The usual disclaimers apply. Continuation of The Big One universe. Lenny’s strange behavior has everyone worried.

“I would appreciate an explanation, madam,” said Squiggy. He gave baby Joey another bounce on his knee and the baby giggled. But Squiggy’s expression remained dead serious.

“For what?” Laverne smiled at her son’s happy little round face. He loved him some Uncle Squiggy. Thank God, because her previous best free babysitter – Shirley – was too busy with her own brand-new bundle of joy to watch Joey. Laverne never believed she’d think it, but after watching Squiggy bond with her son over the past few months, he made a pretty decent substitute.

“For what? For why your husband, my best buddy, Mr. Leonard Kosnowski, has become a,” he paused dramatically, “zombie!”

Laverne closed her eyes, shook her head, and looked at him. “A what now?”

“A zombie.” Baby Joey gurgled. Squiggy picked him up and looked into the baby’s wide, blue-green eyes. “Yes, that’s right. Daddy is become a big ol’ zombie. Ain’t he? Ain’t he?”

“Stop that, you’ll give him nightmares.” She plucked her son from Squiggy’s hands. Joey mewled in protest, but upon realizing Mommy had him, he grinned at her with a mischievous smile that looked just like his father’s, only with 28 fewer teeth. She kissed Joey’s cheek and he snuggled against her neck.

Squiggy stood up and started to pace. “Yeah, well, your hubby’s behavior is what’s givin’ me nightmares, my dear. He’s walking around like someone else wound him up and let him loose.” He held his arms straight out in front of him and walked, stiff-legged, around the sofa.

Laverne sighed. “Is he a zombie or a robot? Make up your mind, Squig.”

Squiggy dropped his arms to his sides and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” he said, exasperated, “that’s how come I’m askin’ you!”

Laverne opened her mouth, but hesitated. She wanted to say that she had no idea what Squiggy was on about, that he was talking nonsense. Unfortunately, the truth was that she did know what he meant and that, although she didn’t think the supernatural was involved, Squiggy’s description of a zombie Lenny, a Lenny going through the paces of life without actually being fully there, was pretty apt.

She realized Squiggy was watching her. “Ah. So you do know what I mean,” he said.

Laverne patted Joey’s back, absently. “He’s been kind of distracted since…you know. All the stuff that went down with his mom and dad. But, come on, Squig, cut the guy some slack! Can you imagine how traumatic that all was?”

Squiggy shrugged. “I know, but that was, like, half a year ago. If he was acting kind of sad, I’d understand that. But he ain’t. He’s just – acting.”

Laverne bit her lower lip. “He’s going to work. He comes home, he helps me take care of the baby. He’s doing what he always did before.”

“Again, he’s doing.” Squiggy frowned. “But, I don’t know, it’s like his body’s on autopilot.”

“He goes out alone sometimes. More than he used to.” Laverne went on, barely hearing Squiggy. Her thoughts turned inward as she reviewed her husband’s behavior over the past months. “Sometimes he comes back sort of limping or wincing, like his injuries from the accident are acting up. But he just showers alone and comes out with his pj’s on and says he’s fine.”

“That’s weird,” said Squiggy. “Who’s he out with, Carmine? ‘Cause it ain’t been me.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen him without his shirt on since spring,” Laverne drummed her fingertips lightly against her son’s back, “even when we make love.”

Squiggy made a choking sound. Laverne realized what she’d just said and clamped her mouth shut.

“Sorry, force of habit,” said Squiggy. He took the palm of his hand away from his mouth. “Anyhoo, something is obviously, you know. Up.”

Laverne sank down on the couch. Joey looked across at Squiggy and held out his plump little arms. She handed the baby over to Squiggy, who tossed the baby up and caught him until Joey laughed with delight. Squiggy’s expression remained somber.

She broke the silence first. “Maybe I ought to talk to talk to Carmine. If they’re hanging out, he might have some idea as to what’s wrong.”

She hated to admit that she might not be her husband’s closest confidant anymore, the one with the keenest insight into his psyche. She’d been so busy with the day-to-day routine of taking care of Joey, going to work, visiting her pop at the convalescent home, and housework that she’d just let Lenny’s strangeness slide. In a way, she’d been satisfied with his performance; willing to ignore her subconscious concern that, underneath the surface, something was…missing. The realization brought a surge of guilt for having chosen the ease of acceptance over confronting Lenny and possibly helping him.  

“Okey-dokey,” said Squiggy. He handed Joey back to her. “Look, I gotta get home and tidy up before Rhonda comes over. I left undies on my floor and she just hates that.” He leaned over, kissed Joey on the top of the head, and headed for the door. “You women-folk got the strangest phobias.”

“Yeah, we’re funny like that.” She made Joey wave. “Say goodbye to Uncle Squiggy. Bye, Uncle Squiggy!”

Squiggy’s face broke into a grin that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He waved vigorously. “Bye, Joey. Buh-bye. Buh-bye.” He straightened and nodded to Laverne, his smile fading. “Good luck with stuff, Laverne.”

She stared at the door after it shut behind him. “Thanks,” she said. “I think I’m gonna need it.”

***

Carmine opened the door with his foot. It was a good thing that years of dancing had honed his sense of balance, because he found himself doing a lot of things lately while balanced on one foot. He rarely had even one hand free anymore.

“Hiya, Laverne, Mr. Joey. Come on in.” He stepped back from the door and let his wife’s best friend and her baby in, then kicked the door shut with his big toe.

“Hey, Carmine.” Laverne slipped into her baby-talk voice. “Hel-lo, Miss Carly. Hello, there, Carly Marie.”

Carmine grinned and held the swaddled infant in his arms up for Laverne to see more clearly. “Say hi to Auntie Vernie,” he said to his tiny, pink-faced daughter. The baby opened her eyes briefly and made a tiny raspberry. He and Laverne laughed as though she’d sung an aria. Somehow, every sound that would have been considered silly or disgusting from an adult became unbearably adorable when uttered by a tiny human being.

“Where are Shirley and Lucy?” Laverne looked around the apartment.

“Shirl’s picking her up from school. She needed a little break after the wee one here pooped through her diaper and needed her second bath of the day.”

Yeah, that had been disgusting, period. Even coming out of a tiny human being, poop was poop – nothing adorable about it. “You want me to tell Shirl to swing by your place when she gets back?”

“No, that’s okay.” Laverne shifted her son to one arm and rested him against her hip. “Actually, I came to talk to you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You got a minute, or were you in the middle of something?” Her expression shifted to one of doubt. “Of course you’re in the middle of stuff, you’ve got a two-month-old – sorry, I shoulda thought.” She turned as if to leave.

Carmine sensed that her hesitation was less concern for his busy schedule and more about a reluctance to talk about whatever was on her mind. “Laverne, no, I’m good. I was just going to put Carly down for her nap. Give me a sec, I’ll be right out.”

“You sure?” She still looked as though she hoped he’d say no, which meant it had to be really important.

“I’m sure. Be right back.”

Carmine took the baby upstairs and over to the tiny bassinet at the foot of the bed. He laid his newest daughter inside and she wriggled in brief protest, her little features screwing up for a good bawl. He kept his hand on her after he put her down, rubbed her lightly, and sang quietly:

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love

With

You”

After a couple of verses, Carly was sound asleep. Screw lullabies, his kid loved the King.

Carmine stood and stared at his little miracle until he thought his heart would explode with love for her. Then he reluctantly left the room and went back downstairs.

Laverne looked up at him as he came downstairs. “Look at you. I’ve never seen you happier, Carmine.”

He smiled. “Look at us, Laverne. We’re parents.”

“Proving once again that they’ll let anyone reproduce.” Joey let out a belch that would have done a sailor proud. He giggled at his own cleverness.

Carmine laughed. “Wow, chip off the ol’ block, ain’t he?”

“You mean me or Lenny.” Her smile suddenly looked as though it pained her.

Ah, so it’s Lenny that’s brought her here. He wasn’t surprised. “What’s up, Laverne?” He sat down in his chair and shifted until he could face her on the sofa. “Is Len okay?”

“Ah.” She stroked the blond wisps on Joey’s head. “So you’ve noticed it, too.”

He shrugged. “I’ve only seen Lenny a handful of times since…you know.” His left shoulder suddenly twinged, something it usually only did when bad weather was coming. He rubbed it lightly.

Laverne watched him, her green eyes filled with concern. “You guys ain’t been getting together then. Hangin’ out at the bar or bowling or nothing?”

Carmine frowned. How did she not know this? “Laverne, Lenny’s barely said two words to me since Carly was born. He practically jumps out the window to avoid me if I come into the same room.”

He sounded bitter. It really bugged him that Lenny wouldn’t just talk to him. The last real conversation they’d had was when Lenny had profusely apologized for shooting him in Zion, and that was six months ago. Since then, it was like they were barely acquaintances. It wasn’t really fair; he was the wounded party, literally, and he’d been willing to forgive and forget, given the insane circumstances. So why was Lenny acting like he had wronged Lenny in some way?

“Oh.” Laverne’s shoulders slumped. “I was hoping…”

“What? Is there something wrong with him?” asked Carmine.

“I think so. He’s been so distant, Carmine. I mean, he’s there, but not really there, you know? Oh, how could you know…I don’t even understand what I’m saying.” She rested her head against the back of the sofa, worry lines etched along the sides of her mouth.

Carmine considered what she’d said. “Why’d you think we were going out somewhere together? Lenny’s been going out a lot?”

She nodded. “Not so much at first. Once every other week, then every week, and now it’s every couple of nights. He comes home from work, plays with Joey, has dinner, and then disappears for a few hours. Comes home late, doesn’t tell me where he’s been, just says, ‘hanging out.’ I haven’t pushed him…maybe I should.”

She looked at him with desperation. “Or should I? I mean, I thought maybe he just needed to blow off steam, that it’d help him come to terms with what happened to his dad. And maybe it is. If I push him, he could get mad. But if I don’t and something’s really wrong….”

Carmine held up a hand and she fell silent. “Laverne, you’re his wife. Lenny worships you. Even if he got a little annoyed – he’d know you were just worried. And you’ve got a right to know what he’s been up to.” In truth, he was a little curious himself. “So you’re sure he hasn’t been hanging out with Squig.”

