“Shit,” Chappie said. “He butted him.”
The cut looked bad enough for the ref to call a time out and he escorted Alley over to the ring edge. The doctor stepped up on the apron and took a look, then motioned for them to resume. The sight of the blood sent my own thoughts darting back to my recent blood test, with all its horrible implications. Maybe I wouldn’t be fighting next week after all…Maybe…
But that wasn’t something I was going to think about until I knew for sure.
At the sight of his opponent’s blood, Ross stepped up the pace, but Alley wisely got on his bicycle and retreated behind the jab until the round ended. He kept wiping at his eye as he walked back to the corner. Vic was already on the apron with his magic bottle out and a Q-Tip between his teeth. He swabbed the cut quickly then squeezed it shut between his fingers. I held the ice pack against the back of Alley’s neck again from outside the ropes. Chappie’s dark face, shiny with sweat, leaned close to Alley. “Last round. Last chance. He ready to go. Use that jab and watch when he throws that right. He steps forward. Use the uppercut. That’s the key. You got to win this round, understand? When he throws the right, you use the uppercut.”
Alley nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The ref circled in front of us and said, “Last round. How’s the cut?”
“He’s okay,” Chappie said.
At the timekeeper’s warning, Chappie and Vic stepped between the ropes. Vic had closed the cut and smeared it with a Vaseline mix. I wondered if it would hold. An old pro like Nate Ross would surely attack the cut to try to open it up. Chappie and I both knew that this round would be the test. As an amateur, Alley had been used to only going three rounds. We’d been working four, five, and sometimes six in the gym, but being in a real fight was a different story, much less a war like this one had become. Chappie kept calling his instructions to Alley from ringside. I remembered the times that I’d fought; somehow Chappie’s voice had been discernible through all the noise. I hoped that it would be the same for Alley. The kid was giving it everything he had.
Ross kicked it up a little too. He was throwing heavy, looping punches whenever Alley tried to follow up, and managed to connect with a powerful right that backed Alley up. The cut had opened again, and the kid took two steps back, blinking quickly. Ross, sensing that he had him hurt, moved forward, poised for the kill. He fired off a left, then stepped in with a right cross. That’s when Alley pivoted and threw the uppercut. Ross was down on all fours as the ref pointed Alley toward the neutral corner and picked up the count. Ross got up at eight on rubbery legs. Alley moved in and slammed home a good body shot behind a jab before Ross grabbed and tied him up. The ref practically had to pry Ross’s arms off. Alley moved forward, the blood streaming down his face, as Ross backed up to the ropes and covered up. Alley managed to smack a few hooks to the body before Ross clinched again, and when the ref finally broke them, the bell rang. Alley turned and walked back toward us. Vic immediately started administering to the cut again, and Chappie grinned and draped a towel over Alley’s shoulders. Nate Ross stared at us from across the ring, and, after blinking several times, gave us a nod of respect.
“Welcome to the pros,” Chappie said.
CHAPTER 11
Not surprisingly, we won the decision on all three cards. One of the announcers from the cable station broadcasting the program came over with a cameraman and started interviewing Chappie and Alley. When it was obvious how little English Alley spoke, the guy focused his attention on Chappie, who called Alley “the strongest 190 pounder” that he’d ever seen. Nate Ross even came over and congratulated him, but Chappie gave him a look of disdain for the butting, and Nate quickly retreated. We got out of the ring and went back to the locker room. Chappie told Alley to take a quick shower and get dressed.
“We gonna go for stitches,” he said. “You want to come?”
“I told Saul I’d work security for the rest of the cards,” I said. “I’d like to pick up some extra bucks.”
“Make sure that’s all you pick up,” Chappie said.
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you promised me you ain’t gonna be skipping no more runs in the mornings,” he said. “That means goin’ home and gettin’ some sleep, and not stayin’ up all night gettin’ some leg.”
“You know, if I got half as much leg as you seem to think I do, I wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”
“Just the same,” he said, “remember your fight’s coming up next week. Don’t run the well dry now.”
