On the Ropes (Down for the Count) (36 page)

I jump, “Huh?”

“I said, ‘How’s Jason?’”

“Jase is doing great. He really likes working for Chris at the clinic, and I’m hoping he’ll be able to keep him on permanently. But that all depends on the grant Chris is hoping will come through. His community service is almost done, though. I think he only has a week or two more to go.”

“I’m sure between Chris, Judge Ferriter, and myself, we can find him a janitorial position somewhere if Chris can’t afford to keep him on.”

“You think?”

“Absolutely,” Frankie sounds certain.

“That’ll be great for his self-esteem; earning his own money instead of getting welfare and food stamps. He’s so embarrassed by it.”

“Embarrassed by what? Because he needs help?”

“That’s what I say to him but he doesn’t wanna hear it.”

“He’s being ridiculous,” Frankie waves his hand at me. “That’s what assistance is there for, to help those that are trying to better themselves.”

“Frankie, it’s like beating a dead horse, you don’t have to tell
me
.”

“And everything’s going good at Blaine’s?”

“Yeah, everything’s great. I’m getting more and more private sessions booked, and the kickboxing class is actually pretty fun to teach.”

Frankie laughs, “Oh, I can just imagine, you must be in heaven.”

“I’ve gotten a coupla phone numbers,” I throw in on the sly.

He shakes his head at me. “And your hands? How are they feeling, any more pain or stiffness?”

“No, they feel great. I’ve been stretching them before I train or put on my gloves.”

“Let me see ‘em,” he tugs on one of my gloves.

“They’re fine, Frankie,” I insist, pulling my glove away from him.

“Gabriel, will you show me your goddamn hands?” he says through gritted teeth.

“Fine,” I huff loudly, giving in to him.

He slides one glove off and then the other while I start to unlace the wraps that are covering my knuckles. After a brief inspection of my hands, Frankie lets me go. “You’re lucky they healed,” he warns, “you could’ve ended your career with that little stunt.”

Here we go with another lecture.
I stretch my neck from the left to the right, trying to get the stress kinks out.
How does he go from being so proud of me to lecturing me about the lousy decision I made over three months ago?
I’ve heard this same talk at least a dozen times now.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I walk away.

“Don’t forget, I’m meeting you at TKO tonight!” Frankie hollers after me as I head into the locker room.

I just wave my hand in response.