by Steve Lowe
“Nah, she’ll be alright. She’s just tired.”
“She pregnant?”
“Yeah. About thirteen weeks now.”
“Aw man, congratulations. That’s awesome.”
“Thanks.”
Sully toasted him with his beer bottle and they drank in silence for a bit until Jimmy set his beer on the battered coffee table between them. “What are you doing here, Sully? I know you didn’t just come to tell me you were sick.”
“You know me, don’t you?”
“You never come around unless you need something.”
“Guilty.” Sully sat back and shoved his hands in his jacket pocket. Pretended like he was fiddling with the pill bottle, but Jimmy could see him quivering, his head wobbly. “JP, I need a favor.”
Jimmy said nothing, just waited to hear the spiel.
“I’m on my way to see Mom. Haven’t seen her since I left Chicago. I know I shouldn’t go back there, but what the fuck. I’m dying anyway, so what do I care if Sonny or anyone else catches up with me?”
Jimmy stared a hole through Sully, searching for the bullshit he knew was there.
“I’m out of money. Only had enough for a bus ticket to LaPorte. I want to see my mother one more time. Then what happens after that won’t matter.”
There it was. Jimmy said, “I don’t have any money to give you, Sully. You see how we’re living here.”
“I know, and that’s not what I’m asking for. I wouldn’t do that to you considering what I owe you. All I’m asking is for a ride to Chicago. Mom’s at Sacred Heart these days. Take about an hour to get there is all. You’ll be back home in two, maybe three depending on traffic. All you have to do is drive me there and drop me.”
“And then what will you do?”
“There’s more folks to see besides Mom. I know a couple couches I can crash on.”
“More people to see.” Jimmy shook his head. Looked up at the ceiling. “You know what you’re asking me here, right?”
“I know, and like I said, you just drop me off and head back home, that’s it. Don’t even have to get out of the car.”
“It’s that simple, huh?”
“That simple.”
“Sully, nothing’s that simple with you.”
Sully didn’t respond. Nothing he could say to that.
“You might be sick, and you might be dying, but you don’t have any favors left. You used those up a long time ago.”
Sully looked at the door. Saw it was time to leave. Got up slow and said, “Thanks for the beer, man.”
He got to the door and had a hand on the knob when Jimmy said, “Hang on.”
Sully stood facing the door. His whole body shook.
“Give me a minute to talk to Annie, OK?”
Sully turned around. Tears in his eyes. “Yeah, OK. Thank you.”
Jimmy got up and headed for the bedroom. Tapped on the door and went in. Annie was on the bed, looking out the window.
“Are you taking him?” she said.
“You heard all that?”
She nodded.
“I don’t know what I’m doing yet. Wanted to get your opinion first.”
“Just the fact that you haven’t said no yet tells me you’ve made up your mind already. You just don’t realize it.”
“I haven’t made my mind up yet.”
She looked at him. Almost rolled her eyes but didn’t. “He wants you to take him back to Chicago.”
“He’s dying. He wants to see his mother.”
“Jimmy, I love you, but you’re a fool. You’re too trusting and assholes like Anthony Sullivan pick you out of a crowd. They prey on you because they can.”
Every word true, Jimmy knew it. But it didn’t change his mind, which he realized was in fact already made up. Which meant she was right, again. He didn’t have the words to speak further. Didn’t want to be pissed at her for being right. Just sat and stared out the window with her.
Annie finally turned to him and said, tears standing in her eyes, “Just get it over with, but goddammit, Jimmy, this is it for that asshole. You make him know that. Even if you have to break your other hand on his fucking face for him to get it through his head.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll know.”
“I fucking mean it, Jimmy.” Her voice cracked and Jimmy knew she would lose it once they left. Cry herself to sleep tonight. He hated to do it to her, but this had to be done.
“You finish this with him.”
“I will. And then I can put Chicago behind me forever.”
Jimmy smiled at his wife, promised this to her with his eyes. Kissed her forehead, got up and shut the door behind him and didn’t believe a word of what he said.
