by Paul O'Brien
“What are you doing?” Jimmy asked.
Lenny didn’t know what he was doing. He couldn’t send Jimmy back to Edgar’s because he didn’t know what was happening there. He couldn’t take him to the Garden with him because he had no idea just how safe it might or might not be.
“How far is your house?” Lenny asked.
“My actual house?” Jimmy said.
“Can you get there by taxi?” Lenny asked.
“Will you come with me?” Jimmy said.
Lenny put out his hand to get the next cab.
On the sixth floor, at the end of the corridor, Babu was ready to go through the door again if he had to. Joe must have known that too, because the newly fitted door had been left open.
“Come in,” Joe said when he saw the raging giant in his doorway.
Babu walked into the room where Joe was sitting in his plush chair. The matches were on the TV in the corner of the room.
“You owe me for the door,” Joe said. “And for the fucking territory, too.”
“Are you threatening my wife?” Babu asked.
“What?”
“Your little servant—” Babu grabbed Joe by his collar and hoisted him out of his chair. The pain of lifting Joe stunned Babu for a second, but the giant didn’t have the patience for a cat-and-mouse scenario. “Are you trying to tell me something, Joe?”
“I didn’t send him to do any such thing,” Joe replied.
Babu sensed that Joe was telling the truth. He loosened his hold.
“You’re the one who’s been lying and stalling me—treating me like a fucking mark instead of the chairman,” Joe said. “If you had delivered what you said at the beginning of all of this, you wouldn’t have to be worrying about anyone, you giant-sized fuckup.” Joe removed Babu’s hands from his collar. “You would have all had a job here, and you would have all been well paid. Now look at the place. Falling apart. Again!” Joe had a great view of the city from his window. He could almost see all of the angles in which the territory could be taken.
“You said that no one would get hurt,” Babu said.
“And I meant it.”
“So what about Ricky?” Babu shouted.
Joe was so incensed that he rushed Babu this time. “He’s fucking dead! It happened in some dirty, shitty road in Tokyo.”
Babu grabbed Joe with more force than before, but this time he grabbed him around his neck. Within seconds, Joe was about at his breaking point: his eyes were bulging. Behind Babu, Donta sneaked in from the adjoining room with a baseball bat cocked over his shoulder.
“Why did you do it?” Babu asked, tears sliding down his face. Babu knew Ricky’s attack was on his huge hands, too. He had been the one who broke the deal with Joe. “You should have taken it out on me. It was my deal—I fucked you around. Do you hear me? Do you hear me?” Babu shouted.
Donta smashed Babu across the right Achilles with such force that he was sure he’d broken Babu’s leg and torn up his ankle. The giant roared in pain as he hit the ground. Joe collapsed. Donta came down across Babu’s head and face twice more with the bat. Bones crunched. Donta then hammerfisted down onto Babu’s huge skull, causing thick, dark red blood to stream from the comatose giant. Joe watched the carnage as he tried to catch his breath. Donta stood and stomped the heel of his shoe down around Babu’s eyes over and over until Babu was motionless. “I fucking warned you,” Donta shouted at the limp body under him. “Don’t fucking make me do something!” Donta kicked Babu’s head over and over again—even though there wasn’t a breath, a sound, or any signs of life left. “Marching around this place for years, like you’re someone. Fuck you!” Donta spat on the body of the giant. In his continued rage, he straddled him and began choking his huge neck.
Babu was already unrecognizable: his face was broken, swollen, and contorted.
“Stop,” Joe managed to say.
Donta continued to shout. “You’re all tough men when you’re allowed to be with your fake fucking—” Like a mechanical piston, Babu’s right fist came alive and drove Donta backward, toward the huge windows. Babu struggled to get up; he knew that he was close to dying. He needed to make it out of there so he could get home to his wife—he wasn’t going to do her the disservice of dying at the hands of a cunt. He had a promise to keep.
Donta’s face was covered in blood. He lifted himself to all fours before Babu kicked him in the ribcage as hard as he could—which lifted him from the ground. Babu collapsed in agony. His leg was in real bad shape. He dragged himself toward his attacker on sheer shock and adrenaline. He caught Donta by both sides of his head and lifted him clean off the ground. Babu then drove his own horribly disfigured head into Donta’s face, which destroyed Donta’s features completely. Babu ran his attacker’s rag-doll body toward the wall, where Donta was crushed between bricks and the furious giant.
Joe tried to crawl out of the room.
