Don't bother trying to break a sweat until it gets close to game time.'
Frankie obediently lay back on the table, closed his eyes.
'I got to ask you something,' I said to the Prof, drawing him aside.
'After the bout, schoolboy. This is business now.'
'Okay,' I agreed, staying on his topic. 'You know anything about this boy Frankie's going to fight?'
'Sure. See that guy over there? The one against the lockers? That's him. Jermaine Jenkins.'
I looked over. Jenkins was a black kid, looked about nineteen. He stood about six four, looked like he weighed maybe two thirty. A real big kid. Big all over. He was admiring a neon–blue robe with his name on the back, rapping to a couple of guys in suits.
'We can take him easy,' the Prof said, smiling. 'Boy's got a nice wardrobe. Slick moves too. But his punch don't crunch. Only reason we got the date is they glommed Frankie's weight. We should be fighting cruisers, but there ain't no cash in the off–brands.'
'What corner they give you?'
'Blue,' he replied. 'True blue.'
'Frankie's ready?'
'He'll be on that pretty–boy like a ho' on dough, bro— nothing to it.'
I walked back over to where Frankie was lying down. Noticed Clarence had placed a clean white washcloth over the fighter's eyes. 'Be yourself,' I told him, giving his shoulder a pat.
'I will,' he said quietly.
Max and I went out, found seats near the blue corner. The place was filling up. I spotted a crew of dope gangstahs through the ropes, all sitting ringside. One of them was talking on a cellular phone, making a production out of it. A dark–haired man in his fifties in an expensive–looking midnight–blue suit sat a few places over to my left, his arm around the waist of a sharp–featured bottle–blonde about a foot taller and thirty years younger than him. Most of the crowd was local— blue–collar whites and flashier–dressed Latins. A group of Orientals sat by themselves, occasionally glancing over at the black gangstah crew. Hard looks, returned with interest.
The announcer stepped to the center of the ring, a middle–aged man with an elaborate hairdo wearing a bright–red tuxedo jacket with black shawl lapels. He held a microphone in one hand and a large index card in the other. Then he did the usual bit about welcoming us to the fabulous arena, announced each of the three judges by name, identified the State Boxing Commissioner and a bunch of other people. Then the referee. In the middle of his spiel, the two fighters walked toward the ring from opposite directions. Jenkins was resplendent in his pretty robe, surrounded by half a dozen different guys. Frankie's robe was wide black–and–white vertical stripes, like an old– time convict's uniform. Jenkins' handlers held the ropes for him to climb in the ring— Clarence did the same for Frankie. The cornermen removed their fighters' robes. Jenkins' blue trunks were a perfect match. Frankie's were striped the same as his robe too.
The referee called the fighters to the center of the ring, mumbled something. Jenkins looked much bigger than Frankie, a menacing scowl on his face. He glared at Frankie— Frankie gave him a blank stare back. The referee said to touch gloves. Frankie held his two hands out— Jenkins brought both fists down hard, said something I couldn't catch. The fighters went back to their corners, sat down.
Frankie opened his mouth for Clarence to insert the white rubber mouthpiece. The Prof leaned close to Frankie's ear, whispering something.
The bell rang.
Jenkins trotted out of his corner, circled to Frankie's left, up on his toes, firing a series of pretty jabs that Frankie caught on his gloves. Frankie shuffled forward methodically, working from a slight crouch, occasionally pushing a weak jab out.
'Let your hands go!' the Prof screamed.
Jenkins continued to circle, drawing cheers from the crowd with each flurry. Frankie cut off the ring, bulling Jenkins into a corner. But Jenkins spun away, slapping a glove to the back of Frankie's head as the crowd laughed.
Jenkins pop–pop–popped more jabs, then crossed with his right, catching Frankie flush on the jaw. Frankie stepped back, but quickly lowered his head and came on again. The bell rang with both fighters in the center of the ring throwing punches— Jenkins outspeeding Frankie by an easy three–to–one. Jenkins raised both hands over his head as he strutted back to his corner.
Clarence took the mouthpiece from Frankie, held a sponge to the back of the fighter's neck. A girl in a gold thong–back bikini pranced around the ring in matching spike heels, holding up a white card with a red 2 on it.
The Prof was saying something in Frankie's ear— I couldn't make it out.
The bell for the second round sounded. Jenkins was off his stool quickly, covering most of the distance between the fighters before Frankie took a single step. Jenkins flicked the jab. Frankie didn't move his feet, but he dropped his right shoulder, shifted his weight way over and exploded a pair of right hooks to Jenkins' ribs. Jenkins staggered backward, hands up to protect his face. Frankie threw another right hook, legs spread apart, feet planted for power. The crowd screamed as Frankie came on, hooking with both hands now. Jenkins dropped to one knee. The referee started to count. Jenkins was up at eight. The referee asked him if he was all right. Jenkins nodded, held his hands up to show he was ready. The referee wiped off Jenkins' gloves on the front of his white shirt, waved Frankie in.
Frankie shuffled forward as Jenkins retreated behind his flicking jab, maintaining distance. It didn't work— Frankie swallowed the jabs, a flash of white showing at his mouth. Either a smile or a snarl— I couldn't tell.
Jenkins still had his hands up, elbows against his chest, armor–plated. Frankie pounded away at what he was offered, smashing blow after blow to his opponent's forearms. Jenkins backed into the ropes. Frankie threw a left just below Jenkins' elbow, then followed with an overhand right to the temple. Jenkins lost his legs— his knees wobbled as he tried to pull Frankie into a clench. The referee separated the fighters, pushing Frankie back a few feet.
It didn't help. Frankie drove a right into Jenkins' kidneys and the other man went down— this time he didn't get up. A doctor came into the ring as Frankie walked slowly back to his own corner.
Max and I found Frankie back where he'd started the night. He had just stepped out of the shower and was toweling himself off.
'Good job,' I told him.
The kid kept his head down, mumbled 'Thanks.' The Prof pulled himself up onto the table, used it for a chair as he spoke to Frankie. 'You got to get
'I…dunno,' Frankie replied.
'That boy was all flash,' the Prof said. 'He couldn't hurt you with a fucking tire iron, right?'
'Yeah.'
'Look, kid, you don't want to get a rep as a slow starter. You can't be giving away the first round every time— that makes the other guy brave.'
Frankie's head came up, looking the Prof full in the eyes for the first time. 'I know,' he said.
A smile broke across the Prof's handsome face. 'You hear that, schoolboy?' he said to me. 'My man's got a plan. The other boy raps,
'You cannot be defeated, mahn,' Clarence said to Frankie, as gravely as quoting the Bible.
Max tapped Frankie's shoulder to get his attention. Then he mimed throwing a right hook, bowed to Frankie. Frankie returned the bow. 'How do I tell him thanks?' he asked me.
'You just did,' I told him. I turned to the Prof. 'You about ready to go?'
'I want Frankie to see the rest of the fights, all right? Only a fool cuts school.'
We all went back outside, just in time to see another four–rounder come to an end, this time with both fighters standing. When the decision was announced, one of the fighters leaped into the air, waving a gloved fist in triumph— the other made an emphatic gesture of disgust. The crowd booed them both.
Frankie sat to my left, Max to my right. The Prof and Clarence went off somewhere, probably to arrange Frankie's next fight. Or to collect some bets.
We watched some paunchy heavyweights waltz around the ring to the thunderous boredom of the crowd. It was so bad that the ref tapped one of them on the shoulder when he wanted to cut in. I knew cable TV was
