by Jack Tunney
Jimmy and Noel paid close attention while Baldy James had his hands wrapped. Some skinny guy in a worn black derby watched Peter wrap my hands. As Peter wound the gauze around my left hand, I took the note from Gran out of my pocket. Only it wasn’t a note, but a picture of me with my mother. Except it wasn’t me, it was my father. I’d never seen the picture before. My father an exact copy of me, and my mother looked very happy. They both did.
It dawned on me that Ardee put an end to it all. He stole their happiness. Forced my mother to flee to the States where she died from a broken heart. I never met my father, he never saw me. I couldn’t really remember my mother. Never knew my parents. I was orphaned. Gran lived in a miserable little house, forced to pay a debt that was probably false from the very beginning. The rent increase to everyone on the lane, the thugs, it all came down to one man I had to get to, Ardee. And Baldy James Keane was in my way.
I suddenly heard Father Tim next to me, Come on Kevin, try. The first step in getting something done is to try.” He sounded so real, I actually looked over to see him, but he wasn’t there.
Instead Baldy James looked over. Then he spit a mouthful of whiskey on the ground in front of me and said, “One minute, Yank.”
ROUND 16
Before I knew it, we were climbing into the ring. Peter and me in the near corner, Baldy James and his man in the far corner. The crowd surged around the ring, hanging over the top rope. I could see fists full of cash being waved about. No doubt, Ardee had his hand in that pie.
All right now, Kevin, this is it. A Hail Mary, quick now, then in and show no mercy son. Remember, God loves the lad who tries.
“Okay Father.” I nodded.
Peter looked at me strangely. “What?”
“Sorry, I just was saying the Hail Mary.”
“Are ya daft? I can barely hear meself think with the roar of this ijit crowd,” Peter yelled into my ear. Then he looked across the ring at Baldy James. “Just stay away from that big plonker and maybe he’ll tire.” He didn’t sound too sure.
The referee stepped into the ring. He turned out to be the skinny fellow in the worn black derby who watched Peter wrap my hands. He held what looked like a large brass cowbell and some sort of wrench. He clanged the bell a few times with the wrench, then quickly stepped to the far side of the ring as Baldy James lumbered out of his corner.
He was big, very big. I had to look up at him as he approached. And he was very hairy. All that hair looked more like wall to wall carpet from his ankles up his tree trunk legs across his massive jiggling belly, barrel chest, and over his heavy shoulders. His dark eyebrows danced up and down as he lumbered out in a bear-like stance, paws outstretched. He had a more flatfooted gate than the Russian back in Templehof and kept his head raised slightly, almost leading with his chin. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to reach it. He was smiling and probably looking forward to the opportunity to kill me.
One might make the mistake of thinking him fat. Maybe he was, but it was that sort of solid fat build that comes with a lot of hard, heavy labor. I wasn’t sure Baldy James had done much training to get in shape for this fight. Maybe none at all. But he was still capable of doing a lot of damage. He moved around slowly, rotating his fists for a bit before he suddenly stopped and announced to the crowd, “His minute is up.” Then he gave a little laugh, turned and faced me.
He suddenly lunged at me just like his brother Bad Billy had done, only he was nowhere near as clumsy. I slipped out of his sweaty grasp, felt the hair from his chest and arms brush like small wires against my face and ears.
I gave him a shot with my right to the rib cage as I slipped past, then a hard left to his kidney once I slid out of his grasp. He didn’t seem to notice. He looked just as hairy from the back as he did from the front.
He turned toward me. His eyebrows furrowed as he lumbered in my direction with the same stance. He held his arms maybe just a little tighter and rolled his fists. I danced to the side. He moved after me, slowly, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes seemed to flash to the crowd from time to time. Was he looking for something?
I thought I had the pattern, three, no four steps, flash a glance to the crowd, four steps, flash a glance.
Count them, Kevin, two, three, now son, Father Tim said in my head.