They pulled away from the apartment complex, headed down the two-lane county road. Stopped at the Mobil station along the way and filled up the truck’s tank. Headed back out toward U.S. 6.
Not a word between them until Sully said, “You taking 94 in?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Man, it’s gonna be a parking lot this close to rush hour.”
Jimmy cut a glance across the bucket seat and said, “The only money I had with me just went into the gas tank. That was supposed to last me until Friday. Unless you have cash to pay for the Skyway, we’re taking 94.”
“Fuck that, I ain’t wasting money on the toll road.”
“OK then.”
“I got enough left for a burger, though.”
“Congratulations.”
“Come on, man, I’m starving. We can stop and grab a bite, let the traffic clear out a bit. And I bet you haven’t had dinner yet, either. Have you?”
The idea of a burger started a revolt in Jimmy’s guts. Somewhere under his seat was his leftover lunch from the afternoon, a half-eaten turkey sandwich that had spent the last six hours cooking inside the truck.
“You’re buying,” he said.
“Shit yeah, I’m buying.”
“McDonalds is right near the ramp for 94.”
“Fuckin’ McDonalds? Hell no.” Sully pointed to the left side of the road at Sara’s Place, a squat, squalid shack with a blinking sign that only half worked, about a quarter mile off. “What about this place coming up?”
“So are you hungry or thirsty?”
“I can’t hardly eat anything anymore. All that fucking medication I’m on makes me sick as a dog. My doctor has me on a liquid diet.”
Sully grinned at him and Jimmy shook his head, beating down the urge to smile back. Slick little bastard. Jimmy pulled into the parking lot and they shuffled into Sara’s, Jimmy feeling sick with unease at how fast they fell back into their old, familiar patter. Like two years and an ocean of hard living hadn’t separated them. He wished he would have listened to Annie. Wished that, but kept putting one foot in front of the other until they were sitting at a greasy table in the corner of the bar, giving their orders to the waitress. Cheeseburger and ice water for Jimmy, shot and a beer for Sully. Old fucking times.
“You think she digs the sick look?”
“What?”
Sully pointed at the waitress as she walked back to the kitchen. “Chick like her, you think she’d dig the whole Make a Wish vibe I got going? ‘Hey baby, I got three months to live and I wanna spend them all with you.’”
“You’re an asshole.”
Sully shrugged. “Bet it would be worth a blowjob anyway. Maybe a quick handie in the bathroom.”
Jimmy laughed in spite of himself.
“Hey, Jimmy fucking Paradise is in the house!”
Jimmy looked around for the voice, loud and drunk. Vic from the plant, stumbling his way over from the bar. His two buddies, Randy Andy and the other dude, whatever his name was Jimmy forgot, sitting hunched at the bar, watching over their shoulders. Not at all interested in coming near Jimmy.
“Hey JP, who’s this asshole?”
“It’s alright, just some guy from work. They’ve been in here boozing since we knocked off this afternoon.”
; “Oh, wonderful. Friends in low places, huh?”
Jimmy rolled his eyes at Sully, turned to Vic. “Hey Vic, how’s it going?”
“Thought you was tired. Didn’t expect to see you in here.”
“Yeah, I took a power nap when I got home.”
Vic laughed, a little too earnestly. Still shaken from this afternoon. He pulled out the remaining empty chair at the table and dropped into it.
“Yeah, sure buddy, have a seat,” Sully said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Thanks, man.” To Jimmy he said, “Hey, whatever you’re getting, it’s on me, OK?”
“No, Vic, that’s alright. My good friend Sully here is buying.”
“Fuck you, let the man talk.” Sully to Vic: “You were saying, something about the tab?”
Vic, in a fog of drunken confusion, “Yeah, these are on me. I mean it. I feel bad about this afternoon, the way we kind of jumped on you there.”
Sully’s eyebrows arched. “What’s this? Trouble in River City?”
“It was nothing. Just a misunderstanding.”
Jimmy began to tell Sully that he wasn’t going to talk about it, but he stopped. Watched his old friend, his elbows on the table, eager to hear a tale of near-violence. Jimmy decided to tell one.
