The Punishing Game (30 page)

Boff dropped by the gym the next day to tell them that he was going back to Las Vegas. Jermain hadn’t pulled out of the fight, so Boff promised he would fly in to see it. There were no goodbyes or handshakes. You didn’t do that with Boff. All he said was, “This didn’t turn out as unpleasantly as I thought it might.” Then he left.

With Boff out of his hair, Cullen had more time to throw himself into the final stages of his training. He was in the best shape of his life.

As the big day grew close, he had this feeling of being whole. Something he couldn’t explain to a civilian, only to another boxer. His mind and body were one in a way it was hard to duplicate in regular life. Now he understood where his father’s powerful presence had come from. Dan Cullen Sr. had known he was the best he could be. Dan Jr. hoped one day he would feel the same way. Beating Jermain and getting a shot at the title would be a big step on that journey.

***

When the referee called the fighters to the center of the ring to give instructions, Cullen saw depths of hatred in Jermain’s eyes he’d never seen in anyone before.
Good
, Cullen thought,
fight with anger
.

Just twenty seconds into the first round, Jermain deliberately slammed Cullen hard in the balls. Cullen slumped to the canvas in pain.

“How does that feel, scumbag?” Jermain said.

The referee deducted a point from Jermain for a deliberate low blow and offered Cullen the customary five-minute rest before resuming. Cullen would have loved to take it, but he said he was fine and got up. He wasn’t giving Jermain the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt him.

Before the referee let them continue, he warned Cullen about retaliation. So Cullen got revenge the smarter way. Ducking under a right cross, he came up and fired a vicious uppercut that caught Jermain flush under the chin. Down he went. It took him until the count of eight to stand back up, and his legs were wobbly, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Cullen knew he could finish him off right then if he pounced on him. Instead, he eased off a bit. He wanted to keep Jermain around for awhile so he could inflict more pain. It was what his father would’ve done.

In the second round, Cullen broke Jermain’s nose and knocked him down twice. Each time, Jermain got up and continued fighting. Cullen figured the guy either had a lot of heart or his rage was still driving him. In the third round, Cullen opened a big gash over Jermain’s right eye. Near the end of that round, he fired a hook from hell that probably cracked one or two of Jermain’s ribs.

Sitting on his stool after the round, Cullen glanced out at Boff, who was sitting in a front row seat. Boff smiled and nodded back. Cullen knew he was earning points with the big man for punishing Jermain. But his other mentor wasn’t nearly as pleased.

“What do you think you’re doing, lad?” McAlary said as he toweled the sweat off Cullen’s face. “Why haven’t you taken him out already?”

“I’m fighting like my father.”

This McAlary understood. “Punishing him now, are you?”

“Dad always said winning was more satisfactory when you took their heart.”

“Yeah, well, listen to me, son. I want it ended right now before he gets lucky with a punch and knocks you out. Hear me?”

Cullen nodded. When the bell rang, he began inflicting more pain until he saw in Jermain’s eyes that the will to fight was gone. Then he threw a powerful two-punch combo to the head that knocked his opponent sprawling onto the canvas face down. This time he didn’t get up. He was out cold.

As the crowd rose and roared its approval, Cullen headed for his corner without acknowledging the cheers. It was enough for him to know his father would’ve been proud. 

Alphonso Biaggi, who had not resigned as borough president, used his clout to find the McAlarys a real steal on a three-story brownstone a few blocks from the gym. It even had a small backyard for Phoenix to play in. It wasn’t long before she was bringing home new friends for dinner.

Biaggi also found Cullen a two-bedroom condo to rent below market price. Bellucci moved out of his
grandparents’ house and in with Cullen. Neither could cook. Both were consummate slobs. The first time Kate saw the shape their apartment was in, she ordered them to get a maid in twice a month. The maid quit at the end of the first month, accusing them of purposely leaving a big mess just to make her life more miserable than it already was. The second cleaning lady was a tough Jamaican who happened to be a relative of Cheffy’s. She got up in their faces and said if they didn’t start cleaning up after themselves, she’d have Cheffy poison their food. From then on, they were careful about not leaving stuff around.

Under McAlary’s training, Bellucci flourished in a big way. He discovered that he had a lot more power than everybody thought. It was just a matter of adjusting the way he threw his punches. When Bellucci knocked out his next three opponents, he was so excited that he changed his ring alias from Magic Mikey to The KO Kid.

The real shocker, though—at least to Cullen—was Alonzo, the street kid. Not only did the big guy drop over fifty pounds, but he was beginning to look like a fighter with real potential. Manuel, the kid who had tried to mug McAlary, couldn’t hack the discipline, and went back to the streets. Others took his place.

As for Boff, Cullen spoke to him once or twice a week. At his wife’s insistence, Boff took on a couple more pro bono cases and won. Then, to his dismay, people started showing up at his office with righteous cases, people who weren’t scumbags. Jenny was very happy. Boff was not. He pled with her to let him cut down on the pro bono work, but she refused to budge an inch. “You may bend all the rules you want on your job,” she told him, “but in God’s courtroom it’s his way or the highway. And I’m not going to heaven without you.”

The next time Cullen and Boff spoke, Boff said out of nowhere that he was considering moving to the Bronx to be near his mother. Cullen’s jaw dropped. He told Boff in no uncertain terms to stay in Las Vegas and asked him to promise that he wouldn’t move.

Boff said nothing and hung up.

This book was inspired by Frederick Boff.

A novel is a team effort. I would like to thank my team members: Bobby and Jessica Jones of Endless String Publishing; my editor, Barbara Ardinger, Ph.D.; and William Trillo, who designed my book cover.

Special thanks to the members of my support team who encouraged and believed in me: Robert Johnstreet, Jenny L. Tucker, Dave D’Alessandro, Jochem Vandersteen, Larry Patten, Deborah Margean Anderson, Jen Estes, Winifred Golden, Rhiannon Ellis, and Wanita May.

And to my son, Alex, who keeps me going.  

A former reporter for The {Newark} Star-Ledger, Nathan Gottlieb is the author of
The Hurting Game
, the first Frank Boff Mystery. He has also published two other books,
Stinger
, and
The Zukovka Experiment
. Gottlieb lives in New York, where he writes for HBO’s boxing website and is working on the third book in the Frank Boff Mystery series.