Ultimate Sports (4 page)

“After only one day? What do you think you’d do in a jail cell?”

“Maybe I’d have somebody to talk to there.”

“Maybe you would. But I’ll tell you this: In the six years I listened to jail talk and yard talk, I never heard anything worth two cents. And best you get used to being here. It may be a while before you see the outside.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That ’dude’ you told me about. His name was Arnold Jensen—the homeboys called him Zipper, right?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“He’s in the papers, Randy. He died last night from the gunshots. Now the cops really want to talk to you.”

Randy sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands. “What am I gonna do?” he moaned. “I told you I didn’t have nothing to do with the shooting part.”

“I believe you. But the police might not. That’s why I bought this today.” He reached into the paper sack and took out a long yellow legal pad.

“You’re going to write down exactly what happened. Then you’re going to sign it. After that, I’ll send it to the police.”

Randy got to his feet. “Are you crazy? Soon as they get that, they’ll be here!”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Harlow said. “I’ll mail it to one of the kids I used to train. He lives in Detroit. He’ll send it from there. With no return address, all the cops will have is a Detroit postmark.”

“That’s great of you, Uncle Harlow! Now, when can I get out of this room?”

“Hold on! First, the cops won’t stop looking until after they get this paper from Detroit, and probably not even then,” Harlow looked up at the ceiling. “In fact, they could show up here anytime. The best place for you right now is here in the basement. Now, let’s get started on getting your story on paper.”

A half hour later, Randy crumpled up another yellow page and threw it across the room. “It’s no good!” he complained. “I can’t write this out myself.”

“Didn’t they teach you anything in school? Or didn’t you pay attention?”

“Didn’t see no need for school,” Randy grumbled.

“Okay. I’ll write it down and you copy it, word for
word. It’s got to be in your handwriting. It will give you something to do tomorrow.” Harlow pointed to the paper sack. UI got you a razor and shaving cream and a toothbrush. There’s some new underwear in there, too. I got extra-large. Is that right?”

“I don’t know. Mamma buys all that.”

Harlow roared with laughter. “Some tough guy you are. What are you? Eighteen… nineteen years old and your mamma still buys your clothes!”

Randy jumped to his feet. “You got no call bagging on me.”

Harlow backed off in mock fear. “Oh, please don’t hit me, Mr. Tough Guy,” he moaned. “Otherwise, I’ll have to tell your mamma!”

With a roar of rage, Randy rushed at Harlow. The older man ducked under a roundhouse right hand and stepped lightly to one side. Then he hit Randy in the gut with a blow that caused the younger man to let out his breath in a giant
whoosh!
Randy fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air.

Harlow stood over him. “Not only do you have slow hands, you got a soft belly, boy. Must be all those Froot Loops you eat. I hope I didn’t spoil your dinner with that punch. I got you something real healthy tonight.”

“Like that breakfast?” asked Randy from the floor.

“Much better. You be nice to me, I’ll let you have some extra wheat germ on it. And if you eat it all up, I’ll show you how to work that speed bag.”

•   •   •

The next morning when Harlow awoke, he heard the speed bag going like a machine gun. “The boy learns fast,” he thought. “If he keeps it up, it ain’t going to
be so easy keeping him down there—Oops! almost forgot!”

Harlow took a book from the shelf alongside his bed. Then he went downstairs and opened the door. Randy was at the speed bag, his hands moving just as Harlow had shown him the night before. He looked up as Harlow entered. The older man tossed the book to him.

“What’s this?” Randy asked.

“When you get all punched out, you could look it over,” Harlow said. “It helped me when I was in the joint.”

Randy looked at the thin book. Painfully, he formed his lips around the words on the cover.
“Yes
…
I
…
Can
…
R-Read.”

•   •   •

It was four days later when Harlow came running down the stairs. Randy was working out in silent fury. He barely looked up when Harlow burst into the room.

“Quick, Randy—into the shower stall!” Harlow commanded.

“What for? I ain’t finished working out.”

“There’s a police car just pulled up in front. Do what I say. I’m going to open up this room. Show them the closet, too. With the John door open, I don’t think they’ll check the shower stall. Pull the curtain closed, though.” From the floor above, the doorbell began to ring. “No more time,” Harlow whispered. “Be cool, kid.”

