“Why did you put me up here?” asked Messenger.
“I figured you were used to bleeding there,” said Grundy.
Messenger laughed, cursing the way it made his head shake and hurt. “You’re an asshole, Grundy,” he said. Grundy was smiling. “Did you see the other assholes? The ones who did that to our window?”
“I didn’t,” said Grundy. “I had just gotten up when I heard the window smash, so I ran outside, only to see you halfway down the street. I could see the blood from way up the Pit, so I hurried.”
Messenger touched his own head. The bandage around it was getting wet.
“Yeah, no kidding.” Messenger coughed. “I only saw the little guy, but I’ve never seen his mug before. You think they one of Bishop’s men?”
“Don’t see how they’d know.”
“They’ve been on Stone’s back for years now. Wouldn’t wonder me if…” Messenger gripped his head in pain.
“You shouldn’t be talking, though,” said Grundy. “A brick’s a bit harder than those punches you're used to. You should get some more sleep if you can.” He was holding the brick in his hand.
“You should throw that through the other god damned windows,” said Messenger.
Grundy looked at the brick. “How come you say that?”
“That’s just how it feels sometimes,” said Messenger, his mouth dry. “You know? Like a brick through a window, that’s how it feels sometimes.”
“I’ve never thrown a brick through no window,” said Grundy. “Never owned a brick for throwing, or a window for smashing.”
“Well here’s your chance now,” said Messenger. He licked his lips. “A brick in your hand and windows all around. Just take your best shot.”
“I won’t be destroying Mr. Stone’s windows like those delinquents out there.”
“You don’t like delinquents, Grundy? Well, I used to be a delinquent once. I used to steal a lot of bricks, smash a lot of windows.”
“You’re a boxer now.”
“A boxer?” asked Messenger. He tried moving his body to face Grundy. “A boxer? And you’re a janitor, then? I’m no more a man with two gloves than you’re one with a mop. Dickie was a man with a bible, and look what happened to him. People respect the bible, and look what happened to him. People don’t respect no fighter.”
“They come to watch you fight, don’t they?”
“They come to see the fights, not someone fight. They come to watch some man lie in the ring like I’m doing now; motionless and with blood pouring out. You go out and ask any man on the street, and they’d come in to see me like I am now, and I promise you they won’t be asking about who laid me down.” Messenger coughed.
“You shouldn’t be talking.”
“They’ll just come to see the battered man, the defeated man. It’s easy to be standing above a defeated man. You should throw that brick, Grundy. Throw it good.”
“I won’t throw it, but I’ll keep it. How’s that?”
“Yeah, you keep it. You’ve got a brick now. You’ve got a brick.”
“You sure you didn’t see anything at all?” asked Stone.
Grundy shook his head.
“Mr. Stone, as I said, all I saw was Messenger laying for dead down the street.”
“I wasn’t laying for dead!” screeched Messenger. He was sitting on a stool in one of the ring corners, nursing his head with a pack of ice. Grundy was picking up the pieces of glass, Stone and De Gracy standing next to the ring.
“Messenger, you sure it wasn’t Princeton? Or Kilkenny or…?”
“I’m telling you, Stone, it wasn’t any of those jokers. I haven’t seen any of them before. I just wanted to come in early, train, and get my mind off things. I saw the two of them, saw the brick in one of them’s hands, and I followed them. They go down the street, up the Pit, and BAM! they throw a god damned brick through the window.”
“It must be some of Bishop’s,” said Stone. “I don’t know how, but they found something out.”
“They know nothing,” said De Gracy. He pulled out a cigarette from his inner coat pocket. “Look,” he said, his voice muffled by the trembling cigarette between his lips, “all they know is that we hated Bishop, and now they’re trying to provoke us by trashing our windows. They want us to react, Stone. They probably done the same to every other man they knew hated Bishop, I’m telling you.”
Stone looked at De Gracy and thought about it for a while.
