Rocky pointed his finger at LaValle. “Yo’ peoples best have the money here tonight, else we begin to whup on you hard, boy! Might even start tonight, if I ain’t too tired.”
LaValle looked up at Rocky with fear. “You told my mother that she had until tomorrow to get the money to you!” he protested. “You can’t just change the rules like that!”
For some reason, the whining nature of LaValle’s words infuriated Rocky. It reminded him of a long-suppressed memory, of the spoiled colored teenagers who attended the private school where his mother worked as a washerwoman and how those same kids used to tease him about his raggedy clothes and how they squealed and whined in pain when he took his vengeance out on them. Even then he had a fearful punch. Without warning Rocky walked over to LaValle and slapped him hard across the face. LaValle wailed as he fell out of his chair and hit the wooden floor. Rocky stood over him. “When you speak to me, you’ll say Mr. Tisdale!” He looked down at LaValle’s prostrate form and knew that he wouldn’t be too tired after the fight. He was going to enjoy hurting LaValle.
When Rocky walked into the main hall of the handlers’ barn, a rousing cheer went through the waiting crowd. Billy walked a little ahead of him, clearing a path through the onlookers, all of whom appeared to want to greet Rocky and pat him on the back. Billy led the way to a high stool that was in the corner of a large square taped on the wooden floor. Consistent with traditional bare-knuckle matches, there were no ring ropes. The square only served as a guideline as to where the fighting should take place. More than one observer had been punched accidentally when one fighter had pressed his advantage over his antagonist into the surrounding crowd. Bales of hay had been set against the walls in rising steps and people were beginning to congregate on them, trying to find seats that offered good views of the square.
There were perhaps two hundred men in the room, the vast majority of whom were colored. But a special section was set aside for important white guests. This section was the only area with chairs and it had a long brass rail protecting it from the square. Mateo Molinari was in attendance with several of his men. Rocky exchanged nods with Mateo and smiled. The next twenty-four hours were going to change his life.
Diagonally across the square from Rocky, on a similar stool, sat his opponent, Cornelius “Hurricane” Lester. Rocky was pleased to see that Lester looked like he was fit and in shape. Rocky wanted to give the onlookers the appearance of a competitive match. Lester was a light brown–skinned man and he was taller and leaner than Rocky. He had long, gangly arms but was reputed to have a good punch. Rocky focused his attention on Lester’s torso and visualized his fists punching the wiry body. The bell clanged and both fighters were led to the scratch line. After the obligatory announcements, everyone vacated the square except the fighters. Then the bell clanged again and the fight began.
Rocky could not be sure when he heard the first discharge of the shotgun. He had been too focused on the task at hand. Perhaps they were twenty minutes into the fight. He was just beginning to connect solidly to his opponent’s body and head. Rocky hadn’t shaken Lester seriously yet, but his clubbing punches were beginning to leave their impact on the man’s face and rib cage. Lester had already sustained a cut over his left eye and things were only going to get worse. He did not have the punch to keep Rocky off. The second shotgun blast was heard clearly by all present. Lester had just missed a wild overhand right and had staggered off balance. The booming sound of the twelve-gauge distracted Lester and caused him to turn and stare in the direction of the sound. Unfortunately for him, Rocky was under no compunction to divert his attention from the fight. Rocky hit Lester high on the temple with a powerful right cross and stunned him. He closed with Lester and turned out the lights with a savage left hook uppercut combination. Lester crumpled like steamed spinach.
Instead of the cheering that normally punctuated a knockout, there was silence throughout the hall. Most of the crowd was looking in the direction of the door that led into the colored jockeys’ changing room, but on one of the top bales Rocky saw two men open their coats and pull out machine guns. He also noticed that Molinari’s three men had gathered closely around their boss in a protective ring. Rocky looked toward the door and saw King Tremain enter with his younger son, Jack, followed by three or four other men. They marched through the crowd with a quiet confidence. He waited quietly for them to reach the square.
Rocky realized that Molinari was only waiting to see how he would handle this situation. He knew that if he was found wanting, all offers would be retracted. Rocky steeled himself to confront King with fearlessness. As King neared the square, Rocky called out challengingly, “You come breakin’ in here like gangbusters! You need an army to come and pay the debt you owe? All these men is with you ’cause you’s afraid of me?”
