Strangled with a wire.
Burned with a lighter.
Kicked in the corner.
Begin again.
ELEVEN
KELLY HEARD THEM ARGUING IN THE next room: Dennis yelled at the men from the athletic commission and they yelled back at him. The dressing-room shower smelled like chlorine and half-dead mildew and perspiration. Kelly had the hot water on, but he slumped into one corner and the spray went into another so that all he got was a drizzling spatter and lungs full of steam. He was only half undressed, but his head wasn’t there and he couldn’t finish the job Dennis started.
Dennis yelled about piss-tests, but the men from the athletic commission didn’t need a piss test to know Kelly was unfit to fight. He was flying on a dose of heroin that should have worn off a long time ago. Or maybe he injected too late in the day. Or maybe he shouldn’t have injected at all. Or… he lost the thought.
Once Kelly wouldn’t have played with anything stronger than tequila for thirty days ahead of a fight, then three weeks, then two. After that, if he could play games with the piss-tests — buying clean stuff or pulling a warm-piss switcheroo — he did. Just make it to the ring clearheaded, even when that meant making it to the ring less often. Kelly had enough money that he didn’t have to fight all the time, anyway.
Doors slammed and there was more yelling. Kelly plucked at his T-shirt, cemented to his skin with water. This wasn’t the best high he ever had. He was confused and too many sensations were coming at him at once: the tile, the water and the noise. His favorite part about the high was lying still and listening to his blood rush, driven by a heartbeat that was so steady and so slow. But here he couldn’t have that.
“I don’t give a fuck,” Kelly tried to say, but his tongue never worked right when he had a heavy dose in his system. He slumped over some more, felt his cheek touch the wall and rested a while.
Eventually there was quiet. Kelly may have dozed. When he opened his eyes again, shadows moved outside the shower. His hands were awkward, but he found a way to push himself and he climbed the tile wall until his feet were flat beneath him. He left the shower on behind him.
Dennis had his back to him. He packed away his things: the tape, the enswell, the swabs and little vials of 1:1000 adrenaline mixture. Before a fight Dennis always laid out his kit to check each thing. Being a cutman was serious, as serious as fighting and maybe more. Dennis’ shoulders tensed when Kelly stumbled over his hi-top boxing shoes and collided with a padded bench.
“Denny,” Kelly said. This he could say. His shin hurt now. He sat on the bench. “Hey, man. Denny, man.”
“I got nothin’ to say to you, Kelly. We’re quit.”
“Listen…” Kelly began, but the words were slippery. How much did he shoot? When did he shoot it? The details weren’t only foggy; they were gone completely. Kelly blinked and worked his mouth as if to tease his voice out. “Listen, Denny.”
Dennis turned on him. The old man’s round face was red from shouting, his eyes from crying. His cheeks were blotched up. “Don’t
Kelly leaned back without knowing whether there was anything behind him to catch his fall. The wall pressed him from behind. He breathed deeply. Outside the shower the air was cooler and it stirred him a little. Cool air like that could put him to sleep. His eyelids drooped. “It was an accident.”
“I could fuckin’ kill you,” Dennis said. He put his back to Kelly again. “How dumb do you think I am, Kelly?
Dennis teleported across the room, or maybe Kelly blanked for a second. All of Dennis’ things were packed away and the bag gone — no, it was by the door — and Dennis was suddenly there above Kelly, blocking out the light. A corona burst around Dennis’ head. Kelly’s brain shuddered. He was coming down finally, really coming down.
“Denny,” Kelly said.
“It ain’t the money,” Dennis said. His hand zoomed in and out of Kelly’s vision, abruptly larger, then smaller, then gone and then back again. Kelly’s eyes drifted unfocused. He was acutely aware of Dennis’ skin, but the old man’s eyes were impossible to see. “It’s the
“I don’t want to live forever,” Kelly said.
“That’s good, because you won’t.”
Dennis was gone. Kelly stared at the light overhead. Dennis was back. Kelly felt paper pressed into his hand.
“What is this?”
“That was your life, Kelly.”
A door closed. Kelly tried to read the notice from the athletic commission, but the
“Denny? Denny, come back.”
Kelly’s fighting trunks were still laid out for him. His robe was beside them. All of Dennis’ things were gone. When did he take them? Dennis was just there, right? Kelly heard him talking. The shower was on. Dennis must be in the shower. Why was he taking a shower?
“Denny, I don’t know… help.”
He made it from the bench to the shower. The water was on, but Dennis wasn’t there. Kelly turned back toward the room too quickly and his knees went wobbly. He sat down hard with his legs sprawled.
“Denny? Denny, I need you.”
He didn’t want to, but he cried. Getting up was too hard and his brain wasn’t thinking right. He felt everything too much because the high was wearing off all the clean gears and sticking. Dennis gave him something… there it was on the floor: a yellow sheet of paper, a form marked with pen scribbles. Confused, confused.
“Denny, I’m sorry.”
Beer helped. Kelly bought a case of Red Dog and drank one after the other in the parking lot behind the wheel of his old gray Buick. Beer killed the headache that always came after a long high, cleared up the fog and took the edge off the world. He spent time drinking, not sleeping. When he saw a cop eyeing him for loitering, he moved on.
Three times Kelly used a pay phone to call Dennis’ number, but the old man wasn’t home or wasn’t answering. Kelly wanted to be angry, but he could muster it only for a little while and then he was sad again. There was no more of the heroin to put feelings out of his mind, and the little Mexican who sold Kelly the stuff dealt only at night.
It was too bright to drive around. Even with sunglasses on, the sun was too much for Kelly. He parked in the shade of a coin-op car wash and watched the traffic go by. He didn’t know the town or the things to do, and anyway tourist hangouts weren’t what he needed; Kelly didn’t want people in his world right now.
The beer was all gone. Kelly dozed with the motor running so he could keep the a/c going. When the fuel light went on, he tooled for a while instead of gassing up. Maybe he was daring the car to die.
He paid cash for a full tank and used the pay phone to call Dennis again. A dozen rings went without an answer. Kelly cursed and pounded the phone with the receiver until the plastic cracked and the handset fell into two pieces. Inside the gas station Kelly bought another six-pack of something cheap. He drank one in front of the pump
