Marked (12 page)

The next day dawned clear and bright, but I was still wallowing dismally in bleak shadows. That afternoon I was expected to offer myself up as Burger’s punching bag. And Kat was about to disappear off my radar screen.

Dad was off to another meeting in Auckland, leaving early. He was full of apologies, but really I was quite relieved. I knew he’d have wanted to see the fight, and the last thing I wanted in the audience was a doting parent. He climbed into the MX-5 and lowered the window. “Good luck. And remember – that first punch.” He reached out, jabbing me lightly on the arm. “Go for the nose – hard.” He drove off and I watched the little sports car turn out of the drive and disappear.

I’d bludged a lift from Jed, but I had to wait for ages. He was so late picking me up, I thought I’d probably miss the ferry. And the mood I was in wasn’t helping much either.

“Lighten up,” he said after an ice age of silence. “It’s only a fight. They’ll probably stop it before he kills you.”

I grinned. Not a proper grin. A baring of the teeth, thin and stretched, the best I could manage. There was a whole lot I wanted to share with him, but I couldn’t. I’d promised Kat. And I didn’t want to talk about the fight either.

Jed took matters out of my hands. “What about Bullyboy? You find out anything more about him?”

I shook my head. “No.” But the pause had been too long and he knew I was lying.

“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on. You don’t need to bullshit. Not to me.” He took one hand from the wheel and tapped his chest. “If you can’t trust me, who
can
you trust?”

I glanced at him, but I couldn’t meet his eye. “I promised … she’s scared,” I muttered at last. “Reckons it’s dangerous.”

“Cully, that’s why you’ve got to share it.” He spoke slowly, seriously. Not like Jed at all. “You can’t carry stuff like this on your own. Something’s up, isn’t it?

I didn’t know what to do. If I told him what I knew, I’d be ratting on Kat. And I could still see the fear in her eyes. She’d been desperate – and I
had
promised, hadn’t I?

But I owed Jed something too. I’d involved him in this, and he was right – if I couldn’t trust him, who could I trust?

In the end I told him everything, and he drove in silence, listening, his face bleak as a polar ice cap. “Shit!” he said at last. “So he’s a kind of bodyguard? And you were right about the gun too.”

“Looks like it. She reckoned he probably carries one.”

He didn’t speak again for a while, shaking his head to himself, thinking about it. “I’m buggered if I know what to do.” We turned into the car park and stopped. “Nothing I suppose. Stay out of it.”

The ferry was getting ready to leave, and I leaped from the cab, slamming the door. Then I poked my head through the open window. “Keep it quiet though. Don’t let on I told you.” Racing across to the jetty, I felt guilty as hell, but at the same time I was glad I’d put him in the picture. Kat was on the ferry but she was surrounded by other kids, and I didn’t get a chance to speak to her.

The whole school was buzzing about the fight. A bit like that film
Gladiator
– everyone psyched into blood lust, revelling at the thought of guts and gore spread across the arena. Sticky dark stuff. And all of it was going to be mine. I reckon I was the only kid in the whole school not looking forward to it.

In English we were still sorting out the benefits of sport for next week’s debate, but I wasn’t a lot of use to our group. My thoughts were elsewhere, grappling with doom and darkness. Then I heard Simon mention my name.

“Cully mightn’t be much of an asset,” he said. “Once Burger’s finished with him, he might find it a bit hard to stand up and tell us how sport is really good for you.” He gave me a cheeky grin.

“Eh?” I was struggling to push the shadows from my mind. “How d’you mean?”

“Well, if you’re still on crutches, covered in bandages and all that. Not exactly a picture of health.”

One of the girls turned on him in disgust. “That’s gross!”

“Jeez, Angie. I was only joking. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Simon shrugged apologetically.

Angie was our team leader. A good speaker too, though she didn’t get on too well with Simon. But after a moment her expression softened and she nodded. “Anyway, boxing’s not a sport. It’s just thuggery. It’s–” She broke off, listening.

We all were. It was the town siren, an eerie wail calling volunteers to the fire station.

“So they’re at it again,” said Simon. “Firebugs.”

“What? In broad daylight?” I gave him a pitying look. “Even firebugs aren’t that stupid.”

The other two obviously agreed, but Simon was reluctant to let it go. There hadn’t been any arson attacks for a while and lots of kids were missing the excitement.

“Well, maybe …” Then he stopped, tilting his head. Another siren, this one a thinner note and more highly pitched, rising and falling. Simon looked at me. “You’re right. That’s the ambulance now. Must’ve been an accident somewhere.”

Then we heard the fire-engine as well, and listened as both sirens gradually faded into the distance, drawn towards someone’s misery. But at least they’d taken my mind off the boxing … and Kat.

It was nearly midday, and the school was positively drooling at the prospect of watching the school bully reduce Cully Dalfour to burger meat. As spectacles go, it wasn’t one that I wanted Kat to see. But I needed her to be there.

I was nervous, much more than I’d expected to be. I couldn’t stop my knees trembling, and I knew that as soon as I got out there in the ring, I’d want a pee. Could already feel it. I was worried about Kat too. There was a fair crowd, but I couldn’t see her anywhere.

“Here. Just flex your wrist a bit.” Mr Parton was binding my hands before lacing me up. Supposed to prevent injury, but I couldn’t imagine anyone ever hurting themselves with these big gloves. Massive things, much bigger than I’d been training with. Like wearing a bagful of soft custard on each fist.