I belted Baldy’s arm away with my left, drilled a right into his lower jaw, a left upper cut that thudded to a stop on his chin. I ducked as his right sailed over my head, felt his massive tree limb arm just whisper across my hair.
I drove a right, left, right combination with everything I had into his rib cage, but my punches just seemed to get lost in the hairy slabs of fat on his sides. I stepped back just as his elbow rocketed past the tip of my nose when he spun round.
I wasn’t sure he even knew I’d hit him.
We moved around the ring some more, me dancing, Baldy lumbering like a giant Grizzly. He was smiling and looking forward to the chance to tear my head off. After what seem like a half hour, the referee in the derby hat clanged the cowbell. I turned and walked off toward my corner.
“Kevin,” I heard the scream. I jumped to the right just as Baldy James sailed past, stopped, turned, and lurched toward me. I ducked, felt the hair from his chest against my face as I slipped from his sweaty grasp and gave him another solid shot to his kidney.
The cowbell was clanging in earnest and Derby Hat came running across the ring hitting the thing with his wrench all the while screaming at me.
“That’s a foul, sir, and we’ll be having none of that behavior in this fight,” he screamed.
“He attacked me after the bell. My back was to him.”
“You heard me, I’ll say it again. None of that or you’ll forfeit. Is that understood?”
This brought Derby Hat a chorus of boos from the crowd and he quickly made his way out of the ring without waiting for my reply.
I hadn’t sat down for more than a second or two when the cowbell clanged again and we were back at it. We danced back and forth for a few rounds, or at least I did. Baldy James just sort of cut my path off whenever he felt like it. As near as I could determine, the length of the rounds seem to coincide with whenever Baldy James felt like taking a break.
My fists were holding up well. I’d landed plenty of punches on Baldy James, I just couldn’t tell that they’d had any effect. The body blows I’d given him seemed to be absorbed by the pillows of fat he carried. Or maybe it was just that wiry hair all over his body that acted like some sort of furry chainmail.
He had been attempting to cut me off for the past few rounds. Work me into the corner where I wouldn’t have an escape. He was still glancing at the crowd every four steps, as regular as clockwork. I’d hit him again and again with a combination that seemed to have absolutely no effect.
I still couldn’t tell what his signal to the derby hatted referee was that determined the end of a round. Whatever it was he must have just given it because the bell was clanging. I held my ground and watched Baldy James head back to his corner. He suddenly spun round, probably the fastest he’d moved the entire fight, and looked like he was poised to attack. I stood there ready for him, waiting. He just smiled, and then ambled off to his corner.
I walked over to my corner, backwards, never taking my eyes off him.
“Good lad,” Peter said, “You can never trust that plonker.”
“Any ideas?” I asked, as Jimmy reached over the rope and handed me a bottle of Guinness.
I gave him a strange look.
“It only water, Kevin, but maybe it’ll get old Baldy thinking he should drink more whiskey and slow him down.”
I looked across the ring at Baldy James gulping from the whiskey bottle again. “I don’t know if he could get any slower. He seems to move the fastest after the bell.”
With that, the bell clanged. Baldy James spit a mouthful of whiskey in my direction, grabbed the top ropes with his hairy arms and pulled himself to his feet.
I handed Jimmy the Guinness b
ottle and came out, dancing to my right. We circled a few times while I threw the occasional jab, working on Baldy’s left arm like I’d been doing all along. Nothing seemed to have an effect on him. He kept rotating his fists in that slow, dancing bear sort of stance and worked to cut off my route. He was smiling and moving the same way he’d been the entire fight, four steps then the quick glance, four more steps and another quick glance. I sensed somehow, something had changed, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
All of a sudden Baldy James literally jumped in front of me. I felt the ground beneath me shudder as he landed. I’d just shot another solid jab into his left arm. I could see the fat ripple across his chest in a wave so I knew I’d connected, but still with no apparent effect. Then suddenly there he was right in front of me. Instead of a punch, he pushed me back with both hands, using all his weight for added force.