“My first thought,” she said, “but, no.”

“And I haven’t seen him around the Pizza Bowl II or anywhere else on the weekend.” Carmine pressed his lips together. “What else could he be up to if bowling and beer ain’t involved?”

“Another woman?”

Carmine’s mouth fell open. He blinked. “Laverne…no. No! No way.” He hoped he sounded as sure as he meant to.

Laverne shrugged. “It would explain things.” She didn’t sound like she believed her own words.

Carmine thought about it. He knew that Stanley Kosnowski’s death had hit Lenny hard. Even getting his long-lost mother back couldn’t ease that pain entirely. He also knew that Lenny felt tremendous guilt for shooting him, though it had only technically been Lenny that pulled the trigger. Maybe the combination was just too much for the poor guy and something had snapped.

But even a Lenny who’d lost his marbles couldn’t cheat on Laverne. The guy adored her, loved her to distraction, and Carmine had no doubt about that.

Then again, sex ain’t always about love. Carmine had been around long enough to know that. Sometimes it was just about release, distraction. Still, he found it hard to buy into the notion. “Have you talked to his mother? Maybe he’s been spending time with her.”

Laverne shook her head. “We see Celia every other Sunday. He don’t need to sneak out to visit her during the week – why would he?”

“I don’t know,” said Carmine, “I’m just reaching for a logical explanation.”

“One that doesn’t involve hookers?” Laverne gave him a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Vernie.” Carmine leaned over and put his hand over hers. “Look, you want me to try and talk to him? I still see him at the gym sometimes, although I think he’s been deliberately going when he thinks I won’t be there.” Carmine cleared his throat. “Anyway, I can make sure to run into him and see what I can find out, if it’ll help.”

Laverne nodded. “Please. I’m…I feel like I’m living with a Stepford-Lenny. I want my Lenny back.”

“Okay,” said Carmine. “Don’t you worry, I’m on it.”

Laverne gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Carmine.”

He heard the key in the lock of the front door and called out, “It’s open, Shirl!”

The door opened. “Ow,” said Shirley. “Opening things with your head hurts.” Her arms were wrapped around bags stuffed with groceries. A small red spot marred the ivory skin of her forehead.

“Where’s Lucy?” Carmine went over and took one of the bags. He kissed his wife on the forehead, then the lips.

“I took her over to that Jane Greason’s house to study. She has a big math test tomorrow. We need to get her at five.” Shirley’s eyes rested on Laverne. “Hey, Laverne. And hello, Joey-shmoey-boey.” She gave the baby a goofy smile. “He’s getting so big. Did you get to see Carly?”

“Sure did,” said Laverne. “She’s beautiful, Shirl. Looks just like a tiny little you.”

“Thank goodness,” said Carmine. “We wouldn’t want her to have her dad’s mug, would we.”

Shirley patted his cheek. “I like your mug just fine.” She set her bag down in the kitchen. “Everything okay, Laverne?”

“What, I can’t just drop in for a howdy-do?” Laverne’s light tone carried an edge that wasn’t lost on Shirley.

“Of course you can.” Shirley studied her friend’s face as she emptied the grocery bag. “By the way, I saw Lenny.”

“What? Where?” Laverne bounced to her feet.

“It was a little weird,” said Shirley. She paused in her unloading, a head of lettuce in her hand. “I drove past that row of warehouses on Bleeker Street and there he was, just outside of one. I waved, but he either didn’t see me or…well, I guess he just didn’t see me.” She tossed the lettuce head to Carmine.

He caught it and put it in the fridge. “That is kind of odd,” he said. “I thought most of those places were abandoned.” He looked up and saw Laverne’s face had gone white. “Laverne, what is….?”

“Oh, my God,” she said, “he’s scoring drugs.”

Carmine straightened and walked out of the kitchen. “What? No, no way.” He shook his head hard. “Laverne, he’s not doing that.” Anymore, he added.

“Carmine, I’m not naïve! I know who’s hangin’ around empty buildings on mostly deserted streets in the L.A. area and so do you.” She bit her lower lip. “Now I wish it was just hookers.”

“Hookers? Drugs?” Shirley’s head snapped left and right to look at each of them. “My goodness, that’s a heck of a leap from ‘I saw Lenny by a warehouse today.’”

“Yes, it is.” But Carmine didn’t feel as confident as he meant to sound. After all, Lenny had overused painkillers in the past and he had sustained some nasty, painful injuries from the car hitting him. It was possible he’d started using again, perhaps moved on to something harder than prescription meds.

His stomach clenched. Drug abuse stirred up all sorts of painful memories for him. His mother’s addiction, what it did to her, how it changed her. Laverne did say Lenny had been acting like he was sleepwalking through life. That image fit.

His eyes met Laverne’s and he saw all his own doubts and concerns reflected back at him. “Carmine,” was all she said.

“I’ll find out,” he said. “It’ll be okay, Laverne. Even if he’s…I’ll help him. I promise.”

He only hoped he could.

***

Shirley decided to wait until after dinner to bring it up to Carmine. Then he and Lucy had to clear the dishes and clean up, so she couldn’t say anything then. Then Carly had woken up crying and so she’d had to change and feed her. No time to say anything while all that was going on. Things just kept on happening that required immediate attention. It wasn’t like she was deliberately avoiding the subject. Not at all.

Eventually, though, she found herself lying in bed beside her husband, their baby’s soft, even breathing from the bassinet at the foot of their bed the only focus of their attention, and she knew she had run out of reasons not to tell Carmine about her imminent layoff from Bardwell’s.

“They’re what?” Carmine sat bolt upright in bed.

“Sh, you’ll wake Carly.” She sat up and leaned back against her pillow.

Carmine lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “Sorry. But you did just say you’re about to lose your job. Which income we really kind of need.” His dark eyes filled with worry.

She sighed. “I’m sorry, Carmine. Apparently, the store’s decided they need to trim their overhead and Gift Wrapping is a service they can do without.”

“What about moving you into another department? Sales or something?”

“Yeah, that’s what they’re going to do for Laverne.” She chewed the tip of her tongue, waiting for the inevitable.

Carmine didn’t disappoint. “Why are they doing that for Laverne and not for you?” he asked.

“Because.” She cleared her throat. “Um, they said they were only able to do that for one of us, since the budget’s tight.”

“Oh, and they picked her over you? Geeze, that’s not real fair, but I guess...”

“Actually, they were going to do it for me and not her. I turned them down.”

Silence fell again, thick and uncomfortable. She saw Carmine’s eyes widen in the dim moonlight through their bedroom window. “Why?” he finally asked. “Why would you turn that down?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” She folded her arms across her chest, felt her Irish rise in the face of his disapproval. “They could only move one of us into another department. And…well, you’ve got a job.”

“Jobs,” he said, tightly.

“Exactly. And Lenny, right now, he’s still only working part-time. Until he gets a full-time job, Laverne’s the only one bringing in a steady paycheck, plus all their insurance benefits. And, well, she and Lenny just plain need her to keep that job more than we do.” She looked at her husband. He didn’t say anything. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Carmine opened his mouth, closed it. She saw a variety of emotions flicker across his face. Finally, he said, “I’m not mad. I mean, I can’t be angry that you did something so selfless, now, can I?”

“Who are you trying to convince, Carmine, me or you?”

He closed his eyes and flopped onto his back. “You did the right thing,” he said, “it’s just – damned inconvenient, that’s all.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding all day and collapsed beside him. She rested her head against his shoulder. “I’m really sorry, honey. I know it’s going to be a strain.”

“We have two kids now, Shirl. Two kids and what barely amounts to one income for a couple.” He groaned and covered his face with his hands.

“I know. I’ll find another job,” she said. “I’m going to get up bright and early tomorrow and comb through the job ads. With any luck, I’ll have an even better job in no time.” She wished she felt as confident as her words.

“Of course you will.” Carmine didn’t sound convinced, either. He peered at her through his fingers. “I’ll try to come up with something, too. I’ve worked three jobs at a time before. I can do it again.”

Shirley felt awful. Carmine had been so happy to just have one day job – the physical therapy work – and only have to supplement it with teaching dance class twice a week. It was the most manageable schedule he’d ever had and allowed him time to spend with his daughters that she knew he valued. He’d missed so many years with Lucy and was determined to enjoy every moment of Carly’s childhood.

But what could she do? Faced with the choice of leaving Laverne and Lenny with only half an income and no health benefits between them, well, there really wasn’t a choice. Not for a real friend. Still, she hated burdening Carmine.

“We’ll work it out,” she said.

“Yeah, we will.” He rolled over onto his side and reached for her. She snuggled up against his chest and basked in the warmth of his strong arms. "I love you, Shirl.”

Good. She needed to hear it. “I love you, too.”

They remained that way until their infant’s hungry cries forced them apart.

***

Carmine punched the heavy bag with more gusto than he’d had in a long time. Unreasonable though it may be, he was aggravated with Shirley’s generosity and had to let it out on something.

He knew she’d done the right thing, the Christian thing, the selfless thing. He punctuated each thought with a jab that rattled the chain that suspended the bag to the ceiling of the gym. Damn it all, though, the timing couldn’t be much worse. Their rent had just been jacked up, tiny Carly was churning through diapers at an awe-inspiring rate, and he’d already paid for Lucy to go to sleep-away camp for two weeks next summer. He hadn’t had a steady PT client in three months and the dance studio simply didn’t have any need for him to teach more than two nights a week.

“I. Am. Screwed,” he said in rhythm with his punches. “We. Are. Going. Broke. This. Really. Sucks. Rocks.”

As the bag snapped back again, he caught a glimpse of Lenny coming out of the locker room. He remembered his promise to Laverne and caught the bag, shoved it to one side. “Hey, Len!”  he called and waved.

Lenny’s head snapped up and around. His blue eyes met Carmine’s briefly, then darted away. “Oh. Hey there.” He lowered his head and started toward the door of the gym.

Not this time, pal. Carmine jogged across the gym and caught up to Lenny before he could open the door. “Wait up, Lenny.”

