Manhattan Noir

THE LAST ROUNDBY C. J. SULLIVAN

Inwood

Danny Stone woke up angry. He sat up in his lumpy double bed and felt a rage tearing through him. His fists were clenched and he was breathing hard. He knew it was the dream. It was always the dream.

He shook his head and tried to erase the images of his long night. He knew he threw punches in his sleep and that is why he slept alone. Since he lost his wife, every woman he went to bed with woke him yelling that he was hitting them while he was dreaming. Sleep boxing, he told them, he suffered from sleep boxing. He said it as a joke but none of the women found it funny. Or slept with him again. In his waking life he had never struck a woman, and even in his dreams it wasn’t a woman he was trying to hit.

He got out of his bed and stretched his tight body. The cold linoleum felt good on his bare feet as he walked over and looked out his bedroom window down to Sherman Avenue. A cold blast of wind blew brown leaves around a fire pump. Danny watched an elderly man carrying a plastic black bag and rummaging through a garbage can looking for beer and soda cans for the nickel reward.

Danny turned away from the window. He felt a lump in his throat. He blocked that out with another long stretch. His muscles and bones popped and then he dropped to the floor to do one hundred sit-ups followed with fifty push-ups. Some men woke up to coffee, some to brushing their teeth. Danny Stone woke up and worked out. He did this every morning since he could remember. As a young boy he wanted to be a boxer and that is where it began. It took him through his fighting career and it would now take him into retirement.

“Too old, boy… you too old.”

He tensed up on his last ten push-ups as he heard those words in his mind. His trainer, Victor Garcia, had said that to him at Obert’s Gym yesterday when Danny floated the idea of one more fight.

Too old? How is thirty-five too old? he thought. Thirty-five is the prime of life for most men. But for a boxer? He knew the dirty secret of his profession. You didn’t slowly lose your skills in the ring. They deserted you in seconds, and a contender for the middleweight crown-which is how Danny thought of himself, although Ring Magazine had never ranked him higher than number ten-could go from youthful potential to a washed-up bum in under three minutes. That is all it took. One bad round. You cannot hide in a boxing ring and all your weaknesses are eventually exposed. In his last fight, one of the best middleweights of all time, Roy Jones Jr., looked old at thirty-five, and Danny knew he was no Roy Jones Jr.

“You too old.”

Those words.

Cutting and cruel.

He knew there was something to them. Age for a boxer is deadly. It is like a door you pass through, and when it closes behind you there is no going back. A part of Danny Stone knew that was true, but like most boxers he thought he could go one more time. He figured he could get a $50,000 pay date as an under card at the Garden. Good enough for a stake.

Start a business. Maybe use it as a down payment for a condo. Take on some rising young kid and drop him on his cocky ass with his still-powerful left hook.

He could see it as he laced up his running shoes. The bright lights. The blood. The crowd yelling. The punch as Danny stood over the kid with his gloves raised. Danny smiled as he threw on his gray Champion sweat suit and burst out of his third floor apartment and ran down the stairs.

“Hey, Champ, what are you doing? Lock your door!” Mr. Ruiz, the super, yelled at him as he swept the floor.

“Nothing to steal,” Danny called back with a laugh.

He ran out of the lobby and his legs tightened up as they pounded on the cement. The cold air hit his lungs like he had inhaled pipe tobacco. He put his head down and ran along the street toward Inwood Hill Park. The first ten minutes of every run was a killer for him. Even when he was young he hated the start of the run. But after ten minutes, even now, when he found his rhythm and groove, it got good. Real good. Running and boxing are what kept him sane all these years and he wasn’t ready to let go of them. If no one else believed in him, Danny thought, at least he did.

At least he did. Those words comforted him as he ran up Dyckman Street. He passed the Alibi Inn and a white-haired man waved to him from the window. Danny smiled and waved back. Everyone in Inwood knew him as “Champ.” He thought not many knew anything about him other than he was a boxer. The furies that drove him. He passed Sherman Avenue and made a right to avoid Pitt Place.

Danny knew that was where the ghosts lived. 209 Pitt Place. The last time he had seen his wife and baby daughter alive was in their tidy two-bedroom apartment there. He was deep in training out in the Poconos when the house was hit by a crew of home invaders. They came for the money they knew he had hidden in the closet. He had made some offhanded comment to a New York Post boxing writer about not trusting banks, and it cost his family their lives.

