Chapter 4 Chapter Four

He was easy to spot, wearing a gray flannel suit, a bright red waistcoat, and a black knit tie over a white dress shirt.He wears dark glasses, darkened lenses set into metal frames.Whenever the sun came out, Danny "Boy" tried to sleep—his eyes and skin couldn't take it—and he wore dark glasses even at night, except in dark places like Foogan's or Top Bar.He told me years ago that he wished the world had dimmer switches that could turn everything off with a flick or two.I remember thinking, whiskey can do this.It dims lights, lowers volume, and rounds corners.I complimented his grooming.

He said, "You like vests? I haven't worn them in years. I want to stand out." I have already bought a ticket.Front row tickets cost fifteen dollars.I bought two $4.50 tickets in a location that puts us further from the ring than from God.After entering the gate, I showed the ticket to the usher in front and put a folded bill into his hand.He ushered us to two seats in the third row up front. "Maybe I'll have to ask the two of you to move again later on," he said, "but maybe not, but make sure you can sit by the ring." As he walked away, Danny "Boy" said, "There's always a back door, right? How much do you give him?"

"Five dollars." "That way you only spend fourteen dollars instead of thirty. How much do you think he makes in one night?" "It's not a lot of money on a night like that. If the Knicks or the Rangers were playing, he'd probably be getting five times his salary in tips. Of course, he'd have to spend some money on someone." "There's something for everyone." "It seems so." "I mean everyone. Me too." He's hinting at me.I gave him two twenty-dollar bills and one ten-dollar bill.He put the money away before he began to seriously look around the auditorium.

"Uh, didn't see him," he said, "but he probably only showed up at the Bascom game. I'll go check it out." "Okay." - Stick School · E Book Group - He got out of his seat and walked around the field.I looked around, not to recognize Chance, but to see who the audience was.There were a lot of men in the pubs in Harlem last night, pimps, drug dealers, gamblers, and the rest of the town, most of them accompanied by women.There are also some white gangsters, wearing casual clothes, jewelry, and no female companions.The spectators in the less expensive seats were the smorgasbord you see at any type of event, black, white, Hispanic, alone, in pairs, in groups, they Eating hot dogs, drinking beer in paper cups, chatting, joking, and occasionally watching the movement in the boxing ring.Now and then there was one of those faces transplanted straight from the off-track betting shop, the twisted, shifty Broadway face only a gambler has.But not a lot, who still bets on boxing these days?

I turned back and looked at the boxing ring.Above are two Hispanic boys, one light-skinned and one dark-skinned. They were careful not to be seriously injured.They looked like light heavyweights, light-skinned kids with quick feet and frequent punches.I started to get interested and in the last round the darker guy figured out how to avoid the quick punches and go with the flow.When the bell rang he had won, and there was booing from somewhere in the stands, from what I assumed were relatives and friends of the loser. Danny "Boy" came back to his seat for the final turn.Two or three minutes after the referee announced the result, Kidd Bascom rolled over the ropes and threw an empty punch.A moment later, his opponent entered the field.Bascom was dark and muscular, with sloping shoulders and a muscular chest.Under the light, his body shone brightly, as if coated with oil.The boy he sparred with was Vito Canelli, an Italian from South Brooklyn.He has some flab around his waist and looks doughy, but I've seen him play and know he's a fighter who outsmarts him.

"Boy" Danny said, "here he is, center aisle." I turned my head to look.The usher who took my five dollars was ushering a man and a woman to their seats.She was about five and a half feet, with shoulder-length auburn hair and skin like fine porcelain.He's six feet one or two, about a hundred and ninety pounds, broad shoulders, narrow waist, narrow hips, short hair, an Afro, light brown skin, wearing a camel hair blazer, flannel slacks.He looked like a professional athlete, or a hotshot lawyer, or an up-and-coming black industrialist. I said, "Are you sure?"

