Don't Skip Out on Me Page 8

  ‘Nothing like that. We just wanted to wish you luck.’ Mr Reese pulled off the phone. ‘I think we woke him,’ he said to his wife. He cleared his throat and said into the receiver, ‘We’re sorry to call so early. We just remember that even when you had a day off you got up at five, so that’s what we decided to do. Try you at five. Are you sure you’re okay to talk?’

  Horace stood up. He went to a small end table near the room’s main window and turned on a lamp. ‘It’s a good time to talk, Mr Reese. But if it’s five here that means it’s four where you are.’

  ‘Mrs Reese and I have a hard time sleeping, you know that. We were up already talking about you, excited about your fight today. We couldn’t wait to hear how things are going in Tucson. Are you getting settled alright?’

  ‘I think so,’ Horace said. ‘I got a job, anyway.’

  ‘You got a job already?’ Mr Reese again pulled off the phone. ‘He got a job … Well, I knew you’d get hired fast. You’re a hard worker. Everyone knows that. They’ll be lucky to have you. What kind of work are you doing?’

  ‘I’m working for a tire shop.’

  ‘Like Tonopah Tire?’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s all used tires. It’s not the best job, but it’ll be okay for a while.’

  ‘And the boss is okay?’

  ‘He seems good enough. He doesn’t talk much so I don’t know. I’ll switch jobs later on, but it’s a start. How are things at the ranch?’

  ‘They’re going fine,’ the old man said.

  ‘How is Lenny working out? Does he get to Pedro alright?’

  ‘Lenny didn’t take the job.’

  ‘He didn’t?’

  ‘No. His mother called and said he was suddenly unavailable for the rest of the summer. After all that time of him promising he could. I’m not sure what happened. It seems harder with kids now. They just don’t seem like they want to do this type of work.’

  ‘What did you do about Pedro?’

  ‘I went myself.’

  ‘With a broken back?’ Horace said and began pacing the room.

  Mr Reese laughed. ‘My back’s not broken – I just have muscle spasms. Anyway, don’t worry about us. I didn’t mean to burden you. That’s not the reason we called.’

  ‘You’d never burden me, Mr Reese,’ said Horace. He sat down at the old woman’s kitchen table and picked up a ceramic fawn and looked at it. ‘You learn things when you live in the city. You learn that you’re on your own even when you’re surrounded by people. I guess I never realized that in Las Vegas.’

  ‘You were just a boy when you lived in Las Vegas. Things are different when you’re grown up and out on your own in a city. And how do you like Tucson?’

  ‘It’s hot here. I didn’t think it would be so hot.’

  ‘That’s true,’ the old man said. ‘It is hotter down there than it is here.’

  ‘And I haven’t gotten used to how many people there are. There’s people everywhere.’

  ‘That’s a hard thing to get used to when you’ve lived on a ranch for as long as you have.’

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Where does all the toilet water in a city go? Does everyone have septic tanks? I got to thinking about it when I was walking down a street and there was a long traffic jam. Behind that street was another street that also had a traffic jam. And behind all that was a freeway overpass with more cars than you could count. There’s just so many people. It got me thinking about how everyone takes showers and uses the toilet and does laundry. I don’t mean to sound like an idiot, but where does it all go?’

  Mr Reese again cleared his throat. ‘Every house, store and building, all their plumbing is connected. They all have pipes leading to bigger pipes and they send all that stuff somewhere out of town and treat it. They try and clean the water the best they can and then the water goes on its way back where it should go, and the remaining stuff, the sludge, is dumped somewhere.’

  Horace set down the ceramic fawn and picked up a brown ceramic burro. ‘Where does all the water come from? There’s no river or lake anywhere near here.’

  ‘Water’s a big problem in that part of the world. It’s a problem for us too, as you know, but more so for a place like Tucson, with its large population. They pipe some in and then of course they drill for some. They have huge aquifers in that area. They pump a lot of water out of the earth.’

  ‘You must think I’m pretty stupid,’ said Horace.

  ‘No, I don’t think that at all,’ Mr Reese said. ‘You’re just living in a city now, and people think about those sorts of things when they live in a city. You have to remember, you were just a boy when you left Las Vegas. And you haven’t been to any other city, have you?’

