Read Online The Red Storm by Grant Bywaters - Free Book Online Page B

jovial man, he was easy to like. We often sparred with each other before our fights and even went out on the town a few times. It was only a matter of time before a promoter got the idea of having us square off with the promise the winner would be in line to fight the champ.
    Fighting guys you knew was common. It didn’t matter if you liked a guy or not when the bell rung. That night, I showed Hank no mercy. He took a beating. I knocked him down six times in the early rounds but the referee refused to stop the fight.
    By the start of the championship rounds Hank had taken a beating. Looking to end it, I staggered him with a hard jab. He managed to slip my right but I followed it up with a left. I knew before the punch hit that it would end the fight. It hit so hard it caused several women to scream as Hank fell straight back, arms and legs akimbo.
    The referee did not even bother to count him out. He simply raised my hand up and the bloodthirsty crowd roared. They had gotten their money’s worth.
    It was not until I had removed my gloves that I saw Hank still lying in the middle of the ring, his handlers and a doctor huddled over him. They tried to revive him, to no avail, and so he was carried off on a canvas stretcher. I found out the next day that he was pronounced dead not long after he got to the hospital, from brain hemorrhaging.
    The dream had me repeating the fight over and over as if it was preparing me for one day having to face him again.
    *   *   *
    I awoke early in the morning to the sight of the coffee table flipped over and the glass top split in roughly two halves.
    Zella stood perched over me with an amused look on her face. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
    I erected myself, rubbed my eyes with my fists, and said, “I’m sorry about that. I’ll pay for the damages.”
    â€œIt’s all jake. I never liked the table. Aunt Betty is the one that wanted it.”
    â€œI’m glad I could help you get rid of it, then,” I said.
    â€œYou know, you really scared me last night. I woke up hearing this crash, and when I came in, you were tossing and turning on the couch saying stuff that wouldn’t be very ladylike to repeat. I was going to try to wake you up, but was afraid you’d clock me.”
    â€œI suppose I woke your lovely aunt up as well,” I said.
    â€œNo. She takes pills. This entire house could come down around her and it wouldn’t wake her. You want coffee?”
    â€œPlease.”
    I cleared the mess I had made, putting the smashed table out back. When I came back, Zella had coffee prepared at the dining room table.
    â€œWe can go to the bank and collect that fee you need, and then you can drop me off at the club after we’re done. I’m meeting with the boys to go over our material for tonight.”
    â€œThat will work. I need to get back to my flat for a bit.”
    â€œWhat did you dream about?” she asked.
    I shrugged. “Most of the time I can’t remember.”
    â€œYou have a lot of anger issues, don’t you?”
    â€œI’ve been told that.”
    â€œI do, too. I just don’t try to suppress them. Maybe that’s why I sleep like a princess.”
    â€œNot all princesses sleep well.”
    *   *   *
    The phone was ringing when I got to my flat. It was Brawley.
    â€œGet over to City Hall. Emerson wants to see you. You might want to bring that hotshot mouthpiece of yours, too.”
    Brawley was referring to Jim Prescott, who was representing me. My previous lawyer and good friend, Jean Fisher, had been murdered less than a year ago, shot coming out of court with a not-guilty verdict for a colored man accused of rape. When the American Bar Association would not allow Fisher, and any other colored, for that matter, to be a member, he joined the National Bar Association in the late twenties. It was Fisher that retained me to do legal assistant