"Boy" Danny laughed. "Not like a normal pimp, huh? I'm sure. That's Chance. Hope your friend didn't put us in his place." He didn't.Chance and his girls were in the front row, near the center.When they sat down, he tipped the usher, and a few spectators greeted him, and he returned the salute, then went to the corner of the ring where Kidd Bascom was, and said something to the boxer and his assistant what.They negotiated for a while.Then, Chance returned to his seat and sat down. "I guess I gotta go," Danny "Boy" said, "I really don't want to see these two fools fight each other to the death. You don't need my introduction, do you?"

I shake my head. "Then I'd better slip away before the assault starts—I mean the stage. He doesn't have to know who pointed him out, Matthew?" "I won't tell him." "Very well. If you need further service—" He walked down the aisle, looking like he wanted to grab a drink, but the bar at Madison Square Garden didn't have cold vodka.The announcer is introducing the players, giving their ages, weights and hometowns.Bascom was twenty-two and had never missed a shot.It doesn't look like Canelli will change that record tonight. The two seats next to Chance were vacant.I wanted to sit down, but I didn't move.

The warning bell rang, and then the bell for the start of the first round rang.In this round, the two players moved slowly and thoughtfully, neither of them was in a hurry to show their strength.Bascom's punches were strong, but Canelli always managed to avoid them.Neither one actually hit the other. Towards the end of the round, the two seats next to Chance were still vacant.I went over and sat down beside him.He looked intently at the boxing ring.He must have been aware of my presence, just not showing it. I said, "Chance? My name is Scudder." He turned his head and looked at me.His brown eyes shone with gold.I think of my client's eyes, that phantom blue.

When I was snooping at the bar last night, he went to her apartment unannounced to collect money.At noon today, she called my hotel and told me about it. "I was terrified," she said. "I thought, what if he asks you and asks me questions. But luckily not." He said, "Matthew Scudder. You leave a message at my liaison office." "You didn't return my call." "I don't know you, and I don't call back people I don't know. You keep asking me." His voice was deep and thick.Sounds like training, going to broadcasting school. "I want to watch this game," he said.

