The Manager (12 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I
think it was a bus that almost hit me. I was trying to cross in front of the arena. It wasn't the city lights that blinded me, nor the grinding noise of traffic that disoriented me. It was my sister. All I could see in front of me was her – her laughing face and her finger pointing down to the coal mine like the grim reaper. If a cab driver hadn't shouted at me to get the hell out of his way, the reaper would have got me too. I flew through the front door of the arena, showed them my pass and searched frantically for Ryan. I wanted to warn him that Tina was Jesse's coach. Up one hallway, down another – nothing, nothing.

I started to go in circles and wound up at the front entrance again, so I asked directions from the man who had checked my ticket. When I turned to head back down the hall, I ran straight into Mickey O'Shea.

“Hey, kid, ready for the big fight?”

“I thought you didn't have anything riding on this.”
Not that I believe a word you say.

“I don't. Just checking out the guy from Edmonton who's fighting Mankiller.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, nope?” he asked me.

“Guy from Edmonton can't fight and Ryan Byrne is filling in for him.” I turned to leave.

“Oh,” he said. “Mankiller's got that one.”

“That's what worries me.”

“Why?”

“Because I need Ryan to win.”

I left him standing there and tried navigating the next corridor. Finally I came to a dressing room – it was Jesse's. He saw me and came out.

“Ellie,” he called, thinking I'd missed the doorway. Then he took a good look at my face. “What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing wrong with me,” I declared. “There's lots wrong with Tina, though.”

“Is she okay?”

“Oh, sure, she's always fine, isn't she?”

“What's going on?”

“Haven't you heard who you're fighting yet?”

He shook his head. “The promoter said the guy I was supposed to fight had some kind of an injury. They're bringing in a replacement.” He walked closer to me. “Why?”

“Ryan Byrne,” I replied. “That's who you're going to fight.”

Jesse didn't say anything for a full minute.

Then he swore a few times under his breath and sat down on a bench next to the door to his dressing room. He clenched his hands into fists and pounded them into his knees.

“Yup, that's right. Tina wants you to knock the hell out of the only guy on the planet that can keep my father out of the mines.”

Still, he said nothing. Just stared into space.

“I begged her not to do this. I know you need the money, Jesse, but you'll get a big share of the purse whether you win or lose. Right?”

Then I heard voices behind me.

It was Ryan Byrne and his manager, a slick looking man with wavy black hair.

“What are
you
doing here?” was Byrne's warm greeting. His gaze went to Jesse and then back to me again. “I guess your sister must be here someplace too.”

Tina came around the corner. She had a water bottle, an ice bucket and sponges. And a bag of medicine.

“There she is,” I said.

Byrne looked at her and saw the supplies in her arms. “I don't need
your
help,” he scoffed. “You never give up, do you?”

Tina ignored him and turned to Jesse.

“Come on,” she said, “let's get you taped up.” She gave me a dirty look that said “traitor.” Then she decided to speak to me. “Are you going to change your mind and help me or do I have to take a cut man provided by the promoter?” I didn't answer her, so she headed into the dressing room.

“What's she talking about? What's she doing?” asked Byrne. “Why is she with Jesse Mankiller?”

Tina stuck her head out the doorway.

“Because I'm Mr. Mankiller's manager.”

—

“I gave you your instructions in the dressing room. Remember to protect yourself at all times and above all, obey my commands,” said the referee. “Touch 'em up … good luck.”

Ryan came out right at the bell. He tried a couple of jabs but didn't connect. Jesse had no problem keeping away from his uppercuts, but wasn't fighting like he should have been. Didn't have the same fire or energy that he used to. He looked half asleep. I heard Tina tell him to wake up.

Something was wrong.

“Stick and run, stick and run,” hollered Byrne's coach.

I was sitting so close to the ring I could almost reach out and touch the red velvet ropes. The arena was packed, and if I was harbouring any glimmer of hope that the event wouldn't be televised, the camera crew that set up near Byrne's corner did away with that notion on the spot. Bonita and Paul were further back, an intentional move on Bonita's part to keep him from yelling instructions at Jesse.

The cut man they'd provided for Jesse was busy getting the enswell ready and Tina was barking at him about when to use Avitene, when to use Adrenaline hydrochloride and when to use her special salve.

Ryan's team was shouting orders too, mostly reminding Byrne to go for the head and snap with a left jab. He was using that trick of not letting on he was a southpaw, but Tina would have warned Jesse before the match. Which made me wonder what the heck was wrong.

Jesse appeared to have lost the very thing that Tina said would take him to the top – the fact that he was both quick and powerful at the same time. And there weren't the usual screams and hollers from the crowd – not yet anyway – mostly because nothing was happening. I think Ryan's team told him to chase Jesse around a bit, throw the odd punch but remain defensive until the second round.

I presumed that Tina had probably given Jesse the same advice; I could see no other reason for his empty-handed performance.

