by Jack Tunney
I wasn't sure if he meant with the fight, the money or something larger. We both said, "amen," and I turned and went out of the locker room and up the aisle to the ring, with Father Tim coming behind. As I walked, there was a commotion to my right. I looked over and saw Sandy from the bank. She was shouting something, but I couldn't tell what she was saying. All I could make out was "I know."
I tapped a glove to my ear to show I couldn't hear, and kept on toward the ring. It was empty. Father Tim moved ahead to raise the top rope, and I slipped through. The announcer told the crowd who I was, which drew quite a response from the crowd.
I looked out and saw some familiar faces. All were smiling, but the happy looks seemed to be masking feelings of worry. Then the crowd grew silent. I could hear Bill Haley's Shake, Rattle and Roll playing on the speakers, something I hadn't even noticed over the din before. I turned and saw the reason for the crowd's silence – Drexler had stepped into the ring.
He didn't seem as big now as he had when I saw him from the floor. He was plenty big, don't get me wrong. He stood with his hands at his sides, staring at me. Unlike the farmboy we had seen in Osceola, I mimicked him, standing in the same way, giving back the same stare. He started to bounce from foot to foot, and I did the same. He threw a few punches, and so did I. I don't know if it unnerved him, but it clearly annoyed him.
The referee waved us to the center.
"All right, fellas. You both know how to fight, so follow the rules and keep it clean. Mr. Drexler, I don't want to see any more shots like that last one. You wait for me to send you back out before you fight. Am I clear?"
Drexler glared at the referee until the ref broke his gaze.
"Well," the ref said, his voice a bit shakier now, "let's fight."
As Drexler walked away, the referee shadowed me as I headed toward my corner.
"Knock this big bastard out, Griff!" he whispered.
I stood while Father Tim stuck my mouthpiece in.
"You know what you have to do," he said. "Just, well, protect yourself, all right?"
I nodded. He climbed off the edge of the canvas and left me alone. All of the sound seemed to be sucked from the room. There was no music, no crowd. I felt like I was standing in the silence of a snow-covered field. I felt like I had a chance.
Then the bell rang, and all of the sound came rushing back. Drexler came across the ring with large, quick steps.
"Let's get this over with, Champ," he said. He shoved me back against the post with both hands and clubbed me twice on the nose with right jabs. If I had been the farmboy, I would have folded in on myself and waited for the next blow. But I wasn't the farmboy.
I shoved him away from me and slipped to the right, avoiding a wildly thrown right hook. The miss left his head open, and I took the opportunity, popping him twice in the ear with my right as I moved away. The punches did nothing, but then again, he wasn't used to getting punched much in these things. He turned, anger clouding his face, and saw me standing in the center of the ring, waiting for him.
The crowd roared, happy, it seemed, to see something other than a one-sided annihilation. He came at me, gloves at his sides. I stood in the same pose, ready for his next move. He leaned in so that we were nose-to-nose.
"Think you're tough, tin badge?" he hissed around his mouthpiece. He slugged me with a left to the gut that nearly doubled me over. It took all I had to keep my feet.
"Hey, Drexler," I said with what little breath I had left. He leaned down and I uncoiled a right uppercut that caught him squarely on the chin. He staggered backward a couple of steps, and I followed, jabbing at him with my left to keep him moving toward the ropes. The crowd began to cheer, those in front rising to their feet. The movement caught my attention, and I saw Sandy rushing down toward the ring. My head snapped back then as Drexler threaded a right cross through my raised gloves to connect with my temple.
It was my turn to stagger. I shook my head to clear it from the punch, and to get Sandy out of my head. As Drexler stalked across the ring toward me, the bell rang. He kept coming, and I remained in a fighting stance, ready for him. The referee rushed in to steer us toward our corners, but not before Drexler could lean into hiss into my ear.
"You're mine, kid."
Father Tim was in my corner with a stool and an old soda bottle filled with water. I collapsed on one and grabbed the other.
