Modine Moffin was a dark-skinned black man, five feet eight inches tall and with a shaved head. His muscles shone under the lights. He wore new black boxing shoes, shiny black shorts and a black tank top that read Detroit Boxing in gold writing. A large bald man in a T-shirt that read Detroit Is My Home put Moffin’s headgear and gloves on.
‘Just do what you did yesterday,’ Link said to Horace. ‘But remember to move your feet.’ He put in Horace’s mouth guard and stepped from the ring. The referee checked both boxers’ gloves and led them to the centre. A bell rang out and the fight began.
All the waiting, the tossing and turning, the going to the bathroom a half-dozen times throughout the night, the walking the streets of Salt Lake City at five in the morning, the trying to eat but not being able to eat, the ordering of two separate breakfasts, the forgetting mid-sentence of what he was trying to say, the near inability to comprehend what someone was telling him, the desire to run away but begging for the fight to start all at the same time, was now over. In an instant, the ring of a bell, Horace was getting hammered by a blur of quick combinations from the Detroit boxer.
Modine Moffin’s punches came out of nowhere. They seemed as fast as light. There were times in the first round when Horace became so overwhelmed that, like always, he fell into the ropes and froze. He didn’t move his legs or his head. He just stood motionless, with his gloves covering his face.
When the round ended, Horace went to his corner in a daze. He said to Link, ‘He’s so fast I don’t know what to do.’ His nose was dripping snot with traces of blood in it and he was out of breath.
‘It doesn’t look like the kid’s got any sort of power, so just start throwing punches. When you want to cover up, don’t. Just start working combinations. Do his punches hurt?’
‘No,’ Horace said. ‘Not really.’
‘Then that’s what I’d do,’ said Link, and round two began.
Moffin again came hard. He threw combination after combination and his point lead grew. But Horace began taking punches to throw punches. He found openings from odd angles. He got Moffin in the face with a right hook that caused Moffin’s nose to bleed instantly. And then he got him again in the stomach with another right hook. He followed with a body shot that knocked the wind from Moffin. The Detroit kid had never been hit so hard. With twenty seconds left in the round, he fell to his knees. He was hurt and he struggled to get back to his feet. The referee looked him over and okayed the bout to continue. But as Horace moved toward him, the round ended.
Moffin came out in round three and pressured even harder. He backed Horace into the ropes three separate times and gathered more points. But the third time, the freeze broke and Horace landed two serious body shots, the last nearly stopping Modine Moffin for good. The kid from Detroit’s legs turned to rubber, his nose bled in a stream and he waited out the round in retreat, barely able to breathe.
The final bell rang and the referee gathered the scoring cards, glanced at them and handed them to the announcer. He then brought both fighters to the centre of the ring, Horace on his left and Moffin on his right. They waited a minute until the announcer’s voice rang out into the room. Modine Moffin’s name came through the speakers as the winner. The referee lifted the Detroit kid’s arm and it was finished and decided.
The referee took the gloves off both fighters and Link helped Horace down from the ring, took the headgear from him and said, ‘I really thought you had that one.’
Horace nodded and remained silent. He thought if he spoke he would cry. He shook Link’s hand, muttered a thank you, and never saw the man again.
*
At the Howard Johnson, Horace stood in the shower crying as quietly as he could. Why did Mr Reese have to see him lose? Why couldn’t Mr Reese have just left after he beat Mickey Shrep? He would have thought Horace had talent then, that he was smart for moving to Tucson.
When he shut the water off, he could hear the sound of the TV. He dressed and came out into the room, where Mr Reese sat upright on the bed with his back against the wall.
‘I always forget how many stations there are nowadays,’ the old man said.
Horace looked at the TV, sat on his bed and put on his shoes. He looked at the carpet. ‘There’s a bus leaving at seven p.m.,’ he said. ‘I guess I’ll take that.’
‘You’re going back to Tucson?’
Horace nodded weakly.
‘Are you going to continue to work at the tire shop?’
Again he nodded. ‘I’m gonna go pro now,’ he whispered.