I flew back three or four steps, regained my balance against the rope, and went to move to my left, only I couldn’t. Someone was holding my belt from behind just as Baldy James stepped forward, drew back a massive, hairy, right arm and came at me. His fist looked like a ten pound ham floating out there for a moment. Then it began to sail in the direction of my face.
I moved my head slightly to the right then ducked left as best I could just as Baldy James’s massive fist sailed past my ear and connected with whoever was behind me. My belt was suddenly released and I spun out from underneath Baldy’s matted chest fur.
I popped up on his right side and, while he was still stretched out over the top rope, gave him a solid four punch combination that slammed into his rib cage and had to do damage. I was pretty sure that deep beneath all the layers of fat I felt something give way.
Baldy half lurched over the top rope and I climbed up his hairy back, hung on with my left and got three hard rights into the back of his jaw before the bell began clanging furiously. He spun round, enraged, and I rode his massive arm like a swinging tree branch out into the center of the ring. He didn’t follow up, but just stood there glaring maybe a bit glassy eyed with just the hint of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.
Derby Hat was next to me, still furiously clanging the cowbell. The crowd was roaring and there was a body lying on the ground where I’d been held just a moment ago. I could only hope it was the guy who’d grabbed me. He sort of looked familiar from what I could see, but with all the blood on his face I couldn’t place him.
“Back to your corner, go on, off with you, get back, will ya,” Derby Hat shouted, still clanging the wrench against the cowbell.
I pointed at the now semi-conscious figure on the ground, bloody faced, head rolling back and forth. “Someone grabbed me over there, held me so Baldy could hit me.”
“Aw, you’re daft. He’s only had a bit too much to drink, go on now, off with ya.” He stopped pounding the cowbell and pointed to my corner with the wrench. I backed toward my corner, keeping my eyes on Baldy James. He didn’t seem too interested in pursuing for the moment.
“I thought he had you there,” Peter said. Jimmy reached over the rope and handed me the Guinness bottle with water.
“Someone grabbed onto my belt and held me there. I think Baldy hit him when he missed me.”
“It was Bad Billy, his own brother. The pair of fools,” Jimmy said.
“I can’t see him now,” I replied, scanning the ground along that side of the ring.
“They carried him out while you were talking to the referee.”
“That’s another thing. That referee doesn’t seem to be very fair.”
Peter and Jimmy gave each other a questioning look. Then Peter said, “He’s one of Ardee’s crew.” He said it matter-of-fact, like it should be common knowledge, which I guessed it was to everyone, but me.
We seemed to have a longer break than usual, but finally the bell rang. I rose up and half danced to the center of the ring. I noticed Baldy grimace slightly as he got to his feet. He pulled himself up by hanging onto the top rope. He seemed to take a moment to catch his breath before moving toward me.
He was still flat footed, leading with his left, rotating his fist in a wide circle. His right elbow was tucked in against his furry side, protecting those ribs. His whole stance seemed much tighter. His massive right fist was held down about six inches. It seemed cocked and ready to explode. He moved it up and down ever so slightly. There was no smile from Baldy this time. He wore a certain look of cold determination I hadn’t seen before that was even worse than his smile. He never glanced once into the crowd.
I danced back and forth, did some changeups, tried to get in and work his right side, but he was having none of it. He still attempted to cut me off in the center of the ring, but no where near as aggressively as before.
I weaved in and out, stung his face once or twice but nothing much beyond a slap. I was getting his new timing down. He’d take a few steps, sort of lumbering in, then I’d give a right, left, right combination, and spin away hoping to draw him out. It wasn’t working. I was just set to come in again, in fact maybe I got my first right off, when boom!
He unleashed his massive right. It caught my fists, thankfully, but slammed them back into my face, knocking me down. I tumbled backwards and ended up sitting on the ground looking up as Baldy James’s massive bulk hovered over me, blocking all daylight. I felt his sweat dripping down on me. His hot whiskey breath blistered my face as he thundered left and right blows onto the top of my skull.
I tried to block them. I just managed to get off a left shot off that caught him right between the eyes and slowed him for a second. It was all the time I needed.
