The Boxer and the Spy
- Автор: Паркер Роберт Браун
- Год: 2008
- Язык: английский
- Год: Philomel Books
- ISBN: 978-0-399-24775-0
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Boxer and the Spy». Краткое содержание книги:
“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 Walclass="underline" 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.