“I’ll be okay. I need to run anyway.”
“But it’s still raining.”
“I’m already wet.”
“Isn’t it kind of far? Like five or six miles?”
“You need to stay here with your family,” he said, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. “Can I call you?” he finally asked.
Her gaze flickered toward the house before returning to him. “Why don’t I call you?”
He nodded before taking a step backward, and without another word, he turned and began to run.
Maria didn’t call for the rest of the week, and it was the first time in his life that he cared enough about a girl for that to actually matter to him. Or enough for him to even think about it in unexpected moments, or whenever the phone rang – which wasn’t often.
He wasn’t going to call her. He wanted to; more than once, he’d actually reached for his phone before reminding himself she’d asked him not to. Whether she eventually called or not was her choice.
To keep from dwelling on it, he tried to stay busy. He added an extra shift at work, and after his classes and before his shifts, he spent time at the gym, working with Daly and Moore.
They were more excited about the upcoming fight than he was. While fighting someone like Reese was a rare opportunity to measure his own skill level, win or lose, it wouldn’t mean much for him in the long run. For Daly and Moore, a good match might mean a minor windfall for the gym. No wonder they spent the first two hours on Monday reviewing films of Reese’s former fights with Colin, studying his tendencies and evaluating strengths and weaknesses.
“He’s good, but he’s not unbeatable,” Daly continued to insist, Moore in agreement. Colin listened while trying to tune out comments that he regarded as too wishful or optimistic – basically, anything that had the words Reese and ground in the same sentence. Reese would eat him alive on the ground.
On the plus side, the films showed that Colin’s skills were slightly better than Reese’s when it came to striking. Especially kicks; to that point in his career, not a single fighter had gone after Reese with kicks to the knees, despite Reese offering numerous opportunities. Reese also left himself open to shots at the ribs after any combination, which was useful to know when planning a strategy. The problem was that when the fight actually started, strategies often went right out the window, but that’s where – according to Daly and Moore – Colin had the biggest advantage.
“Reese hasn’t ever fought anyone with more than six or seven fights under his belt, which meant his opponents have been both outclassed and intimidated. You won’t be intimidated, and that will rattle him more than anything.”
Daly and Moore were right. Fighting – whether in bars, the street, or even the ring – wasn’t only about skill but confidence and control as well. It was all about waiting for the right moment and then taking advantage of it; it was about experience when adrenaline was pumping, and Colin had had more fights than Reese. Reese had been an athlete, someone who shook hands with his opponent after a match; Colin was the kind of guy who struck first and broke beer bottles over people’s heads at the end, the sole intent to cause as much damage as quickly as possible.
With that said, Reese was undefeated for a reason. On his best day, Colin figured he had only a one-in-four chance of winning, and that was only if he was able to make it through the first couple of rounds. The kicks to the knees and rib shots, the coaches continued to assure him, would wear Reese down the longer the fight went on.
“The third round will be yours,” they promised.
On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, they got to work, with an hour and fifteen minutes each day devoted to specific strikes. Daly got in the ring wearing sturdy knee braces and a vest, demanding that Colin make kicks to the knees, offering openings and then taking them away. Simultaneously, Moore instructed Colin to keep his distance and concentrate on the ribs after every combination Daly threw, their exhortations heated and demanding. In the last forty-five minutes, Colin focused on ground work, honing defensive techniques. They were all fully aware that Reese had a significant advantage in this area, and the best that Colin could hope for was to survive.
He’d never trained for a specific opponent, and it proved frustrating. He missed with kicks and was too slow with strikes to the ribs; all too often, he allowed himself to get tied up, which was exactly what Reese would want. It wasn’t until Thursday that the lightbulb flickered on, albeit dimly, and when he walked out of the gym, he wished he had another couple of weeks to get ready.
Friday was a rest day, the first day that Colin hadn’t worked out in over a year, and he needed the break. Everything hurt. With no classes, he spent the morning and afternoon completing two papers. Later, at work, with cooler temperatures setting in, hardly any customers showed up on the rooftop, even during the dinner rush. By nine, there were no patrons at all, and Colin had the place to himself. Tips had been almost nonexistent, but it gave him time to reflect on the previous weekend. Or, more specifically, the question Maria had asked that had been plaguing him on and off ever since.
Of all the weekends for Copo to die, why this one?
There was nothing to suggest that the guy who was following Maria was responsible for Copo’s death, but there wasn’t anything that rendered the idea implausible, either. If the guy knew where Maria lived, it was more than conceivable he also knew where her parents lived. The back slider had been left open. Copo had been fine when they left, and three hours later the dog was dead for no apparent reason. Colin knew it wouldn’t have taken much to have snapped Copo’s neck or choked the dog to death.