That the men were arrested, tried, and convicted with life sentences never gave him peace. That he won the fight was no solace. The only time he felt good was when his fists were pounding another man.

He shook his head to chase that ten-year-old memory away. He turned into the park and picked up his pace as he ran up the first hill. A mother pushing a baby carriage smiled at him when he huffed by. He kept going deeper into the park, deeper into his run. Away from the cruelty of life in New York City. Where the streets can snatch your whole life from you for a few thousand dollars. He went faster. His body felt good. He threw a few punches and let out a grunt.

He turned onto a path through the old woods and now ran on the dirt. As he came to the top of the hill, he saw a man standing in a thicket of bushes. The man looked up and Danny knew it was the guy he called the Mad Russian.

The Mad Russian was a local character who once told Danny his name was Yuri and he was once a Soviet botanist, now reduced to manual labor by the cruel capitalistic system of America. He said he came to the park to study the flora and the fauna. Danny waved to the Russian, but the guy looked through Danny like he wasn’t even there.

Just another New York psycho, Danny thought. The city was full of them, and if he kept it up, Danny Stone would join them. Lonely displaced people haunted by their past. The ghosts of your horrors were always chasing you.

He came out of the park and leaned against a stone wall to stretch his legs. It was a good run. Five miles. Good pace.

Good wind. He was still in shape.

Danny walked down 207th Street and grabbed a newspaper and went into the Loco Diner. There, the waitress, Rosa, smiled at him and motioned him to a front table. She yelled to the cook to make an egg white omelet.

“How was the run, Danny Boy?” Rosa said as she put a cup of coffee down in front of him.

“Good. Five miles in twenty-eight minutes.”

“Damn! You can run.”

“You should come out with me sometime.”

Rosa smacked her wide hips. “Not built for running, and I do enough running around here. Now, if you took me to dinner…”

Danny blushed as Rosa smiled at him. They had been doing this for the last year. Two thirty-five-year-old people acting like school kids. Rosa was pretty enough. A little heavy, but she carried it with a Latin charm.

Danny knew he needed something to change in his life. He was tired of being alone. He was ready. For anything. So he asked.

“Hey, Rosa, so why not?’

“Why not what?”

“Why don’t me and you go out. Tonight. Benny’s Steak House on 194th is good. You want to come with me?”

“You asking me out?”

“I think so.”

“Well, it’s about time.”

“I work slow.”

“I’ll say.”

“So we’ll go. I’ll meet you, like, 7.”

“Yes, Danny, I would like that. I would like that very much. Seven. Now here…” She put his omelet down in front of him. “You better eat this. You might need your strength. You ever been with a Latin woman?”

“Not one as pretty as you.”

Nice line, Danny thought. Rosa smiled and went over to a couple at a booth to take their order. Danny sipped on his coffee and picked at the eggs as he read the lead story:

“Inwood Jogger Missing.”

A twenty-year-old college student had been last seen running through Inwood Park and she never got home. A runaway, Danny thought, as he turned the page and read about a elderly jeweler stabbed on Sixth Avenue. Crime is down in New York, but there’s still enough mayhem to go around.

Danny finished his eggs and gave Rosa a wave as he threw ten dollars down on the table.

“Seven, Champ, I’ll be here,” she called after him.

Danny walked down to Obert’s Gym and said hello to the regulars. He walked past Victor Garcia without saying a word. He put on some light gloves and worked the speed bag.

He loved it when he got the rat-a-tat-tat sound as the bag hit the wood and then his glove with blinding speed.

He walked over to a heavy bag and motioned Khalif Little to hold it. He slammed the bag for three minutes, then held it while Little pounded it. Kid is strong, Danny thought.

The day dragged on. Danny trained a couple of local kids in the ring. He did foot work and shadowboxing with them.

Good kids, but no real boxing talent. They were in the gym because they couldn’t play baseball or basketball. Boxing was their last shot out of Inwood, and it was a cancelled check they were holding.

As Danny moved around the ring his mind kept going back to Rosa. That warm smile. Those big hips. He needed a woman and he needed a fresh start. Maybe she could be the one. That is, if he didn’t knock her out of bed.

Danny decided to skip some rope. Victor Garcia leaned on the ropes and watched him.

