Read Online The Chief by Robert Lipsyte - Free Book Online Page B

off before John L. fought.
    There wasn’t much of a crowd yet in the ringside seats where the stars and the high rollers would sit for free, but the portable stands that climbed into the sun were packed with real fight fans who wanted to get their money’s worth and check out the Tomahawk Kid. He could be the future.
    There was a burst of New York rap as Dave the Fave came barreling down the aisle, waving, blowing kisses as if he’d already won, then Alfred clearing the way for Jake and Richie, who had Sonny between them. I stoodup and caught Sonny’s eye with a double-pump fist. He winked, which made me feel good. Or maybe he winked at Robin, who was standing on her chair next to mine. Or maybe he’d just caught John L.’s tic.
    â€œHe looks good,” said Robin. The fighters were climbing into the ring.
    â€œHe hasn’t done anything yet,” I said.
    â€œJust being up there is something.”
    â€œYou must feel pretty proud of yourself,” I said. It came out sort of twisted, and she lifted an eyebrow.
    â€œIt was all my idea, Marty, that’s true, but ideas are nothing until someone makes them happen.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. It burned. “You did it.”
    I was embarrassed. “I just made noise. He did it.” I changed the subject. “How come you’re not shooting?”
    â€œIt costs thousands to get the rights to a fight. I’m grateful to get a free ticket.”
    The ring announcer was a young guy who seemed to be auditioning for the big time. He made it sound like a title fight.
    â€œAn important bout for two young fighters, and for those who want to see the stars oftomorrow TONIGHT! In the black trunks, weighing two hundred and twenty-five pounds, from Harlem, New York, the crowd-pleasing rapper, Dave (The Fave) Reynolds.”
    Sonny stood still as The Fave wiggled and pranced around. Sonny didn’t move as he was introduced.
    â€œYou’ve been reading about him lately, the Native-American slugger who came down from the hills of the Moscondaga Reservation in New York to win a place in John L. Solomon’s training camp and in our hearts. In white trunks, weighing two hundred and ten pounds, the Tomahawk Kid, Sonny Bear.”
    The referee signaled them into the center of the ring to listen to him repeat the instructions he already had given them in the dressing room.
    The Fave held out his gloves. Sonny reached out to tap them, and then The Fave pulled his gloves back and stuck out his tongue at Sonny. An in-your-face schoolyard put-down. He danced back to his corner, waving his arms over his head. Sometimes the brothers can be so stupid.
    â€œMistake,” I said to Robin. “It’s over.”
    If you blinked you missed the fight. Sonnystrolled out at the bell, loose and easy, no rush, and let Dave throw the first punch, a hard jab that glanced off Sonny’s forehead and left The Fave wide open for the left hook that crushed his right cheekbone. He never saw it coming. Dave was moving forward behind his jab, just the way he was supposed to, his right hand cocked, and Sonny’s punch stopped him cold and straightened him up.
    Dave froze. His left arm was high and straight out, his right hand shoulder height, the statue of a boxer about to go down. Sonny took his time, a straight right that nailed The Fave shut, a second, unnecessary left hook that just glanced off Dave’s head because he was already on his way out. The referee could have counted to one hundred.
    Robin and I jumped up and down and hugged, which made my body hot and cold. I pulled away, but she didn’t seem to react one way or another.
    The dressing room swarmed with reporters and Vegas types trying to get close to Sonny. The TV crews circled him, the gray worms at the ends of their sound booms hovering over his head.
    â€œMoscondaga—how do you spell that?” one reporter was asking Sonny.
    â€œThat last punch, was