“So, what do we do?”
“We do nothing. We keep on doing our fights, let it all die for a while, and then mount our business.”
Stone walked up closer to De Gracy.
“And they won’t suspect that we suddenly start slinging weapons and ammo all over town?”
“Hey,” said De Gracy. “The business in America’s business, right?”
Stone shook his head.
“They want a reaction, Stone,” said De Gracy. “And if we don’t give ‘em one, they got no reason to snoop around any further, so I say we lay low now.”
“You want us to lay low?” said Stone.
“Of course, what else are we going to do? We’re lucky enough that the police aren’t going around asking us about Eckleburg anymore; that they’re taking it for a suicide.”
“That’s because it was a god damned suicide. Jesus.”
“All I’m saying’s that the police isn’t around here, Stone. They see no link between Eckleburg and Bishop, and why should they? Plissbury’s a big town, and a lot of people hated Bishop. Why would a lowly accountant have anything to do with that? Not all eyes are on you, Stone. Not all the time.”
“We’ll see,” said Stone. “We'll just try to let it slide, wait for them to make the next move, and just move on.”
“Exactly,” said De Gracy. “It’s a big town, and the Pit’s very small.”
CHAPTER 11
The locker room reeked from all the sweat washing off the young boxers. They were washing and drying, dressing and undressing, and there was an odd sense of traffic in the room, a sense of deviation and charged energy at the same time, colliding.
Paul Messenger sat in his usual corner, unmoving. He wore a thin bandage across his head. Across from where he was sitting, another boxer was moving up towards one of the naked walls with a rolled up poster in his hand. He straightened it out and smeared it up on the wall. Messenger could see that the poster was a dark yellow, but he couldn’t see anything other than that because the other boxer was in the way. Some of the others cheered when they saw the poster, and the boxer that had hung it up looked very pleased and satisfied as he stepped away. Messenger flinched when he finally saw what was on it. His muscles tensed, and he started flexing his knuckles to let out the sudden buildup of anxiety.
“Holden!” he called.
“What is it, Messenger?” said the boxer with the poster.
“Pull that poster down.”
“Why’s that?”
“We’re not supposed to advertise the other rings around town.”
“It’s the Bull, Messenger. People will know if we put him up or not.”
“Then you might as well pull him down,” said Messenger. He sat on the very edge of the bench now, still clenching his fists. Holden walked past the many benches, making his way towards Messenger. As he came closer, it was obvious that he was a considerably bigger man than Messenger, his muscles bulky and tight.
“It’s the Bull, Messenger. Show some respect, will ya? You’re a boxer too, and he’s a legend. Respect that.”
“I ain’t respecting nothing, Holden. I just want you to pull it down, nothing else. Really, nothing else. I’ll stop talking the moment it’s gone, really.”
“You’re not the authority here, Messenger. I don’t care if you’re good buds with Stone, you’re the same as all of us. It’s a democracy here in the showers, all right?”
“That’s a fancy word there, Holden.”
Holden didn’t cross the last bench between him and Messenge
r.
“Who thinks we should keep the Bull hanging in here?” asked Holden. “Show hands.”
Every boxer in the locker room raised their hand except Messenger.
“You’re all pathetic,” said Messenger.
“You’re being outvoted, and since it’s a democracy, we win.”
“You’re pathetic for believing in a word that fits so poorly in that ugly mouth of yours.”
Holden crossed the last bench.
“I’d watch out what you’re saying to me. Or else I’m gonna hit you harder than that brick did.”
“Look at all of you,” said Messenger. “I’ve beaten half of you sparring one time or another, and I’d beat the rest just as easily. Democracy, huh? We’re talking about putting up some damn poster, and you’re talking to me about democracy?”
“That’s how it always is with you. You hear what someone says and then you just use that word a hundred times like an insult or something. You shouldn’t talk that much.”
“And you shouldn’t talk at all.”