He turned to Vic and said, “Where are my manners? Sully, this is Vic from Crestline Homes. He’s a framer, one of the best, too.”
Vic nodded, grinned like a chick at the flattery. Sully saluted him, but the sarcasm went over Vic’s inebriated head.
“Vic, this here is Andrew Sullivan. Sully and I have known each other since we met in fourth grade at St. Stanislaus. That’s on the south side.”
Vic said, “Yeah? South side of Chicago?”
Sully rolled his eyes. “No, Magellan, the south side of Calcutta.”
Vic nodded, just missed grasping the insult.
To Sully, Jimmy said, “Vic and his buddies recognized me from my boxing days. He came up to say hello, but I mistook his gesture and thought perhaps they had once wagered against me and came out on the wrong side, and therefore wanted to recoup their losses.”
“Like that asshole out in Joliet?”
“Yeah, or the four guys over in Gary.”
“Fucking Gary. I told you to stay the hell out of that town.”
“Indeed, you did. I should have listened.”
Vic looked back and forth, eyes wide. Sully said, “It turned out alright, JP broke the first guy’s nose with a left jab, then broke his jaw with a right hook. The other three probably never ran faster in their lives.”
Vic laughed, smacked the table, swilled beer.
“Yeah, we got a million stories,” Jimmy said. Sully’s face dropped. Saw where this was headed. Sat back in his chair as the waitress set their drinks in front of them.
“Burger’s coming right up, hon.”
“Thanks.”
Vic said to the waitress, “Hey Sis, they’re on my tab, and I’ll take another one, too.”
Sis rolled her eyes at Vic, walked away. Sully drank his beer and stared at some far off void beyond the tacky table in front of him. Vic watched Jimmy, waiting for him to go on, tell another tale of ass kicking.
“We definitely have a million stories together.” Jimmy looked away from Sully, focused on Vic. Held up his right hand, fingers curled toward the palm in a loose half-fist. “I ever tell you about how I got this?”
Vic’s smiled dropped away. He shook his head. Said, “Huh-uh,” like he really didn’t want to hear it, either.
“You’ll like this one.” Jimmy cracked his neck and sat up straight, prepared to dive into the tale. Ready to spin a yarn.
“OK, so this was a couple years back. My good pal Sully here was also my manager back in those days. He was the guy who I entrusted with finding fights for me, get me lined up with promoters and venues and advance my career that maybe one day I could challenge for a title. That’s the big dream, you know? I fought middleweight, even though I was always on the lighter end of that class. I had to work hard to keep my weight up, and I was almost always the lighter fighter. I think that’s why most people bet against me in the beginning, when I first got going. I guess I didn’t cut a very intimidating figure back then.
“I fought a lot early on, mainly because I could, I was maybe a little impatient, and because Sully kept getting me fights. Had to climb those rankings and work hard to get a shot, right? Maybe we moved a little too fast, took some fights we shouldn’t have, or at least waited longer between fights to rest up, refocus and whatnot. My trainer, my coach, everybody saying slow down, but me and Sully saying, ‘No, let’s go. Get paid, move on.’ Promoters liked us because we helped fill out a card if they were in a tight spot. I lost a few early in my career that I should have won. But I was also known as a good fighter, tough to knock out, always a good battle. I had a good skill set, quick with the punches. You really had to be on your toes to get into me, which made a good barometer for other guys. If you can’t get Jimmy Paradise, maybe you weren’t good enough for the next level. So, instead of being the guy on the rise, I sort of became the guy that the real guys on the rise wanted to fight. A good resume builder, right? I faced a bunch of really good fighters, and I managed to win more than I lost.”
Vic’s buddies strolled up, drawn in by the story. Chatter in the bar lighter as others listened in.
“So along comes this kid, Alcides Ochoa.” A few heads nodded, a familiar name. No doubt some of these guys already heard a version of this, but not the one Jimmy was telling.