Harlow quickly locked the door and ran up the stairs. Randy heard voices and the heavy tread of feet above him. He remained inside the shower stall. A few moments later, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

“What’s in there, Mr. Fuller?” Randy heard a strange voice saying.

“My private workout room. I’ll show it to you.”

“You don’t have to, sir. We have no warrant—”

“No, I insist.” The lightbulb went on in the basement room. “No one can say I didn’t cooperate with the Police Department.”

Randy pressed himself tightly against the wall of the shower stall, hoping it would make him appear smaller. Was Uncle Harlow going crazy? Why was he bringing the cops downstairs?

“What’s behind that door?” Randy heard the policeman say.

“A closet,” Harlow answered. “I’ll show you.”

“No need,” the cop said. “I’ve seen enough. Thank you for your help, Mr. Fuller. And if you do see Randy…”

“I’ll be sure to call you.”

The light went out again, and Randy heard the door being locked. He stood inside the stall for the longest time, shaking all over. After what seemed like years, the footsteps overhead stopped and he heard the front door close heavily. Shortly after that, he heard Harlow coming downstairs.

“Okay, Randy,” Harlow said softly. “You can come out.” Still unsteady, Randy came out into the main room. “That was awful close, Uncle Harlow,” he said. “Why’d you bring him down here? I heard him say he didn’t have no warrant.”

“Use your head. If I told him he couldn’t look, he’d have gone to a judge and got the papers. This way, I showed him I have nothing to hide.”

“I guess they didn’t get that letter from Detroit yet,” Randy said.

“Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t give up. This is a murder case. That stays on the books forever.”

“Then what am I going to do? I can’t stay down here for the rest of my life.”

“You won’t have to. Once things blow over a bit, we’ll get you a good lawyer. In the meantime, you got no choice but this.” Harlow looked around at the small room.

“But I can see why you feel boxed in down here. Now that the cops won’t be back, maybe we can start you on some roadwork. You can run off some of that anger of yours.”

“But where? Won’t someone see us?”

“Baisley Park is four blocks from here. We’ll run early in the morning while it’s still dark.”

“I heard about Baisley Park. That’s a dangerous place after dark.”

Harlow laughed loudly. “You mean you’re scared? The reason people stay away from the park is they don’t want to run into someone like
you!
You’re the one who’s on the run from the police.

“Besides, we’ll take Emile with us. He needs to run, too. I figure two guys our size and a dog like Emile, no one’s going to mess with us.”

And so began a regular routine of roadwork and bodybuilding for Randy. Each morning, Harlow would drive to the park and the two men and the dog would run until nearly sunrise.

Harlow noted that it helped Randy’s spirits. The young man no longer complained about being cooped up. His body shed fat and gained hard ropes of muscle. Randy continued to work endlessly on the two punching bags and the rowing machine. Often, Harlow would hear Randy continuing to work out in the dark.

What made Harlow feel best was that Randy had finished
Yes, I Can Read
. But at the end of each day, Randy would have the same questions: “When do I get out of here? When are we going to get that lawyer?”

Each time Harlow said, “When I think it’s cool, and no sooner.” Randy would grow more restless. Finally, one night in early September, he exploded.

“I don’t care what you say!” he shouted at Harlow. “I’m leaving. It’s been almost four months. I’ll take my chances outside. Anything is better than this!”

“You watch yourself, boy,” Harlow said, “or I’ll take away your roadwork. How would you like that?”

“How would you like me to walk right over you?” Randy growled.

“You think you’re man enough?”

In a dark rage, Randy sprang at him. A looping left hand banged into Harlow’s ribs, and like lightning, a stiff right hand to his head followed.

As Randy was about to throw another punch, Harlow dodged, hooked a foot behind the younger man’s left ankle, and tripped him. Randy tried to regain his balance, but Harlow stepped in and with three short punches knocked him to the floor.

His head buzzing from the blows, Randy looked up at his uncle. “You cheated!” he cried.