“Now, I don’t want to see you playing the hero.” He was my second and seemed to be taking his job seriously. “If you’re hurting, or if you take a blow to the head, I want to know about it.”

I nodded and rested my elbow against my thigh to stop my knee shaking. A few metres away Burger was also getting gloved up. He was grinning at me, lolling back on his stool. Draped over his shoulders was a satin gown, dazzling blue – a bit like the ones title fighters wear on telly for their brag sessions. Mrs West was his second and she smiled across at me encouragingly. Or maybe it was pity.

“Now, lift your head.” Mr Parton slid a padded headgear over my ears and pulled the chinstrap tight. “About three minutes. You feel okay?”

Again I nodded. Better than an outright lie. If anything, the headgear was worse than the gloves. Dad’s old sparring headgear was a lightweight pad that covered my forehead and ears, with a strap under the chin. This thing was like a pair of horse blinkers – a full helmet of heavy nylon padding with massive flanges on each side to protect the cheeks. If Burger was wearing one of these, I didn’t think I’d be able to
see
his nose, let alone hit it.

“
Two minutes
.” A scratchy loudspeaker voice.

I wished like hell I’d gone to the gym for some of the lunchtime boxing sessions. Then, at least, these stupid gloves and headgear mightn’t have been such a surprise.

Where’s Kat?

“
One minute
.”

The headgear was hot against my forehead. It was sticky and stank of ancient sweat. Like pressing your face into someone else’s pillow – decaying BO and the stink of dried saliva.

Still couldn’t see Kat. I knew she was at school because I’d seen her in class.

“
Boxers to the ring
!”

Mr Parton held the ropes for me, and I clambered in. Looked up just in time to see Burger prancing around in the centre, arms held high for the crowd. He’d primed his greasy support crew and they cheered obediently. You’d have thought he was Muhammad Ali there in the centre, posing in his shimmering gown. He turned slowly so we could all see the writing across his shoulders. Big white letters. It read KING.

I was still wearing an old T-shirt. Nothing written on the back. I moved towards the centre, jigging up and down on the spot. If I stopped moving, my knees might start shaking again. Just wanted to get on with it now, but we had to wait while the ref went through the rules.

“… and no clenching. When I call ‘break’, both boxers must take one full step back …”

Why isn’t Kat here?

“If either boxer is down, his opponent must retire to a neutral corner.”

The ref seemed to go on forever, but suddenly he stopped. “Now, shake hands.” We touched gloves awkwardly. Burger’s mouthguard gave him a row of plastic teeth, grinning and confident, and a wave of cheap deodorant swept over me. He must’ve emptied the whole can over himself.

I forced myself to smile. “I like the nightie,” I said, running my eyes over the silky folds of his gown. “Your sister’s?”

It’s hard to scowl with a mouthguard, but Burger gave it his best shot. The ref gave me a strange look and shook his head, but I thought he was trying not to laugh. “To your corners.”

Mr Parton passed me my mouthguard, and I slid it into place with the thumb of my glove.

I moved out on the bell, but I didn’t go right to him. I was on my toes, dancing, the way Dad had shown me – and watching Burger. He took centrestage, standing flat-footed and turning to follow me as I circled. Jed had been right about him – he was a brawler. Heavy on his feet, with hardly any movement. Aiming to finish me off with a few king hits. And he wasn’t planning to suffer any pain from me.

But for the moment, nobody was suffering pain because no punches were being thrown. I was playing the out-fighter, staying just out of reach as Burger shuffled around to keep me in his sights. The crowd started jeering, and I could see it was getting to him. He had his image to think of.

Nothing happened for ages. Maybe half a minute. Finally, Burger lost it and let fly with a punch that would’ve flattened the Himalayas. Only it didn’t flatten anything, because he signalled it with his eyes, then he drew his right glove back almost out of sight to get a good swing and then he stepped forwards to get his balance. And
then
he threw the punch.

I ducked under it and moved back. Dad was right. It
was
like being attacked by an angry tortoise. But I was so chuffed at the way things were going, I missed a really good chance. Didn’t get in a counterpunch while he was off balance. I hadn’t landed a blow yet, and his nose was still as good as new. Next time I’d be ready for him.

Burger pulled away to his full height, and we began circling again. Or rather I circled. He was just a lazy Susan, revolving on the spot. I saw his lips mouthing
wanker
. It’s hard to talk with a mouthguard – and it came out more like
thwanker
. Lost a bit of its impact.

There were still a few jeers. Most of them probably at me because I hadn’t done anything yet – but I didn’t mind. They’d only make Burger even wilder and more likely to chance his arm.

Again, his eyes warned me to expect a haymaker. Again, the fist was drawn back, and his front foot slid forwards. I ducked beneath it again. This time I was awake and came up hard. I pivoted onto my front foot and drove my fist into the side of his rib cage. It felt good.

Oomph
! He staggered as the air was shunted from his lungs. He’d been off balance anyway, and for a second I thought he was going to fall. I was beginning to wilt a bit too and a compulsory count would be great. If the ref had to stop the fight for ten seconds so poor Burger could recover, at least it’d give me a breather. Dancing makes you tired.

But he didn’t fall. He spun towards me, catching me by surprise and crowding me against the ropes. His eyes were only centimetres from mine and his breath in my face stank of fish. Stronger even than his deodorant. My arms were pinned to my chest by his elbows while he pounded my shoulders with both fists. They might’ve been soft heavy things, those gloves, but they still hurt.