"You're doing great!" he said as he looked me over and rubbed my shoulders. "Stick to the game plan. He's not used to someone taking his shots and hitting back. Remember, you don't have to put him down or even win on points. Just remain standing after three."
I nodded slowly. There was a commotion behind me. I turned and saw Sandy pushing her way toward the ring.
"Griffin! I know about the robbery!" she said. A guard grabbed her around the waist and pulled her away before I could respond. I wondered what that meant? Maybe she really was in on it and was saying she knew I had taken the money. Before I could think anymore, Father Tim smacked me lightly on the cheek.
"Focus, Griff. You can do this!"
I stood, and he grabbed the stool and pulled it out of the ring. The bell rang, and I rushed out of my corner to the center and waited for Drexler. He seemed startled, then came slowly to the middle. We danced around a bit, bobbing and weaving as we threw light jabs that had no hope of doing damage. I was waiting for him to make a move, to leave an opening.
He did a few seconds later. His left jabs became more purposeful, designed to push me back on my heels. I obliged, hoping he would see an opening and throw a big punch. He did, unleashing a wicked right hook to my head. I saw it coming and ducked, then fired a solid left to the body followed quickly by a right. He covered up, leaving his head exposed. I popped him in the nose with two quick left jabs before he stepped away.
The crowd was with me again, cheering even louder this time. I made the mistake of looking out at them and paid for it with a Drexler right cross to the face. He jabbed twice more as I tried to recover, then hit me with a vicious left to the side, the same spot the crooks had hurt a few days ago. It felt like a rib cracked, and I was in excruciating pain.
I stepped backward quickly and felt my back graze the ropes. He followed, and launched another hook my head. I ducked it again, the motion causing pain to shoot up my side. I slipped away and jogged backward around the ring, throwing jabs to keep some distance between us.
I had never heard a more uplifting sound than the chime of the bell to signal the end of the round. I walked slowly to my corner and dropped onto the stool Father Tim had placed there.
"One more round, kid!" he said, wiping my face with a wet towel. "You're gonna do it!"
"I don't think I can, Father," I said, "he—"
"Just three minutes, son," he said. "Jesus wandered the desert for forty days. He hung on the cross for three days. You can do this."
I could hardly focus because of the pain in my ribs, but he was right. I could do this. I stood, let him slip my mouthpiece in, and concentrated. All I had to do was last one-hundred and eighty seconds. Get hit, hit back. The bell rang, and I started to count in my head. "One, two, three..."
Drexler came hard, his left in front of his face, his right cocked. I slid to the side again, and began my backward dance around the ring while throwing light jabs. He moved to the center of the ring and watched me. "Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two..." When I reached my corner, he feinted right and then went left, cutting off my path, I started to move back the other direction, but he took two big steps and was there. In an instant, I was trapped in the corner. I started throwing punches wildly, hoping to connect and make him move away, but he hunched down and kept his arms up high, blocking everything with his massive forearms. As I tired, the punches lost steam. Soon, he was pushing my gloves out of the way instead of blocking them.
"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-..."
I knew the punch was coming, the one that would end the fight, and I knew I couldn't take it in the ribs. I was going ou
t like the farmboy after all. I hunkered low and covered my body with my arms. My gloves barely reached my chin, which stood out like a beacon calling for Drexler's fist. He connected with a ferocious shot that bounced my head off the post. I dropped, and my counting was replaced by that of the referee: "One, two, three..."
I could hear the crowd trying to lift me up with cheers, heard Father Tim in the corner telling me I was just two minutes away from victory. But I couldn't move. I laid there, waiting to hear, "ten."
ROUND 15
I came to and saw several faces hovering over me, Father Tim, Frank, Harry, Sandy and a couple of the other guys from the gym.
"Hey, Griff," Father Tim said. "You had us worried there for a bit."
"What happened?"
"Drexler knocked you out is what happened, just like I warned ya," Harry said.
"Now, Harry," Father Tim said. "I thought we weren't—"
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," Harry said. "Gotta admit, you looked good out there for a while kid."
