. But there better be some coffee left. Why’s Johnny standing out there with his back turned?”

  Freddie laughed. “After Mom caught him staring at your ass last time, he’s trying to stay on his best behavior.”

  “Well, tell him to come in. It’s his unlucky day. I got my jammies on.”

  Hearing her, Johnny turned around. As he walked into the room, Lennie rose from beneath the covers and stood up, wearing thong panties and a half-cut shirt that revealed the lower curve of her breasts.

  “Oops,” she laughed. “Sorry, Johnny. Guess I was wrong about those jammies. Oh my gosh! What are you staring at, you perv?”

  Johnny spun around, his face hot with embarrassment and his mind full of Lennie’s scantily clad body.

  He hardened beneath the belt, realizing that’s exactly what Freddie, his love, would look like dressed so provocatively.

  The sisters laughed loudly.

  Eventually, Lennie shuffled past wearing a baggy white t-shirt that barely covered her ass, which swung fetchingly back and forth. “Mom, Johnny was staring at my butt again.”

  “What?” Mrs. Lopez said.

  “I wasn’t—” Johnny started.

  “I’m just messing with you, Mom. Now, step away from the counter, please. Lennie. Needs. Coffee.”

  Johnny went into Freddie’s room.

  She got the fight ready, and they sat down on her bed, leaving the door open, of course.

  “Watch the way James Toney uses head movement to close the gap,” Freddie said, as the two fighters touched gloves and went to their corners, awaiting the opening bell.

  Lennie came in and flopped down between them.

  “Dude!” Freddie said. “You almost spilled coffee on my bedspread. Go sit on your bed.”

  “Nope. Mom’s orders,” Lennie said, wiggling her butt back and forth as she shouldered her way between them. “I’m the mature, responsible chaperone. What are we watching, anyway?”

  “It’s Michael Nunn vs. James Toney.”

  Then, spotting the juice ring, Lennie exclaimed, “Fuck me, Freddie! Holy shit, is that what I think it is? Fuck me!”

  Mrs. Lopez dipped her head into the doorway. “That’s quite enough of that talk, young lady.”

  “Sorry, Mom. But did you see—”

  “Yes, I saw. But that’s no way for a young woman to talk, especially in the company of a gentleman.”

  “A gentleman, huh?” Lennie turned a cheesy grin on Johnny. “You know, I misjudged you, Johnny, ol’ sport.” She pressed her body into his. “You got another of these babies laying around? What’s your stance on twinning, big guy? Ow! Don’t pull my hair, Fred!”

  “Out,” Freddie said, dragging her sister from between them and pointing at the door. “I’m serious!”

  “Chill,” Lennie said. “Look, I’m sorry, all right? I’ll be good. Promise.” She sauntered over and sat on Johnny’s other side.

  He inched over to make room, taking the center of the bed.

  “See?” Freddie said, sliding
up against Johnny as if she were claiming him. “I told you she was a pain in the ass. Now I gotta start the fight over.”

  Johnny laughed.

  Freddie got up and went over and started the fight again. He enjoyed watching her move.

  Being sandwiched between a pair of gorgeous twins was kind of distracting, but once the fight got started, Johnny hyper-focused.

  James “Lights Out” Toney, 25-0-1, traveled to Davenport, Iowa, home of middleweight champion Michael “Second To” Nunn, a slick southpaw who entered the fight at 36-0… and a 20-1 favorite to beat Toney.

  Nunn’s speed and skills earned him an early lead on the cards.

  The southpaw landed crisp shots and used his feet to get out of harm’s way, reminding Johnny of his match against Apollo Stevenson.

  As the fight wore on, however, James Toney kept coming, bound and determined to break through the taller fighter’s defenses and bust him up.

  With an unorthodox come-ahead style, Toney stayed low, using constant head movement and throwing hard shots off an effective shoulder roll.

  In the second half of the fight, Nunn—a man so talented he’d never been tested, let alone bested, in 36 contests and 5 successful title defenses—began to fade.

