“Let’s get started, folks,” Rodino said in a loud voice. He waited to say more until the people who were standing found their seats. The fighters moved around, loosening their muscles and shadow-boxing.
“We have an exciting card tonight,” Rodino said when the crowd quieted down. He raised his arm and pointed at the boxer. “This is Harold McMurray. He’s ranked sixth by the California State Boxing Commission in the light heavyweight division. He’s got a pro record of thirteen wins, two losses, and six knockouts.”
Rodino turned to the other fighter. “Over here we got Mark Torrance, the western states karate champion for the past two years.”
The crowd applauded, and Rodino motioned the fighters to the center of the arena.
“You boys know the rules.” Rodino paused for effect. “There ain’t no rules.” Several people in the crowd laughed. “It’s winner takes all, no holds barred. You fight until one man is out or quits. No rounds. You can bite, gouge, wrestle. No weapons, though. You got it?”
The fighters nodded. Wingate turned to Carl. “Do you think a karate man can take a professional boxer?”
“It depends on the fighters.”
Rodino stepped out of the arena, and the two men circled warily. The boxer was flat-footed, moving straight forward slowly while feinting with his head and shoulders. Torrance danced lightly on the balls of his feet.
The crowd was keyed up, yelling encouragement and waiting for the first blow.
McMurray tried to close, but Torrance used his reach and speed to stay just out of range, teasing the shorter man with jabs that dotted the boxer’s face with red welts. Frustrated, McMurray charged. The black belt sidestepped and swept the boxer’s feet from under him. McMurray instinctively reached out for support as he went down, leaving his head unprotected. Torrance set himself and delivered a roundhouse kick to McMurray’s face. The snapping kick opened a cut on the boxer’s cheek. The crowd roared, excited by the blood. McMurray hit the sand and rolled, frantic to get away. Torrance seemed in no hurry. The boxer scrambled to his feet.
“What do you think?” Wingate asked without moving his eyes from the fighters.
“The kick was well executed,” Carl answered quietly. He was concentrating on the men with an expert eye.
Torrance landed a few more jabs and got cocky. He started to taunt his opponent, but the boxer fought for a living and he did not anger easily. He was also in good shape and showed no sign that the punishment he’d taken had weakened him.
Torrance jabbed again, and the boxer slipped the punch, shuffled forward, and drove a hard right hand to the black belt’s ribs. Torrance flinched, and McMurray followed with a quick left that grazed Torrance’s neck. Torrance clinched, encircling the boxer’s powerful shoulders with his long arms. McMurray brought his knee up toward Torrance’s groin. As soon as the knee rose Torrance shifted his weight. The judo throw was executed perfectly, and McMurray was flat on his back before he knew what happened. Torrance speared a hand into McMurray’s groin, rendering the boxer helpless. Rodino came back into the arena and raised the winner’s hand. Torrance danced around the ring, arms raised in triumph, while McMurray writhed on the ground.
Wingate stood up. “Let’s get some air before the next fight.”
Carl followed the General to the door at the back of the barn. When they passed Wingate’s driver, the General told him to place a bet on the next fight.
A crowd had gathered just outside the door, and the General led Carl to a stand of trees. The night air was refreshing after the smoke-filled barn.
“What was your opinion of the fight?” Wingate asked.
“Torrance is good, but that boxer was made for him. He was too slow, too stationary, and he wasn’t used to fighting someone who wrestles and kicks.”
“How do you think you would do against Torrance?”
There was something about Wingate’s tone that made Carl pause before answering. “What do you mean?”
“If you had to fight him, say tonight. How do you think you’d do?”
“You want me to fight him?” Carl asked.
“I think it would be an interesting match.”
“Tonight?” Carl asked, searching Wingate’s face in an attempt to understand what was behind the General’s questions, but Wingate’s chiseled features were in shadow.
“Not tonight,” he answered with a laugh just as his driver walked up and told them that the next fight was going to start.
“This should be a good bout,” Wingate said. He turned his back on his guest and headed for the barn. Carl was in turmoil. What had Wingate been after? Carl frequently felt that Wingate wanted something from him, but he had no idea what it was.
Carl had trouble concentrating during the rest of the bouts. Did the General really want him to fight Torrance, or was Wingate just curious about Carl’s opinion? During a break in the action, Carl wandered off by himself. He glanced across to the bar where a man was paying off the winners and Wingate was talking to Rodino in a dark corner.
The General was so powerful, so self-confident. What he wouldn’t give to have a father like that-a friend, but more than a friend. The General knew so much about so many things. Carl loved his mother. She worked so hard for him. But he yearned for something more. He missed having a father, a man who could advise him and guide him.
Carl knew that Vanessa believed the worst of her father, but Carl was certain that she was wrong. In the time he’d known him, Morris Wingate had never had a bad word for Vanessa. Carl was certain that he loved her and forgave her for the terrible opinion she had of him. Carl thought that the General was trying very hard to be a good father despite Vanessa’s efforts to alienate him. But he knew he couldn’t talk to her about his feelings; honesty in this matter would destroy his relationship with Vanessa, and the General’s daughter was the most important person in Carl’s world. But he wished that there could be a truce between Vanessa and her father.
Even more, he wished that Morris Wingate would begin to think of him not only as Vanessa’s boyfriend but also as a son.
Two days after his outing with the General, Carl paid for a month of lessons at Mark Torrance’s dojo. Torrance ran the dojo for a national franchise called International Karate, which had headquarters in Chicago. The school was located in a ghetto on the second floor of an old wood frame building. Most of the students were black or Chicano. A few whites traveled to the school because of Torrance’s reputation. Carl registered under a false name and pretended to be a beginner with some prior training. He took every opportunity to study Torrance’s technique. He concluded that Torrance was a good fighter with weaknesses that were apparent only to someone with Carl’s abilities.
Torrance’s last class ended at ten every weekday. Occasionally, the sensei would go out for beers with some of his students; but he never went out on Wednesday night, because that was when he did the books. This Wednesday evening, Carl was dressed in black, which helped him blend into the shadows in the alley across from the dojo. Twenty minutes after the last student descended the wooden steps from the second floor landing Carl pulled on a ski mask and raced across the street and up the stairs. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding when he reached the landing. He knew how insane he was to come here. He was a boy and Torrance was a seasoned fighter. There was still time to stop. He wasn’t even certain that Morris Wingate wanted him to fight Torrance. The General hadn’t brought up the subject again. But what if this was a test; what if the General wanted to see what Carl was made of? Fear churned in him and he almost turned away, but something stronger-his desire to please General Wingate-forced his hand to grasp the doorknob and push the door inward.
The dojo was a large room with hardwood floors. There were warm-up mats in one corner, and punching bags of various sizes hung from the ceiling along the near wall. Across the dojo, next to the locker room, was a wall of floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The small office where Torrance was working was on the far side of the room across from the front door. The dojo was dark, but there was a light in the office. Carl could see Torrance seated at his desk.
Carl crossed to the other side of the dojo quietly, hugging the wall and staying in the shadows. When he was