Lenny stopped. Carmine saw his shoulders hitch, as if he were bracing himself for a confrontation. It kind of hurt. He and Lenny had gotten so close over the past few years and now the guy was treating him like an nuisance.

Kind of like mom did when she was wasted. The thought rose unbidden and brought with it a surge of pain and regret, and more than a little lingering resentment.

“I’m sorry, Carmine,” said Lenny. His tone was flat. “I’ve got an appointment I need to get to.”

“Bullshit.” Carmine grabbed Lenny’s arm. “You just got here.”

Lenny looked down at Carmine’s hand on his arm. He turned, slowly. “Okay. What do you want then?”

Carmine couldn’t help but notice that Lenny’s arm felt thicker underneath the sleeve of his sweatshirt. More solid. He studied his taller friend and realized that he filled out the sweatshirt a lot more than he used to. Lenny had always been kind of lanky, lightly muscled. Wiry at most.

But now, his shoulders were wider and his biceps stretched the material of his sleeves visibly. Combined with his height, the solemn expression on his face, and the blankness in his eyes, Carmine realized that Lenny actually looked tough. Intimidating, even.

Carmine let go of his arm and took a small step back. He thought carefully before he spoke again. “Lenny, I talked to Laverne yesterday. She’s worried about you, man.”

Lenny’s expression didn’t change. “Oh. Okay, thanks for telling me.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say on the subject?”

Lenny tilted his head to one side. “What else do you want me to say?”

Carmine threw his hands in the air. “Lenny, what in the hell is wrong with you lately? I tell you your wife is so worried about you that she’s asking friends to find out what’s up and you don’t even blink. You dodge me every time we cross paths; you’re disappearing at night, and hanging around Bleeker….”

At this, Lenny finally reacted. His eyes narrowed and he spoke in a hushed tone, “Who said anything about me being around the warehouse?”

Carmine folded his arms. “I didn’t say warehouse. I just said Bleeker. But so long as you bring it up, what’s going on at the warehouse?”

“Nothing.” Lenny turned and went for the door again. “I’ll talk to Laverne tonight. Don’t worry about it, Carmine.”

Carmine stepped around him, blocked his exit and planted his fists on his hips. “Unh-uh,” he said. “No. Not this time. You’re going to talk to me, damn it. You’re going to tell me….”

Before Carmine could react, Lenny grabbed the front of his shirt with his right hand. “I said I’m late for an appointment,” he said through gritted teeth. Then he hauled Carmine to one side and stomped past him, out the door.

Carmine stood rooted to the spot. He wasn’t sure which stunned him more – that Lenny had all but lifted him off his feet and out of the way with one hand or the icy tone of his voice. Like they’d never been through an earthquake together, or stood up for each other at their weddings, or supported each other through painful reunions with their fathers.

Like they’d never been friends at all.

He watched Lenny march into the parking lot. The blond man paused, glanced back over his shoulder. For a moment, their eyes met and Carmine caught his expression of – was it sorrow? Regret? He couldn’t be sure, and before he could figure it out, Lenny turned and broke into a jog that took him through the lot and down the road, leaving his car behind.

Do I follow him or give him space? Carmine wondered. Do I say forget him or try again to reach him? The big guy might just slug him if he chased him down and, for the first time in his life, Carmine feared Lenny might just make a formidable opponent. When did he pack on all that extra bulk, anyway? But getting punched was less of a concern to him than the coldness Lenny had exuded.

Carmine had met guys like that before. They put up a wall of ice between themselves and the rest of the world. Get them in the ring, though, and they exploded, all the suppressed fury let loose in a frenzy of violence. He usually liked that kind of opponent, because they got sloppy, forgot their technique.

He’d taken down berserkers a head taller than him because he was the opposite. Whenever he got into the ring, he harnessed his rage and channeled it into mechanical, controlled assaults. Rather than blindly indulging in testosterone-hazed brawls, he boxed with focus and rigid precision. It won him the Golden Gloves back in the day.

He went over to the speed bag and pummeled out the discomfort of his confrontation with Lenny. Boxing hadn’t been his first choice of profession as a kid, but it had been one of the few activities of which his father approved, so he’d learned it and learned it well. Later, he’d used to gain the confidence needed to protect himself and his mother against his father’s abuse. After that, it became an easy way to make a fast buck and as an outlet for the anger he carried from childhood.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he actually jumped when a voice behind him said, “Hey, you’re pretty fast, there, buddy.”

Carmine turned and saw Billy Ray, one of the guys who ran the gym. Billy Ray was about as wide as he was tall, one of those guys that, at first glance, looked kind of tubby, until you realized almost all of his bulk came from solid muscle. He was perpetually scruffy-looking, with spiked black hair and surprisingly bright blue eyes. He might have been good-looking at one time, but he looked like he’d spent a little too much time in the ring. His nose was squashed almost flat into his face, his eyes sunk into his skull, and he was missing a few useful teeth.

“Hey, Billy. Yeah, thanks.” Carmine nodded at the bag. “I used to box a little.”

“Box a little, he says.” Billy Ray chuckled. “Way I hear it, you was a champ. Or did I hear wrong?”

Guy had a way of talking like he was always challenging you. Carmine found it annoying. “No, you’re not wrong, but who told you…?”

Billy Ray clapped him on the shoulder. “Say, Carmine, you look like a guy who could use a coupla extra dollars, am I right?”

Carmine bristled. “I’m doing just fine, thanks.” Okay, so it was a lie, but he didn’t like this goomba questioning his finances.

“Yeah, sure. Right.” Billy Ray looked to their left and right, then lowered his voice. “How’d you like to supplement your income, cheap ‘n’ easy?”

Carmine’s first instinct was to tell Billy Ray to get his pickle-scented breath out of his face, but something stopped him: the thought of impending poverty. “Is it legal?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure. No laws against it, pal.” He looped an arm around Carmine’s shoulders and Carmine fought the urge to shrug it off. “How’d you like to dance on canvas again?”

Boxing? It had been years since Carmine had entered the ring, not counting that one audition Squiggy had gotten him. “I haven’t been in a real match since I was a kid in my twenties,” said Carmine.

Billy Ray waved his free hand as if shooing away a fly. “Big fuckin’ deal. A fighter’s a fighter’s a fighter. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah, but...”

“But nothin’,” Billy Ray bulled on. “Look, it’s no biggie. You show, another guy shows, you throw down for a few rounds, you get paid. Easy dough for a guy with your skills. What do you say?”

Carmine squirmed out from under Billy Ray’s arm and shook his head. “I’m not even licensed to box in California ,” he said. “Besides, at my age? Who’d want me?”

Billy Ray rolled his eyes. “What are you, thirty, thirty one?”

“Almost thirty-four.”

“Whatever. You ain’t old, dude. I got guys showin’ up in their forties or more.” He shot another furtive look around and lowered his voice again. “And you don’t need no license. This is what we call a private venue. Get me?”

He jabbed at Carmine, a feint that Carmine easily, automatically blocked. Billy Ray’s whole face lit up. “You still got moves, buddy-boy. Why not use ‘em?”

Despite himself, Carmine found himself considering the offer. He’d fought in clubs and other, unsanctioned venues when he was a kid, so that didn’t bother him. But now he was a husband and a father, with responsibilities and a wife who’d hate the idea of him fighting again. Plus, he was pretty rusty. Punching bags was one thing, boxing an opponent who was younger, or more practiced – or both – was another.

Yet, before he knew it, Carmine found himself asking, “How much they paying?”

“Fifty for showin’, a hundie for winnin’.”

Carmine nearly choked. That was a hell of a better payday than he’d ever gotten in a club. It made him suspicious. “What guarantee do I get that I actually ever see the cash? It ain’t like I can sue if I get gypped.”

Billy Ray’s eyes sparkled. The bastard knew he’d been hooked. “I guaran-damn-tee it, pally. Cash payout, right after you walk outta the ring. Or, if they carry you out, they stick it in your pocket.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a handwritten, business-sized card. He handed it to Carmine. “Just show up here, any ol’ evening that’s convenient. We’ve always got someone ready to go, maybe two or three somebodies, if you luck out.”

Carmine almost told him thanks but no thanks. As tempting as the payout was, he knew enough that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. But before he got out the, “No,” his eyes fell on the address scribbled on the card.

Triple zero-one, Bleeker Street . Knock three times fast, two times slow.

Bleeker. This would sure give him an excuse to visit the warehouse district without actively stalking Lenny. He could go down there, scout around the area, and yeah, maybe check out the action at Billy Ray’s place, pick up some extra scratch. He’d be helping Laverne and his family. Besides, it wasn’t like contracts were involved. “If I don’t like what I see, or I get shorted, I don’t come back, right? I’m in if I want to, I’m out if I want to. No obligations?” he asked.

“Damned skippy,” said Billy Ray, nodding. “You make your schedule. We’re runnin’ some days, all nights. Couldn’t be simpler.”

Carmine frowned, but nodded. “Okay. Maybe I’ll drop in tomorrow, see what’s what. No promise I’ll strap on the gloves, but I’ll check it out.”

Billy Ray slapped him on the back. “Gloves, right. That’s cute. See ya when I see ya, buddy. You won’t regret it.” He strolled off, humming off-key.

Carmine bit the tip of his tongue. He wondered if the shudder that went through him was just from being around Billy Ray, or a warning of things to come.

***

Laverne came into the living room after tucking Joey in for the night and found Lenny pulling on his jacket. Her stomach clenched. “You going out, huh?”

“Be back in a couple of hours,” said Lenny. He didn’t sound irritated by her question. He spoke in the same, matter-of-fact tone he used almost exclusively nowadays.

“Len, wait. Please.” She put her hand on his arm and looked up into his eyes. They stared back down at her, not quite meeting hers directly, and as unreadable as ever. “Don’t go. Stay with me. Talk to me. Whatever’s goin’ on, I can handle it. Just tell me what’s up with you.”

“Nothing’s up,” he said. His lips curved into a smile that was devoid of warmth or meaning. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“No, it damned well isn’t!” she snapped. “You’re runnin’ off all the time, don’t tell me where, don’t say anything about it when you get back. And when you’re here, Len, when you bother to stick around? It’s like we’re…we’re boarders in the same rooming house, not husband and wife!”