I scrambled onto my knees and lurched between his legs, crawling for the daylight beyond his furry thighs. I made it to my feet, went for the right side of his rib cage and missed, but landed a solid kidney punch that made him grunt, although, it was impossible to tell with the crowd screaming.
I danced back as he came round. I could feel two or three massive knots swelling on the top of my head where he’d hit me and shook my head in an attempt to clear it. There was definitely a trail of blood coming from the right hand corner of his mouth. He wiped at it with his fist, then stared at the blood seeping into the gauze and looked over at me questioningly.
I danced back a few feet, but was careful not to get too close to all the hands hanging over the top rope. Baldy lunged toward me, this time with his arms open wide, ready to grab me in a sweaty bear hug.
I drilled him with a combination to his chin that slowed him down. Another combination stopped him. I unloaded a hard right to his nose that turned it in the opposite direction.
Baldy swatted me with a left backhand that caught me on the temple and sent stars exploding in my head. He almost took me off my feet and I reeled back a few paces, then shook my head in an attempt to regain my focus.
Mercifully, he didn’t follow up, but gave a nod. I thought at first it was to me, but the next thing I knew the cowbell was clanging and Derby Hat was yelling at me to get back to my corner.
“Well done, Kevin, well done,” Peter was yelling above the noise of the crowd. I shook my head again in an effort to clear it and Jimmy poured the Guinness bottle of water over my head, which seemed to help. Peter was looking into my eyes. “Can you understand what I’m saying, Kevin?”
“Not with everyone around here yelling like this,” I said.
“Fair enough. You’re all right, then. Watch him now. He’s liable to be a bit desperate. He’ll try just about anything.”
“I can’t wait,” I groaned.
Jimmy handed me the bottle of Guinness, only this time that’s what it was, Guinness. I took two deep swallows and coughed it right back up all over Peter.
“Mary and Joseph, you’re after wasting the stuff,” Jimmy exclaimed, then grabbed the bottle out of my hands.
Peter wiped his face with the towel just as the bell clanged. I caught a grimace again from Baldy James as he pulled his massive frame to his feet, then moved cautiously in my general direction.
He assumed an even tighter stance than the one during the last round and spit a mouthful of blood toward me as he approached. His nose was still turned in the opposite direction and looked a good deal more flat.
He was rotating his fists in tight circles now, both elbows locked tightly against the slabs of his rib cage. As his fists rotated, I caught a metallic glint between two of his fingers. He held a short piece of pipe or steel in his right hand. I danced back, looked for Derby Hat, but couldn’t see him or the large brass cowbell. We circled. I danced back by Peter.
“He’s a piece of pipe in his hand,” I yelled. But Peter couldn’t hear me with the roar of the crowd.
Baldy shot a quick jab with his right. I blocked it, jabbed back. I thought I caught a momentary grimace when he jabbed, but I couldn’t be sure. He shot a couple of left jabs then a left, right combination, backing me up. I faked left, went right, ducked another of his looping lefts and got behind him in time to give a hard jab to the back of his rib cage. This time I heard him grunt.
He turned round and lumbered toward me, but I was able to slow him up with some jabs toward his newly formed nose. Not that I really ever connected, but they slowed him nonetheless. He was moving me slowly across the ring. I was worried someone else might grab me from behind, and this time Baldy was armed with whatever was in his right fist.
He gave another loopy left, I made to duck underneath, then backed up, landed a left, right, left combo on his chin that caused him to take a half-step back and shake his head for a brief moment.
I stepped round when he blinked and got another shot into his ribs. He staggered forward into the post and rolled along the rope. I was on him, giving him everything I had, pounding him with a left, right, left, right combination followed by a left uppercut. They were all connecting solidly.
Baldy was backing up with his hands open to fend off my blows. He dropped the piece of pipe he’d hung onto, glanced at it as it fell to the ground just as I landed a right onto his nose, knocking him backwards and through the ropes into the crowd.