“You know, Danny, I was thinking about what you said. Maybe you’re right. You can still fight. I’ll look into it. We could both use a payday, and who knows.”

“You know me, Victor. I never back down from a fight. You get it and I’ll give it my all.”

“You always did, kid. You always did.”

Danny jumped out of the ring and said his goodbyes. He left the gym feeling pretty good. He walked home singing a song from the 1970s. Johnny Nash. “I can see clearly now the rain is gone.”

In his apartment he watched the evening news. A local TV reporter did a story on the missing jogger of Inwood Park. He heard her name. Sara Miller. Twenty. Blond. Pretty. Full of life. Honor student. All the things Danny never was.

The news went on with the weather report and he got ready for his date with Rosa. He took a hot shower, and as he dried off he threw talcum powder on his body. He went to the closet and put on a crisp, white button-down shirt and new black jeans. He thought about a tie and knew that wasn’t him. He looked in the mirror. Not bad, he thought. Slim. Face not too banged up. Maybe Rosa saw something in him.

He threw on a black leather jacket and walked out the door. He stopped at the corner florist and bought a rose. A Rose for Rosa, he said to himself and smiled. He walked with an easy stride and felt good in his body. Then he turned the corner on 207th Street and felt his gut tighten as he saw the Loco Diner.

No time for doubt, he thought, and walked inside with a goofy smile. Rosa was standing there in a flower print dress with her black hair up.

“God. You’re beautiful,” Danny said, handing her the rose.

“A rose. How sweet. Shall we?”

Danny helped her with her coat and then they walked out of the diner. On the street she put her arm in his and matched his stride down Broadway. Danny felt good and kept taking sideway glances at her and smiling.

“We should have done this a long time ago. This…” he said, patting her arm with his hand, “feels good. Feels right.”

“You asked when you did. Who knows? Maybe I wouldn’t have went if you asked in the past. It all happens when it is supposed to.”

They walked down Broadway chatting about their days.

They entered Benny’s and Rosa smiled as he led her to the bar.

“They’ll get us a table in like fifteen minutes. The Times did a review last month. A good one. All the Manhattan people are coming up now.”

“Danny, we are Manhattan people.”

“Rosa, geographically Inwood might be in Manhattan, but it is more like the Bronx. We are Inwood people, not Manhattan people.”

Rosa laughed at that. He ordered a red wine for her and water for him. Danny learned years ago that alcohol and staying in shape did not mix. As they finished their drinks a waiter took them to a back booth for privacy. Danny had called in a favor with Benny and they were treating him like the Champ he always wanted to be. He hoped Rosa was impressed.

They each ordered a steak and it came fast, hot, and rare. They were both hungry and ate their food with passion.

“Man, that was some good steak.”

“I’ll say. We ate like we’ve never been out before,” Rosa laughed.

Over coffee Danny started to talk about his past. He felt like he had to. Like she had to hear what made him the way he was. And if she didn’t run away screaming… then maybe...

When he got to the part of his family’s murder, Rosa held his hand.

“I know, Danny. I am sorry.”

“You know about what happened?”

“Well, yes, it was horrible. The whole neighborhood felt for you.”

A tear fell down Danny’s face. He never talked about that night. He only dreamt of it. As he talked of the hurt, he felt something leave his body. Something bad and bitter. He just rambled about his broken heart and his eyes never left Rosa’s face. She sat in silence, just watching him with soft, brown eyes. Eyes like a healing light, he thought. She has a face like a saint on a church mural.

Danny ordered Rosa another glass of wine while he had a coffee, black.

“I just want to thank you for listening, Rosa. It was like taking bad air out of me. God, it felt good telling you all that.”

“I’ll listen anytime, Danny.”

He asked about her life and Rosa told him the sadness of a divorce and the ruined dreams of her youth. She was going to be a lawyer but a child and an angry husband made her put that on the back burner. Where it stayed simmering into a bitter stew.

They left Benny’s, and on the corner Danny stopped and held Rosa’s face in his hands. He lightly kissed her lips and she caressed his neck.

They walked up Seaman Avenue and Rosa pointed to a “Missing” poster on the light pole. “That’s the jogger in Inwood Park that went missing.”

“Yeah. That is weird. You know, I run every day through that park and never saw her. I see that psycho Yuri but not Sara Miller.”

As they walked, Danny told Rosa how the Mad Russian looked right through him earlier that day in the park.

