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ISBN:
978-1-931982-58-0
trade paper $15.95
ISBN:
978-1-931982-57-3
library binding $20
EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK:
Backstage, Watson smeared my face with petroleum jelly that we’d borrowed from
another fighter. Our jar of Vaseline and our corner’s bucket were missing. Where
the fuck were they? It was karma for what Jenna, the other pro female from the
Academy, did last week; sly, she walked out of Boomtown Casino with a pair of
eight-ounce gloves used in one of the bouts. They weren’t even good for
sparring, so Jenna gave them to one of the newcomers to work the heavy bags.
Jenna’s habit of stealing useless crap filled our gym with odd-sized gloves,
cracked mirrors, and a scale that was off by two pounds.
Watson had sent Darnel, one of the gym rats, to find our stuff or to borrow what
we were missing, Vaseline, gauze, tape, ice; I’d packed my own mouthpiece.
“How did Jenna make out?”
I didn’t want to ask because I sensed that she’d lost, but I needed to break the
silence. Jenna had fought early on the card, and I had been too nervous to poke
my head into the crowd at the Pontchartrain Center to watch her. I was making my
pro debut at a memorial event fund-raiser, held for two New Orleans police
officers who had died in a freak New Year’s Eve explosion.
“She had a good fight,”
Watson said. His thick moustache perched above his upper lip, like a small
animal. I had the sense the thing could sprout little legs and run off on its
own. Watson spoke evenly, the essence of calm.
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“She lost a split decision.”
“She got robbed,” Darnel put
in.
“A split decision to Sue
Eckelston? Sue’s oh and fourteen,” I said.
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