"I just want to talk to you for a few minutes." "Neither during the game nor during the break." He frowned, and then stretched it out: "I want to concentrate. I also paid for the seat you are sitting in now, you know, so I should have some privacy." The ready bell rings.Chance turned his head away and focused his gaze on the stage.Kid Bascom stood up as his assistant dragged his stool out of the field. "Go back to your seat," Chance said, "I'll talk to you after the game." "Ten rounds?" "Not that much." That's right.In the third or fourth round, Kidd Bascom began to fix Canelli, pounding him with quick punches mixed with two or three other punches.Canelli is shrewd, but Kidd is young and fast.His gait reminded me of Sura Ray, the boxer Sura Ray Robinson, not Sura Ray Leonard.In the fifth round, Kidd sent a short right hand to the opponent's heart, causing him to stagger on his feet. If I had bet on the Italian, I would have lost it by seeing this. Canelli looked strong at the end of the round, but I saw that look on his face when he got hit.So, another round later, I wasn't surprised when Kid Bascom knocked him out with a left hook.On the count of three, he began to get up, and did not rise until the count of eight.After that, Kidd completely got the upper hand, hitting him in every way, and he almost took the post of the ring.Canelli fell again, but got back up immediately.The referee jumped between the two of them, looked Canelli in the eye, and stopped the fight. There were some not-so-strong boos from a few diehards who didn't want the game to end, and one of Canelli's assistants insisted his runners could go on, but Canelli himself seemed happy that the show was over.Kid Bascom did a few war dances, bowed a few times, and then nimbly scrambled over the ropes and left the field. On the way out, he stopped to talk to Chance.The auburn-haired girl leaned forward with a hand on the boxer's shiny black arm.Chance and Kidd chatted for a minute or two, then Kidd made his way to his locker room. I got out of my seat and walked over to Chance and the girl.When I got there, they were on their feet. He said, "We don't look at the main show. If you're going to watch it—" At the top of the program was a pair of middleweights—one from Panama and one from South Philadelphia called "The Spoilers."That might be a good fight, but it's not what I'm here for.I told him I was going to leave too. "Then come with us," he suggested. "My car is parked nearby." He walked down the aisle with the girl beside him.Several people greeted him, and some people told him that Kidd was doing well on the court.Chance paid little attention.I followed closely.When we got outside and got some fresh air, I realized how stale the air in the gym was. Coming out into the street, he said, "Sonya, this is Matthew Scudder. Mr. Scudder, this is Sonia Hendricks." "Nice to meet you," she said, but I didn't believe it.Her eyes told me that unless Chance hinted at her in some way, she would not judge me.I suspect she's the one King mentioned, the sports fan Chance took to the game.I also wondered if I would have classified her as a whore if I had met her on any other occasion.I don't see any whore-like features in her, but I don't think there's anything wrong with her looking on the pimp's arm. We walked a block south and half a block west to a parking lot where Chance picked up his car and tipped the attendant handsomely, who thanked him with uncharacteristic enthusiasm.The car amazed me as much as he had previously amazed me with his dress and demeanor.I expected a typical pimp car, plain paint and interior, the usual frills, but instead saw a small Cadillac Seville, silver exterior, black interior.The girl got into the backseat, Chance sat behind the wheel, and I sat next to him.The car drove very smoothly.The interior of the car has a taste of polished solid wood and leather. Chance said, "There's a celebration party for Kid Bascom. I'll get her there first, and then I'll get to her after we settle our business. How do you like the match?" "I think it's hard to tell." "Oh?" "It looked like cheating, but the final blow seemed real." He glanced at me, and for the first time I saw interest in his golden eyes. "Why do you say that?" "Canelli had two good chances in the fourth round, but he gave them up. He's a shrewd boxer, he shouldn't be. But he tried to finish the sixth round, and it didn't work. At least from the That’s how it looks from my position.” "You punched, Scudder?" "When I was 12 or 13 years old, I fought twice in the youth group. Wearing inflatable gloves, a helmet, every two minutes. I was too slow and stupid, and I didn't get a single punch." "You have a sports eye." "Uh, I think it's because I watched a lot of games." He was silent for a moment.A taxi swerved in front of us and he applied the brakes smoothly, avoiding a crash.He didn't yell or honk the horn. He said: "Canelli should have gone off in the eighth round. Until then, he should have given it his all, but not too dominant, lost too early or knocked out, or the final blow would look unreal. That's why he gave up his chance in the fourth round." "But Kidd didn't know it was arranged." "Of course not. Before tonight, his fights were mostly honest, but a boxer like Canelli would be a threat to him, why bother to tarnish his unbeaten record at this stage? Fighting Canelli , he can gain experience, beat Canelli, he can gain confidence." At this point, we have reached the west side of Central Park and are heading north. "The last shot was the real deal. Canelli