Sucker Punch (17 page)

“My boy's a good fighter.”

“I'm sure he is. Doesn't stop him being a prize dickhead.”

“I heard about the other night. The” — Callahan pulls a face as he gropes for the right word — “
altercation
in the parking lot.”

I nod. Here we go. Pull my jacket tighter until it feels like the material is cutting off what little circulation I have. “I didn't touch your son, Mr Callahan. I was very careful about that. He says I touched him, then he's a lying wee fucker.”

“I know.”

“All I did was teach his mouthy mate a lesson.”

“I know,” says Callahan. “Josh told me all about it. Came home smelling of bourbon with blood on him, I asked questions and he had to explain it somehow. Thankfully, and contrary to your opinion, Mr Innes, my son told me the truth.”

“He chop down the cherry tree, too?”

Callahan smiles. “He cannot tell a lie. And I thought to myself, there's a man with intelligence.”

“You thought that.”

“Yes, I did. If you'd hit Josh, you must've known it wouldn't go unreported. You and your little lad would be out of the competition before you could blink. And, judging from last night, you didn't tell Mr Shapiro about it, either.”

“Didn't have anything to do with him.”

“I appreciate that.” The smile falters on his face; his mouth twitches it into an expression far more serious. “You know Josh has a good chance of winning this competition.”

“I don't know that at all. I saw him fight last night, looked like he was mismatched to fuck. Or the other lad was off his face on something. Either way, I didn't see anything that made me worried. So if you're asking for my predictions about the forthcoming bout between Callahan and Wooley, I'd have to say your boy's going to get creamed.”

Callahan nods to himself. He takes a deep breath. When he looks at me again, he's all business. Same face the guy'd use in the boardroom, staring down the competition. “I think you're right about that, Mr Innes. I really do. Which is why I'm offering you five thousand to see that it doesn't happen.”

That hangs in the air. I chew the inside of my mouth.

“Sorry?” I say.

“You heard what I said.”

“Nah, I don't think I did. You must've been talking into my trick ear or something, because I'm sure you just offered me a bribe.”

“That wasn't your trick ear, Mr Innes.”

I laugh. Once and sharp, comes out like a bark.

“You didn't tell Shapiro about what happened in the parking lot,” he says.

“That means I'm fuckin' corrupt, does it?”

“It means—”

“You're out of your fuckin' mind, Mr Callahan.”

I turn to go, start climbing the steps. Not as fast as I'd like, thanks to my back. It's not long before Callahan has my pace matched. I half-turn, hands dug deep in my jacket pockets, just to make sure he's not going to try anything daft like try to rush me. He's older than me, but that doesn't stop him from being powerfully-built and fitter than me. But he doesn't try anything, just walks with me.

“I don't think we understand each other, Mr Innes.”

“Oh, I think we understand each other perfectly. You made me come out here to the middle of fuckin' nowhere because you're shitting it that Liam's going to mess up your pretty boy son.”

Callahan shakes his head.

“Or you're just used to buying what you want,” I say. “And thinking back on Josh's fight last night, I wouldn't be surprised if you slapped down a wad on that.”

“Mr Innes—”

“Whatever it is, I'm not playing, mate. Taking my ball back and I'm going home. Tell you what, that five grand's burning a hole in your pocket, spend it on Josh's reconstructive surgery. He's going to need it after Liam's finished with him.”

“Excuse me?”

“You're excused.” I quicken my pace, get a short burst of speed. My back screams at me, but the air's turned close and sickly. It's all I can do to breathe. I need to get back to the car, back to the hotel, back to bed.

Callahan stops walking. His voice rises up far behind me. “Mr Innes, your boy's a fish out of water over here. So are you.”

“Right…”

“You know what happens to fish out of water? They
drown
.”

I keep walking, shake off the fear and spit the taste of iron out of my mouth.

When I get back to the hotel, Nelson's waiting in the lobby. He sees me coming through the doors and surprise flickers across his face. Checks his watch and the surprise turns into a smile. I don’t have the energy or the inclination to match it. My back killing me, pissed off and tired, the last thing I want to do is be courteous.

“I called your room,” he says.