Lenny just looked at her. “You’re imagining things. We’re fine. Everything’s great.”

She grabbed both his shoulders and shook him. “Lenny, please. I’m beggin’ you here, talk to me! Tell me what’s going on!”

He looked at each of her hands on his shoulders. A strange expression crossed his face. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” He sounded as if he were commenting on the high price of milk.

Frustrated, Laverne shook him again. “How about you start with where the hell you’re going?”

His expression shifted into something more recognizable. Annoyance. Good, at least that was a start. “I’ve got a meeting about some possible work.”

“Great. Wonderful! What kind of work?”

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly, “that’s why I’m havin’ a meeting, to find out.”

“You don’t know. Okay, how about a ballpark. Are they truckers, or agents, or…I don’t know…factory managers?”

She felt Lenny’s shoulders stiffen. The hard layer of muscle he’d built up over the past few months pressed against her hands. “Work’s work,” he said, the flat tone of his voice sharpening. “What does it matter?”

“What does it matter? Lenny!” She shook him again, frustration driving her to shake loose her real husband from this automaton in front of her. “Are you tellin’ me that you’ve been going to job interviews every damned night you’re away? Always at night? Around empty warehouses?”

At this, Lenny frowned. He grabbed her wrists and plucked them off his shoulders, held them in front of her. “Who told you about any warehouse? Huh?”

“Lenny.” She looked down at her wrists, clasped in his hands, and tried to pull away. His grip tightened.

“Was it Carmine?” Lenny’s voice rose. “It ain’t his business. Why’s he even care? After what I did, he should be glad to be as far away from my crap as possible.”

“It wasn’t Carmine.” Her arms ached.

Her husband went on, oblivious, his face contorted. “Whoever, just forget about it. Warehouses got nothin’ to do with nothing. Just…quit worrying about me, okay? I’m taking care of things; that’s all you need to know!”

“Lenny!”

He paused and met her eyes directly for the first time. “What?” he said. Then his eyes traveled down to her wrists, still locked in his grasp. His eyes widened and he released her.

Laverne gasped with relief and rubbed her wrists. His fingers remained imprinted in red bracelets around them.

Lenny stared at the marks, and his face crumpled into an expression of such misery that she felt empathetic tears fill her eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry. Laverne, oh, God, I didn’t mean to….” He trailed off, gazing at her arms, then at his own hands.

“Are you using again?” She blurted it out, her pumping adrenaline robbing her of tact.

Lenny shook his head. Gradually, the expression of regret faded, leaving his face remote and expressionless again. “I’ll see you in a few hours. Don’t wait up.” He grabbed his jacket and strode out the door without a backward glance.

She watched him go, helpless, and then sank down onto the sofa. It was worse than she’d thought. The man she loved was lost inside himself somewhere that she couldn’t reach. She found herself hoping that drugs were to blame, because at least they were an external cause, a problem that could be understood and solved.

She folded her hands together, ignoring the ache in her wrists. She knew her Lenny was in there, somewhere. She’d caught a glimpse of him tonight, inside that blank wall he’d built around himself.

“Please, show me how to reach him,” she prayed. “Help me figure out how to get through to my real husband!”

***

Carmine wandered around the warehouse district of Bleeker Street cautiously for about an hour. He saw five hookers hooking, four derelicts drinking, three addicts injecting, two couples kissing, and one drug dealer who offered him blow. Happy holidays from the underside of L.A, he mused.

What he didn’t see was Lenny Kosnowski.

Finally, Carmine shrugged and went to the address on Billy Ray’s card. He felt a passing wave of guilt when he thought about his little white lie to Shirley. He’d told her that he had a possible job offer and was going to check the place out. When she’d excitedly asked him what the gig was, he’d played coy, saying it was something to do with performing. Which, in a way was true, but in a much bigger way was a big, fat lie. Still, she’d accepted it, wished him well, and off he went.

Carmine approached an abandoned-looking brick building. Its windows were boarded up along the first floor and mostly shattered from the second through the fourth. The door was a solid slab of wood that had been wedged into the entrance. Over the top, a faded wood sign said “Einstein Bros. Fine Fabrics.” He had a feeling the Einstein brothers had given the place up a long, long time ago.

Carmine rapped on the door as directed: three quick, two slow. He waited until he began to wonder if anyone was there or if Billy Ray had been yanking his chain, but then the wooden ‘door’ creaked open. He half-expected some giant, skeletal butler to greet him, but, when he looked down, he realized that a little man had opened the door. A very little man, whose head came up to about Carmine’s waist.

“Um, hi, there,” said Carmine. He wondered if there was some magic codeword Billy Ray forgot to give him.

The little man blinked up at him. “Don’t just stand there, big guy. Come on in.” He stepped back and gestured for Carmine to walk past him.

“Oh…kay.” Carmine obeyed.

The little man reached up and offered him a hand not much bigger than a child’s. “Name’s Doc,” he said. His voice was surprisingly deep for such a small guy.

“Carmine,” said Carmine. He shook Doc’s hand gingerly. “Uh, Billy Ray here?”

“Yep, sure. Boss man’s this way.” He led the way, wobbling a bit as he walked. “First time, big guy?”

“First time here, yeah. You…one of the boxers?” He felt stupid asking, but hey, maybe this was the gimmick. Sort of a sideshow, with regular-sized guys boxing midgets. If so, he was done – no way he was getting involved in that sort of weird scene.

Doc guffawed. “Yeah, right. Step in the ring with me and I’ll punch out your kneecap.”

Carmine started to chuckle, then caught himself. It seemed rude, laughing at the poor guy’s unfortunate condition.

Doc glanced back at him over his shoulder. “Relax. I know I’m petite. If I don’t let you’re unfortunate gigantism freak me out, then you can make allowances for me.”

Carmine smiled. He liked Doc’s attitude. “No one’s ever accused me of being a giant before.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head. We got enough big egos crowding the place.”

Doc led him down the dilapidated hall to a doorless archway. “Right through there, big guy. Ring’s in the center, viewing areas all around. You look like a smart boy; you’ll figure the rest out. And, if you don’t, I’ll take care of you.”

“What do you mean?”

Doc folded his arms across his barrel-like chest. “I’m the medic.” He cocked his head to one side, eyes twinkling. “Why else you think they call me Doc?”

“Of course,” said Carmine, smiling. “No other possible reason.”

“There you go.” Doc winked at him and gestured haphazardly. “Go. Sit. Learn.”

Carmine walked into the large room beyond the arch. He saw folding chairs set up around a center ring. The ring looked pretty standard – canvas floor, three levels of ropes around it, a couple more folding chairs in two of the corners. The whole place was lit by a few, bare bulbs hanging on exposed wires from the ceiling. They cast odd, wavering shadows around the rest of the place, but lit the center ring pretty well.

As he approached, he saw a handful of men in the chairs.  A couple sat at rigid attention, others were slouched more casually. One guy had an icepack pressed up against the side of his face. Another glanced at him and grinned with a mostly toothless mouth. A third shot him a look that took his measure and dismissed him all at once. The boxer in him liked that; the underestimation of others had always been his most powerful weapon.

Carmine slid into a folding chair a couple of rows back from the ring, where no one else was seated. Billy Ray appeared, grabbed the top rope of the ring, and swung himself over it to land on the canvas. It was a neat trick, one he’d used a few times in exhibition. Billy Ray swaggered to the center of the ring and held up his arms. The guys in the audience around Carmine cheered and hooted their approval.

“All right, ladies, who’s up?” Billy Ray looked around the room. His eyes briefly landed on Carmine and he grinned and nodded. Carmine bowed his head, both acknowledging the greeting and turning down the offer that went with it. Billy Ray shrugged and swept his gaze over the rest of the audience.

A burly black man, tall but kind of flabby, stood up. “I’m good to go,” he said, punching his palm with his other fist.

“Come on down!” Billy Ray waved him into the ring. “Now all we need is our challenger. Which one of you girls has the stones to face former three-time champ Tommy Stephens? Anybody?”

Carmine watched a few guys shift uncertainly in their seats. Apparently, Tommy Stephens had a rep. Finally, though, a short but heavily muscled guy stood up and waved. “I’m up!” he called.

“Excellent. Join us, darlin’.” Billy Ray held the ropes apart and Short Muscles slid between them. He glanced up at Tommy Stephens, who looked down at him like he was a fly who’d landed on his dinner plate. Short Muscles, to his credit, didn’t look away for an instant.

Not exactly an even match, Carmine thought. They were clearly two different weight classes. Obviously, that didn’t matter here.

Billy Ray clamped his hands down on each man’s shoulder as they faced one another in the center of the ring. “No eye gouging, no hair pulling, no crotch abuse. I see any of that sissy shit, you’re ejected and I better never see your asses in this neighborhood again. Mind me?”

Both men nodded. Okay, so the rules are pretty loose. Carmine realized that they weren’t wearing gloves and none were being offered. All Tommy and Short Muscles did was pull off their shirts and put up their fists. Billy Ray blew a whistle hanging around his neck, stepped back out of the way, and they were off.

Short Muscles flew at Tommy and started swinging wildly. Carmine winced at the pathetic lack of technique. His punches landed along Tommy’s arms, but the bigger man successfully protected any region where damage could be done. He seemed content to let Short Muscles swing himself to exhaustion and not do much else.

Then, to Carmine’s surprise, Short Muscles shifted his weight back onto his left foot and kicked out with his right. The kick landed right in Tommy’s bread basket and the big man folded with a loud, “Whumph!” of escaping air. His thick arms dropped instinctively to protect his gut and Short Muscles let out a shout of triumph as he slugged away at Tommy’s suddenly exposed face.

“He kicked him,” said Carmine, to no one in particular. He frowned. “You can’t just kick a guy in boxing.”

“Who said anything about boxing?” Doc’s voice boomed in his ear and Carmine turned his head so fast, his neck cricked in protest.

“Ow. And what? Isn’t that what this is all about?” He rubbed his neck and shoulder.