  ‘No, Mr Reese. Just Las Vegas and now Tucson.’

  ‘These are big changes, big adjustments. So it makes sense you have questions. How’s everything else? How’s your aunt? How’s her place?’ Horace sighed and set down the burro and picked up a ceramic cactus. ‘She’s okay, I guess,’ he said. ‘But every time I talk to her I can tell she doesn’t want to talk to me. And the house is kind of weird. It has nothing but old-lady things in it. When I get enough money, I’ll get my own place. It’ll take a while, but before too long I won’t have to stay here.’

  ‘Well, you thought she might be tough,’ Mr Reese said. ‘Your mom and her never got along, so it makes sense she might be stand-offish. But once she gets to know you, she’ll like you.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Did you meet the trainer who you were talking with on the phone?’

  ‘I did. His name’s Alberto Ruiz and I found him alright. He has his own gym. I think he really was a professional boxer like he said. We’ve been working together eight days in a row. It’s more expensive than I thought, but I’m realizing everything is more expensive in a city.’

  ‘That’s true. Things do cost more in the city. Have you gotten to see any of your music events?’

  Horace laughed. ‘You mean concerts?’

  ‘Yes, concerts.’

  ‘I gave up all that. I don’t listen to that sorta music anymore.’ Horace could hear Mrs Reese talking in the background.

  Mr Reese paused and then came back to the phone. ‘Louise says I’m leaving out the important questions. Are you eating properly?’

  ‘Tell her I’m trying to, but I’ll never eat as good as the food she makes.’

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ Mr Reese said. ‘Well, Horace, I’ll let you go. We love and miss you and think about you every day. We wish you the best of luck in Mesa. We know you’re going to do great. You’re the hardest-working person we’ve both ever met. Just remember your defensive skills. Tell your coach about defence. Have him help you with that, and your breathing.’

  ‘I will, Mr Reese. I’ll make sure to tell him.’

  Horace hung up the phone, and the uncertainty of the night before, the loneliness, waned and he began to focus on the day ahead of him. He ate four fried eggs, showered and then walked two miles to Alberto Ruiz’s house. In the cool of dawn, he sat at the edge of the carport and waited an hour until the lights in Ruiz’s tract house came on. Two cars arrived separately after that. A nine-year-old boy named Owen was dropped off by a haggard-looking man in a mid-80s dented work van. The second boy, Johnny, came in a rusted-out white Nissan with Minnesota plates. The woman driving yelled at him for a long time before he got out of the car.

  The three of them, Ruiz and his two young sons piled into a twenty-year-old minivan and began the two-hour drive north to Mesa. Ruiz smelled of stale beer and would fall into jags of coughing that ended with him rolling down the window and spitting. Horace sat in the passenger seat, while Ruiz’s two sons and Owen and Johnny sat in the back.

  They were just outside the city limits when the boys began arguing over a handheld video game. Ruiz yelled at them to keep quiet and they would for a time, but then slowly, after five or ten minutes, they would start up again. Ruiz’s a
gitation grew the longer he drove and finally he pulled off the highway and stopped.

  ‘I’m tired of this pansy shit,’ he yelled. His face was pale and sick and sweaty. ‘It’s fight day, for fuck’s sake. You know how important fight day is? Fight day is when you save every ounce of yourself and all the months of hard work and you give it back to the ring. You don’t give it to the goddamn car ride. What you don’t understand is all this, everything we do, is about discipline. It’s about thinking through every punch, every move you’re gonna make in that goddamn ring. It’s about visualizing how you’re going to demand respect. How you’re going to win the match. Not this bullshit – not fighting over a son-of-a-bitch video game.’

  He got out of the van and slammed the door. He walked into the desert, and behind a cactus Horace saw him bend over and vomit and then stand up and then bend over again and vomit more.

  Ruiz waited for a long time before he came back to the van. ‘We’re stopping in Eloy for breakfast at McDonald’s,’ he announced calmly. ‘But for that to happen, you have to be silent until we get there. I mean not a word. Barely a goddamn breath.’ He started the van and pulled out onto the interstate, but again he began coughing and that caused him to gag, and when he did he farted so loudly that all the boys laughed.