I don't know what was said in the dressing room, but I could hear everything she told him between rounds – I was sitting that close – and it soon became clear that she didn't know what was going on with him.

“Why the hell didn't you take that shot after he threw the left cross? He was wide open.”

By the third round, the crowd was becoming its obnoxious self, but somehow above the roar I thought I heard someone call out my name. I scanned the seats and saw Dan Campbell weaving his way from the back of the arena toward me.

“Hey, Ellie,” hollered Dan. “I figured you and Tina would be here to watch Ryan. But what's she doing on the other side? What's going on?”

“It's a long story,” I said. “We met Jesse along the way but had no idea he'd wind up fighting Ryan.” Some men behind us tried to push us out of their line of sight, so Dan found us a spot in the aisle.

“Your father's here, you know. He got word about Ryan yesterday morning, so we drove down.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, God.”

“So you didn't know? Tina doesn't know he's here?”

“No. And Ryan didn't bother to tell us.”

“He didn't bother to get your father a seat, either, the dumb jerk.” Dan shook his head in disgust. “After all that training, you'd think he wouldn't leave him standing against the back wall.”

The bell rang. Byrne rushed out of his corner and snapped out a powerful left jab into Jesse's forehead, then another into his mouth, then he hurled him against the ropes.

The camera zoomed in for a close look at the blood.

Something was wrong. Even with my paltry knowledge of boxing, I knew that Jesse was a better fighter than that.

Tina knew it too. She was shouting orders like a drill sergeant.

The crowd was on its feet, screaming. Jesse was banged again and again and again and again.

“I heard Mankiller was better than this,” said Dan.

“He is.”

Slam. Slam. Slam.

Jesse's forehead was torn open and one of his eyes was swelling shut.

Down he went.

The referee rushed in to see if he was fit to carry on. He signalled the doctor, and the two of them looked for signs of disorientation and examined Jesse's pupils for dilation. The doctor nodded to Tina to clean him up.

“What the hell is it?” she said. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were….” And then it dawned on her. I could see it in her face. “Jesse, you're taking a dive. For God's sake, you're taking a dive. What the hell? What did O'Shea promise you?”

Jesse didn't reply.

“You told me you wouldn't take a dive for anybody,” screamed Tina.

Still no reply.

“Mankiller,” insisted Tina, “why are you taking a dive? I want an answer and I want it now.”

Jesse didn't say a word.

“Answer me!”

But Jesse refused. And then, without warning, he did something that not even the best psychic in Boston could have predicted.

He pushed out his mouthpiece with his tongue, spat into the bucket, put his gloves around my sister's neck, pulled her to his chest and kissed her like I'd never seen anybody be kissed before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T
he crowd went wild. A wave of oohs and aahs rolled across the stadium. The camera crew circled the ring to get a better shot.

I can't believe it. Jesse's taking a dive for Tina.

“He's letting Byrne win – he's doing it for our gym!” I grabbed Dan Campbell's arm, but he was so busy watching Tina be kissed by Jesse, he didn't hear a word I said.

He turned to me. “Him and … Tina?”

“I guess so!” I said. “I've got to find my father. Where is he?”

“I'll get him,” offered Dan. Then he dashed to the back of the arena.

When Jesse finally let Tina go, she was so stunned, she stood there like a department store mannequin. It was the ringside physician that brought her back to reality when he said Jesse could continue the fight. I'd hoped he wouldn't. I'd hoped for a technical knockout, because I couldn't stand to watch Jesse take any more abuse.

Then came the biggest surprise of all. This time it came from Tina.

I didn't hear everything she said, because she was talking into Jesse's ear with cupped hands, but I did catch the last line.

“And that's why you have to do everything you can to win this thing. Everything.”

The bell rang. Jesse looked at Tina, and she nodded. She sponged him off quickly, then sent him into the ring.

Whatever she whispered to Jesse changed the whole course of the fight, because from that point on, even though he'd allowed himself to take repeated blasts to the face, he came out more powerful than ever.

Oh my God. He's going to kill Ryan.

“Keep on him, Jesse,” screamed Tina, “don't let him rest.”

What's she doing?

Everything was being drowned out by the shouts from the crowd. The cheers, the boos, the multitude of voices all merged together into one thunderous boom.

With his long braid swinging behind him like a tail, Jesse went after Ryan like a fierce animal after its prey. Across the ring he flew, swinging, slugging and flinging sweat in every direction. Every jab, every cross, hit Ryan in the face, and his blood started to flow. Everything was covered in it – their faces, their gloves, their arms. Tina was yelling, screaming. The crowd was bellowing. Jesse was on automatic pilot, throwing lefts and rights and driving poor Ryan onto the deck.

Crack.

The right connected and Ryan was down.

The referee gave him the count. He got up with two seconds to spare and stumbled around like a drunk. The gash on his cheek was gushing blood like a fireplug.

The physician took him aside and together with the cut man, tried to clean him up.