Doc snorted. He slapped Carmine’s hand away lightly and began kneading his shoulder and the back of his neck. “This here ain’t boxing, my friend. This is street fighting.”

His small fingers were surprisingly strong, and Carmine felt the bunched muscles begin to relax. He turned back to the action in the ring.

Doc was right; this was a brawl, not a match. Tommy Stephens balled up his fists and brought them down like twin piledrivers onto Short Muscles’ spine. Carmine winced as the smaller man dropped to his knees and Tommy kneed him right in the kisser. Short Muscles flopped over onto his back and lay there, moaning.

Tommy glanced at Billy Ray, who shrugged as if to say, “It’s up to you.” Tommy nodded, hauled Short Muscles up by the hair, and slugged him in the jaw. This time, when Short Muscles hit the canvas, he didn’t make a sound. He lay there like a broken doll until Billy Ray peered down at him and blew his whistle.

“Winner, Tommy Stephens!” He grabbed Tommy’s arm and held it up. Tommy rubbed his gut, gave the motionless Short Muscles the stink eye, then pumped his arm in the air. The guys in the audience howled their approval.

Carmine glanced at his watch. The whole ‘match’ had taken about three minutes, end to end. Dayum.

“Better?” Doc patted his shoulder.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Carmine. He nodded at the ring. “Uh, shouldn’t you be checking to see if that poor guy’s alive?”

Doc hopped off his chair and headed for the ring. “Oh, he’s alive,” he said as he passed Carmine, “dumbass doesn’t have enough brains to rattle.”

Doc went up to the ring and grabbed Short Muscle’s limp wrist. He nodded and waved. A couple of guys stood up and went into the ring, picked up the defeated fighter, and carried him off to a back room. Doc followed behind, grumbling about thick skulls and bad career choices.

Carmine swallowed. Hard. Forget this; he wasn’t going to get his brains smashed in voluntarily. Although even fifty bucks for a few minutes was a nice payoff, it wouldn’t cover the medical bills he’d likely incur. He was no wimp, but boxing with rules and certain expectations of safety was one thing; bare-fisted brawling where everything goes was another. There’s stupid, and then there’s incredibly, mind-numbingly, recklessly stupid. He’d seen enough to know this was that latter. He stood up and started to go.

Billy Ray stepped around the small puddle of blood left in the ring from Short Muscle’s smashed face and called, “Good news, ladies, our star’s back for the second night in a row! We’re gonna get spoiled, ain’t we?”

The audience hooted and laughed in agreement. Carmine could feel the wave of excitement that went through the place and, somewhat reluctantly, he took his seat again. It wouldn’t hurt to watch just one more.

He had to admit, it was kind of a rush watching a couple of guys go mano a mano like jungle beasts. It appealed to the part of him that he squashed deep down inside him, the dark, raging aspect nurtured by Tony Ragusa through his formative years.

“You ready to go again?” Billy Ray turned to Tommy Stephens, who all but blew fire out his nostrils.

“Sure. My dance card’s wi-i-ide open.” Tommy glared into the audience, his eyes latching onto a tall figure that stood up and made his way into the ring.

Tommy’s latest challenger didn’t put on a show. He didn’t leap over the ropes or try to rile up the audience or offer any trash talk. He slid into the ring quietly and stripped off his sweatshirt. He stood there, eyes locked onto Tommy’s, hands slowly balling into fists. At least this guy was equal in height to Tommy and, while his body wasn’t as thick, it was much more toned.

Carmine’s mouth fell open. He closed his eyes, rubbed them, and looked again.

Yep. It was still Lenny standing up there.

“Lenny Kay, Tommy Stephens…get to work!” Billy Ray blew his whistle.

Carmine sat bolt upright on the edge of his chair. He didn’t know what to do. Should he run up there, jump in between Tommy and Lenny before Tommy knocked Lenny’s block off? The rest of the guys would probably pile on him if he tried to interfere. But he couldn’t just sit there and let Lenny get pummeled to death. What in the hell is he doing here, anyway?

Before Carmine could make up his mind what to do, Tommy howled and swung a fist the size of a Volkswagon at Lenny’s head. Lenny caught the blow on his forearm. Tommy swung again with his other fist, this time going for the uppercut. Lenny leaned away from it with seeming ease and did something that made Carmine’s blood run cold.

He smiled.

Then Lenny started swinging. His fists were a blur, but Carmine recognized some of the techniques he’d taught Lenny at the gym. The punches were wilder than they should have ideally been, but they were aimed with more precision than Tommy’s and cut through the big champ’s defenses. Lenny landed most of a combination to Tommy’s face, snapping Tommy’s head to the left and then right. He followed up with an assault to the body that knocked Tommy back toward the ropes.

As Lenny pressed his advantage, Tommy roared and kneed Lenny in the gut. Lenny blocked part of it, but enough landed that he doubled over. Tommy went for the piledriver, but Lenny dropped to his knees and rolled out of the way, then popped back onto his feet. Tommy went after him and met an onslaught of punches to the sides of his head that snapped it side to side until Tommy wobbled on his feet. He gave his head a brisk shake, but before he could regain solid footing, Lenny kicked him in his left knee, then the right.

Carmine heard the right kneecap pop. Tommy fell down and hugged his legs.

Lenny stood over Tommy, breathing heavily. His face was transformed. The blank mask of indifference to the world had been replaced by a contortion of fury that made Carmine clench his own fists in primal response. His blue eyes blazed as he began slugging Tommy in the head and face, not letting up, not giving the guy a moment to get back to his feet or do much else but tuck and cover.

Lenny grabbed one of Tommy’s wrists and wrenched his arm back, then slammed Tommy in the nose. Blood sprayed out. Tommy fell over onto his side, and curled into a fetal position.

Lenny stood over him, his chest heaving. “Get up!” he shouted. When Tommy didn’t comply, he grabbed the big man by the ear and pulled. Tommy yowled in pain. “Go on, get on your feet! At least give me a challenge!”

Carmine blinked. He’d never really believed in possession before, but by God, if this wasn’t a good old Catholic vision of a demonic takeover, he didn’t know what was. It sure as hell wasn’t his buddy Lenny, ol’ goofy Lenny, up there in the ring. No freaking way.

Billy Ray stepped between Lenny and the prostrate Tommy. “I think the winner’s clear enough. Girls, you agree?”

The audience howled and clapped. Billy Ray reached for Lenny’s wrist, but the moment he brushed his hand, Lenny jerked away. Billy Ray cleared his throat nervously and took a small step sideways. “The winner and still champ, so far, Lenny Kay!”

Lenny looked disgusted. “That’s it? That’s all you got for me?” He sneered down at Tommy. Addressing the small crowd, which Carmine noticed had gotten bigger since he first came in, he raised his fists and shouted, “Come on! There’s got to be a man out there tonight! Get in here and try n’ teach me a lesson!”

Carmine closed his eyes. He weighed his options. Then he took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he stood up. “I’ll go,” he said.

Lenny peered down, straining to see who spoke in the poor light. “Who said that?”

Carmine steeled himself and walked down to the ring. The rest of the audience fell silent, watching the new guy, sizing him up and probably finding him wanting. Screw it, this wasn’t about them. “I said that.” Carmine stopped just outside the ring and waited.

Lenny’s eyes went saucer-wide, then narrowed. “Carmine. You followed me here?”

“Believe it or not, I didn’t,” said Carmine. He leaned forward against the ropes.

“Horsepucky.” Lenny shook his head. “You gonna run home and tell on me? Let Laverne know what I’ve been doing?”

“Nope.” Carmine vaulted lightly over the top rope. At least he could still do that smoothly. He met Lenny in the center of the ring and looked up at him, calmly. “I just came here to make some extra scratch.” He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure I can take you and I sure could use the hundred bucks.”

Lenny studied him, trying to figure out his angle. “You sure about that, Carmine? I ain’t the scrawny kid you knew on Knapp Street .”

Carmine eyed him deliberately. “I can see that.”

“You seen what I just did to that other guy.” He waved at Tommy, who’d been helped out of the ring by one of the other waiting fighters. Tommy was still moaning and wincing as he limped down the aisle to the back.

“Yep. Looked painful,” said Carmine, just as agreeably as he could.

“And here you are.”

“Here I am.”

Lenny sighed. He leaned in closer and said, “Why? Ain’t I done you enough damage? I don’t want to hurt you again, Carmine.”

Carmine pressed his lips together tightly. He believed Lenny. Now that the deliberate blankness was stripped away, Lenny’s emotions showed vividly on his face. The greatest of them was guilt, a deep-seated, paralyzing self-loathing. Lenny needed to exorcise something, but it wasn’t a demon, or at least not the classic Catholic sort. At least he wasn’t using drugs to do it, although this solution seemed a lot more painful.

“You never did, Len,” said Carmine. He pleaded with his eyes. “You don’t have to do this! I don’t blame you for what happened, you know that. It wasn’t you who shot me, it was a screwed up version who didn’t even know who I was. You’ve got to stop beating yourself up for it…literally.”

Lenny shook his head. “I did shoot you. It was my hand on that trigger. Same hand that bashed my father in the head, same one that was too slow to keep him from getting killed.” Lenny held up his bloodied knuckles. “Same hand that shot a woman to death. Tell me that wasn’t me firing then, Carmine. Go on. Make an excuse for me pumping an entire clip into her.”

“Who? The lying Russian spy who ran you down, tried to get you to murder your own parents, that woman?” He reached for Lenny, but Lenny pulled back. “Sorry, but if you expect me to scold you for that one, you’re gonna be disappointed. Bitch had it coming.”

Lenny snorted. “Easy to say. You never ended another person’s life, Carmine. You have no idea….” He shook his head, his expression achingly lost.

Carmine nodded. “You got me there. I never killed anyone. But, Len, how is what you’re doing here making it better?”

“You don’t understand,” Lenny said, dully.

“Then make me!” Carmine grabbed his arm and didn’t let Lenny shake him off. “How is hurting a bunch of strangers making you feel better about hurting me, or your father, or even that spy? Explain it to me, please.”