“I'm not there.” Nelson's another morning person. It wears me out even more. “What're you doing here? I thought I was going to drop Liam off at yours.”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he says with a shrug. “Thought I'd swing by, see if you guys wanted some breakfast.”

“You know what time it is?”

“Seven?” He shakes his watch. “It's an old winder. I don't know.”

“Only truckers and security guards have breakfast this early, Nelson. Let the lad sleep.” I walk to the lift, press the button.

“How did it go last night?”

I run a hand over my face. Of course, he wasn't there; he wouldn't know. I turn to Nelson and summon up a half-smile. “Liam won.”

“That's great.”

“Yeah, you did a good job.”

“Hope you don't mind me saying this, but you look like shit, Cal.”

I press the lift call button again. “Then I look how I feel.”

“You been out all night celebrating?” he says.

“Just an early morning.”

“Anything exciting?”

I look at him. He's here now, he might as well know the score. And maybe he can point me in the right direction. “Tell you what, let me pop to my room and we'll go somewhere, I'll tell you all about it.”

“Cool.”

“But we'll leave Liam in his pit. Let him catch up.”

Free refills on the coffee. What a wonderful thing. I take my pills, let my body settle into a dazed slump. Let the coffee keep the brain going. Our waitress is a hawk. I haven't finished one cup yet — she swoops in, tops me up and is gone before I get a chance to say thank you. We're at a smoking table, at least. Nelson's taken pity on me.

“You're sure you don't want anything to eat?” says Nelson. “A muffin or something?”

“I gave up early morning muffins a while back. Besides, I don't think my stomach's up to it.”

I told Nelson about my meeting with Callahan and he raised his eyebrows, but that was it.

“If you had any doubts about this smoker being on the level, there's your proof. At least from Callahan's point of view. And now I've thought about it, Nelson, I could swear something was up last night.”

“How so?”

I shake my head. “Caught the end of Josh's bout. The kid he was fighting, he didn't have much of an offence, even less of a defence. Like he was just standing there to stand there.”

“Like he'd been paid off?”

“Maybe him, maybe his coach. I don't know. Maybe the kid was defeated because Josh is a hell of a fighter. Like I said, I caught the end of the bout. Could be that Josh just made him that way.”

“But you don't believe that, do you?” says Nelson.

“I'm not sure.” I sip coffee, then: “No, I don't believe it.”

Nelson lets out a long breath. “I thought it was me, Cal. Letting my experience colour the situation. And I thought that having Alvarez's name attached to the competition might lend the thing some integrity, but then there's no guarantee about anything these days.”

I take the plastic off a fresh pack of Marlboros, light one.

“When I was talking to Liam about mismatching, I wasn't bullshitting him,” says Nelson. “They've tried to clean up the sport, but there's still that thick stain of corruption they can't scrub out. It's a real pity. This used to be a sport, it used to
mean
something. See these kids from the Dominican Republic coming up now, just like the Latinos and the black kids, they're looking for a way out and boxing's the only way for some of them. As long as there's an underclass, Cal, there's boxing.”

“And as long as there's an underclass, there's someone looking to buy it out.” I tap ash.

“What did you tell him?”

“Callahan? I told him to fuck off.”

Nelson rubs his mouth, looks at the table. “Good.”

“And I'm going to see Shapiro this afternoon, put it out in the open.”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” he says.

“You don't think he'll believe me?”

“No, I know he'll believe you. I just don't think he'll do anything about it except get mad at you. No reason to think Shapiro isn't involved, Cal. Especially with his record.”

“He dirty?”

“He went to prison. That's pretty dirty.”

“Depends on what he did.” The waitress tops up my coffee and I smile at her. “He throw a fight or something?”

“No, but he broke a guy's hands because he wouldn't. Forced the situation.” Nelson moves his cup to one side and leans forward. “He was a great fighter. I wasn't lying about that. But you know the deal, Cal. A guy makes his living with his fists, it gets so that's the only thing he knows how to do. And when you're pro, you learn things you don't want to learn. You can get like me and get out, do something else, scrub yourself and try not to look back. Or you can go the way Shapiro went and fall into line. Either way, this business has a way of throwing your mind out of whack.”

“Huh.” I stare at the end of my cigarette, tap stray ash.