  Toney was unrelenting, a pit bull of a man, dipping and slipping inside to hammer Nunn with hooks and uppercuts and overhand rights.

  Finally, in the 11th round, Toney caught Nunn with a right, nailed him with a hook, and dropped the champion to the canvas.

  Nunn struggled to his feet, but Toney stopped him a short time later.

  “That’s it,” Johnny said, when the fight had finished. Nothing felt quite real. It felt like he was coming out of a dream—a dream where he had learned the key to his success. “That’s how I have to do it.”

  “Um, sis?” Lennie said. “I think lover boy might’ve gone cuckoo bananas.”

  “Do what, Johnny?” Freddie asked.

  Johnny shook his head, staring at the screen. “That’s how to beat Apollo Stevenson. The head movement, the way he threw the right off the shoulder roll. Let’s watch it again. I gotta try this at the gym tonight.”

  “Not tonight,” Freddie said. “Marvella gave us the night off, remember?”

  “To hell with a night off,” Johnny said. “I’m gonna beat this guy!”

  Chapter 48

  Saturday night, when Johnny came through the gym door, Marvella whacked him with her cane.

  “What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his arm.

  “Jimmy tells me you were in here last night training.”

  Johnny shrugged. “So?”

  “So if I tell you take the night off, you take the night off. Get ready. Then three rounds of shadow, three rounds on the rope.”

  Johnny nodded and headed for the locker room.

  Freddie was stretching out on the mats, waiting for him. She lifted one hand to the glowing ring in her ear, grinned at him, and waved.

  Johnny grinned and gave her a thumbs-up but kept moving. They had agreed to avoid kissing in the gym. And not just because Marvella would probably crack them with her cane. If they started hugging and kissing, they might lose their edge.

  At least in the gym. Outside the gym, they couldn’t stop kissing each other.

  They shadowboxed and jumped rope.

  Jumping rope still warmed Johnny’s calves and got his heart pounding, but thanks to his new and improved endurance, it didn’t wreck him, and he recovered quickly.

  His new energy level had shocked him the previous night, when he’d come in alone and trained hard, mostly shadowboxing and pounding the heavy bag. No matter what he did, he worked on his head movement.

  He did the same thing this night.

  “It’s a miracle,” Marvella said, coming over to them. “You finally decided to move that big head of yours?”

  “Teach me how to do it right,” Johnny said.

  “I been trying for weeks,” Marvella said. “Maybe now, after the other night, you’ll finally listen.”

  “Count on it,” Johnny said.

  Turning to Freddie, Marvella said, “How’s that ring treating you, baby?”

  Freddie grinned. “Good. Johnny and I ran this morning, and I felt the ring working all day.”

  “Good,” Marvella said. “And I’m glad you didn’t sign with Trongo. Not yet, anyway.”

  The day before, Freddie had called Trongo and given him the news.

  Mrs. Lopez worried about Freddie burning bridges, but Trongo wasn’t mad. Business was business. He wished Freddie luck and asked her not to sign with anybody without giving him a chance to counteroffer.”

  Freddie agreed to give him a shot.

  “How you feeling?” Marvella asked Johnny.

  “Good.”

  She tapped his head. With her hand this time, not the cane. “Up here, I mean.”

  Johnny nodded. “Good. I mean, I hate losing. You know that. But I’m ready to train, ready to work hard and learn.”

  He told her about watching the Toney-Nunn fight.

  Marvella smiled. “Good fight. And perfect fight for you to watch now. But don’t stop there. Watch his other fights, too. Barkley, Jirov, Holyfield. Especially Holyfield. You can’t become James Toney, but you can learn from him. Freddie, you’re on the heavy bag. Johnny, come with me.”

  Marvella got her mitts and told Johnny to glove up. Then they went up into the ring.

  As usual, once Marvella started moving around the ring, it was like she no longer needed the cane leaning against the turnbuckle.

  “All right now. Come ahead. Pump the jab, cut off the ring, and let’s see you move that head.”

