The Gamble (Bareknuckle) by Jones Patrick

Author:Jones, Patrick [Jones, Patrick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Darby Creek Publishing
Published: 2014-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Sean, what’s wrong?” Leung asked.

The noise below them at the Saturday night fight was growing louder, and Sean had told Leung that his ears still rang from their fight a few days ago. Leung suspected something else—that Sean was worried about his dad’s fight.

“Sean, what’s wrong?” he asked again. Sean still didn’t answer. Originally, Sean’s father had been scheduled to fight during the day. But then Oakley told—not asked, but told—Mr. Murphy that he’d fight at night. He wouldn’t be battling fellow Irishman Michael O’Reilly as planned. Instead, he’d box against Douglas Truman.

Leung started to speak again, but Sean waved his hand. He heard Oakley giving introductions. As before, there were few cheers when Oakley introduced Mr. Murphy—and more hisses than in a snake pit. Truman decided to introduce himself.

“I stand here before you the undefeated and uncrowned king of bareknuckle boxing in New York City. I’ve already defeated the papist O’Reilly, and in a few moments, I’ll defeat another. When will a real American stand up and try to defeat me? Only then can I declare myself to be a true champion of this fine city, now infested with this foreign vermin.”

The crowd cheered their approval and clapped in anticipation of the battle. Leung noticed some object with beads wrapped tight around Sean’s hand. Sean spoke a few words under his breath and then kissed the beads as Mayflower yelled for the fight to start.

Both men assumed a fighting stance, yet for a good minute, they didn’t touch each other. The crowd booed until Truman scored a hard jab to Mr. Murphy’s jaw. Sean’s dad fought off the blow, but he couldn’t counter. Murphy’s strikes were hard and fast but not accurate. An attempt at a hook left him off balance, and Truman took control with a blow from the right. A centered fighter could’ve blocked the punch easily, but Mr. Murphy stood no chance.

Round after round after round, the results were the same. Truman used his size and strength to absorb the punches Mr. Murphy got through, and he fought back with looping blows. Most of them didn’t land, but the few that connected knocked Sean’s father down and ended the round.

“Stay down,” Leung heard Sean whisper. “Stay down, Dad, stay down.”

Mr. Murphy couldn’t hear Sean, and even if he could’ve, Leung guessed he wouldn’t have listened. By the tenth round, Truman appeared to be tiring. Blood dribbled from the face of Mr. Murphy, but his breathing was steady. He’d weathered the storm.

Sean’s father danced around the fighters’ circle, making Truman chase him. The crowd booed, but it was the perfect strategy. Mr. Murphy used his brain and his brawn. Maybe he would tire the bigger man out, take all the energy out of his body, and then, when the time was right, strike.

Truman finally landed a jab, but instead of following up with another blow, he tied up Mr. Murphy’s arms, not allowing him to punch. The two men looked more like dancers than fighters, and the crowd began to boo.

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