I told him not to worry. The door opened and Saul Bloom came in. Right behind him was the squat figure of Alley’s manager, a sleazy guy named Smershkevich. He nodded to us and put a fresh cigarette between his lips.
“Chappie,” Saul said, “the kid put on a great fight. Mr. Smershkevich told me that he was good, but I didn’t expect that he’d look this polished in his first pro fight.”
Smershkevich let some smoke leak from between his teeth as he flashed what passed for a smile at us. “How bad’s the cut look?” Saul asked.
“I seen worse,” Vic said. “Get him stitched up right and he’ll be fine inside of a month.”
“Good, good,” Saul said, smiling. “Too bad we couldn’t run him again on your card, Ron. Ah…you’re going to stay the rest of the night, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. I opened my locker and got out the black security sweatshirt and slipped it on. Saul told me he’d talk to us later. Smershkevich glanced around, then walked over by the shower room and started talking to Alley who was toweling off. Although I couldn’t have understood them even if I could have heard them, I watched the interplay between the two. Alley seemed frozen as the shorter man spoke in harsh-sounding guttural tones. Smershkevich exhaled a plume of smoke then tossed the butt into the shower stalls. I guess that’s the way they did things in the old country. He turned and walked off, pausing to nod to us, and then told Saul that he would call him tomorrow. Saul said that he had to speak to Chappie briefly, and they both stepped outside. Vic was staring at the door, then he glanced toward me.
“That guy gives me the creeps,” I said.
“It’s too bad the kid’s mixed up with that son of a bitch,” he said.
“Who? Smershkevich? You know him?”
“Yeah. A while back he brought a couple of Poles over to do some boxing,” Vic said. “Ended up pocketing most of the dough himself. Set one of the kids up against much stiffer competition than he was ready for just to collect a fast buck, then dropped him like a hot potato when the kid got a detached retina.”
“Sounds like a real prick.”
Vic nodded. “He stiffed a lot of people, myself included. Now don’t get me wrong. I know that if Chappie’s involved, I’ll get paid. What I’m saying is, be careful, or the bastard will shit all over you.”
“Thanks,” I said. I glanced in and saw Alley sitting on the bench with the towel draped around his neck. I went over to him and told him to get dressed. He nodded, his lips twisting into a thin line. “You okay?” I asked.
He nodded again, got up, and went to his locker. Chappie came in and told him to hurry up.
“We want to get that cut stitched up before it start to spread,” he said. Vic moved over and slipped a butterfly bandage over it. I walked them to the door and then stepped back into the main auditorium. The next boxing card was already in progress and I watched two young middleweights circling each other warily. The main event was a heavyweight bout between a rising former Olympian named Shedrick Rust and a tomato can designed to provide nothing more than a quick workout. Rust was a former con who’d picked up boxing in the penitentiary. He’d made the last Olympic team almost by default, and was quickly knocked out of medal contention by a powerful Cuban. Nonetheless, because he was a heavyweight, he was given a lot of attention by the press. With a couple of rich backers, he’d been given a series of relatively easy bouts, and to night’s was no exception. The opponents were hand picked so
as not to give him too much trouble. From what I’d seen of Rust, he didn’t quite have the discipline to become a top fighter. I thought about that, and Chappie’s comments about not missing my roadwork, as I strode through the crowd.
After breaking up a minor fight by the bar between two drunks, I told two of the uniformed guys to escort both of the combatants outside. As I watched them go, I heard someone behind me say my name. It was George.
“You got a real flair for security work,” he said, tipping his cup of beer at me in a mock toast. “Ever think of making it a career? I know a guy who runs a company called Securitec.”
I grinned. At least he wasn’t pissed off about it anymore.
“I think that it’s most distressing to see one of Chicago’s finest imbibing while on duty,” I said, mimicking an officious tone.
“Ah, we’re off the clock for a while,” he said, taking a large sip of his beer. “What’s the scoop on this Rust guy? Any good?”
“Overrated. Why? Somebody trying to lay down some action on him?”