“Jesus, man, you get hit in the head that many times, you hear one thing, you see something else, find out the people you respected and loved are setting you up because you're getting older and slower? You'd be a fucking saint not to let that affect you.”

“I see.”

“Sometimes the things that can push you out are the same things that keep you in. That's the only difference between me and Shapiro.”

“And he did time.”

“Aggravated assault, I think it was.” Nelson sits back, picks up his coffee and takes a drink. “I don't know the legal jargon. It was a minor charge and nobody dug any deeper. Why should they? There's enough cash floating around to shout louder than anyone's conscience. It's free enterprise, Cal. There's no free enterprise without casualties, but that's the way of the world.”

“So there's nothing I can do about it.”

“Talk to Shapiro by all means. I'm just preparing you for what you might get.”

“Why didn't you tell me this before, Nelson?”

“Because nobody tried to bribe you, Cal. I didn't think it was important. I thought, hell, get the kid trained up, forget winning the smoker, Liam'll be good enough to beat anyone who crosses his path. And we'll deal with the other stuff when it happens.”

I stare at my coffee; there's a tide mark around the inside of the cup. I rub at it with one finger, wipe away the brown scum with a paper napkin. “And you still believe in heroes, eh?”

“Yeah, I still believe in heroes. There's good guys in the business. But I believe in villains, too.”

“Well, you've got to have something,” I say. I finish my coffee, get the waitress' attention. “You alright taking Liam yourself? I've got some business to take care of.”

“You gonna see Shapiro?”

“I'm going to have a nap first if the coffee lets me.”

“Then?”

“Then, we'll see. I don't know yet.”

I pay, we get out of there. Back at the hotel, I give Liam's door a knock. The lad's already up and about, changed and eager to get going. Wasn't so long ago, this kid was a fighting dog; now he's the Andrex puppy. He still doesn't really acknowledge me, though. Like Nelson's his golden ticket. It's good, keep Liam occupied while I try to find out exactly what kind of shite he's been thrown into.

I watch Nelson drive away in his people-carrier, Liam talking ten-to-the-dozen. Head back up to my room. The message waiting light blinks on the phone, but I walk past it into the bathroom, smoke a cigarette.

Callahan has my answer, for what it's worth. But he's a businessman in the Plummer vein. He doesn't take no for an answer, doesn't take any answer that isn't what he wants to hear. So he'll keep pecking my head until I give in. That's negotiation. But it's difficult to negotiate with a deaf man and that's what I intend to be until the bout. He can leave his offer out in the open until it grows fucking moss as far as I'm concerned.

I wrap the filter in bog roll and drop it into the toilet bowl, press on the flush. I should get some sleep, but the caffeine's kicked in. If I bed down now, I'll be staring at the ceiling with my skin twitching.

Pick up the phone, start punching in Paulo's number. Then I stop, put the phone down. Fuck it, what am I supposed to tell him? Better I get this sorted out on my own without the added pressure of Paulo going nuts in Manchester. Or else gather enough information so I can pass it on without feeling that I'm making all this up.

And I need to get out of this room. Feels like I've been locking myself away when this trip's supposed to be a holiday. That's what I'm used to, though. Hole myself up in my flat in Manchester or the office at Paulo's. Or in my tiny car, watching the world grow drunk and insane. I'm used to it. I crave four walls and confinement, isolation. And this room might be a gilded cage compared to normal, but it's still a cage. Better than a prison cell, certainly: a telly, a mini bar. Housekeeping for whom “Do Not Disturb” translates into Spanish as “Come On In”. A bathroom that doesn't stink of prison food farts.

Course, they let me smoke in my prison cell.

I don't want to think about it. So I head for the door before I get a chance to reminisce.

A transfer of cells to the Metro outside Shapiro's gym. I'm watching the entrance. It's still early and the place looks like it's getting the first influx of boxers for the day. I keep forgetting that there are other bouts taking place; I'm so wrapped up in Liam's future that it's difficult to maintain focus. I've seen Reuben out for a couple of smoke breaks. He hasn't seen me.

I don't know what I expect to see. Sometimes I wish surveillance was as simple as it's made out to be. Wait there long enough and something's bound to happen. Someone's bound to come out onto the street to do something illegal.