King answered in an equally loud voice. “I don’t owe you shit! I just came to collect somethin’ you thought I didn’t care about! You done let yo’ ambition push you to take what yo’ ass can’t pay for!”
Rocky prodded Lester’s still-unconscious form with the toe of his shoe. “I got a fool lyin’ here at my feet who said the same thing! But he ain’t woke up yet! Best watch what you say. You could end up like him!” Rocky glanced in Molinari’s direction and saw that his men had their hands in their jackets. They were ready for any trouble that might erupt. He felt emboldened by their presence. “Everybody’s tough when they got a gun in their hand!” he announced to the crowd at large. “I wonders if’en you man enough to meet me hand to hand in the square? Then we’ll see how tough you really is!”
Rocky’s challenge was interrupted by action around Molinari. A man with shoulder-length straight black hair stepped out of the throng of spectators and smacked one of Molinari’s men with the barrel of a shotgun. Molinari’s other bodyguards didn’t stand a chance. Two more men came out of the crowd and in moments Molinari and his men were all lying face down on the wooden floor with guns pressed into their backs. Once Molinari had been disarmed, he was the only one who was permitted to resume his seat.
Rocky was a little shocked about the quickness with which Molinari and his men had been rendered powerless, but he knew that he could still save the situation if he could get King to fight him in the square. “Ain’t you gon’ answer my challenge? Or is you gon’ hide behind yo’ guns? I thought you was a man!”
King smiled and started to move toward Rocky, but Jack stepped in front of him and whispered something in his ear.
Rocky taunted, saying, “Come on, Tremain! Why don’t you show me what you got! You ain’t gon’ let yo’ whelp talk you out of it, are you?”
Jack stepped forward and demanded, “Are you the one that slapped my brother around?”
“He needed some house breakin’!” Rocky asserted. “I had to give the dog a seein’ to! You should have heard him yelp, and if you don’t watch it, I’ll whup you too!”
Jack set down his machine gun and took off his jacket and his holstered pistol. “I’m going to give you a chance to put your words into action. You see, I want everybody to know that when you lay a hand on a Tremain, it leads to pain!”
Rocky smiled and said, “I ain’t got no weapons! You ready to meet me bare-handed at the scratch line usin’ standard rules?” It was too good a chance for him to pass up. It was almost as good as getting King. Rocky planned to beat Jack until he dropped. He would prove to everyone that there was a new force in Colored Town.
Jack listened to what his father whispered in his ear. “I don’t want to use standard rules! I’m not a professional fighter, but I was a soldier. I’ll fight by the rules that I know best, which are no rules at all! A man only gets one chance to come to the scratch line. After that it goes until somebody’s dead!”
Rocky smiled even more broadly. Whenever somebody said that they didn’t want any rules, it was an admission that not only could they not box, but that they thought that strength alone would win the fight. Rocky had learned a long time ago that strength was just one of many factors that a consistent victor possessed. He stepped into the square. “That’s fine with me, boy! Come on to the scratch line!”
When both men reached the scratch line, the fight started. Rocky swung first, throwing three quick jabs at Jack’s head. Jack eluded the attack easily, but that didn’t trouble Rocky. He was tracking the movement of Jack’s head, trying to figure out his defensive pattern. Rocky threw several combinations that just grazed Jack’s head. Jack appeared to have just enough quickness to elude the big shot, but he could not mount an attack that could force Rocky into the defensive. It was Rocky who was dictating the pace of the fight. Even though his combinations were being blocked or eluded, Rocky was driving Jack backward with every sally of punches.
Rocky’s confidence caused him to misjudge an opening. He threw a left hook, hoping to drive Jack into position for a straight right hand when Jack suddenly dove under his guard and rammed him in the chest with his shoulder. The impact of Jack’s shoulder knocked Rocky off-stride. It was only the quickness of Rocky’s double left hook that kept Jack from pressing his attack further. However, when he began again to circle Jack looking for an opening, Rocky felt a pain in his abdomen and upper thighs, the pain originating in his groin. It was then he realized that Jack had tried to grab his testicles when he rammed him. It infuriated Rocky that Jack should try to fight dirty and anger put springs in his legs. He charged forward throwing punches. The suddenness of his attack took Jack by surprise because in an effort to dodge a combination, Jack’s head lined up for Rocky’s straight right hand. Rocky did not miss the opportunity. He threw the punch and it landed flush on the side of Jack’s head. Jack fell heavily to the wooden floor.