Lenny started to say something, but Billy Ray cut in. “Um, girls? You want to have a tea party, get out of my ring. You want to throw down then let’s get to it.”

Before Carmine could tell Billy Ray where to shove his ring, Lenny said, “We’re gonna throw down.”

“We are?” Carmine looked at him, blinking.

Lenny raised his fists in response. His expression hardened, eyes going ice cold. “Yeah. Unless you want to go back to your seat and give someone else a shot.”

Carmine frowned. He’d been close to reaching Lenny; he knew it, but now Len was pulling back. He wants to pound out his misery? Carmine thought. Fine and dandy. Words had failed. Maybe beating some sense into the guy would work better.

He pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the corner. He saw Lenny’s eyes briefly fall on the scar left on his shoulder by the bullet. Carmine said, under his breath, “You really don’t have to do this. Walk out of here with me, now, and we’ll go get a beer.”

Lenny closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were empty.

Carmine sighed. “Okay, then.” He nodded to Billy Ray. “Call it.”

Billy Ray shouted, “Lenny Kay versus our newcomer, former Milwaukee Golden Gloves champion Carmine Ragusa! Gentlemen,” and he grinned broadly as he raised his whistle to his lips, “make me proud!”

***

“I still ain’t too sure about this, Squig.” Laverne drummed her fingertips against the window of the ice cream truck.

“Laverne, my lead’s solid. Trust me. Len,” he paused and peered through the windshield at the row of mostly-identical, empty warehouses along Bleeker, “is…right…in…there!” With a screech of the brakes, he wrenched the steering wheel to the right, bringing the ice cream truck to an abrupt halt in front of one of the dilapidated brick structures.

Laverne lurched along with the truck. “For Pete’s sake, can’t you park like a human?” she snarled.

Squiggy shrugged and switched off the truck. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Laverne waited and watched as Squiggy climbed out and walked to her side of the truck. He stood there, back to her door, alternately studying the scrap of paper in his hand and the faded numbers spray-painted onto the wood slab door of the building. Finally, she remembered who she was with, opened her own door, got out, and slammed it shut behind her, good and hard.

“Shhhh!” Squiggy jumped about a foot. “You wanna alert every weirdo and wino in the area to our presence?”

“Sorry,” she said, without feeling it.

“You’re husband is much better at these stealthy, skulking missions than you, missus.”

“Yeah, well, Len’s not here. That’s kind of the main problem.” Laverne sniffed the air, rank with the odors of stale urine, rancid food, and smoke from trashcan fires. She fought down the urge to gag. “So, this is where he’s supposed to be hangin’ out, huh?”

“According to my sources.” Squiggy shoved the paper into his pocket and marched over to the door. He raised his hand to knock, but hesitated. “Um, Laverne? Maybe it ain’t such a good idea for you to…”

“Don’t you even start with me again.” She had no intention of arguing with him over the wisdom of accompanying him on this search. If her husband was down here, he had to be in trouble, and if he was in trouble, then she couldn’t be anywhere else. Joey was safe at home with Shirley, Lucy, and Carly. Right now, her place was by Lenny’s side – whether he wanted her there or not.

“Okay, okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn ya…especially when Lenny threatens to pound me into sand for bringin’ you down to these unsavory parts.” He turned from her and knocked, a pattern similar to the “Shave and a Haircut…Two Bits” knock Carmine favored.

Several moments passed. Laverne was about to snap that Squiggy must’ve gotten his information wrong, when the ‘door’ creaked open. Laverne found herself staring over Squiggy’s shoulder into darkness. She gulped.

“Hello,” said Squiggy. Then, with less certainty, “Uh, hello?”

“That all you can say? What are you, some kind of giant parrot?”

Squiggy hopped back from the door, bumped into Laverne, and nearly sent the two of them sprawling back into the street. “Imp!” Squiggy squealed and pointed.

 “Ouch! What?” Laverne followed his finger, rubbing her stomach where Squiggy’s elbow had clipped her. “Squig, that’s not a….”

“What’d you call me?” A small, oddly-proportioned man glared up at Squiggy.

“A…um, a…you know. Imp. Like a tiny demon,” Squiggy started to explain.

“I know what an imp is, Polly Parrot.” The dwarf folded his arms across his broad chest. “But I ain’t one. I’m a little person.”

“Ya sure are.” Squiggy yanked on the ends of his leather jacket, pulling himself together. He took a cautious step closer to the doorman and reached out, as if to poke him and see if he were real.

Laverne sighed wearily and stepped between them, slapping Squiggy’s hand aside as she did. She thrust out her hand and put on as friendly a smile as she could muster, given the circumstances. “Hi, there. Name’s Laverne Kosnowski, and I’m lookin’ for someone.”

The little man took her hand, bent over it, and kissed the back in a courtly manner. He looked up at her, not letting go. “Lovely madam, then allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Someone.”

Squiggy snorted. “Get a load of junior here.”

The dwarf squinted up at him. “I’m forty-eight, Parrot Boy.”

“Yeah but,” Squiggy waved to indicate his head down to his feet. “You’re wee.”

“Not everywhere.” He directed this last bit to Laverne, who felt her face go warm. He winked.

She pulled her hand away, held out her left, and pointed to the gold band around her ring finger. “I’m married. Sorry.”

“Fool around?” The little guy looked hopeful.

“No!” She couldn’t help but grin. She had the feeling he was messing with her, not seriously making a full-on pass.

He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way and snapped his fingers. “Why’re all the big girls taken?” He shook his head. “Well, you might as well tell me why you n’your pet parrot are here. You checkin’ out the action, or…?”

Laverne felt her blood run cold. Action. Was that a code word for a drug deal? Oh, Lenny!

Squiggy took a step closer to the door. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right, my good…uh…man. My gal here and I, we’re lookin’ for a party.”

The dwarf looked suspicious. “Really. You and your girl.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Squiggy, “we’re lookin’ to score.” He nodded to the inside of the building. “That where you keep the stuff?” He started forward.

The dwarf’s hand shot forward, hitting Squiggy in the lower gut. Squiggy doubled over and coughed. “I didn’t say you could come in. Who gave you the entry code anyway, Parrot?”

“Look,” said Laverne. She wondered if she should crouch down to look at the doorman eye-to-eye, or if that would be rude. She contented herself with standing slightly away from him, so she didn’t have to gaze down at the top of his head. “We’re just looking for my husband.”

“What, you mean he’s not your man?” The dwarf nodded at Squiggy, who rubbed his stomach and glared back. “What a shock.”

“No, he’s just a…friend, I guess you’d call him. Please, Mr…?”

“Call me Doc.”

Really? Wow. “Doc, like I said, I’m Laverne Kosnowski. I’m lookin’ for my husband, Lenny, ‘cause I think he might be in trouble, so if you’ve seen him or anything, I’d sure appreciate it if you told me.”

Doc’s eyes widened. “Wait – you said Lenny? As in Lenny Kay?”

She cocked her head to one side. Good God, did Lenny have a mob moniker now? “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Yeah, sure, sure. Why didn’t you say so?” Doc bowed and swept his arm toward the darkened hallway behind him. “This way, madam.”

“Okaaaay.” She followed him, her heart drumming away in her chest. Squiggy tagged along after her, muttering about people who were too big for their tiny britches.

Laverne heard a cheer from somewhere ahead of them. “Wow, those people sure sound happy,” she said. Didn’t exactly match her concept of a drug den, but then again, who knew what they were all on.

Doc chuckled. “Oh, yeah, it’s been a night of thrills. But, if you’re Lenny Kay’s woman, I guess you’re used to it.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she just clenched her teeth and continued on. The hoots and catcalls continued to swell, until Doc led them into a large room full of folding chairs surrounding – was that a boxing ring?

Squiggy came up beside her and said, “Laverne, I don’t think we’re in Kansas no more.”

She shook her head in agreement. Men of varying sizes and battered conditions stood by folding chairs or in the aisles and yelled, their fist-pumping antics directed toward the two men in the center ring.

Laverne rubbed her face and looked again. “This ain’t a drug den,” she said.

“No way, no drugs here, ma’am. Junkies don’t have the coordination needed to put on a good show.” Doc took her numb hand and led her down close to ringside. He bowed and gestured at a chair. “Finest seat in the house.”

“Thanks,” she said. Her eyes were locked on the men in the ring, on one man in particular. Her mouth spoke without her brain’s direction.

Squiggy plunked down next to her. He looked into the ring and popped back onto his feet again. “Sweet Cesar’s ghost,” he said, and pointed, “ain’t that Lenny in there?”

“With Carmine,” said Laverne, still on autopilot. “He’s gonna fight Carmine. In a warehouse. At night. Lenny. Fighting.”

Squiggy looked at her, but she barely registered the concern on his face. “Er, Doc?” he said, “what’s exactly happenin’ in here?”

“What does it look like? They’re gonna waltz.” Doc nodded at the ring, cheerily. “The new guy, a former Golden Gloves, yet, and our own champeen, Lenny Kay.”

“Champeen. Lenny. Of course.” Laverne dropped into her folding chair, he legs no longer willing to support her weight. Squiggy quickly steadied it, before it could tip and spill her into a boneless pile on the floor.

“Enjoy the show!” Doc ambled away, whistling a happy tune.

Squiggy sat down next to her, his eyes fixed on Carmine and Lenny. “Well, look at it like this, Laverne,” he said, “at least he ain’t fixing.”

“You sure about that?” Laverne shook her head slowly and stared.

A whistle blew and a meatball-shaped ref stepped away from her husband and his opponent. At least she assumed he was the ref; he was wearing street clothes and nothing more distinguishing than his whistle. She noticed, too, that Lenny and Carmine had no special equipment – no bite guards, not even gloves.

She saw Carmine mouth something to Lenny, who shook his head sharply in return and raised his fists. Carmine’s shoulders hitched in either a shrug or a sigh then he, too, raised his fists. They began to circle each other, eyes locked onto one another’s. The already high heat in the room ramped up another ten degrees.

Squiggy bounced beside her, pounded his fists against his thighs. He murmured, “Get him, Lenny. Go on, beat him like a drum!”