Babu picked Donta up above his head and launched him as far as he could across the room before collapsing again himself. Donta landed like he’d been launched through the windshield of a crashing car. Babu dragged himself toward Joe. The chairman curled up in the corner of the room. Babu stood on one leg, grabbed Joe by his hair, and hoisted him to eye level. Joe couldn’t look Babu in the face.
“Please,” Joe begged.
“He’s dead,” Babu said of Donta.
Joe looked at the damage that had been done to Babu. “I’m sorry, Chrissy.”
Babu punched the wall beside Joe’s head with such power that it made Joe panic. “None of us can explain this away, Joe,” Babu said. “Clean it up, and make it go away.”
Joe nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes. Of course.” Babu released him. “Why did you go after Ricky?” the giant asked.
The chairman looked at the blood that had been spilled and the lives that had been ruined again for New York. “You think I got to Ricky?” Joe said. “Look a little closer to home.”
North Carolina.
Tanner knew that it must have been bad. He felt like he was carrying around a lead balloon in his stomach. His body was failing him. He was surrounded by machines and tubes. All his money couldn’t buy his way out of this situation. He was alone, in a hospital bed, getting ready to die. He wanted to leave and at least spend his last night in his own home. It looked like he wasn’t going to get that wish. He was, however, at least going to have time enough to fuck with his old colleagues.
Tanner picked up the pen and signed his territory over to Ade Schiller. She had always been working in the background. Always laying the groundwork. Among all the men, all the alpha bullshit, she was most dangerous of them all.
New York.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for one fall, with a twenty-minute time limit,” said the ring announcer with the struggling comb-over. “This is for the undisputed heavyweight championship of the world.”
The crowd rose to their feet; they knew that they were seeing history in the making. The Garden was packed, dark, loud, and ready to see the Kid Who Killed Boxing.
“Coming into the ring at this time, and weighing in at two hundred and ninety-seven pounds, from North Carolina, the NWC World Heavyweight Champion, the Prince of Panache: Emmet Cash!”
The crowd booed as Ricky watched in agony. He knew that Ade was also in the unlit crowd somewhere. Emmet Cash made his way to the ring and stood on the ropes to argue with the fans. Even though he was a champion, they had come to see the other guy.
“And his opponent, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-three pounds, from right here in New York City …” The crowd roared their approval. “The Kid Who Killed Boxing, and also the NWC World Heavyweight Champion: Kid Devine!”
The wall of sound hit Kid in the face as he made the short walk to the ring. He had never felt or seen anything like this before in his life. He was nervous, and adrenaline was flowing, but at least now he knew which way to go. He looked into the crowd to see who was looking back at him. He almost immediately saw
the face he wanted to see. The person he knew he could make the most money with.
Kid Devine was ready to become his own man.
Outside, the cab screeched to a halt. Lenny and Jimmy were both stuck to the window of the taxi as it stopped. The Garden was an awesome sight, even though Lenny had seen it a thousand times before. He imagined what it was like in there now. Were they cheering for his boy? Would he make it through the match alright? Lenny had grown up wanting to be champion, and now his own son was doing just that.
“You got the money I gave you?” Lenny asked his son.
Jimmy couldn’t look his father in the eye. He was afraid he might cry again if he did. He could only nod. “I got it.”
“OK,” Lenny said. He saw a boy lost beside him on the seat. Something told Lenny that sending that boy off home alone probably wasn’t a good idea.
Both Lenny and Jimmy could hear the roar of the crowd inside. Jimmy leaned into his father. He didn’t want him to go.
“You ready to go home?” Lenny asked Jimmy. He tried to lift his son’s head so he could look him in the eye. Jimmy wasn’t having it.
“You ready to go home, son?” Lenny asked again. Jimmy didn’t want to but he knew he didn’t have much choice.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Jimmy said.
“Let’s go, then,” Lenny said to his son.
“What?” Jimmy asked.
“Let’s take you home,” Lenny replied.
If the cop had seen Lenny, or if they had found some evidence on him, there was only one place he wanted to spend his last night. As tempting as the match at the Garden was, and as tempting as New York was, he couldn’t risk not seeing her while he was free.
Lenny knew where he’d spend his last night, and it wasn’t in the thick of the wrestling business. “I just need to collect something first,” Lenny said.
Kid reached out to the crowd, and they began to chant his name. Emmet Cash pulled the young wrestler off the canvas by his hair, and the ref gave Cash a five count to let go. Cash, being a heel, blocked the ref’s view, and raked Kid’s eyes for good measure.