  Johnny did as he was told.

  She shook her head, looking mildly disgusted. “Your head movement sucks, kid, but at least you’re moving it. Hold on. Like this, see? Don’t lean your face forward so much. Somebody will catch you with an uppercut. Up and down with the legs, side to side with the waist. That’s a little better, but man, you need rhythm, kid.”

  For a split second, Johnny second-guessed his decision to dump all those credits into endurance. Should he have built up his agility more?

  He didn’t think so. All the rhythm in the world wouldn’t do any good if he was too tired to do what he had to do.

  Besides, what was done was done. No use second-guessing it now.

  What mattered was the future—and preparing for it.

  Marvella slid into a southpaw position and held the mitts, calling out combos, working in a lot of slipping, blocking, and countering.

  It wasn’t their usual balls-to-the-wall session, marrying power and conditioning. This was slower work, and she stopped frequently to critique his technique, showing him how to use a shoulder roll against a lefty. It was a deeper roll and put him too far outside to do much with his left. He had to either fire a right or dip back inside, watching the hook, and go to work on the body.

  “Stevenson ain’t gonna stand there waiting for you,” Marvella said, “and you won’t have 12 rounds to wear him down. Next time you get in the ring with him, you gotta shake him up. Knock him out of his rhythm.”

  Johnny nodded, taking it all in.

  “You know how they score fights, right? Hard clean punches, effective aggression, and ring generalship. That last one, that’s what Stevenson does best. He controls the action. How does he do that? By getting off first and controlling the distance. He’s a gatekeeper. He tends that gap, uses it to his advantage.”

  Johnny understood all too well what she meant. Wherever he didn’t want Stevenson to be, that’s where he was.

  “Most novices, they get in that middle range and just hang there, a little give and take, you go, I go, shit like that. Not Stevenson. He won’t give you an inch, you feel me? You gotta close that gap. But how?”

  “Head movement?”

  Marvella nodded. “That’s part of it. The other night, he got off first and froze you. Then he’d jab out and go back to circling before you could counter. You tried
to stalk him, he’d wait for you to change directions then get off first, freeze you, and circle out again. That style’s very hard to beat, especially in the amateurs.”

  She clapped the mitts together. “Block the jab with your lead hand and freeze in place.”

  She threw the punch.

  Johnny got his lead hand up, stopping the punch, and held still.

  “Good. But look where you are.”

  He was low, the way he wanted to be, and his hands were in position. But his head was in the wrong spot, completely lined up for her straight left.

  “You try to roll on my left, you won’t make it, you feel me? You gotta get ready to roll when you block the jab.”

  “How?”

  “Turn that lead foot. That’s it. A little more. See how your body turns with it?”

  Johnny nodded. “It loads my right.”

  “Yeah, plus your shoulder’s already moving in the right direction. Most guys can’t roll against a southpaw. But you, you’re gonna learn. Catch that punch on your shoulder, come right back with a choppy right hand, you feel me?”

  Johnny rolled and threw the shot slowly, trying it on for size.

  “That’s it. He comes back with a hook, roll back the other way. That’s it. Dip under it. Then bull into him, drive him back. Keep your head on the outside where he can’t land his straight shots, you feel me? Like I said, you won’t have 12 rounds to wear him down, but you mess up his rhythm, he won’t have 12 rounds to figure out what you’re doing and adapt, either, you feel me? You start timing that hook, you can roll under it but instead of tucking and bulling, dig a hook to the liver instead.”

  They worked it for a while. Marvella showed him how to incorporate the roll and counter while coming forward, moving his head, eating up the distance without lunging.

  “You gotta disrupt him,” she said as they wrapped up with the mitts. “Get inside, stick to his chest, use his height and reach against him, you feel me?”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said. “Smother his punches.”

  “That’s right. Good work, kid. You got a knack for adapting. That’s a rare thing, you feel me?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “I ain’t gonna lie. Beating Stevenson is a tall order. You’re going have to work your ass off. Train hard, train smart. No fucking around.”