"Better than I did," Frank said. "That guy really is a monster."
"Can I tell him now? Please?" It was Sandy. She had a handkerchief in her hand that she was twisting in knots.
"Yeah, champ, she's been on us ever since we carried you out of the ring," Father Tim said.
Champ, I thought. Something about that word rang a bell. Then I sat up with a start and said, "Drexler is the robber!"
"That's what I've been trying to tell you!" Sandy said. "And Tess is in on it!"
"What?" I said, sliding around so my legs could dangle off the edge of the table. "What are you talking about?"
"I saw the two of them before the fight. She gave him a kiss good luck," she said.
"That doesn't mean anything," I said, trying hard to convince myself it wasn't true, that it was just Sandy trying to drive a wedge between Tess and me.
"One way to find out," Father Tim said. "Frank, there are a couple of officers out there. Go grab 'em and bring them back here. Let's get this settled."
I jumped down off the table, a move that sent a searing pain through my head and side. I staggered a bit, and Father Tim grabbed me.
"You ought to lie down," he said.
"I just need some air," I said. "I'll be right back."
I went out the side door of the locker room that led into a hallway toward the back exit. There, standing alone, was Tess. She had a canvas bag over her shoulder. She was looking the other way, so I sneaked up and opened the bag before she saw me. Inside was the brick of money that I had hidden in the heavy bag at the gym. She pulled the bag back and turned, a snarl on her face. It turned to a pained smile when she saw it was me.
"Oh, Griffin!" she said, lifting a hand to my face. "What that awful man did to you! Are you all right, darling?"
"How did you get the money?" I said.
"What? What money?"
"This," I said, grabbing at the bag.
She clutched it tight and took a step away.
"Why, I followed you to the gym and took it. It didn't seem safe. I knew you wanted to turn it back in, and didn't want anyone to steal it."
"Was this before or after the thugs beat up Harry? And why didn't you tell me? Something's not adding up here, Tess," I said.
"Let me do the math for you, kid." It was a voice behind us. I turned to see Drexler coming out of his locker room.
I turned back to Tess.
"So, this was a set up the whole time?" I said. "Working at the bank. Us?"
"Welcome to the real world, kid," Drexler said. "Life is hard. You gotta get yours before somebody else does. Look at it this way. You got to be a hero and make a little kissyface with my girl, and all I got to do was beat you up."
"And steal the bank's money," I said.
"So what if I did?" he said, walking over to throw his arm around Tess. "Isn't the first time, won't be the last."
The door to the locker room burst open and Detective Gleason came through, gun drawn, flanked by three uniformed officers. Mr. Turner was close behind.
"Guess again, Drexler," Gleason said. "This is the end of the line."
"Run, Tess!" Drexler shouted. He made a break for the exit, but I was between him and freedom. Without thinking, I cocked my fist and gave everything I had to a left hook to his chin. He stood for a moment, then fell against the wall and slid down. My hand was still taped, but it pulsed with pain nonetheless.
Two of the uniforms rushed past me to grab Tess.
"Griffin," she said. "Tell them I'm innocent! I saved the money. Tell them!"
I stood silent, staring at her. The look on her face turned from one of pleading to one of rage.
"Tell them, Griffin, or I'll tell them about you!"
Mr. Turner stepped up and put his arm around me.
"We already know about Griffin," he said.
"You do?" I said with alarm.
"Yes," he said. "You're the hero."
"But, Mr. Turner, I—"
"Now, Griffin, you need to rest," he said. "Go back to the locker room and take care of yourself. I'm sure Detective Gleason can handle things from here."
***
I wasn't sure what to expect when I came to work the next morning, but it wasn't a surprise party. Everyone was there, Father Tim, Harry, Mr. Turner, Detective Gleason and Sandy. Everyone but Tess.
"Griffin, my boy," I have something for you," Mr. Turner said. "As I told you earlier, I planned to have you split the reward with whoever caught the robber. Because that was you as well, I'd like to present you this check for one thousand dollars."
Everyone clapped and cheered as I took the check.
