The Boxer and the Spy

He was a drug salesman for one of the big drug companies, and once a week he called on doctors at Mass General Hospital. When he was through for the morning, he would get a gym bag from his car in the parking garage and go to the cafeteria. There he would meet a big man who had a similar gym bag. They would have coffee together, and when they left, each would take the other’s gym bag.

The cafeteria was called Eat Street, and whenever he went there, the salesman always smiled to himself. The place was so cutesy. The man he met was definitely not cutesy. He reminded the salesman of a rhinoceros: squat and thick and dangerous. The salesman was a little afraid of him, but when he took the big man’s gym bag back to his car and opened it in the parking garage, the money was always there, in cash.

The salesman wondered sometimes what he’d do if there was no cash in the gym bag, if the big man stiffed him. He wouldn’t dare confront him. And even if he did, he couldn’t confront him in Eat Street. He didn’t even know the big man’s name, or where he was from, or even what he did. All he knew was the cash in the gym bag every week when they swapped.

If the big man ever stiffed him, he guessed he’d have to eat the cost of that week’s delivery and not make another one. On the other hand, he wouldn’t be making any more deliveries, and the big man didn’t know his name either. The salesman could park in a different place and not come to Eat Street, and the whole thing would be over. He’d miss the money, but there were other people he could make an arrangement with, if he needed to. But cross that bridge when he came to it. Right now, he was getting his money. And the big ugly rhino was getting his steroids.

Fair all around.

Chapter 17

Terry was taping his hands.

“I never see fighters using this check-block thing,” Terry said. “I watch those classic fight films a lot.”

“They use the check part,” George said. “Foreman used it. But they do it so quick and easy that you don’t much notice.”

“What about the block part?”

“Mostly martial arts,” George said. “I just threw it in, case you liked it.”

“I want to box,” Terry said.

George nodded.

“Martial arts guys do a lot of things with that check-block move,” he said. “Don’t do you no harm to know it.”

Terry put his hands out and George slipped the big gloves on and Velcroed them tight.

“Okay,” George said. “Today combinations. I’m going to move the mitts around. You do left jab, right to the body, left hook, right uppercut, right to the head depending on how I move the gloves. We’ll do it slow motion to start.”

They walked through the sequence.

“You got it,” George said. “Now, here we go.”

George put the left mitt up. Terry jabbed it. George turned the right mitt over. Terry gave it an uppercut. They moved slowly, George shuffling left or right, Terry following.

“Keep your stance,” George said. “Set up after you punch. Be quick, but don’t hurry.”

The punches made a satisfying pop when they landed solid in the mitts. As Terry got tired, the punches began to slide off with less pop.

“Torque your forearms,” George said. “First two knuckles... Breathe... Keep your feet under you... Left foot forward... Punch from the floor... Turn your hip into it... Good, take a seat.”

Terry went and sat. He was sweating. His chest was heaving. He felt good.

“How’d you come to be a fighter, George?” Terry said.

George smiled. Terry noticed he was not trying to catch his breath.

Hell, Terry thought, I was doing all the punching.

“Old story,” George said. “Grew up in Baltimore. No father. Mother working two jobs to keep us going. I spent most of my time in the streets. In that part of Baltimore, on the streets, you had to fight. Didn’t have no choice. Got in some trouble. So my mother say you gonna fight anyway, maybe you should learn how. Maybe make some money. Took me to a priest, white priest, run an athletic program for street kids. Got me signed up for boxing.”

“You Catholic?”

“Nope,” George said. “Wasn’t white neither. Priest didn’t care. Went to Golden Gloves and then pro. Made a living. Most of the kids I fought in the street with are dead or in jail.”

“Wow,” Terry said. “A real priest.”

George smiled and nodded.

“Yep,” George said. “A real one.”

They went another round on the combinations and moving. Then they did what George called speed drills.

“Want you hit that heavy bag, left-right, left-right, fast as you can, keepin’ your form. Gonna do it for a minute.”

Terry did it. George counted it down.

“Good,” George said. “Take a break.”

Terry went, and sat, and breathed.

When he could, he said, “I used to think, like, a priest wouldn’t do a bad thing. A teacher wouldn’t do that, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But sometimes they do bad things. Priests can be bad. Teachers, you think they’re all supposed to be good, and some of them aren’t.”

“Way it is,” George said.