Jesse waited in the neutral corner.

And then, for some reason known only to her, my sister marched across the ring and handed the physician her jar of salve. He nodded and pushed some into Byrne's wound. It worked like a charm.

“You don't have to thank me,” she told Ryan. “I'm just making sure you lose fair and square.” He scowled at her, and her blue eyes stared back at him like tiny knives.

I ran up to the ropes.

“Tina! Tina!” I yelled until I got her attention. “Dad's here. DAD'S HERE.”

She heard me, but all she said was, “Good.”

Good? That's it? Good?

The physician let the fight continue. The ref cleaned off Byrne's gloves and sent him back into the ring, but this time it didn't last long.

Jesse's left arm was pumping out like a machine.

“Keep on him!” shouted my sister. The words that once excited me, made me feel sick to my stomach.

“Stick and move, stick … stick,” hollered Byrne's manager but it was too late. Ryan fell to his knees and his gloves hit the canvas. Then he collapsed.

The counting began, “One … two … three …”

Ryan couldn't get up. The crowd went wild. It was over. My sister had accomplished what she'd always wanted to do. She had defeated my father.

Congratulations, Tina
.
I hope you're happy. If only you knew what he sacrificed for you. If only I hadn't listened to Bonita and told you. Maybe I could have changed your mind.

The referee held up Jesse's right arm. The crowd roared. The ring announcer screamed into the microphone:

“Here is your winner, and the new North American champion – Jesse Mankiller….”

—

Once they'd whisked Ryan Byrne away for treatment and slapped some bandages on Jesse, the emcee prepared the crowd for a big announcement.

“Ladies and … Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, waiting for the deafening cheers to settle.

Jesse pushed his stool into the middle of the ring and held Tina's hand while she climbed up on top of it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Mankiller's manager has something to say about his upcoming fight.” He gave the microphone to Tina.

The camera circled in on my sister. Newspaper journalists raced to the edge of the ring.

I can't watch this
, I told myself. I started walking toward the back wall in search of my father. He was heading toward me and we met halfway.

“Ellie!” He grabbed me and gave me a hug. Then he looked up at Tina in the ring. “Thank God she didn't go through with it,” he said. “She isn't going to—”

“I don't know, Dad. But look what she's done! She's helped Jesse Mankiller to win. And Ryan to lose!”

“I'll figure something out for us,” said my father. “I just want you two to come home, okay?”

Tina's voice reverberated throughout the building as she spoke into the microphone.

“As you all know,” she said, “in September, Mr. Mankiller will be fighting here in Boston for the world title.”

The crowd roared.

“And …” She waited a few seconds. “And he has asked me to announce the name of his permanent manager.”

Permanent manager?

I looked at Dad, and he shrugged.

“If he will accept the position, Mr. Mankiller feels the best man for the job – the only man for the job – is my father, Sandy MacKenzie.”

The journalists started popping questions. Tina overrode them all.

“A former world-class boxer, Sandy MacKenzie now trains many fine athletes from his gym in Sydney, Cape Breton. I understand he's in the house tonight….”

The lights started dancing and circling the arena, trying to find my father.

“Dad!” I hollered over the booming applause. “You're going to be – you're going to be Jesse's manager!” He was stunned – we both were – and I nudged him into the aisle. Then I lifted my father's arm into the air and called out, “Here he is! Here's Sandy MacKenzie!”

The spotlight followed him as he made his way to the ring, and Jesse lifted the rope for him to duck underneath. Then the two of them shook hands.

If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn there were tears in my dad's eyes. I couldn't tell, because there were too many in my own.

And then I understood. I understood everything.

Tina knew Ryan Byrne wasn't going to make it to the top; he'd never save our gym. She knew that Jesse would be the one to go the distance. She knew that he'd be the one to keep our father out of the mines.

—

Bonita and Paul pushed through the crowd until they found us, and Dan wasn't far behind. Tina and I were standing in the corridor near the ring, and my father was in the dressing room with Jesse. Paul congratulated Tina, then hurried off to see Jesse.

“And you said men weren't interested in you,” teased Bonita. Then she hugged my sister.

“Great about your dad,” said Dan. “He deserves this.”

“He certainly does,” said Bonita. “So what happens now?” she asked Tina. “Are you—”

“I'm not going to the hospital, if that's what you want to know,” Tina said. “Except to talk to Dr. Campbell and thank him.”

“You're not?” asked Dan. “It's such a good—”

“I've given this a lot of thought over the last few weeks, and – well, I've decided to let someone else have my place in the trial. Someone who can really use the help.”

“But it's—”

“I don't need the operation,” said Tina.

The dressing room door swung open, and my father came out smiling. Behind him was Paul, and then came Jesse, looking as gorgeous as ever.

I'm sure that Dan and Bonita thought he was the reason why Tina didn't need the operation anymore. But I knew better. I knew she never needed it in the first place.