See Me (32 page)

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.

Or, on the other hand, the dog could have died a natural, if unexplained, death.

He wondered whether the same terrible thoughts had occurred to Maria; if so, she would also suspect that the stalking had escalated to a new level, and he wondered whether she would call him. If not as her lover, then as a friend who’d promised to be there for her.

Colin checked his phone.

She hadn’t called.

 

 

Colin spent Saturday morning trying to get ahead in his reading, though by noon, he wasn’t sure why he’d even bothered. Nerves kept him from recalling anything of substance. He wasn’t hungry, either; it had been all he could do to force down a couple of protein smoothies.

The feeling of nerves was new to him. He reminded himself that he didn’t care about winning, but at the same time, he also admitted he was lying to himself. If he didn’t care how he did in the ring, why watch everything he ate or drank? Why train two or three times a day? And would he have agreed to spend all week preparing for Johnny Reese?

Fact was, he hadn’t yet walked into the cage thinking he’d lose a fight. Amateurs were
amateurs
. But Reese was different. Reese could give him a beat-down if Colin made a single wrong move; Reese was just plain better.

Unless my strategy pays off
…
 

He felt a sudden, unexpected surge of adrenaline. Not good. Too early. He’d be wasted before the fight even started, and he had to get his mind off it. Best way to do that was to go for a run to clear his mind, even if his coaches would want him to conserve his energy.

Too bad. He ran anyway. It was only partly successful.

 

 

Hours later, Colin sat alone in the makeshift dressing room. He’d been weighed, as had his gloves. Daly made sure that the amount of athletic tape on his hands met regulations. Colin opted to wear a cup, and his shoes were inspected by officials. Tons of rules, even at the amateur level. There were only ten minutes before his fight began, and he’d asked Daly and Moore to leave him, even though he knew they wanted to stay.

Their attitude pissed him off. In the minutes leading up to any fight, pretty much everything and everyone pissed him off, which was just what he wanted. He thought about knee and rib strikes; he thought about keeping Reese rattled and owning the third round. Already the adrenaline was making every muscle taut, his senses heightened. Beyond the walls, he heard the roar of the crowd, then heard as it became even louder. No doubt a fighter was exerting his will over another, the match clearly coming to an end, an opponent getting pummeled…

Colin drew a long breath.

Showtime.

 

 

The next thing he knew, he was face-to-face with Reese at the center of the cage, each of them sizing the other up while the referee went over the rules: no biting, no kicks to the nuts, et cetera. As they stared at each other the world began to shrink, sounds diminishing, and then the fighters were released to their corners. Daly and Moore shouted encouragement, but Colin only vaguely registered their voices. The bell sounded, and he stepped forward.

Colin landed a kick to Reese’s knee within the first twenty seconds, then another two quickly after that. All three shots seemed to catch Reese off guard, and when Colin hit the knee a fourth time, he saw Reese’s first flash of anger. A fifth kick to the knee came next, and Reese began keeping his distance, already having deciphered part of Colin’s plan. They traded blows for the next couple of minutes, with Colin landing three quality shots to the ribs and one more hard kick to the knee. Reese’s boxing skills were about what Colin had expected, but his punches were harder, and when Reese landed a shot to Colin’s temple, Colin saw stars and ended up on his back. Reese was clearly in control, but Colin was able to hold his own defensively until the bell sounded. Both fighters were breathing hard.

According to Daly, the round could go either way, though he thought Colin had the advantage.

The second round followed roughly the same pattern: Colin landed three more kicks to the knee, with Reese noticeably wincing after the final shot; Colin hammered on Reese’s ribs whenever the opportunity presented itself. Two-thirds of the way through, they were on the ground again, with Reese landing a couple of strong blows while Colin did everything he could to defend himself. In the final twenty seconds, Reese’s elbow connected with the bridge of Colin’s nose and opened up a gash. Blood seeped into his eye, he lost concentration, and Reese took advantage, twisting his leg until Colin nearly had to tap. Colin knew as he returned to his corner that while he hadn’t been completely dominated, he’d lost the round.

He also noticed that Reese was limping badly as he made his way back to his corner.

Colin attacked the knee again to open the third round, then jabbed and feinted a couple of rushes, returning to the knee repeatedly. On the final kick, Reese winced hard and instinctively bent over; Colin moved in and went hard to the ribs. Out of position, Reese tried to lock up Colin, but Colin brought up his knee, felt it connect with Reese’s forehead, and for the first time in the match had Reese on his back and seriously in trouble.

Colin went as hard as he could, striking with his fists and elbows. Reese hadn’t been in this position very often, and Colin could sense him begin to panic. Colin continued to strike, landing more blows with as much force as possible. Reese took a hard shot to the jaw and his body went slack; Colin landed three more shots that left Reese stunned. Colin pressed his advantage, and as the round ticked toward its close, Reese made a tactical mistake. Colin was nearly able to end the fight with an arm bar, only to have Reese somehow wiggle free. Precious seconds ticked by before Colin maneuvered Reese into position for another arm bar. Just as Colin began to apply pressure, the bell sounded, the referee jumped in, and the fight was over.

Colin reluctantly rose, only to see Daly and Moore pumping their fists; in their minds, it was clear who’d won the fight. Reese’s, too; as he rose, he avoided Colin’s eyes.

The judges, however, didn’t score it that way. When Reese’s arm was raised in victory by a plainly skeptical referee, Colin knew that he’d just been handed his first defeat. Colin shook Reese’s hand and Daly and Moore charged into the ring. The crowd began to boo and catcall.

Colin tuned it all out; he was spent. He left the cage and headed toward the locker room alone, only mildly disappointed and not terribly surprised.

 

 

“If it’s any consolation, you don’t look nearly as bad as you did after your last fight,” Evan noted. As was becoming a custom after Colin’s fights, they were at a sketchy roadside diner, Evan watching Colin eat. “Just that little cut on the bridge of your nose, but other than that, you’re good. Which is definitely an improvement. Last time, you could have passed for Rocky after the fight with Apollo Creed. And that guy sucked.”

“He head-butted me.”

“He might have cheated in the fight, but unlike tonight, the decision in that one was fair. You know you kicked his ass, right? It wasn’t even close. The crowd knew it, and so did the referee. Did you see his face when they announced Reese?”

“No.”

“He couldn’t believe it. Even Reese’s coach was shocked.”

Colin used his fork to slice into his pancakes and stabbed a mouthful. “Okay.”

“If it had gone on another twenty seconds, Reese would have tapped out. Maybe ten. There was no way he was stopping that last arm bar because he was toast by then. The guy could barely do anything at that point.”

“I know.”

“Then why aren’t you more upset? Your coaches are pissed as hell. You should be pissed, too.”