“Makes it hard to trust people,” Terry said.

“It do,” George said.

Chapter 18

They were hanging on the Wall: Terry and Abby, Tank, Suzi, and a small smart kid named Otis. A silver BMW sedan pulled up in front of them and Kip Carter got out with two friends.

Otis said, “Uh-oh.”

“Hey, boxer boy,” Carter said. “You keeping your nose clean?”

Terry didn’t say anything.

“What do you want?” Abby said.

“Want to know if boxer boy’s being good,” Carter said.

“Why don’t you go bother somebody else?” Abby said. “Creep.”

“‘Cause we want to bother you, slut,” Carter said.

“Hey,” Terry said. “Watch your mouth.”

“He’s telling me to watch my mouth,” Carter said to one of his friends.

The friend’s name was Gordon. He played linebacker and was part of Carter’s entourage.

“Or you’ll do what,” Gordon said.

“I told him about you being a boxer,” Carter said. “And Gordon don’t think much of that. Gordon thinks he can kick your butt.”

Terry nodded slowly.

“I think he can too,” Carter said. “You think so, Mikey?”

Mikey was another hanger-on. He played center on the football team and followed Carter around most of the rest of the time.

“Sure he can,” Mikey said.

“How ’bout you, dweeb,” Carter said to Otis. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Otis said.

“And you, Kitty Cat?” Carter said to Abby “What do you think?”

“I think you should buzz off,” Abby said.

“Me too,” Suzi said.

“Well we’ve heard from the Kitty Cats,” Carter said to Terry, “what you think.”

Terry took in a long breath of air, and slid off the wall.

“Terry,” Abby said. “Don’t.”

“Hey, the boxer boy’s gonna show us his stuff,” Carter said. “You stay out of this, Tank.”

“You too,” Tank said.

Carter laughed.

“Sure, sure,” he said. “I’m thinking Gordon won’t need no help.”

Terry went into his stance. Left foot forward. Hands high. He heard Carter laugh. It wasn’t about Carter now. It was about him and Gordon. They circled each other. Gordon seemed a little stiff in his movements, Terry thought. Maybe he’s a little scared too. Gordon lunged at him. Terry put a left jab onto his nose. It stopped Gordon. Terry followed with a straight right, again on the nose, torquing his forearm, turning his hip in, keeping his feet under him, breathing out hard when he threw the punch. Gordon yelped. The blood spurted from Gordon’s nose. Gordon put his hands to his nose, and Terry landed a heavy left hook on his cheekbone and Gordon fell down.

“My nose,” Gordon said. “He broke my damn nose.”

Abby took a packet of Kleenex from her bag, and jumped down from the wall, and gave the Kleenex to Gordon.

Terry turned, still in his stance, toward Carter. Tank slid off the wall and stood beside Terry. Then Otis jumped down and stood with Tank. Carter looked at them and didn’t say anything. Gordon took some of the Kleenex in a wad and held it against his nose.

“I think it’s broke,” he mumbled.

“Why don’t you get Gordon into your stupid car,” Abby said to Carter, “and take him to the doctor?”

Carter nodded.

“Get him in the backseat,” Carter said to Mikey.

Mikey helped Gordon up and they got in the car.

“Careful with the blood,” Carter said.

He looked silently at Terry for a moment.

“Don’t change nothing,” he said. “What I told you in the weight room.”

Terry kept his stance.

“And keep in mind... I ain’t Gordon,” Carter said, and turned and walked around and got in the driver’s seat and drove his silver BMW away.

Terry let his arms drop. The fight had lasted about ten seconds, but he was breathing heavily. His hands hurt where he had punched Gordon. No gloves. No tape. Lucky he didn’t break something. He felt his hands. They seemed intact.

“Man, that was fast,” Otis said.

“You okay?” Abby said.

“Yeah, sure. He didn’t even hit me.”

“I think you did break his nose,” Tank said.

Terry nodded. He was exhausted. How do you get exhausted in a ten-second fight?

“This will be all over school tomorrow,” Suzi said.

Abby was looking at Terry. He looked back at her.

“I’ll bet they won’t bother Terry anymore,” Otis said.

Terry shrugged. He felt a little shaky. He’d have to talk with George about this. He hadn’t thought about how he’d feel after a fight.

“Terry,” Abby said. “Can we take a walk? Just you and me?”