“He creeps me out, that Yuri,” said Rosa. “About two months ago I saw him running down 207th Street after some young college girl, cursing at her. The girl got away but Yuri had this sick look in his eyes like if he had caught her he would have done something bad.”

“Really? You think…”

Rosa exhaled. “I don’t know, but I got a feeling about him. Show me where you saw him.”

“Rosa. It’s dark out. That park is dangerous at night.”

“Oh, come on. I go out with a boxer and he’s afraid of the dark. Here…” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small flashlight. “Come on, it will be romantic.”

They walked up the street and followed Danny’s running route. As they entered the park, Danny’s body tightened. He looked everywhere and anywhere.

The woods were empty and dark and Danny needed the flashlight to find the trail he took. He held Rosa’s hand as they headed up the hill.

“There. He was standing right there.”

Rosa walked into the thicket carefully and shined the light on the ground.

“What are you looking for?” Danny asked as he looked around. Who knows what’s in here at night.

“I don’t know. Anything.”

Rosa took another step and hissed, “Oh my God.”

Danny went over to her side and saw a body under a bush. Then he heard a low moan. Rosa shined the light into the bush and Danny reached in. He felt an arm and gently pulled it toward him.

“That’s the jogger. That’s her. Sara Miller,” Rosa said, as they looked down on the young girl. She lay on the ground unconscious and barely breathing, but it was her. Her blond hair was a dirty mess and her face had cuts and bruises.

“We got to get her to a hospital,” Danny said, as he bent down and picked her up by the torso and put her over his back.

“Careful, Danny.”

Rosa lit the way as he tried to gently carry Sara Miller. He could feel her body moving on his back like she was trying to get away. They got back on the path and Danny picked up his pace.

“Memorial is like ten blocks. Call an ambulance. Have them meet us by the park entrance on 207th Street.”

Rosa took out her cell phone and tried to keep pace with Danny’s long strides. As Danny walked down the path, he sensed something coming at him from his left side. He turned and saw Yuri charging out of the trees with a huge limb.

“That is mine!” Yuri screamed, and swung the branch at Danny’s leg. Danny’s knees fell from under him. He was in a kneeling position and was able to lay Sara Miller down, when the branch hit his back, knocking him to the ground. His mouth tasted dirt. He saw Rosa swinging her purse at Yuri.

“Get off him, you friggin’ psycho!”

Yuri grabbed Rosa’s purse and punched her. She fell onto a park bench. Danny was on his feet now. Woozy. Unsteady.

But ready for a round.

“Hey. Fight me. Fight a man.”

Yuri turned and came at Danny. Jesus, Danny thought, this guy is big and moves like a boxer. A heavyweight. He hit Danny a glancing blow, and Danny came up inside of him and landed a body shot. Yuri gasped and punched Danny’s ribs.

The punch hurt. Worse than anything he had felt in years. Like something went inside of him. Then he saw the knife in Yuri’s hand. Yuri lunged at Danny and missed.

Danny pivoted, and with everything he had, he hit Yuri with a left hook to the temple. It was a career punch. Maybe the best one he ever threw.

The Russian fell to the ground. Out. Danny jumped on top of him, beating Yuri’s face. He punched until his hands were a bloody mess and he felt Rosa tugging on his shoulders.

“Danny, come on. Stop. He’s done. You’re hurt.”

She helped Danny to his feet and he limped over to the bench. He put his hand on his ribs and felt the thick blood.

It was like something was leaking out of him. Hate. Strength.

Sadness. He felt like he could float away.

Rosa wept as she looked at his white shirt stained with blood.

“Just hold on, Danny. Just hold on.”

“I’m cold, Rosa.”

She embraced him, and in the distance an ambulance siren wailed. He leaned into her neck and smelled her. Then he kissed her neck and moaned.

“You’re bleeding, Rosa. He hit you. Your lip,” Danny whispered.

Rosa licked the blood off. “I’m okay. Just a fat lip. You just hold on, Danny. Hold on! That ambulance is for you and Sara. You saved her, baby. You saved her.”

Danny looked up and smiled at Rosa. He felt lighter than he had ever been. All the weight he carried for years was leaving.

“I won, Rosa. I knocked him out.”

“You did, Champ. You did.”

Danny’s eyes shut as Rosa held him and cried.