‘You’re going to become a professional boxer?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I know if I had more rounds I would have knocked him out. Don’t you think I would have knocked him out?’
‘I just don’t know, Horace,’ Mr Reese said and shut off the TV. ‘I would have thought that, but I just don’t know that much about boxing. And also I don’t know much about Modine Moffin.’
‘You don’t think I can do it, do you, Mr Reese?’
‘It’s not that I don’t think you can do it – I just think it’s gonna take a lot out of you to find out.’
Horace began kicking at the carpet.
‘And I’m not the right person to ask. I don’t want you to get hurt, Horace. You’re more than a boxer to me. You’re pretty damn important to both me and Mrs Reese.’
‘I don’t care about getting hurt,’ Horace said and looked at the old man. ‘A real champion doesn’t care about getting hurt. So I’m not going to care about getting hurt.’
Mr Reese nodded slowly. ‘Why don’t you come back to the ranch and think it over for a while. We sure could use the help.’
Horace shook his head. Thoughts were coming and going so fast he could barely breathe. It felt like a weight was dropping onto his back the longer they spoke. ‘I have to become a champion, don’t you see? I have to prove that I’m someone before I come back. I’m not anything right now, Mr Reese. I’m nothing but a failure. You must see it. You must see it every time you look at me.’
‘No,’ Mr Reese said, suddenly becoming uneasy. He moved his feet off the bed and sat just across from Horace. ‘I don’t think that at all. I’ve only ever thought the opposite.’
‘Well, I can’t go back. Not until everybody knows, even my mother and father, that I’m the best. That’s when I’ll come back and I swear then I will come. But I can’t right now, don’t you see? I’m sorry, I really am, but that’s the way it has to be. I’m going to go back to Tucson and train harder. I’m going to train harder than anybody’s ever trained.’
‘When did you say your bus was leaving?’
‘Seven.’
‘Well, let’s check out of here and get a late lunch,’ Mr Reese said and tried to smile. ‘I want Chinese. That’s one type of food Mrs Reese can’t make at home. Then I want to take you shopping. We can get you some new training clothes and shoes. Mrs Reese knew you wouldn’t come back. She’s smarter than me. Anyway, she told me, made me promise, that I would buy you some new clothes.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘If you don’t let me then I’m gonna be in real trouble. Mrs Reese will throw me down a mineshaft.’
Horace looked up at the old man and suddenly laughed. ‘Remember that guy, Lucky?’
‘Sure, I remember him.’
‘When he ran the tractor into the side of the barn, you told him he’d better pack up his things and get out before you threw him down a mineshaft. You say that every time you get upset.’
‘He was a bad hire, that’s for sure. Mrs Reese saw it a mile away, but I didn’t.’
‘He’s the only guy I’ve ever seen who gargled with vodka in the morning,’ Horace said, and again laughed.
The old man stood up. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, Horace. Mrs Reese figured you were fourteen years and seven days when you came out for that first summer and took the room upstairs.’
‘I like that room.’
‘It’s still there,’ Mr Reese said. ‘And the trailer is too, and we could also do what we’ve talked about, building you an apartment in the main barn.’
‘Thank you for saying all that, Mr Reese.’
‘But only come back when you’re ready and if you really want to.’
‘I want to come back someday,’ Horace said. ‘I love the ranch more than anything. I just can’t do it right now.’
Mr Reese nodded. ‘Chinese food, clothes shopping, and then, if we have time, we’ll have a second meal and I’ll take you to the bus.’
‘Just so you know, I don’t wear small-town clothes anymore.’
‘Get whatever kind of clothes you want,’ Mr Reese said and put on his boots.
‘And maybe we should get Mrs Reese a gift.’
‘We should, you’re right.’
‘For starters, we should get her a few boxes of See’s candy,’ Horace said. ‘Dark chocolate, though, and nuts and chews only. Those are the ones she likes. Did you remember to bring your cooler?’
‘I did,’ Mr Reese said.
‘Did you bring it for the See’s candy?’