  *

  The Arizona Event Center in Mesa, once a country and western dance hall, sat in a now-forgotten strip mall. To the left of it were two spaces for lease and to the right a western clothing store called Botas Juarez. Next to the clothing store was a beauty college and then more vacant spaces. The Event Center sign was blank, with no listings, and there were very few cars parked in front of it. Ruiz left the engine running and told Horace to get out and make sure they were at the right venue. He jogged across the parking lot to the front door to see a very small blurry photocopied flyer for the championships. The door was open so he went inside, saw the ring and a handful of people already there, and ran back outside and waved.

  Two middle-aged women were setting out folding chairs as Ruiz and the boys entered. The women wore heavy make-up and jewellery, and jeans with crosses picked out in fake diamonds on the back pockets. They knew Ruiz and said hello to him, and he flirted with the bigger of the two before gathering the boys in a corner of the hall.

  ‘Get your asses around me,’ he said. ‘I know I got us here early and we have some time to kill. But in my experience, it’s best to know the lay of the land before anyone else. It’s best to be comfortable with a place, know your environment, so you don’t think about it anymore. Get this place to feel like your living room. We do that so when the time comes you just think about what’s happening in the ring, not outside of the ring. Remember, boxing is the whole reason you’re here. Everything important today happens inside that ring. I want you all to walk around on your own. I want you to feel this place, check out the can, check out every corner. But if you leave this building, if you step one foot outside without my permission, I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and your parents will be happy that I did. And if you get into any trouble today, any trouble at all, I’ll call the cops. I’m not joking, I will. And believe me, those sons of bitches will be happy to cart you away and put you on a chain gang.’ Sweat dripped down his face and his shirt was wet with it. He began coughing again and the coughing became gagging. He waved the boys off and headed for the toilets.

  *

  The Event Center walls and ceilings were painted black and there were no windows. Horace stood at the edge of the room as people began arriving. White farm boys and city Mexican kids filtered in with their families, who carried gym bags and large coolers with them. Everyone seemed to know each other and the room came alive with talking, kids laughing and coaches setting up in empty corners so their boxers had places to get ready.

  A concession stand opened, as did a bar and a small souvenir booth. Horace found a photocopied programme on a table. The sixty-sixth annual Arizona Golden Gloves championships. Inside were articles on Hall of Fame boxers: Michael Carbajal, Tony ‘El Tigre’ Baltazar, Rollin ‘The Chiller’ Williams, Jesus Ernesto ‘El Martillo’ Gonzales, Alfonso Olvera and Jerry ‘Schoolboy’ Cheatham. Attached to the programme was a yellow flyer and on it a list of the day’s fights. Horace saw his name on bout two.

  Horace Hopper vs. Purcell Jenny

  There were to be two separate fights at lightweight. The winners of each preliminary would meet later on in the day for the Arizona state championship in bout seventeen.

  He found Ruiz at the concession stand eating a hot dog and drinking a large Coke. ‘I’m listed as Horace Hopper,’ he said, his voice faltering in embarrassment.

  ‘What?’ Ruiz asked with a mouth full of hot dog.

  Horace couldn’t look at him. He just stared at the floor and said, ‘Horace Hopper is the name I was given later on, it’s what’s on my ID, but my real name is Hector Hidalgo. That’s the name my dad has – that’s the name he gave me before he got murdered.’

  Ruiz quit chewing and looked at Horace. ‘Your dad got murdered?’

  Horace nodded slowly. ‘He got murdered in front of me when I was twelve. In the driveway of our house. He stood up against a drug cartel and they killed him for it. After that, my mother was so worried she changed our name to Hopper. She made up the name Horace Hopper.’

  Ruiz looked at him, confused, and shook his head. His right eye was red and bloodshot while his left was normal. Even in the air-conditioned room he continued to sweat. He nodded and waved the boy off.