should have gone down in the eighth round, but we were hoping Kidd would get us home early, and lo and behold, he did. What do you think of him?" "He has a bright future." "I agree." — Stick School · E Book Group — "Sometimes his right side shows. On the fourth round—" "Yeah," he said, "and they stressed that to him. The thing is, he always gets through it." "Well, if Canelli is going to win, he won't be able to get by today." "That's right. Oh, it's a good thing he didn't intend to win." We talked about boxing until, at 104th Street, Chance made a careful U-turn and stopped by a fire hydrant.He turned off the motor but didn't pull the key. "I'll take Sonia upstairs," he said, "and be down soon." After telling me that it was a pleasure to meet her, she didn't say a word.He walked around the car and opened the car door for her, and they walked slowly to the door of an apartment, one of the two large apartments in front of the main entrance of the complex. I wrote down the address in my notebook.Within five minutes, he was back in the driver's seat and we headed north again.After six blocks, neither of us spoke. After a while, he said, "You want to talk to me. It's nothing to do with Kid Bascom?" "It doesn't matter." "I think so, too. What's that about?" "Kim Duckinen." He stared straight ahead at the road ahead, and I didn't see any change in his expression. He said, "Oh? What happened to her?" "She's quitting." "Exit? Exit what?" "This kind of life," I said, "this kind of relationship she has with you. She wants you to agree to her . . . termination of your relationship." We stopped at a red light.He didn't say anything. The green light came on, and we went another block or two, and he said, "What's she got to do with you?" "friend." "What does that mean? You slept with her? You want to marry her? Friend is a broad term that covers a wide range." "It's a narrow term this time. She's a friend of mine, asking me to do her a favor." "Let you talk to me?" "That's right." "Why doesn't she talk to me herself? I see her a lot, you know. She doesn't have to go all this way around asking me. Well, I saw her last night." "I know." "You know? Then why didn't she say anything when she saw me?" "She's scared." "fear me?" "I'm afraid you won't let her go." "And I'll hit her? Disfigure her? Burn her breasts with cigarette butts?" "Something like that." He fell silent again.The car is smooth and has a hypnotic effect. "She can go," he said. "that's it?" "What else? You know, I'm not a white slave owner." He said the word sarcastically. "My women are with me of their own accord. They're not under any coercion. You know Nietzsche, don't you?" He used to say, 'Women are like dogs, the more you hit them, the more they love you'. But I don't hit them, Scudder. Never had to. How did Kim know you as a friend?" "We know the same guy." He glanced at me. "You were a policeman, a detective. You left a few years ago. You killed a kid and then resigned." That's pretty much the truth.One of my stray bullets killed a little girl named Estelita Rivera, but I don't know if it was guilt over the incident or something else that drove me away from the police station.But it really changed my view of the world, so, I don't want to be a cop anymore.Nor does he want to be a husband, a father, or continue to live on Long Island.Not long after, I quit my job, got divorced, moved to Fifty-seventh Street, and spent my days at Armstrong's Bar.That stray bullet certainly contributed to these changes, but I think I'm going to end up this way anyway, sooner or later. "Now you're a half-detective," he continued. "She hired you?" "almost." "What does that mean?" He didn't wait for me to explain. "No offense, but her money was wasted. Or 'my' money, it depends on how you look at it. If she wants to terminate our cooperation Just tell me. She doesn't need someone to speak for her. What is she going to do? I hope she's not going home." I did not say anything. "I guess she'll stay in New York. Is she still doing it? I'm afraid that's the only thing she's going to do. What else is she going to do? Where's she going to live? I'll give them an apartment, you know, pay them rent to buy clothes for them. I don't think anyone ever asked Ibsen where Nora was going to find an apartment when she went away. If I'm not mistaken, I think you'll live here." I look out the car window.Right in front of my hotel.I didn't notice it at all. "I guess you'll get in touch with Kim," he said. "If you need to, you can tell her that you threatened me and scared me away." "Why am I doing that?" "That way she'll think she's not wasting money on you." "She paid for it," I said, "and I don't mind if she knows it. I'll tell the truth." "Really? Then while you're at it, tell her by the way that I'm going to see her, just to see if it's her idea after all." "I'll mention it." "Tell her again that she has no reason to be afraid of me." He sighed, "They think they are irreplaceable. If she knew how easy it is to find someone to replace her, she would definitely hang herself. Bus after bus Ship 'em up, Scudder. Every hour of the day, they're huddling inside the Port Authority, ready to sell themselves. Every day, a lot of other girls think there must be a better way to live than serving plates or cash registers. I can drive There's a company, Scudder, that's only taking applications, and it's sure to get a lot of buzz." I open the car door. He said: "It was a pleasure chatting with you. Especially just now. You have a good eye for boxing. Please tell that stupid blonde bitch that