It's in the bag.....

He hit the heavy bag in lethal combinations. Left, left, left, right, uppercut. Sweat dripped off of him in a torrent as he banged the bag into submission. His shoulder ached with all the fires of hell. He couldn’t talk about it. He couldn’t complain. Nobody would give a damn. He was just meat. Meat don’t talk. Meat don’t bitch. Meat just got et. Just the same as it had always been.

“Time” called out one of his corner men. Joey Pollino had been with him the longest out of them. He trusted him if he trusted anybody in his corner. He hadn’t been happy ever since he had to drop Joey Pep because the government and the NAACP came after him. Pep had his best interest at heart. He thought him how to fight. How to move and stick the jab. When to go in to finish them off. The official things. Joey Po taught him how to rub his laces in the eyes or the soft skin to start a cut. How to push his opponents head into his shoulder where he had put his special ointment so they couldn’t see. How to stomp on his foot and hook his trunks to get in close to pound the kidney. Joey Po was the one who taught him what he needed to know.

Still he missed Joe Pep the most. He trusted him. He knew the real deal. He dealt with Mr. Palermo and Mr. Carbo. He protected him. Now he was gone and he was adrift.

He stepped down off of the platform and took a ragged towel off a hook. He rubbed his shoulder without conscious thought and when he realized it he stopped. He looped the towel around his neck and walked toward the speed bag. He had dropped the training gloves and would hit the bag with just his wrapped hands. He could make the bag sing just like the old days in the joint where he first took up the game.

Sonny looked up and saw Joey Pep standing in the doorway of the office. What was he doing here? He only showed up now if it was bad news. They cut him out of the money but they still made him do the dirty work.

“Champ take a break for a minute would ya” whispered Joey from a throat that took many shots in his own time in the ring. “There are a couple of guys to see you in the office.” That couldn’t be good. Nobody came to see him. The press hated him. They didn’t want to write about him. When they did they called him names. Bear. Monkey. Gorilla. He wouldn’t stop training for some bullshit interview. So it had to be something else.

Sure nuf when he got to the office he could see it was bad.  His manager  Johnny Boy Vitale. With another cracker in a silk suit. Not a guinea. That Jew from Vegas. Ash Resnick. The boys are sending a message. They always send a jew to do the dirty work.

“Hey Champ how ya doing” shouted the laughing fat man. Resnick was a good time Charlie. He was the one who invented bringing the High Rollers to Vegas and fleecing them with a smile. He was as connected as a man could be without being made. “I wanted to stop by and see how the training is going.” He chuckled at a joke only he understood. He did that a lot.

“That ain’t the real reason Ash. He deserves to get it straight” rasped Joe Pep. He looked at him and shook his head sadly. “It ain’t gonna happen son. The word came down. It’s the other guy.”

His mind reeled. He couldn’t believe it. “I can take that nigger. He ain’t nuthun.”

“I know Champ I know” oozed the fat man. “But this was decided way over our heads. Blinky spoke up for you but they told him to shaddup. You can make it look good but you still gotta go down. After the sixth. Don’t worry you are getting a rematch. It can all change. Plus I will lay some dough down for you. Big bucks for a Big Buck. Ha! You ain’t gonna get hurt. You gonna see a pretty penny and that’s all that matters right boychick!”

“I think we can leave it be Ash. He has his pride. That’s pretty much all he got. Let him keep it for a while.” Joey Pep stood up. “We will see you later with the details.” The laughing fat man got up and reached into his pocket and peeled off a few bills from a fat roll. “Here you go Champ. Why not go out and have some fun. Don’t sweat it. It is all gonna work out for the best.”

He sat for a while after they left. Didn’t say a word. Joey Po sat with him in an uncomfortable silence.

Then he got up. Went to ice box and took out a bottle of beer. Popped the cork on the opener on the door. He drank half the bottle down in one gulp. Reached for another.

“Champ you don’t need that. You still got to fight” pleaded Joey.

“It don’t matter t’all.” He drank down the rest of the bottle and then started on the next. Father Murphy was far away in Denver. His wife was there too. “I want some trim. Send one up to the cabin.”

“That is a terrible idea champ.” Joey shook his head. “I don’t want any part of it.”

“I don’t matter none. You heard the man. I be going down no matter what. So I want some trim. Make it a white girl too.”

“Fuck you I ain’t gonna get you killed or me neither.” Joey slammed his water bottle down on the desk where it overturned and spilled water all over the flyers and such. He stormed out of the room.

He didn’t sweat it. He would have one of the others handle it. It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered. He just needed to ease the pain a little.