Champ

by Rhona Davis

I freeze. Fear pulsates through me, knowing that this is now a chance we can’t screw up.

  “Now, Miss!”

  I nod and go to run out the room.

  I don’t make it far. I bump straight into Garcia—his weight knocking me back into the room.

  “Hello, Ms. Chavez. What a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says in a calm yet troubling tone.

  Monty storms toward the promoter. “You bastard!”

  Garcia holds out a gun, stopping Monty in his tracks. “So good to see you after all these years. How’s retirement?”

  “Fuck you, you piece of shit.”

  Garcia’s eyes narrow. “Now then, is that really a way to greet an old friend?” He tuts and shakes his head, just as the groans of the two goons come back into the mix. Garcia’s face changes as he watches the pathetic shapes of his security detail scramble up to their feet.

  “Boss,” Donnie says.

  “Useless idiots,” snaps Garcia. “I asked you to keep a close watch, and you let this happen. Good thing I’m here now, isn’t it?” He looks around the room. “Where’s the boy?”

  Donnie rubs at his forehead. “The boy?”

  “The boy,” Garcia bellows, “that other nosey reporter!”

  “He isn’t here,” I softly say.

  Garcia starts toward me, his ugly face pulling into a fake smile. “Not here? He was caught earlier. He’s here, all right. Now, I’ll ask just once more. Where is he?”

  “I don’t kno—”

  “He’s gone to Connor,” Monty reluctantly interjects. In disbelief, I glance over to him. His gaze shifts to the floor. “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

  Garcia chuckles. “All this fuss. Was it really worth it? Ms. Chavez, Connor only needs to do as he is told and it will all be over.”

  I straighten up. “You’re playing with his life.”

  “It’s just business, something you wouldn’t understand. The fighters all know it.” He looks at his security. “Right, get out there and find the boy. This time, finish the job or I’ll finish you.”

  I lunge forward. “No, please!”

  He points the gun to me. “Now, now, just you stay calm. We can’t have loose tongues wagging.”

  The unsteady shapes of the two thugs stagger toward the door. Garcia motions them along with his gun. “Quickly, you idiots!”

  When they’ve left, Garcia stares at me with his jaw set. “Now, let’s start over shall we? I believe you have something of mine, Ms. Chavez. Something you stole.”

  I stay silent.

  He points down to the bag with the barrel of his gun. “The folder. Hand it over.”

  31

  Connor

  “I’m throwing in the towel.”

  I glare at Alex from the stool. “Please don’t!”

  “Kid, I can’t see you continuing to get hurt like this. You’ve nothing left.”

  I lurch forward. “I’m begging you, Alex, just give me one more round.”

  He pauses, the conflict on his face clearly visible as he studies me for any sign of permeant damage. “Listen—”

  “Just one more round,” I beg.

  He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know . . . shit, all right then, but if you keep getting beat in the next, I’m throwing in the towel. Understand?”

  I nod once.

  The assistant chimes in, giving me a sip of water. “Forty seconds left, Connor.”

  I look over to where Sophie should be, and then over at the official—the official is the only person of interest left in the crowd. Without a shadow of a doubt I know that Garcia’s got to my girl.

  I have to finish this now.

  Take the dive as instructed and screw any cute plans for an upset. It’s just not worth it.

  “Connor,” a voice shouts from the corner.

  Alex jumps down from the ring. “Hey you, you’re not supposed to be here. Go on, get lost!”

  The voice carries on, receding as Alex starts shoving him away. “Sophie’s safe. We got the folder. Champ . . .”

  “Did you hear what I just said?” Alex screams. “Scram!”

  “Leave him, Alex. Hey you, come back.”

  Alex frowns at me. “Connor?”

  “Bring him back here!”

  Reluctantly, Alex lets him go. He comes scrambling back over to the corner. “She’s okay, Connor. Do what you have to . . . but be quick.”

  “What’s this punk talking about?” Alex says.

  Before I can explain, the ref comes over. “Fifteen seconds. Is he all right to carry on?” he asks Alex.