no one is going to kill her." "I will." "If you want to find me, call my liaison office. Now that I know you, I'll call you back." I got out of the car and closed the door.He waited for an opportunity, turned around, turned back to Eighth Avenue, and headed north.The U-turn was against the traffic rules, and he ran a red light while turning left onto Eighth Avenue, but I don't think he cared.I can't recall the last time I saw the police for a ticket for someone driving illegally in New York.Sometimes you'll see five cars in a row run a red light.These days even the buses do the same. After he left, I took out my notebook and made a note.Across the street, next to Polly's Bar, a man and a woman are arguing loudly. "Are you still a man?" she cried.He slapped her.She scolds him, and he slaps her again.Maybe he knocked her out of her mind.Maybe it's a game they play five times a week.If you interfere, they will most likely come at you together.When I was first in the police force, my first partner stayed out of family disputes anyway.Once, when he confronted an alcoholic husband, the wife attacked him from behind.Her husband knocked out four of her teeth, but she also jumped to protect him, smashing her savior over the head with a wine bottle.He had fifteen stitches in the wound, had a concussion, and ran his fingers over the scar as he told me the story.You can't see the scar, it's hidden by the hair, but his index finger is exactly there. "Let them kill each other," he once said. "Even if she called the police, she'd come after you. Let them fucking kill each other." Across the street, I didn't hear what the woman said, but the man punched her in the stomach.She screamed, as if in pain.I put away my laptop and walked into the hotel. I called Kim from the lobby.Her answering machine rang and I started to leave a message, but then she picked up the receiver and cut me off. "Sometimes I have my answering machine on at home," she explained, "to know who it is before I answer it. I haven't heard from Chance since I called you." "We broke up just a few minutes ago." "Have you seen him?" "I'm going for a ride in his car." "what do you think?" "I think he drives pretty well." "I mean—" "I know what you mean. He didn't seem to care much when he heard that you were leaving him. He assured me that you don't have to be afraid of him. According to him, you don't have to ask me to be your protector. You just have to be with him Just say it." "Yeah, uh, he'd say that." "You think he's lying?" "Maybe." "He said he wanted to hear what you had to say, and I figured he'd have to make some arrangements for you to leave the apartment. I don't know if you're afraid of being alone with him." "I do not know either." "You can lock the door and talk to him through the door." "He has the key." "Don't you have chains?" "Have." "You can use it." "I suppose so." "Do you need me to go there?" "No, you don't have to come. Oh, I guess you want to come get the rest of the money, don't you?" "Wait until you've talked to him and everything is in place. But if you need someone by your side when he shows up, I can come over." "Is he coming tonight?" "I don't know when he'll come. Maybe he'll settle it over the phone." "He might come tomorrow." "Well, I can hide behind the couch if you want." "Do you think it's necessary?" "Well, Kim, it depends on what you want. If you don't want to—" "Do you think I have anything to be afraid of?" I thought for a moment, going over my time with Chance, assessing how he made me feel. "No," I said, "I don't think you have anything to fear. But I don't know the man." "I don't understand either." "If you're nervous—" "No, that's silly. It's so late. I'm watching a movie on cable and I'm going to sleep. I'm going to put the chain on. That's a good idea." "Do you have my phone number?" "That's right." "Call me if you have anything to do. You can call me if you have nothing to do. Okay?" "Okay." - Stick School · E Book Group - "Relax, I think you spent money you didn't have to spend, but it's your own money, so it probably doesn't matter." "certainly." "The point is you got away. He won't hurt you." "You're right. I might call you tomorrow. And, Matthew, thanks." "Sleep well," I said. I went back upstairs and tried to get a good night's sleep too, but I was too excited to give up. I dressed and turned the corner to Armstrong's.I wanted to eat something, but the kitchen was closed.Trina told me she could get me a pie if I wanted it. I want two ounces of bourbon, neat, and two more ounces in my coffee, and I can't fucking think of a half a reason not to.Anyway, I won't get drunk, and I won't go to the hospital because of it.It's all about drinking without restraint, day and night, and I've learned my lesson.I'll never drink like that again, absolutely not, and I don't want to.But there's a real difference between a nightcap and going out for a binge, isn't there? They tell you, don't drink alcohol for ninety days.You have to go to ninety AA meetings in ninety days, avoid the first drink every day, and after ninety days, you can decide what you're going to do next. The last time I drank was on Sunday night.I've been to four AA meetings since then, and if I go to bed without a drink today, I've gone five days without alcohol. so what? I had a cup of coffee and on the way back to the hotel I bought a danish and a half pint of milk at the Greek deli.When I got back to my room, I ate puff pastry and drank some milk. I turned off the lights and went to bed.Now, I haven't had a drink in five days.But so what?