Something in her shocked brain re-engaged, and Laverne turned to glare at Squiggy. “What are you sayin?” she demanded. “That’s Carmine up there! He and Len are friends, for God’s sake! They shouldn’t be doin’ this.”

Squiggy looked rueful. “Sorry, just a knee-jerk reaction. Carmine kicked our asses back in high school a coupla time, so seein’ Len up there with him about to get into it…besides, Laverne, what’s the big deal? This is obviously just some friendly li’l amateur sparring. Probably something that gym of their’s arranged.”

“Without gloves, Squig?” She smacked him on the side of the head, a little harder than she meant. He flinched and frowned, but she went on without apology, “Look at them! Look at where we are!” She flung her arms wide, to encompass their surroundings. “This ain’t some friendly sparring match, Squiggy. This is a bare-knuckles, no-holds-barred brawl!”

Squiggy looked around, slowly. His expression turned thoughtful, then worried. “Y’know, it does have that blood sport kinda look, now that you mention it.” His squinty eyes widened. “Oh, dear Lord, Lenny’s gonna get creamed.”

Lenny bellowed a challenge that sent shivers down Laverne’s spine. Squiggy snapped his head around to look back at the ring, and his mouth fell open.

“I don’t think it’s Lenny we should be worried about,” whispered Laverne.

***

They circled for only a few moments before something in Lenny snapped and he let out a roar that made the muscles in Carmine’s gut clench. He braced himself as Lenny fell on him like a rabid wolverine.

He thought he was prepared, but he was wrong. His mind had barely shifted into boxing mode, but it didn’t matter if he’d been completely focused, because Lenny didn’t approach him like a boxer. He jumped him like a mugger, a bar fighter – wholly without discipline or pattern. Lenny threw himself at him and started swinging.

Carmine barely blocked the initial blows. He ducked his head and held up his arms, knocking Lenny’s fists to the left and right. Lenny plowed forward and Carmine found himself giving ground, until the ropes scraped against his back. He saw Lenny’s knee jerk up toward his gut at the last moment and stumbled as he barely avoided it.

How do I do this? Carmine thought frantically. He didn’t want to hurt Lenny, but he only knew how to pull punches in a disciplined match. Lenny wasn’t throwing combinations his way, jabs and uppercuts that he knew instinctively how to parry. The guy was practically on top of him, just pounding away, kicking and swinging like a crazy man. Carmine hadn’t been in a fight like this since he was a kid. His opponent wouldn’t be content with just knocking him down. Lenny meant to hurt him, and hurt him bad.

Just like when you were a kid. Just like Dad.

Along with that thought came a trickle of the old anger any remembrance of his father inevitably brought. Carmine glared at Lenny as a punch slid through his defenses and knocked the wind out of his lungs. He clenched his teeth and tried to cover how much it stung.

“Lenny,” he muttered from between his teeth. He blocked a jab to his head. “Cut it out, now, or I’m gonna have to….”

Lenny’s blue eyes blazed, his face twisted into an expression of careless rage. He bulled on – punch, punch, kick, punch. As Carmine ducked, feinted, and hopped away from the salvo, he decided Lenny had made his choice.

So Carmine made his.

He blocked another gut shot, but a sneak uppercut clipped him on the jaw hard enough that he saw stars. Carmine shook his head to clear it.

Remember when you stepped between Dad and Mom? That shot he threw at her would’ve broken her jaw. Remember how it felt when he got you in the eye instead?

Carmine let the memory fill his thoughts, along with other, equally unpleasant images. He reached down deep and rolled the boulder he used to hold back the feelings that accompanied those memories away, allowed all the dark, ugly fury out until it filled him with furious despair.

He was fifteen again, walking through the door of that run-down brownstone, closing the door behind him that separated his bearable school life from the oppressive horror of his so-called home. He didn’t just remember it, he felt it. He was there.

He was ready.

Carmine dodged another kick and felt a punch glance off his left shoulder. He fastened his eyes on Lenny, but didn’t see him anymore, not as Lenny anyway. This was his opponent, his foe. The opponent meant to hurt him, to take him down, maybe do worse, just like his old man. He’d be damned if he’d allow that to happen.

Carmine blocked the next punch and for the first time let go one of his own. He aimed it with the precision of old experience and nailed Lenny right in the face. Lenny’s nose bent under his bare knuckles and sprayed Carmine’s face and chest with blood.

Lenny’s eyes widened and he staggered back. Carmine went after him without hesitation and punched at Lenny’s stomach. Lenny hopped away, but Carmine still managed to tag him in the ribs. Lenny grunted and kicked surprisingly high, hitting Carmine mid-chest.

Carmine went with the blow, absorbing as much as he could by bowing to its force. He pulled in a tight breath and studied his opponent through a haze of red. His mind calculated moves like Bobby Fisher at a chess board. Jab, jab, uppercut. Feint left, hit right. Remember, you can kick, too.

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. He’d forgotten how good it felt just to let go, to dip into the well-aged morass of pain and fear and cold hate and let it all loose on some unfortunate shlub who dared cross him. Boxing soothed some of his demons, sure, but there was nothing like a good old-fashioned beat-down to release his bottled up frustrations.

He let out a whoop of pure joy and advanced. Lenny threw his hands up to block, but Carmine knocked them aside and snapped his head at Lenny’s face. He split the bigger man’s lip with the head-butt, then, before Lenny could recover, he let loose a combination to the body that Lenny barely blocked. Lenny staggered back, but recovered surprisingly fast and kicked Carmine in the right knee.

Carmine bit back a cry and dropped to his left knee. His kneecap shifted at the blow and brought with it a surge of acrid bile. He swallowed it painfully and looked up just in time to see Lenny standing over him, fists and jaw clenched. The blood from his nose streaked his lower face and chest like Indian warpaint.

But there was something else in his eyes….

Before Carmine could process what that something else was, Lenny grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He set his jaw and swung at Carmine’s head.

It was a clumsy shot, telegraphed from a mile away. Thought I taught you better than that.

Carmine knocked his fist away with ease and used the opportunity to get inside his reach. It was an advantage he’d taken of larger opponents in the past; once inside their reach, he was golden. He knew how to power blows at short range, whereas most fighters’ punches lost most of their oomph when they couldn’t wind up first. He pummeled Lenny’s torso mercilessly, driving the taller man back until he hit the ropes.

Lenny tried to duck and cover, but Carmine stayed on him, his weight mostly centered on his uninjured left leg, his fists blurring as he slugged stomach, chest, diaphragm, ribs…oh, yes, the ribs were a specialty. He’d made a guy who hit on Shirley in high school cry like a nursery school girl once, just by punching him in the ribs a couple of times. It’d been delicious back then.

Not so much, now.

Through the fog of indulgent fury, a thought niggled at Carmine. Lenny had fought earlier with an impressive amount of power, if not skill. He’d apparently been winning fights here for awhile. So, where did that guy go?

Carmine pulled back. It meant giving up a huge advantage, and he heard the audience roar its disapproval, but he had to do it. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, pull his thoughts together, and see what was really going on.

He blinked until he saw Lenny clearly. Lenny, slumped against the ropes, clutching his reddened torso and bleeding heavily from his already-purpling nose. Lenny, whose blue eyes briefly met his, long enough for something to click in Carmine that washed away his blood lust like a bucket of ice water poured over his head.

Lenny wants me to hurt him.

Carmine looked at his blood-spattered, scraped knuckles. He let his hands fall to his sides. “What are you doing, man?” He wasn’t sure if he addressed Lenny, or himself.

Lenny straightened, winced sharply, and clutched at his left side. He stumbled over to Carmine. “Don’t stop,” he gasped. “Come on, we ain’t through!”

Carmine shook his head. “I think we are. Lenny…good Lord, what are you hoping for? You want someone…me? To beat you to death? Is that what all this is about?”

“It’s about me kicking your smug ass, Ragusa ,” growled Lenny. But his eyes didn’t agree. They were filled with loathing, sure, but none of it was directed at Carmine. It broke Carmine’s heart to look at them and it sickened him to realize he’d played into Lenny’s charade.

“No. We’re done here.” Carmine took a decisive hop back. He pushed down the sludge of emotions he’d let loose and set the boulder back in place again. His vision and thoughts crystallized. “I’m not going to be your judge, Len. I’m sure as hell not gonna be your executioner.”

Lenny’s eyes filled with tears. He blinked them back, angrily, raised his fists, and closed on Carmine. He threw a couple of shots, but Carmine batted them away with ease.

“Come on!” Lenny’s voice broke on the last word. “I deserve this.” His shoulders slumped and his hands dropped to his sides.

Carmine just shook his head. He looked over at Billy Ray. “Sorry, I’m tapping out. This is over.”

“Are you shittin’ me?” Billy Ray stomped over, accompanied by the booing and hisses of the disappointed audience. “What kind of sissy bull are you pullin’? Finish him off, Ragusa !”

Carmine fixed Billy Ray with an icy glare that stopped him in his tracks. “I said it’s over.” He stared Billy Ray down, until the frustrated promoter blew his whistle half-heartedly.

The guys in the audience roared their disapproval. Carmine ignored them, limped over to Lenny, and grasped his shoulder. Lenny tried to pull away, but Carmine didn’t let him. “Come on, time to go.”

Lenny closed his eyes, but finally he nodded. He hobbled over to his corner, retrieved his sweatshirt, and followed Carmine to the edge of the ring.

Carmine snatched up his own shirt and pulled it on. It was difficult to raise his arms over his head, but he managed without too much groaning. Jesus, but this is gonna hurt in the morning. Plus, what the hell was he going to tell Shirley?

He held the ropes apart and nodded for Lenny to climb out of the ring. The guys around them drew closer, their eyes filled with frustration and bitter disappointment. They were muttering loudly. A few were punching their palms, faces twisted with murderous intent.

Uh, oh. Carmine reminded himself this wasn’t some regulation match that had been called a draw. These guys wanted a decisive victor, a clear loser. They’d gotten neither, which meant they didn’t have a target, a champ to defeat themselves. And boy, were they pissed.