“Sure,” he said.

His left hand was beginning to throb a little where his left hook had landed on Gordon’s cheekbone. When he got home, he’d put ice on it.

As they walked away, Abby took his hand.

First time!

Behind him he heard Otis say, “I’m serious, maybe I should learn to box.”

“I don’t know, Otis,” Suzi said. “Maybe you’re better to out-think them.”

“How do you feel?” Abby said.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“No,” Abby said. “You’re not.”

“How do you know?”

“I can tell,” Abby said. “I know you.”

He liked it that she cared how he was. He liked it that she knew him well enough to tell when he wasn’t all right.

“I’m a little shaky,” he said.

“A fight like that must give awfully intense feelings,” Abby said.

“I guess,” Terry said.

“Feelings like that take a lot out of you.”

“Sometimes,” he said.

“And sometimes not?” she said.

He looked at her without speaking for a while.

“And sometimes not,” he said.

It was Abby’s turn to be silent for a time.

Finally she said, “Are we still talking about the fight?”

“I don’t think so,” Terry said.

Chapter 19

“The problem with following Bullard,” Abby said while she waited for her coffee to cool, "is even worse than Kip Carter All-American. Bullard drives everywhere.”

“I thought of that,” Terry said. “I say we need a spotter network.”

His left hand was swollen and sore.

“A what?”

“We know kids who live all over town. Everybody got a cell phone, practically. You know, Otis lives in East Cabot, you live near the Center, Nancy Fortin lives by the park. We get people all over town to keep an eye out for Mr. Bullard. Keep track of where he goes, what he does.”

“And they could report to us by cell phone,” Abby said.

“I don’t have a cell,” Terry said.

“Why don’t you get one already?”

Terry shrugged.

“We don’t have much extra money,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Abby said. “I got a cell. They can report to me.”

“We have to use people we can trust,” Terry said. “We can’t let Bullard know, or Kip Carter and his crew either.”

“I’ll do it,” Abby said. “I got a lot of girlfriends who’d love to do this. Let me organize this. We’ll like chart his movements.”

Terry looked at her and laughed.

“Abby Hall,” he said. “Girl detective.”

She grinned at him. Her eyes were very big. Her mouth was wide. When she smiled, it made her face seem bright, and he always thought of her smiling like that. It made him think of glee when she grinned like that, as if something wildly exciting was about to happen.

“Well,” she said, “it is kind of fun, isn’t it?”

“Not if Kip Carter pounds me into a fish cake,” Terry said.

“Maybe he can’t,” Abby said. “Gordon couldn’t.”

“Gordon is not Kip Carter,” Terry said.

“Don’t you think if Kip Carter All-American thought he could pound you into a fish cake he’d have done it instead of siccing Gordon on you?”

Terry shrugged.

They were in the Coffee Café in the center of town. The café had not set out to be a high school hangout. But it was downtown, next to the cinema, four blocks from the high school, and never seemed crowded in the afternoon. Slowly the kids started hanging out there, and the more they hung out there, the more adults didn’t come, so that finally the place had become a high school hangout. Whether the owners liked it or not, it was a fact. If you were a high school kid, the café was where you went.

“Have you found out any more about steroids?” Abby said.

“I’ve been on the Internet, but there‘s, like, too much information and they say different stuff, and I don’t know what’s true and what’s not.”

“And there’s no one to ask?” Abby said.

“Like who? My mother? She’s a bartender. She doesn’t know any more than I do about steroids.”

“And there’s no one else,” Abby said.

“Nobody that knows anything. I mean I can’t just make an appointment with some doctor and say, ‘tell me about ’roids.’ You know?”

“I do,” Abby said. “I’ve been thinking about that.”

“You do a lot of thinking,” Terry said.

“Yes I do,” Abby said, and smiled the big smile at him again. “I’m very smart.”

“Modest too,” Terry said.

“Absolutely,” Abby said.

“So what have you been thinking?”

“Gary,” she said. “At the drugstore.”

“Sarkis Pharmacy?”

“Yes,” Abby said. “He’s very nice, and he must know about steroids. I bet he’s got a book or something.”

Terry nodded, looking at her.

She is smart, he thought, and the best part is, she’s being smart for me.

“Let’s go over there now,” Terry said.

“On the hunt,” Abby said.

And they left.