“He got hurt,” I said.
“How big is this guy I’m fighting?” he asked.
“Big,” I said. “Probably two-twenty, maybe more.”
“You know what they say?” he asked.
“No, what’s that?” I asked.
“It isn’t the size of the dog in the fight, but the size of the fight in the dog,” he said.
“Oh,” I said. Tom stood and stretched his arms out. He sat again. “Thanks for looking in on Bill those days.” I appreciated Tom buying Bill’s booze.
“We went back a long way,” Tom said. “Used to be good friends, he knew my father when my father was still alive. I made sure his mother got around in the snow sometimes.” He waved it off. “Just friends, that’s all.”
“Thanks,” I said.
He pointed toward the woodlot. “Think I can beat him?” he asked.
I took a minute to answer. “No,” I said. “I don’t think you can. If he’s better than that guy who fought George Hack, no way.”
“Is he mean?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Oh, you’d know,” he said. “Heard you beat some frog with an ax handle a while back. Bill told me.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Sorry about Bill,” he said. “But he’s better off. He wasn’t living much. Not that any of us are but at least we can still walk.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You should learn to use your fists,” he said. “Learn to box.”
“I know how to box,” I said.
He snorted. “I’d have shoved that ax handle so far up your ass you’d have coughed splinters,” he said. “You want to see boxing? Come watch me right now. I’ll show you boxing.” He stood and stretched. He looked at one of the little kids running in the street. “A plastic helmet and toy gun don’t make a soldier.”
“You should’ve seen what this guy did to George Hack,” I repeated.
“Did he piss his pants?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “How’d you know?”
“I been around,” he said. He showed me his right hand. There was a raised scar between his first and second knuckles. “I hit a man so hard his front tooth was lodged in there.” He pointed at the scar with his left hand. “All the way to my bone,” he said. “That’s what happens when you put that torque on your punches. I’m not just talking about a brawl. I’m talking about boxing, like my old man taught me.” We walked down the sidewalk in silence and as we turned, I stole a glance at his right hand again and at the massive scar between his knuckles.
We walked back the way I’d come over and by the time we got there, there were probably fifty people crowding around, looking at the little ring and staring at El Rey, who sat on a stool in the corner with his back to the four-by-fours. He and Hector were talking in Spanish, along with Melvin.
Harold came over to us as soon as we walked onto the lot. He went to shake hands with Tom, but Tom brushed him away.
“Two hundred dollars besides what you already gave me,” Tom said.
“Done,” Harold said. He reached into his coveralls and pulled out two damp hundred-dollar bills and gave them to Tom.
Tom stripped to a pair of shorts and sneakers, no shirt. On his back, along the right shoulder blade, he had a half-finished tattoo that looked like a shroud with a scythe and the words GRIM REAPER in shaky script. It was the color of mold. Tom got into the ring and sat in his corner. He looked over at El Rey.
Melvin and Harold both got into the ring and after looking at each other, Melvin clapped his hands. Everyone was quiet.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is going to be a twelve-round fight with two-minute rounds,” he said. Melvin pointed at El Rey. “And in this corner, wearing the red trunks, the Hispanic Panic, undefeated in his career, weighing two hundred and twenty-one pounds, the King of Knockout, from the Bronx, New York New York, El Rey!” The other Hispanic men whistled and clapped and El Rey stood up and shadowboxed for a minute, finished up with a flurry of short punches, then remained standing, dancing on his feet, loose. Melvin stepped out of the ring and Harold cleared his throat and pointed to Tom Kennedy.
“In this corner,” he said, “weighing one hundred eighty-five pounds, the Pride of Saint Jay, Tom Kennedy!”
And when his name was called, Kennedy got off his stool and danced for a minute, bobbed and weaved and threw a few light punches and we all cheered him, really cheered him, and he remained standing too, moving and ready.
Harold motioned for both guys to touch gloves and they did and Melvin hit the bell. El Rey came out fast, moved up to Tom and swung and missed, and Tom made two quick jabs at his ribs and backed off, his hands held at an almost awkward angle, his feet always moving. They moved together and El Rey jabbed with his left, pulling his right hand back, jabbed again, and swung full with the right, but Tom wasn’t there anymore, he moved back and to the side and then in again and bang! bang! two fast rights to El Rey’s head and the bell rang.
Tom came over to the corner and sat on the stool, and I gave him some water, which he spit into the sawdust. Melvin and Hector were in El Rey’s corner, talking loud in Spanish. Tom spit his white rubber mouth guard into his right glove and spoke.
“Watch me now, and learn about those fists,” he said. He popped his mouth guard back in and stared across at El Rey’s corner. The bell rang and he stood, and I grabbed the stool out of the ring.
He and El Rey met in the middle of the ring and El Rey juked left with his head, then right, swung, but Tom ducked under, and one two! Shots to the body and one two! again, one to the solar plexus. I saw the look on El Rey’s face, I knew it, and as he brought his hands down to cover himself, Tom slammed the right side of his head with the glove, hard, and again, and there was blood Hying, and I thought for sure Tom would step back, but he stepped forward, closer, almost hitting down on his target and bang! a strong left hand to El Rey’s nose and the bell rang.
Tom sat on the stool. He was breathing heavily, sweat all over his body, and we toweled him down and they were screaming in Spanish in the other corner. Tom popped his mouth guard out. He didn’t say anything. He looked mad. He stared across at El Rey’s corner and put his mouth guard back in. The bell rang and Tom came off the stool like a rocket. He threw a couple of light punches, and El Rey took a step back and Tom stepped up, closer again. Then he swung twice, fast, and it was like punching bullet holes in a paper target — El Rey didn’t feel the shock until the punches were through him.
I didn’t know exactly what happened next because Tom moved so fast and his back shielded me from seeing the punches directly. All I could watch were his shoulder blades, moving with each punch, over and over and all to the body of El Rey and El Rey’s face looking at me over Tom’s shoulder, trying to stay alert, and now Tom was on El Rey’s head, he found the range, it was a right, another right and a right and El Rey fell to his knees hard and Tom kept hitting him, blood coming out of El Rey’s ear onto the sawdust, and El Rey went down face first, the sawdust jumping up as his head hit the ground, his eyes closed, and it was silent. The Hispanic men jumped in the ring and popped amyl nitrate capsules under El Rey’s nose and he didn’t move, and Tom just sat there on the stool, with blood on his chest, as they picked El Rey up and carted him back to the trucks and presumably the hospital.
It stayed quiet as men collected their money from Melvin and came over to congratulate Tom. He was still sweating, still trying to catch his breath. A bruise was starting on his face from a punch I hadn’t even seen. The marks on his chest seemed to glow red. Slowly, he took his gloves off with his teeth.
“You want some help?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m just taking my time.” He put a shirt on after a while and he and Harold talked and then I watched him walk back the same way we’d come over, along the stream toward the house.
I have a different job now, handling shipping and packages for a company near Montpelier. Every time I drive past Thompson s wood lot and see the men working there, I’m glad it’s not me. Last night, I was up late — my wife had already taken off to her mother’s house, she lives just down the block — had a couple of beers, and turned on ESPN. The late-night fight card had El Rey on it. He looked bulked up. I decided to walk to the corner store for some more beer and snacks. It was mid-November and snowing pretty hard.