‘Yep,’ he said.
13
Mr Reese stopped at a service station in Wendover. As he got gas, he noticed his truck’s rear right tire was low. He moved the truck to the edge of the station, in near darkness, and filled the tire from a coin-operated air compressor. After that he went inside, bought a cup of coffee and a donut, and got back on the road. He listened to the radio and jumped stations as the night gave them and took them away. Interstate 80 led to 93 and soon he was on a desolate desert road where no traffic passed.
An hour outside of Ely he felt movement in the bed of the truck and pulled to the shoulder and parked. From the glove box he took a flashlight and got out. He checked the tires and then looked underneath the truck, but everything seemed normal. As he stood back up he saw the taut canvas tarp covering the bed move. He unfastened one of the tailgate corners to find two boys lying flat, surrounded by his supplies.
‘What are you two doing back here?’ he said, startled.
‘Nothing,’ one of the boys said.
‘Both of you get out of there now,’ Mr Reese said and unclasped three more hooks and pulled back the canvas. The boys stood up in the bed and then jumped down onto the side of the road. The bigger of the two was holding a dog, a medium-sized black mutt, in his left arm, and set it on the ground. A choke chain hung around its neck and a rope ran from it to the boy’s belt. The mutt sat in the dirt and began licking at its right paw.
Mr Reese ran the flashlight over them. The bigger of the two looked to be in his late teens and was tall and heavy. The other boy seemed younger and was too thin, and even in the poor light he looked anaemic, his face sallow. Both had scraggly beards and wore cut-offs and thin black T-shirts. Mr Reese looked in the bed of the truck and saw two backpacks with sleeping bags attached to them.
‘Where you two trying to get to?’
‘Mexico,’ the bigger of the two said.
‘Where in Mexico?’
‘Los Mochis.’
Mr Reese shook his head. ‘How did you know which way I was going?’
‘We didn’t. We were just sick of waiting.’
‘Don’t you know you could get shot doing something like this?’
They just looked at him.
‘How much water do you guys have?’
‘Half a gallon, maybe,’ the bigger said.
Mr Reese again shook his head. ‘It’s supposed to be over a hundred tomorrow and there’s nothing out here, no shade of any sort. Did you think of that?’
The two kept silent.
Mr Reese paused and then kicked the ground. ‘I can’t see you two getting a ride this late and who knows about tomorrow, so I’ll give you a ride as far as Ely and then you’re out, okay?’
The two nodded.
‘Get in the bed the way you were and I’ll put the canvas back.’
The bigger grabbed the leash and yanked the dog off the ground by its neck, choking him, until he pulled him into his arms. The smaller boy got in the bed of the truck, took the dog, and then the bigger boy got in. They both laid flat and Mr Reese rehooked the canvas tarp and got on the road again.
In Ely he parked at the Silver State Restaurant and unclasped the canvas cover. The smaller boy jumped down first and the bigger handed him their backpacks and the dog. Mr Reese looked over his supplies, glanced inside the cooler, and when he was satisfied nothing had been taken pulled the canvas back over the bed.
It was past midnight. The two boys stood looking around. The smaller of the two said in a stuttering voice, ‘Wha … Wha … What’s the nearest town … af … aft … after here?’
‘There’s not much,’ Mr Reese said and took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. ‘You’re pretty far away from anything. But if you’re heading south, I’d say Las Vegas. It’s three or four hours away, depending.’
‘Is … Is … Is it hot in Las … Las Vegas too?’
‘This time of year it’s hot over the entire area, and it will be for a while.’ Mr Reese looked at the dog where it stood next to the bigger boy. There was goop in its eyes, it wasn’t putting weight on its front right paw and he could see its ribs even in the darkness. He looked back to the boys. ‘Are you two hungry?’
They glanced at each other and nodded.
Mr Reese pointed to the front door of the restaurant. ‘I’ll buy you guys some chow if you want.’