Messenger got up and walked past Holden, to the other side of the locker room. He tore down the poster and split it in two, letting the two pieces fall to the dirty floor.
“Come on, Stone! Just this once!”
“No, Paul,” said Stone. Messenger was standing in the doorway of the office.
“Look,” said Messenger and walked inside. He leaned over the table and looked at Stone.
“Just this one time.”
“You’re not even in the same weight class, and Holden’s the Pit’s own man!”
“God damn it, Stone, this ain’t about some weight classes. I have…”
“No, this is about you having some quarrel with Holden where you need to prove that you’re right in front of everyone. That’s how it is with you, and, I’m sorry, I’m not gonna support that.”
“That’s crap, and you know it.”
“I heard about the poster,” said Stone.
“Fucking poster,” muttered Messenger.
“Why are you even here anymore?” asked Stone.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you continuing to fight like this? It’s obvious that you don’t like it.”
“Don’t like it? Don’t like it, Stone? I’m not complaining about the thrill, I’m complaining about the bore. I wanna fight some heavier guys, and that's it!”
“Look at you,” said Stone. “You’re hiding behind yourself, but every once in a while, I see what spills, or rather, drips out. How about you be our new number man instead?”
“An accountant? I can’t see two for two, let alone work with economics. “
“Bullshit, Paul. I’ve heard you correct Eckleburg.”
Messenger turned De Gracy’s chair and sat on it backwards, resting his chin on the back of it.
“This is a hard time for all of us,” said Stone. “I don't want you to be carrying any unnecessary burdens.”
“You don’t have to act like a father all the time, Stone. I can think for myself, all right?”
Stone flinched. “I'm not acting like anyone's father.”
“Well you sure as hell sound like one.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not fighting Holden.”
“Damn it,” said Messenger. He punched the chair and stood. “I’ll throw the fight tomorrow, then. The one against Graham, I’ll throw it.”
Stone grinned. “Great bluff... great. You think I'll buy you’re up for losing with all those people standing there, watching you fight.”
“You still don’t get it,” said Messenger, shaking his head. “I’ll throw a fight if it means I’ll get the one I want. God knows I’ve waited enough with this head wound and all, but now I’m back, and I’ll throw it tomorrow, I swear.”
“We’ll see about that, Paul.”
“Screw you,” said Messenger, leaving the room.
CHAPTER 12
As Stone moved into the church with the rest of the congregation, he found his head wandering all over the stream of people, his eyes darting to see the hat with the brown flowers, but all he saw were simple caps, wide hats, and bare heads. When Father Sebastian started his preaching, Stone was still scouting around the far edges of the halls, hoping that the brown flowers had somehow eluded his eye. The priest spoke of the abstinence of malignancy, and how man was supposed to delve into itself for the most primary and spiritual of experiences. All the while, Noah Stone's gaze was fluttering from candlestick to candlestick, his innermost hope that one of them would cast its light on Julia Sedgewick.
But she wasn’t there, and she never came.
The day after, Stone found himself surrounded by the tough musk of the surrounding men that had come to the Pit to see Messenger fight Graham. The eager crowd had reached the front doors, and Stone could see De Gracy by the bell in the corner of the boxing ring. It looked like he was counting heads, drawing statistics about the incoming mob, perhaps even distinguishing all the southies from the docks that had put their money on Graham. He could see the young boxer Graham as well, but Messenger still wasn't in the ring.
Graham looked thin and almost thorny, but his lean muscles were taut and sinewy, as if they were tightened by thin little springs that went all the way from his arms to his chest muscles. He looked very restless, springing his head from side to side, walking in circles close to his own corner. When Messenger finally came in through the ropes, the young Graham settled down for a bit, deciding instead to size up Messenger, who seemed stout and calm, bordering on indifferent. He was of small stature too, Paul Messenger, but here, in the crowd, among the fools of gamblers, Stone realized why Messenger instilled fear in the opponents that were set before him. Unlike Graham and his wound-up anatomy, Messenger's muscles were like plates that someone had stuck on him, like slabs of stone put in a river of lava; his whole body seemed to sear with the will of the fight, warm fumes leaving his body in preparation of the volcanic eruption that would happen when the bell rang.