Edgar lay on his hallway floor with the lights off. He had a flashlight and a shotgun pointed at Tad, who was facing away from Edgar. Tad was in his underwear, on his knees with his hands behind his head.
“I will blow your fucking head off, you pervert,” Edgar shouted.
“It’s me, I swear! It’s Tad Stolliday,” Tad shouted.
He was terrified. Edgar continued to pretend he didn’t know who his invader was. He did, however, take a few Polaroid pictures to show to the cops.
Babu lay on his bed, facing away from the light that came in through the door. He waited for his wife to join him and snuggle into him one last time, like he had promised.
Joe Lapine had just come back from the window, where he had seriously considered ending it all. The New York skyline had talked him out of it, though. The city was too alluring—too close to let go. Joe rolled Donta’s body up in the giant rug in the middle of his room.
Ade watched the match from the fourth row. She didn’t care that her marriage was in tatters. She didn’t care that her home was smashed to pieces. She didn’t care that her husband’s career was over. Thanks to Tanner, she had her place back in the wrestling world; she also had one of the world champions. Ade was hoping that Kid was going to do what was right, and bring the belts back to her, too.
Ricky sat behind Ade. She had no idea that the man she’d tried to have murdered in Japan was only an arm’s length away from her.
Ginny Ortiz sat in his first-floor corner room, with his pants unbuttoned to give his belly some more space. He would never have to worry about ice cream or moving again—not now that Ricky was back in town for good.
“Are you alright?” the ref shouted, so the crowd could hear. “Kid, are you alright?”
Kid was unresponsive. His opponent, the Prince of Panache, had him in a bear hug. The ref ran around the other side to get a better look, and to whisper to Kid, “Go home.”
Kid had been waiting for those words, which in wrestling meant the end of the match was coming. The ref lifted Kid’s hand into the air and dropped it. If it fell three times, then it meant that Kid was unconscious, unable to continue. The ref raised it a second time, and the crowd shouted and pleaded for Kid to fight back.
His hand fell again.
The referee looked almost nervous as he lifted the hand straight up in the air for a third time, where he again let it go. Kid’s hand fell, but only halfway. The crowd cheered, screamed, and screeched collectively, as Kid’s hand rose slowly back into the air by itself. His eyes opened. Cash looked like he had seen a ghost; he tried to squeeze harder, but Kid punched his way out of the hold. Emmet threw himself off the ropes, but Kid ducked under his clothesline attempt and tied him in the same chokehold that had rendered the world heavyweight boxing champion unconscious.
Madison Square Garden rumbled with a collective chaos. They knew: this was the move that killed boxing.
With the terrifying, exciting, and freeing sense of not knowing, Lenny sat in the taxi with no shoes, a faded garden gnome, and the happiest son in the world. As city turned to country, and buildings turned to trees, Lenny waited for their stop to come. Jimmy watched the road signs like a hawk.
“We’re nearly there,” he informed his father every three or four minutes.
Lenny wondered about the Garden, and he wondered about Ricky. He knew that no matter how the match went, he—or his family, if he wasn’t around—would never have to worry about Ricky stiffing them. Even that one match would set them up comfortably for a long, long time.
Lenny tried to remember if he had touched anything other than the ladder. What about Jimmy using the phone from inside the pizza place? Surely they could trace that. Lenny tossed all the scenarios around in his head for the two-hour trip. He was ready for anything, especially now that he’d get to see Bree.
“We’re here,” Jimmy said excitedly. The boy paid the driver and told him to keep the change.
Lenny and Jimmy got out of the cab, and Lenny took a second to straighten himself. They both walked down the street to Jimmy’s house. It was a quiet night, punctured here and there by sirens and the occasional truck rushing by on the small road behind the house.
“Her car is there, and the light is on,” Jimmy said.
Lenny’s heart began to beat like a hopeful teenager’s. Jimmy stopped his father and straightened his hair.
“You go ahead,” Jimmy said as he hung back a little.
All of the years that Lenny had been trying to survive, all of the stupid things he’d done and the trouble he’d made, all of the jobs he’d taken and the chaos he’d brought, from crashing the van, to hiding the money, to getting beat up at Danno’s anniversary, to being educated by Ricky Plick and threatened by Proctor King, to leaving the business for his family, returning to New York, and pulling the trigger—it had all been because Lenny Long was trying to go home. And even though he wasn’t sure if he’d be welcomed or hated, he needed to know. If it was just for one visit—even if the cops arrived to take him away—Lenny just wanted to go home.
He stood on an unfamiliar street, in front of a strange house, but he knew exactly where he was.
He knocked at the door and waited.