He shrugged. “Some guy’s giving three to one.”
“Don’t take it. The guy he’s fighting is a tomato can. Guaranteed to flop on his back inside of six rounds.”
“Okay,” he said, picking up a second cup of beer which I assumed was for Doug. “Thanks.”
I started walking down the aisle with him when my beeper went off. The number didn’t register at first, then I realized it was Laurie calling from Paula’s. I went back to the bar and asked the bartender for the phone. He set it on the bar and I dialed the number. She answered tentatively after the second ring.
“Laurie, it’s Ron. What’s up?”
“Oh, Ron, I’m so glad you called.” Her voice sounded tense. “I don’t know, maybe it’s nothing, but I was getting ready to go down and put some more money in the parking meter, when I thought I heard footsteps in the hallway. I looked out the peephole, but couldn’t see anybody. I thought it was nothing, then about ten minutes after that, the phone rang and when I picked it up, they just hung up.”
“You got the door locked?”
“Yes,” she said. “What do you think is going on? Should I be worried?”
“Well, maybe it’d be better if you didn’t stay there tonight,” I said. “Why don’t I come over and get you? You can follow me back south, and I’ll get you set up in a hotel.”
“Okay,” she said. “You’re coming right over then?”
“I’ll be there shortly. In the meantime, don’t open the door for anybody but me.”
After I hung up I went up to the locker room and grabbed my coat. I gave it to Hirum, the security guard at the front door, and asked him to watch it. Then I jogged back inside and found George and Doug seated near ringside in the seats I’d gotten them.
“Hey, I need to borrow your car for a minute,” I said.
“What?” George said. Doug was intent on watching the ring action and paid us little attention.
“It’s an emergency.”
“Every fucking thing with you is an emergency.”
“George, Laurie’s in trouble.”
He scrunched up his face and thrust his big hand into his pocket.
“Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered. “First you borrow my truck, then you want me to fix your parking tickets, and now you want my fucking unmarked. What’s next? You gonna ask to take my wife to Milwaukee for the weekend?”I withheld any smart-ass comments regarding that suggestion.
He thrust the keys in my hand. “Thanks, buddy,” I said.
“Hey,” he grunted.
I paused. He handed me his wallet, which had his Chicago star pinned to it.
“Anybody tries to stop you, just hang this out the window at ’em.”
I nodded, smiled, and jogged up the aisle. I slowed to a walk at the entrance, and looked around for Saul. Since he was paying me, I didn’t think he would appreciate it if I ran out on a personal rescue mission. But if I could get in and out without him missing me, I didn’t see what harm it would do. At the door I got my coat from Hirum and took one of his portable radios.
“Hirum, can you cover for me for a few?” I asked him. He nodded and winked.
I went outside, ducking into the cold blast of wind, and pulled on my stocking hat. The unmarked was parked right where they’d said it was near the mouth of the alley. I opened the door and fired it up, letting the defrosters work on the thin layer of frost that had accumulated on the windshield. I popped the trunk and found a plastic scraper to do the windows. When I was putting it back I noticed George’s briefcase sitting there next to the spare tire. I opened it up and went through it quickly, taking an assortment of official Chicago Police forms to replenish my supplies. By the time I got back in the car, I figured that maybe ten minutes had passed since Laurie had called.
As I pulled away, I set the red light on the dashboard and plugged it into the cigarette lighter. I switched on the police band radio and listened to the steady litany of calls as I proceeded to knife my way through the various intersections toward the south Loop. I didn’t use the siren, nor did I go terrifically fast. I stopped at every red light, albeit briefly, and continued on my way. What would have normally been a fifteen-minute trip, I made in seven and a half. I also left the unmarked in a no parking zone at the corner and ran up to the building. Her voice sounded brittle and tight when she asked who it was over the speaker system.
“Laurie, it’s Ron,” I said. The door buzzed open moments later. For expediency, I took the elevator again, rather than the stairs. But the damn thing was so slow, I questioned my decision. Finally, the doors popped open and I went to the door and rapped gently. She opened it moments later and reached both arms out for me.