  I stare at my trainer, my eyes pleading with him.

  He looks down at the ground and blows out. “What a weird fuckin night.” Slowly, he lifts his head. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

  “If he keeps taking punishment I’m stopping the fight myself,” the referee warns him.

  Alex nods.

  The sound of the bell goes.

  I push from the stool and meet my opponent in the middle of the ring.

  As if played in slow motion, I swing my right arm, using all of my body weight, toward the opponent’s face. Like poetry in motion, the hard leather of my glove cracks on the soft line of his jaw.

  CRUNCH!

  He falls back, and doesn’t stop falling until his skull bounces off the canvas.

  The crowd erupt. I’ve knocked him clean out.

  The ref counts, standing over the limp body of the challenger. The count is a futile exercise, and by the time he gets to three he waves the fight off.

  The entire crowd jump to their feet and break out in celebration as the bell signals the end of the bout.

  I don’t hang around for accolades.

  As I storm out of the ring, Alex—looking happy, shocked, and confused as hell—tires to stop me. I peel away from him and drag the kid with me. “You’re Adrian, right?”

  “Yes, champ. Sophie, Monty, and your security guard are waiting in the changing room.”

  “Monty’s here?” I ask, surprised.

  “Yes, he—”

  I cut him off him. “Never mind, let’s go.”

  Before we race backstage, I quickly stop and instruct Alex to go over to the official on the third row and bring him to the changing room.

  “What are you talking about? What’s going on?” he says.

  “Just tell him that you’ve good reason to believe something criminal took place here tonight.”

  “Criminal?”

  “Alex, please, just do it. There’s no time. I’ll explain everything later.”

  I take Adrian by the arm and pull him along with me.

  Being sure that Garcia will have just seen what happened, we race backstage.

  As we speed down the mile long corridor leading toward the changing room, two large guys run for us in the opposite direction.

  “Connor!” cries Adrian.

  “Wait.”

  I dart toward the threat. As soon as I’m within hitting distance, I unleash a flurry of punches—dropping them both in an instant.

  “Jesus, you really are that good,” exclaims a pumped up Adrian.

  “Come on, we don’t have long.” We continue to sprint toward the changing room—time being a luxury we no longer have.

  With Adrian lagging behind me, I speed straight into the changing room. “Garcia, you bastard—”

  I skid to stop. Garcia is holding a gun against the temple of my baby. “Ah, ah, ah . . . don’t play the hero, Connor.”

  “Let her go,” I shout.

  “In time.” He jerks his head over to the TV. “I just witnessed your little fuck up, quite the show.”

  “Garcia, it’s over.”

  Monty speaks up. “I’m sorry, kid.”

  I look over to my old trainer, a man I once called a father. Knowing I’m at the center of all this rips me apart. Everyone I love is now held at the mercy of someone I once trusted—Michael Garcia—a man driven by greed and power. A man so possessed with wickedness that he has no thought or concern for the
damage he’s done.

  Garcia moves across to the far side of the room with an arm hooked around Sophie’s throat and the gun jammed against her temple. Sophie’s clinging tight to her bag, the folder just poking out from the top of it.

  Adrian catches up to me and immediately freezes to the spot.

  “What’s this,” Garcia asks in amusement, “the after show party?”

  I shuffle forward. “Please, Mikey—”

  “Ooh, first names again,” Garcia says. “Does that mean we’re all friends now?”

  I try to plead with him, tell him he has all the money he needs and he doesn’t need to continue down this destructive path. I even promise to let him slip away if he just lets Sophie go. Whatever I do or say is quickly met with resistance. Things have simply gone too far to be forgotten.

  “It would be nice to believe you’d just let me walk out of here if I drop this gun,” he says.

  “I will. Just don’t hurt the girl.”

  Vinnie tries to push himself up from the floor. “Boss . . .”

  I look down at the bloodied state of my friend. “Don’t move, Vin. Just hang in there.”