“You bet I did,” Harlow answered. “No way I’m going to bust my hands on your hard head. And there’s not enough room down here to fight. But if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Tonight I’ll sneak you over to my gym. We’ll put on the gloves and settle this right!”

•   •   •

The gym was on the second floor of a run-down building, in the shadow of the el. Harlow opened the double-locked steel door and hit a light switch inside the doorway. “Go through that door behind the ring,” he said. “The lockers are in there.”

In a few minutes, Harlow had pieced together shoes, shorts, and sixteen-ounce gloves for Randy and himself. “One more thing,” he said to the younger man. “Put this on, too.” He handed Randy some headgear.

“What do I need that for?” Randy asked.

“We already know you can hit hard,” Harlow said. “But we don’t know how hard a punch you can take. I don’t want to scramble the inside of your head.”

The two men climbed into the ring. “We don’t have a bell or timekeeper,” Harlow said, “so there won’t be any rounds. When I say ’go,’ you start fighting. When you’re ready to quit, just say ’when.’ Ready?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then go!”

As Harlow expected, Randy came on in a rush, swinging wildly. For the first few minutes, all Harlow did was avoid the rushes and tag Randy with a left or right hand as he went past. But after a time, Randy stopped being wild. A cold, hard look came over his face and he began to stalk Harlow.

Seconds later, Randy connected with a straight left hand that rocked his uncle. He held on, then wrestled Randy into the nearest corner.

Once his head cleared, Harlow put together a savage left, then a right to Randy’s body. He finished with a stinging left hook that caught Randy square on the headgear. Randy went down.

“Had enough?” Harlow asked, standing over his nephew.

“I’ll say when,” Randy growled, getting up.

It began again. Was it his imagination, Harlow wondered, or was the kid getting stronger? Over the next ten minutes it took all of Harlow’s skills to hit and not get hit. And still the boy came on. He shook off punches that would have taken him out only months before.

For all of Harlow’s coaching in the basement, Randy seemed to learn better by doing, in the ring. He connected with a solid right to the middle of Harlow’s chest. It felt like a small car had hit him; he was actually pushed back a few steps by the force of the blow. And still Randy came on!

Harlow felt his strength fading—an experience he hadn’t known in years. He had always kept himself in superb shape. But this nephew of his didn’t seem human. Harlow showered a group of punches on Randy, finishing with a right cross that knocked the younger man to his knees.

Breathing hard, Harlow said, “Had enough yet?”

To his amazement, Randy was getting up again! “I’ll say when,” he said.

This time, Harlow didn’t back off and allow Randy to regain his senses. With all he had left, Harlow hammered his nephew to the canvas. Again, he stood over the young man.

“Enough?” he asked. Randy shook his head and tried to get to his feet! Harlow put a hand on his nephew’s headgear and pushed him to the canvas. “Well,
I’ve
had enough,” he said. “You got heart, boy. Seems to beat you, I’d have to kill you. And I’m not ready to do that.”

Randy stayed down. Harlow pulled off his gloves and
reached a hand out to help him up. To his surprise, a thundering right hand caught him flush on the chin, knocking him onto the seat of his shorts. Randy was on his feet like a cat. He looked down at Harlow.

“I been trying to catch you standing still all night,” he said. “Now I did.”

“You cheated!” Harlow accused.

“You bet I did,” Randy replied. “Same as you did, back at your house. But I got to say you did beat me, fair and square.”

Harlow sat up and roared with laughter. He took the hand that Randy extended and got to his feet. As they left the ring, Harlow began talking. “See, you couldn’t get at me because of the way I was moving. And you got to stop dropping that left jab after you throw it. I came over that left with my right all three times I dropped you.

“That left jab has got to snap out straight and come back just as fast. You practice and you can double up the jab. That’s a real setup for a right hand.” He rubbed his rib cage. “And you got some right hand on you, kid. I’m going to get you a mirror for the basement, so you can see what you’re doing better.”

“The basement again!” Randy moaned. “When do I get out of there? When do we get that lawyer?”

“I’ll make you a deal, Randy. When you beat me, you’re out of that room.”

“You got a deal, Uncle. When’s our next fight?”

Harlow groaned in mock pain. “Soon as I get over this one.” Both men laughed, then walked together to the locker room.