"That oughta be twenty-five thousand, and that crook Drexler should be the one handin' it over," Harry said. "You knocked him out cold!"
Everyone cheered again, and then Mr. Turner began cutting up a big sheet cake that said, "For Griffin, hero and champ." Sandy came up to me, put a hand on my arm and gave it a little squeeze.
"Can I get you a piece of cake, Griffin?" she said.
"Sure," I said. "I'd like that."
She flounced off to get it. Harry came up to me next.
"We look like somebody put us through the ringer, kid," he said.
"That's what we get for tangling with a brute like Drexler, I guess," I said.
"At least you settled the score," he said. "Thanks."
"About that," I said. "If it wasn't for me, they never would have come to the gym, and you—"
"Zip it, kid," Harry said. "Tess spilled it. Everything. Trying to get 'em to go light on her, I guess. That was a stupid thing you did, no question. But you were trying to make it right, and that's what counts."
"They know? Mr. Turner? Detective Gleason?"
He nodded. "And they're all right with it. You're young. Young people make mistakes. They know you were gonna do the right thing, and it helps they got the money back."
Sandy brought me a piece of cake, then stood looking up at me with puppy dog eyes while I ate. I hadn't realized it before, but there was something awfully cute about her.
"Mind if I talk with Griffin a minute?" It was Father Tim. Sandy gave a little curtsy and moved away.
"So, not the way I would have done it, but things worked out, Griffin," he said.
"I suppose so," I said.
"You know, my offer still stands. We'd love to have you come visit and help with the boys," he said. "Maybe even more than a visit. I'm sure I could get the parish to free up some money. I could use the help. I'm not getting any younger, you know."
I swallowed a bit of cake and tried to think of the best way to respond.
"I appreciate it, Father. More than you know," I said. "But there is something I need to do here."
"I understand," he said. "Would have been surprised if you had accepted, to be honest. What will you do? I assume Mr. Turner will keep you on."
"I'm going to take up another offer, actually," I said. "I hope so, anyway."
Detective Gleason was standing near us, and I wav
ed him over.
"Detective Gleason, sir," I said. "You told me a few days ago that if I was ever interested in being a police officer, I should tell the folks at the academy that you sent me. Do you still feel that way?"
He grabbed my arm and pulled me aside.
"Griffin, I'm not going to lie," he said. "What you did, taking that money? That was a dumb decision. That's the kind of thing we can't have officers doing in the field."
I lowered my head and nodded slowly.
"But," he said, "what you did afterward, figuring out what happened, working hard to make things right, putting the safety of others ahead of your own? That's exactly what we need officers to do."
I looked up at him.
"So, I'm in?"
"I'll put in a good word," he said. "That's all I can promise. But I wish every officer candidate had your guts, let alone your ability to learn a lesson."
Father Tim came up to us.
"Looks like you two are conspiring," he said. "I suppose I'm too late to offer you one last chance to take my offer, Griffin?"
I picked him up in a bear hug that I held for a long time, then let him down.
"I can't begin to thank you enough for everything you've done for me, Father Tim," I said. "But Ottumwa is my home now. This is my family."
END
EVERY MONTH YOU CAN
DEPEND ON MORE
HARD-HITTING, TWO-FISTED,
FIGHT CARD ACTION!
GET ON
THE FIGHT CARD TEAM
NOW!
www.fightcardbooks.com
FIGHT CARD: FELONY FISTS
Los Angeles 1954
Patrick “Felony” Flynn has been fighting all his life. Learning the “sweet science” from Father Tim the fighting priest at St. Vincent’s, the Chicago orphanage where Pat and his older brother Mickey were raised, Pat has battled his way around the world – first with the Navy and now with the Los Angeles Police Department.
Legendary LAPD chief William Parker is on a rampage to clean up both the department and the city. His elite crew of detectives known as The Hat Squad is his blunt instrument – dedicated, honest, and fearless. Promotion from patrol to detective is Pat’s goal, but he also yearns to be one of the elite.