Rocky raised clenched fists over his head and shouted at King, “You sent a boy to do a man’s work!”
King looked down at his son and replied, “You better say joe, ’cause you sho’ don’t know! The fight ain’t over yet!”
Rocky walked around the crumpled form of his opponent who was moving slowly as he was regaining his senses. He threw a savage kick at Jack’s head, but at the last minute Jack eluded it while at the same time kicking Rocky’s knee. The kick took Rocky by surprise. His leg buckled and he fell awkwardly to the floor. By the time he got to his feet Jack was standing and facing him.
King’s voice shouted out, “Fifteen thousand dollars on Jack Tremain! Any takers? You want a piece of this, Molinari? You want to bet LaValle’s two thousand against my fifteen?” King took out an envelope from his jacket and waved it for all to see. “Fifteen thousand dollars in cash!”
Rocky could not believe it, but Molinari made no effort to agree to the bet. In fact, he kept silent. It wasn’t understandable. It was a foregone conclusion that Rocky was going to win this fight! It was like money in the bank. Rocky wondered what would cause Mateo Molinari to withhold his support. He must be looking at a different fight, Rocky concluded. He turned and walked to the scratch line. He intended to kill Jack and make an example of him. He would show them who was worth betting on. He took a deep breath and waited for the fight to start again.
Rocky watched as Jack trotted toward him, then threw himself into a forward roll, tumbling in Rocky’s direction. It confused Rocky and he tried to move out of the tumbling path. But he was not quick enough. He was totally surprised when Jack came out of his roll and sprang from the floor. Jack’s first punch clipped the top of his head and a forearm quickly followed, smashing into the side of his throat. Rocky staggered backward, trying to defend himself, but Jack whipped his body forward and head-butted him, breaking his nose.
The pain exploded across Rocky’s face, a searing pain that burned up through his skull and made bells clang in the background. Blood was now pouring from his nose. He fought to keep his balance and concentrate on his opponent, but he only vaguely saw Jack flying toward him feet first. Jack’s dropkick caught him in the chest, lifted him off the floor, and sent him airborne to land on his shoulders, but it was the way that his head banged into the hard wooden floor that caused him to pass out.
Jack turned and said to the surrounding crowd, “My name is Jack Tremain! LaValle is my brother! Anyone who messes with him, messes with me!” Jack walked over to his father, who offered him a towel.
“Why didn’t you kill him?” King inquired, referring to Rocky. “He ain’t the kind of man to forget a public beating! Plus, he’s a front man for the Molinaris! He gon’ want to prove this fight was a fluke!”
“We’re not at war here, Papa! We’re here to teach a lesson! Things have to be kept in proportion!”
“Then we got one more lesson to teach!” King turned and shouted, “Come here, LaValle!”
Jack moved closer to his father and asked in a low voice, “What are you going to do, Papa?”
“LaValle needs a lesson too!” King responded in the same low tone, but he smiled when he saw the look of concern on Jack’s face. He assured his son, “Ain’t nobody tryin’ to kill him! He ain’t gon’ get no worse than an ass-whippin’! Seems to me this here boy been needin’ an AW to be administered for years!”
“That’s harsh!”
King warned, “Watch out who you protectin’ now! A fool can be the death of you! Yo’ soldierin’ should have taught you that!”
“He’s not just a guy in my squad!” Jack answered, looking directly into his father’s eyes. “He’s my brother! I’ll go to the mat for him!”
“Then you gon’ have many chances to do that, but right now step away. This fool has risked lives tonight! We was lucky they didn’t slap leather quicker! We was lucky to kill their dogs! Any one of us could have paid with his life tonight! It got to be a public lesson!”
“Do you have to humiliate him?”
King put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “It’s got to be a public lesson, son. Anyway he done already humiliated himself and don’t know it! He got to know it! Look at him!” King gestured with a nod of his head at the door. LaValle walked through the doorway with a swagger. A cigarette, held at a jaunty angle, was in his lips. He knew he was under King’s protection! He glared at anyone who dared to meet his eyes. King muttered to Jack, “That fool needs a lesson bad!”