Stone noticed that De Gracy was looking at his watch. The entire crowd was now inside, and they had dispersed themselves around the ring, throwing their names and swears into the ring, expecting the arena to explode. Stone had positioned himself rather close to the ring, but neither De Gracy nor Messenger had noticed him yet.
"Hey," said someone, poking Stone's back. Stone turned towards him. "Who's your money on?"
"My money's on the Messenger," said Stone, hoping the conversation would end there.
"Nah, nah, nah," said the man in the crowd. "James Graham's the pride of South Plissbury. He'll run all over that twiggy-boy there."
"Yeah, well Paul Messenger is the pride of the Pit, so we'll see what some boy from the docks can do against him."
The man in the crowd grabbed Stone's shoulder and turned him around.
"You got a problem with us docksmen, do ya? We be tough, and there ain't a few of us around."
"Look, you asked where my money was, and I told you. We'll let the fight do the talking, all right?"
"Yeah, yeah. We'll see what happens when you disrespect the south. Nothing but trouble that is."
The bell sounded, and the two boxers walked to the center of the ring. Messenger threw the first punch.
"Uh, nothing but bones that one," said the man in the crowd. "Can't throw a proper punch."
Messenger threw in a few more punches, but Graham managed to retaliate with two uppercuts in a row.
"Fine punch that, fine punch. Tear him down, son! Ya hear, tear him down."
Even though the crowd was rummaging from every side of Stone, the man behind him was the only one coming through to him, and with every turn of action in the ring, Stone felt a splintering urge to turn around and punch him down.
"Show him the way of the south, laddie!"
Graham moved in with a punch to Messenger's right kidney, but then the bell rang, and the two fighters separated.
"Fine round for us that was, fine round," said the man while hitting Sto
ne's shoulder.
Stone turned around. "Look here, if you don't step back right now, I'll make sure you do, you understand?"
The man opened his mouth, showing the few teeth he had left.
"I know you're a northerner, but other than that: who the hell you think you are?"
"I'm Noah Stone. I'm the proprietor here."
The man nodded continuously, sizing up Stone.
"So you're Mr. Stone. Didn't recognize you without the hat. Yeah, must be the hat.
Stone was silent for a while. The stranger's drunk mind seemed incapacitated to any influences. He swayed from side to side, his eyes glazed with what seemed like a molten layer of pearls.
"What's that?" the stranger suddenly said, lifting his dirty shirt, flashing his leather belt. "Mommy and daddy give you too much belt?"
In that instant, drawing all attention from the boxing ring, Stone fired his fist across the man's jaw, forcing him to the ground. Stone was still, his one arm dangling from the punch, his knuckle red hot; his coat was overthrown to one side of his body. Everyone was staring at him in silence, and as apparent as it was from the onlooker's gazes and leaned bodies that they wanted to intervene on behalf of their fellow docksman, the sudden realization of the hatless man's identity enforced in them a state of tranquility, and so they stood, like a pack of hyenas around the shaven lion's den.
De Gracy jumped down from the ring platform. Stone was evening out his coat. The man he'd knocked down rose up slowly from the ground, his anger and thirst for vengeance locked within his jittery eyes. He stepped back into the crowd only to be absorbed.
"Are you okay?" asked De Gracy. He tried pulling Stone away, but Stone stayed, hollowminded. There was no one close to him, and he and De Gracy could easily walk to the other side of the warehouse. Stone noticed that Messenger was looking at him, and in his eyes he saw an almost thankful look, but the ambiguity of it left Stone feeling ashamed that he had been noticed at all.
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