  “You’ve just lost me a lot of money,” Garcia says to me. “There’s going to be some very pissed off clients demanding to know what happened to their stakes.”

  My brow creases. “The mob.”

  “If you want to use that word . . . yes. How do you think you’ve manged to earn eight figure pay days for most of your career? Read the memo, kid. The popularity of boxing is on the wane. That kind of money doesn’t just fall from the sky. Deals have to be made. Promises, however unsavoury, have to be honored.”

  “I wouldn’t have wanted the money if I knew it was tainted with blood.”

  He waves his gun at me, his grip tightening on Sofia’s delicate neck. “Shut the fuck up. You talk too much.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay, Mikey, okay . . . have it your way.”

  “You know what, your brother was as stupid as you are. Why can’t you kids ever listen? You got money, you got fame, I even looked after you like you were a son. Why couldn’t you just let it be and do as you were told?”

  “I’m in this for the sport, for fair play.”

  He laughs. “Fair play? Beating each other to a pulp for the delight of blood thirsty fans? Wake up and smell the coffee. This is entertainment, nothing more and nothing less. And you’re just an actor playing to a script. I hate to break it to you, kid, but everyone has their price, their sell by date.”

  I can feel my hands tightening. “And my brother, he was only in his early twenties. What was his sell by date?”

  Garcia smirks. “And a good little fighter he was. Unfortunately he was just as dumb as you are. Couldn’t follow orders. Had to be Mr. Clean. Now, as much as I’d love to continue this little chat of ours, how about those documents your girlfriend’s newspaper stole from my office.”

  I frown. “How did you—?”

  “Know it was them who stole it?” He laughs. “That rag of a newspaper has been trying to get mud to stick on me ever since your idiot brother died. They’ve had it in for me all along. I knew when I saw the pictures of you with this slut that something was brewing. You’re not as smart as you like to think, Connor.”

  He orders Sophie to open the folder.

  She slowly draws it out of her bag, but resists at the very last moment.

  “Open it!” He presses the gun tighter to her head. I jerk forward with an outstretched hand. Quickly, he whips the gun in my direction. “Get back! I’ll use this, I swear. I’ve done it before.”

  With no choice, Sophie opens the sealed wallet.

  As soon as Garcia looks at the stack of paper, his face drops. “What the—?”

  Sophie winks at me.

  On cue, Sophie’s editor storms into the room. He’s flanked by two cops and the official.

  “Drop the gun,” the cops shout, their weapons trained on Garcia.

  “Nice unicorn drawing,” the editor says.

  Garcia releases Sophie from his grip and frantically thumbs through the stack of notes. Each piece of paper is blank, aside from the picture Sophie’s little sister drew for me.

  I use my opportunity to launch at Garcia, grabbing him by his throat and knocking the gun out of his hand.

  Sophie limps over to Adrian and her boss. Her boss pulls up another identical folder. “Smart plan, you two. I think a nice pay rise is in order. One greasy snake . . . in the bag.”

  The cops just about save Garcia from getting a beat down at my hand. They pull me off him and drag him away.

  “Hey guys,” Monty says, “look.” He turns the TV volume up. Inside the ring, Alex is cutting open my opponent’s gloves. He is surrounded by cops and other officials. When he tears through the gloves, large quantities of white casting fall to the canvas.

  The game is up—the documents, the visual proof on the night . . . everything is stacked against Mikey Garcia and his shady operation.

  As he’s led away by the police, I ask them to stop.

  “Hey, you forgot something,” I tell Garcia. He looks up at me with a broken, haunted expression etched on his face. I throw a right hand straight to his jaw. He buckles, only stopped from dropping by one of the cops who hangs onto him by the arm. The other officer pushes me away. “Relax, we got him now.”

  As he’s dragged out of the room, I shout out after him. “Stings, doesn’t it? That’s for my brother, you piece of shit!”

  Relief, and the punishment which has ravaged my body for the last five rounds, has me slumping to the floor in exhaustion. Sophie rushes over and dives down to meet me. I hold her tight, never wanting to be apart from her again.

