The Contender (11 page)

The bell rang, but neither of them heard it, grunting, straining, slugging, and then everyone was in the ring pulling them apart, grabbing their gloves.

“…by unanimous decision…Elston Hubbard.”

The referee held up Hubbard’s right arm, and his manager held up the left, but Hubbard broke loose and ran across the ring, throwing his arms around Alfred. They hugged each other, crying because it was over, and Hubbard gasped, “You tough, baby.”

All the way up the aisle, people were reaching out to touch Alfred’s robe. “Great fight, kid…beautiful…real heart, Brooks…” The dressing room was jammed, Lou Epstein clutching his gloves, “Like the old days, like the…” Jose and Angel screaming, Spoon reaching for him, Jelly and Pete Krakover, Denny slapping his back.

“Let him breathe,” bellowed Bud, pushing them all out and slamming the door shut.
Henry began to unlace his gloves.

Three Donatellis peered down into his face, then two. His eyes finally focused. The thin lips were parted. Donatelli was smiling.

“Now you know, Alfred. Now you know, too.”

A
UNT
P
EARL
’
S HANDS
were clenched and her eyes were wide when he bounded into the apartment.

“Shoulda called and told you I’d be so late.” He smiled through cracked lips. “We all went out, Mr. Donatelli, Spoon, everybody. Jelly’s got this new job at a fancy restaurant, number-three vegetable man, six round meals a day, he says—who wants square meals—and we all—”

“Alfred, the—”

“Don’t mind all this tape on my face.” He kissed her damp forehead, and peeled off his coat. “Looks worse than it is, I feel—”

“—police were here.”

“Police?” He let his coat and cap fall to the kitchen floor. “What for?”

“They’re after James.”

“What’s he done?”

“He broke into Epsteins’ tonight, right through the front window. They saw him, but he got away.”

“Why they come here?”

“They were very nice and all. They knew from last time you and James was friends.”

“Right through the front window?”

“Why’d he do a fool thing like that, Alfred?”

He shrugged. “Well, I hope he gets away.”

“I don’t think he’s gonna.”

“Why not?”

“The police said he cut himself real bad getting out again. Blood all over. They said he can’t get too far.”

“James,” whispered Alfred.

“Police said they think he’s a…Alfred, where you…ALFRED!”

He took the steps two, three at a time, stumbling twice, and he hit the icy stoop off-balance, tumbling into the street, but he was up and running hard, into the bitter night wind that lashed at his thin sweater and blew wet flakes of snow into his face, running out the stitch that chewed at his side, running into his second wind, feeling the cold spot grow and explode in his stomach. He didn’t slow down until he reached the park.

The park lay white and silent, the new-fallen snow glistening under a full moon. The snow deadened his careful footsteps, over the
smaller rocks, over the low thicket of leafless bushes. He dropped to his knees in the shadow of the huge rock, and elbowed his way through the stunted trees. At the mouth of the cave he heard heavy breathing.

“James,” he whispered.

The breathing stopped.

“It’s me. Alfred.”

“What you want?”

“Come to help you,” said Alfred.

“Just go ’way.”

He moved in closer, his knees quivering as the snow seeped through his trousers.

“Go ’way.”

“My cave, too, James. Remember?”

He crawled in. A wooden match flared, and he saw James, crouched like a cat, his eyes wide, sweat bubbling on his face. Before the match burned down into James’ fingertips, Alfred saw the dark, widening stain on his torn coat sleeve, and the blood running off his hand.

“You’re cut bad.”

“That’s my business.”

“Need to go to a hospital. I’ll take you.”

“Leave me ’lone.”

“If you don’t bleed to death, you could get infected.”

“Too bad.”

“This ain’t the movies, James. You could lose your arm.”

The breathing began to slow down, grow shallower.

“James?”

“It hurts.”

“Let me wrap it up.”

James lit another match. Alfred ripped off the torn coat sleeve and tied his handkerchief around the cut. The handkerchief turned red, but the flow of blood slowed down.

“All that tape on your face.”

“Had a fight tonight,” said Alfred.

“You win?”

“Sort of.”

“You a fighter. Always so meek and quiet.”

“Let’s go.”

“You got any money, Alfred?”

“For a fix?”

“You said you was gonna help me.”

“That’s not gonna help, just mess you up more.”

“Just one more.”

“You said that last time.”

“What do you know?” James began to sob,
his shoulders heaving. Dirt and pebbles spilled off the ceiling of the cave.

“You can beat the junk, man, I’m gonna help you beat it,” said Alfred.

“I ain’t hooked. I can stop any time. Just one more.”

“Look at you, like a garbage rat. You hooked all right. But you and me can beat it.”

“It’s no use.”

“Remember Mosely of the Jungle and Bad Brooks?”

“No.”

“Sure you do. Remember how we used to hide here? Remember the night my momma died and you stayed with me, told me you were gonna stick with me? Sure needed you that night.”

“I got chills.”

“You and me, James. Gonna stick with you. I got friends, Henry and Bud and Mr. Donatelli, help get you in shape after you beat the junk. Spoon, you’d like him, got more books than anybody.”

“It ain’t no use.” The voice was soft and weak.

“I’m gonna go to night school. You come
too. Gonna work in a recreation center for little kids, you come help me. You was always so comical. Get you a job.”

“Grocery boy,” said James.

“For start. Nothing’s promised you, man, but you ain’t gonna know nothing till you try. Maybe get to build things like you always wanted.”

“Whitey ain’t gonna—”

“Dare him to stop you. Dare anybody if you and me partners again.”

“I’m too sick. I need a fix.”

“Gonna take you to the hospital now.”

“They’ll call the police.”

“Can’t do nothing about that.”

“I’m on probation, they’ll send me away this time.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Mr. Epstein’ll help if I ask him. Even if they send you away, won’t be forever. I’ll be around. Gonna get you clean, man, and gonna keep you clean.”

“Alfred?”

“I’m right here.”

“Why you wanna do all this?”

“Because I know I can, James. And you’re my partner. Ready?”

There was no answer. Alfred’s fingers
moved up James’ arm. The blood was flowing again. “That’s the way you want it, James. I’m gonna go. Good luck.”

He began edging backwards out of the cave, scraping his feet as noisily as he could. “So long, James.”

“Alfred?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay.”

Alfred scrabbled back in, reaching, feeling James’ outstretched arms around his neck. Slowly, he pulled James out of the cave into the biting wind.

“Easy, man, you be all right.” He lifted James to his feet and half-carried him through the stunted trees. James moaned.

“Hang in there, James. Can you walk?”

“Try.” He leaned heavily on Alfred. “Weak as a baby. Lost all that blood.”

“Don’t worry about that, James, I got plenty of blood for you.” Carefully, Alfred guided him over the rocks and the bushes and the new snow, toward the lights of the avenue.

Cover photograph © 2003 by Chris Rogers

Cover © 2003 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.