The older of the two tied the dog to a bike rack near the entrance and they went inside. The restaurant was empty but for a fat middle-aged waitress, who led them to a rectangular table in the middle of the room. The boys leaned their backpacks against the edge of the table and sat opposite Mr Reese. Under the fluorescent lights they looked even worse. Their clothes were dirty and threadbare and their hair was cut crudely, long in places, short in others. Both had acne, some pimples red and bursting, others scabbed over. They smelled. The smaller of the two chewed his nails and sat hunched over as the waitress brought water and menus. They both ordered full turkey dinners and Cokes. Mr Reese ordered a cheeseburger and a cup of coffee.
‘So what are your names?’ he asked after the waitress left.
‘People call me Captain and he’s Bob,’ the bigger of the two said.
‘Why aren’t you in school?’
They both shrugged.
‘What’s your dog’s name?’
‘N … N …’ Bob tried.
‘Knife,’ said Captain.
‘What’s wrong with his paw?’
‘He cut it on something.’
‘What about his eyes?’
They again both shrugged and the waitress came back with their drinks.
Bob looked at Mr Reese. ‘He’s … He’s got worms … worms coming out of his ass.’
‘All he does is scratch all night,’ Captain said and drank off his soda.
Mr Reese put sugar in his coffee. ‘Do you have any idea how bad you both smell? You can shower in truck stops. They have showers and laundry facilities at most of them.’
The two boys looked at each other and smiled.
Mr Reese took a drink of coffee. ‘Why are you going to Mexico?’
‘Why do you care?’ said Captain.
‘I’m just curious, more than anything,’ Mr Reese said. ‘I’m just trying to understand. I figure I gave you a ride, didn’t leave you stranded, didn’t call the police and I’m buying you dinner. The least you could do is answer a few questions.’
‘We … We … We know some people there. We can live on the beach,’ Bob said and again chewed his nails.
‘But isn’t Los Mochis nine or ten hours from the border?’
They shrugged their shoulders.
‘You don’t know?’
Neither said anything.
‘What kind of work can you get down there?’
‘We ain’t going down there to work,’ said Captain.
&
nbsp; ‘How you gonna eat?’
‘You don’t have to work to eat,’ he scoffed and then got up from the table and walked to the bathroom. Bob kept his head down and drank sip after sip of soda until he had finished it.
‘Where’d you get all those tattoos?’ Mr Reese asked.
‘Lo … Lots of diff … different places,’ he said. On his left hand was a black pistol and three crude Xs around it. On his right were four Xs and a red-and-black cardinal that seemed the only professional tattoo. On his wrist was a rudimentary cross and above it read ‘R.I.P. JO 9-23-15’.
‘Do you understand Spanish?’
Bob shook his head.
‘How about your friend?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘They only speak Spanish in Mexico and they use different money down there.’
‘Different money?’
Mr Reese nodded. ‘They use the peso. How old are you?’
‘Six … Six … Sixteen.’
The waitress came then, set the food down, and Bob began eating. She refilled his soda and Captain came from the bathroom and sat back down.
‘She already got you another one?’ he asked.
Bob nodded and Captain took his glass, drank it in two swallows and began eating.
Mr Reese watched the boys as he ate. ‘I know you don’t want to talk to an old man, but out of curiosity I have to ask, what sorta plan do you guys have for your future?’
They looked at him but didn’t answer.
‘Don’t you want to have your own place to live in? Get a car, have your own money, a family someday?’
The boys looked at each other, again smiled, but said nothing. They just kept eating. Bob finished half his plate and pushed it away so Captain took it, scraped the remains onto his own plate and began eating them. The waitress came and refilled both of their drinks again.
‘Are your families worried about you?’
Captain just shook his head.
‘My … mom’s worried,’ Bob said.
‘But his mom’s so fat she can’t even get out of her bed. She’s so big she’s stuck in there. People have to come just to help her use the can.’
Bob nodded timidly and the waitress set down the bill. Captain asked for another refill on his soda and the waitress came back with a full glass and Mr Reese paid her. When Captain finished the drink, they left. Mr Reese followed the boys outside and watched as they put on their backpacks.
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