  Horace walked around the gym, his heart racing, and then went outside to the parking lot. He shook his head as he walked. Why did he have to lie? Why did he always have to lie when he became scared or embarrassed? Was he ever going to change? When was he going to finally start acting like a man? A man with character. A man who would run into the middle of a car fire and save a baby and a dog. His hair would be burning, his hands would be bubbling, but he wouldn’t care. He’d save the baby and the dog, he’d get them to safety.

  Palm trees that went four storeys high lined the main entrance of the strip mall. How did they get water? Did those sorts of trees need water? Are palm trees even made of wood? He should know these things, shouldn’t he?

  He looked across the parking lot to a McDonald’s and then a Pep Boys auto parts store. He walked along the strip mall building, past the beauty college and then across the parking lot to the main avenue. He looked up and down at strip malls and businesses lining the road for as far as he could see. Endless miles of cars passed. Every single person inside every single car had a TV, a phone, a bed, and ate chicken and got the runs. How many chickens got killed every day?

  He turned away from the sprawl and went back toward the Event Center. He came to Botas Juarez western wear and went inside. Up and down aisles he walked until he saw a pair of Mexican cowboy boots his size. They were dark brown, and carved into the leather were two white skeletons surrounded by roses. The man skeleton wore a cowboy hat and the woman skeleton wore a red dress with white polka dots, and they were dancing arm in arm. The boots were on sale for $200. Horace tried them on and he liked the way they fit. He walked around the store in his black sweats and stopped in front of a large mirror and shadow-boxed while staring at the boots.

  Outside, Ruiz saw him through the window glass and came into the store, red-faced and fuming. ‘Jesus Christ, Hector, what in the fuck are you doing? Your fight’s in twenty minutes. And do you know who you’re fighting? You’re fighting Purcell Jenny. He is the best boxer in the state. Maybe in the country. How many goddamn times did I tell you not to leave? How many?’ There was ketchup and mustard on Ruiz’s shirt and the two clerks behind the counter stared at him as he yelled. ‘Already I caught Johnny eating a candy bar and drinking from a litre jug of Coke while he walked down Country Club Drive like it was the most normal thing in the world to do. He was a half-mile from here when I found him. He could have been kidnapped and killed. He could have been run over.’

  Horace tried to apologize a
nd took off the boots, returned them to the shelf and followed Ruiz out of the store and back to the Event Center. The main room was now a third full. More kids and families had arrived, and finally also spectators. Horace went to the bathroom and changed into his black boxing shorts. In Ruiz’s corner of the room he put on his boxing shoes and a black tank top that read Eleventh Street Gym in gold letters and began to jump rope. Ruiz then wrapped his hands and pulled him close.

  ‘Now listen,’ he whispered. ‘Jenny won state last year, was second in nationals. They say he could make the Olympic team. So my advice is try to land one that wrecks him. He’ll win on points but you could stop him. You have the power to do it – you just have to get in there to take the shot. Okay?’

  Horace nodded but he was too anxious and excited to listen. He entered the ring at exactly twelve thirty, in headgear and boxing gloves and with his mouth guard in. He was so pent up he had trouble catching his breath. Ruiz stood on the outside of the ring telling him to calm down, telling him not to jump around like a monkey, but Horace couldn’t stop himself.

  The announcer, a fat, red-faced bald man in grey sweats, was ringside at a desk. He turned on the mic and said, in a booming voice, ‘Final call for Purcell Jenny. I repeat, final call for Purcell Jenny, the lightweight Arizona and regional 2015 Golden Gloves champion. Final call for Jenny.’ The announcer glanced around the room one last time, waited a minute and then hit the bell with a small hammer. ‘Horace Hopper will advance to the lightweight finals in bout seventeen. For bout three, David Gonzales, Phoenix Boys’ Center, in the red corner and Marcos Villar from Fuentes Boxing Club in the blue corner. Please bring both boys to the ring. Again, David Gonzales and Marcos Villar to the ring for bout three.’

  The referee took the gloves and headgear from Horace and the boy climbed down from the ring.

  ‘You have two hours at the most. Maybe three,’ Ruiz said as they walked back to their section of the hall. ‘Don’t eat too much, but get something now if you’re hungry. And, whatever you do, and I’m serious, don’t leave the fucking building again.’