High Crimes by Dan Ames

Author:Dan Ames [Ames, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Slogan Books LLC

Chapter

Ten

My old stomping grounds. Really, my first stomping grounds.

From Detroit’s police headquarters, I made my way to an old, forgotten building along the Detroit River. Not on the water, mind you, but two blocks off.

I parked the Maverick almost a block away, noting that most of the parking spaces right in front of the old place were taken.

Good for him, I thought.

There was no sign. There never had been.

I heaved open the heavy metal door and stepped into the place where I’d been raised. It was a boxing gym, dominated by a ring in the center, and around the outskirts, heavy bags and speed bags and jump ropes and weights along with some treadmills and exercise bikes.

There was a pretty intense sparring match going on, which I watched for a few minutes.

The walls were adorned with vintage boxing posters, and the ring in the center of the room had seen countless rounds of practice. The air was thick with the smell of leather and sweat, mixed with a faint hint of liniment oil.

I spotted Earl "Pops" Walker near the back of the gym. Pops was an ancient black man with a commanding presence despite his frail physique. He was peering intently at the ring.

A few other men were around him, waiting for his thoughts.

“He’s telegraphing his right,” Pops growled. His voice sounded like an old soup can being dragged across a rusty washboard. His face, etched with deep lines, was set in a look of concentration.

Without looking over at me he said, “I should put August in there just for fun.”

I glanced over at the ring. Not a bad idea, I thought.

Again, without even looking at me or the men around him he said, “I adopted that big brute from an orphanage. I went in and said give me the biggest, meanest, ugliest baby you got.” Now he looked at me. “And here he is.”

The other men chuckled, they’d heard the story and joke many times. I had too, but it always made me laugh. Mostly because I know it was one hundred percent true.

We waited for the fight to end and Pops told the men what they needed to work on with their fighter. Afterward, he looked at me.

“Let’s go to my office.”

Pops struggled to his feet and I was tempted to reach out to help him but I knew he hated that and would bark at me. So I waited, tense, ready to catch him if he fell.

But he didn’t.

Slowly, we made our way to his office. There was a big old oak desk, an ancient swivel chair, and the walls were covered with fight posters. It always brought back so many memories. Just down from the office were living quarters, where Pops lived. I had my own room when I was growing up. Pops had his, and he shared it with an ever-evolving group of ladies. They all liked me and were nice to me.

He dropped into his chair.

“Where’s Sheila?” I asked. In need of a part-time caregiver, I hired a retired nurse I knew and had her keep an eye on the old man for me.

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