“Oh, Ron, thanks for coming so quickly,” she said. I held her as she buried her face in my chest. Despite her cigarette habit, her hair smelled like sweet apple shampoo. Even through the security sweatshirt I felt the softness of her breasts as she pushed against me.
“Oh, I feel like such a baby,” she said. “I hear a few strange noises and get one hang-up phone call and I ruin your evening.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I said. “And you’re not being a baby. You’re being sensible. I wasn’t too keen on you staying here to night after we found the place burglarized. Get your coat and you can follow me back over to the Aragon. When the fights are over, I’ll lead you back south, and we’ll get you set up in a room for the night.”
She sighed.
“I just hate to put you to all this trouble,” she said, “but thank you.”
“It’s no trouble. Come on.”
She collected her coat and the tote bag, and I checked the hallway and the stairwells. No one was lurking in either. We had to wait for the damn elevator again, but finally it arrived. Outside the wind seemed to have gotten stronger, whipping around us and sending Laurie’s hair billowing out from her head.
“Good thing you’re a Michigan girl,” I said. “You’re used to the cold.”
“This seems worse than home. Or maybe it’s just that I’m not used to things down here. I feel like such a fish out of water.” Her eyes narrowed momentarily, then she said, “Oh, great.”
I followed her gaze and saw a parking ticket flapping against her frost-covered windshield, the red violation tag visible behind the Plexiglas of the parking meter. Must have been a slow night around the bars for the meter maids. I grabbed it and smiled.
“Let me see if I can take care of this,” I said.
“No. It’s my fault. I’ll pay for it.”
“Well. Let’s not worry about that right now. Start it up and I’ll pull around so you can follow me. I’m driving that black Chevy over there.”
“Where’s the truck?” she asked.
“It’s a long story,” I said. It was another long story getting back to the Aragon. Not only couldn’t I use the red light this time, I had to go slow enough so that Laurie wouldn’t lose sight of me and get lost. Once, I went through a yellow light and she
stopped, and I had to wait in traffic with the flashers and red light going until she got behind me again. When we finally got to the Aragon, I pulled the unmarked back into the same spot in the alley and motioned for her to park directly in front of me.
“Is that allowed?” she asked, rolling down the window. “I don’t want to get another ticket.”
“You’re going to have to learn to trust my instincts in these matters,” I said. I took the parking ticket that I’d gotten on George’s truck earlier and slipped it under her windshield wiper. Then I called Hirum on the portable radio.
“Shade to Hirum. How’s it looking in there?”
“Warm and comfy,” came the reply. It was his way of saying the coast was clear. “How ’bout you?”
“Same here,” I said. I smiled at Laurie and motioned for her to follow me. At the door I introduced her to Hirum and gave him back his radio. He told me that nothing much had happened. “Saul been down here looking for me?” I asked.
He shook his head. “He’s probably upstairs counting all his money.”
I nodded a thanks and took Laurie inside and found her a seat near the aisle. I thought about seating her next to George but decided to wait before introducing them. The main event was in progress, with Rust looking big, stiff, and awkward against an equally ungainly foe. George and Doug were sitting in the same two seats, and I brought them each a beer. “Thanks, buddy,” Doug said. “You’re all right.”
“Any problems?” George asked.
“Just this,” I said, handing him Laurie’s parking ticket along with his wallet and keys. He frowned and stuck it into his pocket.
“All I know is that you’re gonna owe me big time after this,” he said.
Predictably, the main event ended in the seventh, with Rust catching his opponent on the ropes and pummeling him with a series of unanswered punches until the ref stepped in. I stuck around until the crowd had emptied out and the janitorial guys began cleaning up. Hirum and I escorted Saul to the money room and he slipped me the usual fee in a plain white envelope. George and Doug had long since departed without fanfare. Laurie stayed near me as I attended to my last-minute duties, then we walked to the truck. After it had sufficiently warmed up, I drove out of the parking garage and pulled into the alley next to her car.
Windy City Knights Page 10