“Ochoa’s undefeated, something like fifteen and oh, real hot commodity, and his people are just itching for that title shot. Lot of people in his corner, backers want to see him go far, think he’s got the tools and the talent to win the belt right now. But they say he needs one more fight. Somebody good, a name that makes people sit up and take notice. Somebody like a Jimmy Two Tickets to Paradise. They say a win over Jimmy Paradise will make Ochoa the top contender for the WBC crown, and once they take that first one, the title shots will line up one after the next. That’s what they think of Ochoa, that he’ll hold all the belts. The next undisputed middleweight champ. The next Hagler or Ray Robinson.”
Couple of disbelieving chuckles from the crowd, dozens of heads turned to Jimmy now, hanging on every word.
“No, really, they thought he was that good. Had that kind of potential. Obviously, we know now that Alcides Ochoa was not the next Sugar Ray Robinson, but when a young guy’s coming up like that, knocking out suckers left and right and has that certain something, that combination of power and speed and flair, that’s when a whole lot of people start seeing dollar signs. Tends to cloud their judgment. They want to get in on a kid like that early and ride him on the way up. There was a lot of money backing Ochoa and at that point, they wanted one thing: a fight that would cement a title shot, but only if it was a sure thing. He had to win.”
Jimmy let the crowd digest that a minute while he sipped his ice water. Several sets of eyes fell on Sully, who continued to stare at the table, pretending not to listen, face still as stone. Jimmy watched him for a moment, noticed that the tremors, gone for a second, were back. He considered stopping, but he was past that point. This had to be told. He had to get it out. The first and last time for this story.
“Enter Sonny Porter,” Jimmy continued. “Kind of a small-timey promoter, thought he was bigger than he really was. Greasy bastard that people had trouble trusting, and for good reason. Kind of like Ochoa, he needed something to boost his cred among the circles he ran in. Getting the Ochoa fight lined up was his ticket to bigger and better things. If he could deliver a sure thing with a credible opponent, he would be on the ins with a lot of folks. At the time, I didn’t know about any of this. Why would I, right? I’m a fighter, I fight. When I don’t fight, I train. Workout, run, spar. I leave all that other shit to my manager to handle. And that’s what he did.
“Sully lined up the fight with Porter and Ochoa’s people, was
going to be on Pay-Per-View and everything. And he made it happen by making a promise. In round five, I go down, and Ochoa goes on to secure his title shot. For that, we get an extra twenty grand from one of Ochoa’s ‘sponsors.’” Jimmy made air quotes with his fingers. All eyes were on Sully now and the bar was quiet. He remained stone-faced, and to his credit, didn’t sweat.
“But I never knew any of this, not until the night of the fight. The whole time, I think I’m training for the biggest fight of my life. Probably the one that sets my career back on track if I win. Imagine what beating Ochoa would do for me. Score a win on TV, lots of eyes watching to see if this Ochoa kid is the real deal, instead see me come out and whip his ass? That’s what was in my head.
“So fast forward. It’s fight night. Arena is packed, cameras and reporters and all kinds of excitement. The place was electric. I’m in my dressing room, waiting for the start, pumping myself up.” Jimmy punctuated the feeling, put his hands up by his face, shadow punched across the table, his hands a blur. A ripple of appreciation went through the crowd.
“I’m loose, I’m confident that I’ll knock this kid flat on his ass, I’m ready to go. Five minutes before the fight, who walks in but Sonny Porter. One of his goons trailing behind him. Sully cuts him off, but he wants to talk to me. Wants to be absolutely sure that this goes down the way it was designed. Lot riding on this outcome, for a lot of people. Sonny’s let a few choice folks in on the fix, got them to plunk down some serious cash. I think Ochoa was laying four hundred points, so if they wanted a payoff on that sure thing, they had to pony up big time. He wants to make sure I understand this.”
Jimmy, everyone else, watching Sully. A statue. Jimmy wondered if he was even breathing anymore.
“That’s when I learned of the deal Sully cut for me. Guaranteed Sonny Porter and Ochoa’s corner that I would go down in the fifth. Drop my guard, eat a big right, stay down for the count. It was going to be a really good win for Alcides Ochoa, the next Sugar Ray Robinson.”
A guy sitting behind Sully leaned over and said in his ear, “You’re a real piece of shit, huh pal?”