  “I love you,” she softly whispers to me, as the room stirs with talk about tonight’s crazy events. I kiss her gently on the forehead and close my eyes. “I love you too. But you knew that already.”

  32

  Connor

  The blinking lights from a thousand cameras almost blind me. Holding an ice pack to my swollen cheek, I throw on my shades, lean back on the chair, and brace myself for the sea of media to ask their questions.

  I glance over at Sofia who’s standing next to Monty, Adrian, and her boss, just out of sight backstage. She smiles at me and gives me the thumbs up. Alex, who looks more than a little freaked out from tonight, sits to my right.

  “Connor, there’s been a few rumors flying around about your future. Can you confirm that this is the end of your career?” A sports journalist from HBO asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know, maybe. I’ve given this sport my whole life. I’ll have to see how I feel in a few weeks.”

  “But after the drama of tonight, champ, and the fact you pulled through a vicious fight when your opponent was caught cheating . . . don’t you want to build on your legacy? Help clean up the sport? You seem invincible.”

  I snort. “Invincible? I don’t know about that. All I want to do right now is take a long break . . . then I can evaluate what’s next.”

  A different reporter wades in. “So, you’re retiring?”

  “If that’s what you want to call it, then yes.” Other, more vocal, questions follow in rapid succession. My announcement seems to have stirred up quite a storm.

  “Think you’ll change your mind once you’ve taken a break?” Another journalist asks. “Boxing would be pretty boring without you around.”

  I smile. “Thanks, but there are many other fighters in the game that can—”

  “What will you do if you don’t come back?” another cuts in.

  My head spins. This circus is like no other I’ve experienced before. As questions flood in about my possible retirement, Michael Garcia’s criminal past, and the scandal that’s just blown up a little over an hour ago, Alex cuts in to save me from further probing. “Okay folks, that’s all for now. Connor’s PA and advisor will be setting up a more detailed press conference next week at the Crowne Plaza hotel. We’d like to invite you all to come alon
g then. Right now you can see that my fighter is tired, so we’re wrapping this up. No more questions please.” He leans over to me. “Come on, champ. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Slowly, I prize myself from the chair and hobble backstage. A multitude of questions continue to fire off at an even faster rate than before. Seems like the phrase ‘no more questions’ has a different meaning to the media. Unlike previous post pressers, this time I don’t entertain them. The idea of escaping the glare and melting into Sophie’s arms is at the very top of my priorities now.

  All the main players are waiting backstage for me. But Sophie’s first to greet me, running up and wrapping her arms around me. I flinch at her touch.

  She pulls back, her brows pinching. “Are you okay?”

  I hold onto the left side of my torso. “Just a few sore ribs . . . I’ll live.”

  “Sorry.”

  I pull her back in tighter. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, baby.”

  We both smile. That beautiful Latino fire in her chocolate-brown eyes could kill me. She’s so beautiful. I push my lips to hers, not giving a second thought or care to who’s watching, and kiss her. A slow, passionate, and tender kiss that lifts me in only ways she could.

  “All right, you kids, knock it off. Old man coming through.”

  We part distance and both look at Monty who’s standing just a few feet away. He looks down at the floor—an embarrassed sort of smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

  I’m so fucking glad to see him.

  Sophie looks up at me. “I better let you two catch up.”

  I nod my appreciation, brushing my thumb over her soft lips. Although she’s all I want to indulge in after suffering the worse night of my professional life, catching up with my old trainer is long overdue. We have some major wounds to heal.

  I watch Sophie saunter off to talk with her editor and co-worker.

  As I close the gap between me and Monty, he offers his hand for me to shake. I pause for a second, appreciating this great man before me—remembering how it once was, how good he was to me and my brother. He’s been a ghost for most of my adult life and it tears me apart thinking how I turned my back on him for so many years. Years that should’ve brought us closer together. I should be on my hands and knees right now, begging for his forgiveness.