Billy Ray was no help whatsoever. “Sorry, guys, but it looks like we’re gonna have to take it from the top. I need two brand-spankin’ new challengers, since our so-called champ’s thrown in the towel – and that’s permanent, Lenny Kay!” He shouted the last at Lenny, who grimaced. “Don’t you come back in here and waste our time. You either, Ragusa . Golden Gloves, my sweet bippy.”

Before Carmine could decide if he should respond, a familiar voice rose from the front of the audience. “Screw you, fatso! He’s so the Golden Gloves champ. I saw him win it!”

“Yeah, and Lenny Kay, there, could kick all y’all’s asses if he felt like it, so back the hell off!” Another voice, also familiar. Female.

“Laverne?” said Lenny. He slid through the ropes and hopped down to the floor. He landed with a groan and wobbled. His wife scurried to his side and caught him by the arm, held him on his feet. He looked down at her in shock.

“Hey, Squig,” said Carmine. He slid down to the floor carefully and hopped over to Squiggy. He could feel his knee swelling. That was going to make teaching the upcoming week’s dance classes a little tricky. “What the deuce are you doing here?”

Squiggy looked at him nervously. “You’re not still in face-slamming mode, are you, Carmine?”

Carmine smiled, even though it made his face ache. He touched his jaw gingerly and felt it starting to swell, also. Wonderful. “Nope, I’m good.”

“Okay, then. Well, I did some investigagating, and found out Len might be hangin’ down here. Only I never expected this little club scene.” He looked around and shook his head. “I expected to find him lyin’ around with a needle in his arm.”

“Nope, he’s not using.” He found another way to kill himself. Carmine kept the last thought private. It still troubled him, though. Lenny’d found another drug of choice. Call it adrenaline, rage, testosterone – whatever else it was, ultimately it was just another way to punish himself. There was no question in Carmine’s mind that the guy still needed help, maybe more so than when he was using painkillers to ease his turmoil.

“You guys ready to get out of this deluxe hellhole?” Laverne had Lenny’s arm wrapped around her shoulder. She nodded toward the exit.

“More than,” said Carmine. He meant it from the bottom of his soul. He felt sick and empty inside, a reminder of why he kept his darker emotions buried so deep. Releasing them in a frenzy of self-indulgence was a rush at first, but the gnawing, hollow sensation they left behind would stay with him for days. He’d have to be careful not to sink into his own sea of self-pity and hate.

“Uh, guys?” Squiggy looked around at the circle of fighters that were closing ranks around them. “I think we might have some resistance to the idea of your just strolling outta here.”

Carmine sucked in a breath. He wanted nothing more than to collapse in a heap in bed. His knee radiated sharp pain, his gut felt carved out, and his head had to be the size of a balloon. He was in no shape to dive into a barroom brawl.

Laverne shot daggers at each man in turn. “Look at yourselves,” she spat, “so macho, so tough. You wait until these guys have half-beat each other to death and now you want to take ‘em on?”

“Lady, don’t you worry.” A huge man with a scar under his right eye hovered over her. “We don’t hurt skirts. But these cheats?”

“There’s only two ways to leave this ring – carried out on our shoulders or carried out on your backs.” The guy who’d dismissed him when he arrived stood close enough to Carmine now that he could smell what he’d eaten for lunch. Garlic had been involved.

Damn it, there wasn’t a way around this. Carmine felt his muscles tighten in his arms and shoulders. But before he could make a move, Lenny wiped away some of the blood under his nose and grabbed Garlic Breath by the shirt. He pulled the guy close and said, straight into his face, “Back off, or I’ll back you off, pal.”

That’s all it took.

Scar Face picked up a chair and, with a roar, swung it at Lenny’s head. Lenny pivoted, snatched the chair out of his hand, and swung it in a sideways arc that smacked into Scar Face’s head. Scar Face flew over several folding chairs and skidded to a landing.

Carmine didn’t have time to see exactly where. Short Muscles, apparently recovered from his beating at Tommy Stephens’s hands, flew out of nowhere and tackled him. Carmine fell back with the guy on his chest, but rolled with the momentum.

He planted his left foot against Short Muscles’ stomach and heaved. Short Muscles launched over Carmine’s head and vanished in a clatter of chairs and a loud whoomph of impact in the distance. Carmine continued the roll backward and came up on his good knee, then hopped back to his feet to meet whomever came at him next.

He was fast, but not fast enough. An enormous, dark figure had his fist already plowing toward his face when he stood. It would have knocked his block clean off, if Squiggy hadn’t jumped in and landed on the guy’s forearm. He hung on it with his full weight, like a kitten clinging to the edge of a table. It threw off the big man’s aim and enabled Carmine to dodge the meaty fist by inches.

“Thanks, Squig,” he said. Then he hopped up on a chair and aimed a focused combination at Big Guy’s face, ending in an uppercut that toppled him like a tree. Carmine saw a puff of dust come off the floor around him as he hit the deck.

“The bigger they are,” Squiggy noted. He gave Carmine a wicked grin, which Carmine half-heartedly returned.

Carmine turned to check on Laverne, make sure she was safe. He should’ve known better. She’d just finished kicking some bozo in the cojones and he was busy falling to the ground to writhe. “And stay down!” she warned. The guy just nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Carmine spied a blur of motion on the periphery of his vision. His bad knee slowed him down when he tried to jump aside and the locomotive slammed into his side, carried him down. He knocked aside a few folding chairs on his way to crashing to the floor.

Stunned, Carmine strained to pull air into his suddenly-empty lungs and collect his scattered thoughts. He felt something slamming into him repeatedly and dully realized he was being hit. I should do something to stop that, he thought.

He managed to roll onto his back and bring his arms up to block the blows, but whoever was on him struck aside his defenses and went on punching. Carmine couldn’t catch his breath and his vision narrowed to a black tunnel rimmed with red and shot through with bright lights. It was kind of pretty….

He could breathe again. Carmine sucked in a double lungful of air – stale, sweat-soaked, but air nonetheless. He blinked and his vision broadened and sharpened, until he could make out what was going on over him.

Lenny had Tommy Stephens by the collar of his shirt with one hand. With the other, he was punching Tommy in the face, over and over, snapping the big man’s head forward and back like a tetherball. Tommy’s weakly raised his hands to block Lenny, but pretty soon let them fall limp at his sides.

“Carmine, you okay?” Laverne knelt beside him, her green eyes wide with concern.

He opened his mouth, but only a weird croak came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Fine. I’m…fine.”

“Obviously,” she said, dryly. “Let me help you up.”

That sounded like a plan. Carmine reached for her and she grasped his arms around the elbows, and hauled him into a sitting position. He heard buzzing in his ears. “Ow-wow-wow,” he muttered, “that hurt.”

“I bet. You up for standing, or…?”

Before he could answer, Lenny let go of Tommy and shouted in his face, “Guess I didn’t make my point earlier. How ‘bout now?”

In response, Tommy crumpled like tissue to the floor, his face all but pulped. Carmine looked at it and gulped, then looked up at Lenny. What he could’ve done to me if he’d really wanted to. Carmine didn’t want to think about it.

Lenny held out his bloody hand. “Here ya go, Carmine.”

Carmine eyed his hand. He wasn’t sure if taking it was such a good idea.

“Carmine.” Lenny looked down at him. He seemed to recognize Carmine’s hesitation for what it was and a resentful look crossed his face. “Guy sucker-punched you. He had it comin’.”

“Sure he did.” Carmine got his good leg under him and heaved up. With Laverne’s support, he made it to a standing position. It took everything he had to remain there.

He looked around. The other fighters were scattered around them, in various states of beat-down. Squiggy stood over the last one, wielding a folding chair. “Go on, get up, I dares ya!” he cried. But the recipient of his warning just waved a hand weakly and shook his head. Squiggy looked disappointed as he opened the chair back up and set it neatly on the floor.

“Nice job, guys,” said Carmine. He rubbed his forehead, which did nothing to alleviate the ache now radiating throughout his skull. “Can we go home now? Please?”

“Yeah. Home would be good,” said Laverne. She looked at her husband uncertainly. “Wouldn’t it?”

He pressed his lips tightly together, but nodded. They headed over the fallen chairs and fallen fighters for the exit.

Carmine limped after them. Squiggy offered him a shoulder to lean on. Carmine took him up on his uncharacteristic support. “Thanks.”

“Think nothin’ of it.” He leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I know that you could’ve really damaged Len in there if you’d wanted to. Thanks for seein’ what a mess he already is and letting him be.”

Carmine licked his dry lips. He didn’t want to admit how close he had come to taking Lenny apart, how quickly he’d eased into beating one of his best friends into submission. “No problemo,” he said.

The last he saw of the warehouse fight club was Doc, making his rounds of the wounded men on the floor. “You keep letting things get outta control like this, Billy Bonehead, you’re gonna need six more like me to clean up the mess!” Doc shouted at the ring.

Billy Ray smirked and lit up a cigar.

***

Laverne sat across from her husband at the diner table. She’d have preferred to sit on the same side, but he slid in next to Squiggy without hesitation, so she took the spot next to Carmine, instead. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Lenny’s bruised, bloodied face.

“May I take your…oh, gawd!” The waitress made the mistake of looking up from her order pad. Her eyes darted from Lenny’s face to Carmine’s, and back again. She took a step back.

Maybe stopping in for a bite was a mistake, thought Laverne. She didn’t want the waitress to dash off and call the cops, so she quickly said, “Yeah, they look awful, don’t they? L.A. drivers, they’re just crazy. Can you imagine, runnin’ down a couple of guys minding their own business and not even stopping to make sure they were alive?” She shook her head in mock-contempt. “What is this world coming to?”

“Oh…oh, dear…are you boys okay? Should I call an ambulance?”

“No, no, they’re fine,” said Laverne. “Believe it or not, this is after they got checked out and cleaned up. They just need some…um…protein and other…injury-fixing food.”

She sounded like an idiot, but fortunately the waitress nodded and went off to get them all some water. The sad thing was Laverne wasn’t actually lying about the boys having cleaned themselves up. Lenny and Carmine had stopped in a gas station bathroom and washed away excess blood, bought cheap tee-shirts to replace their brawl-torn clothes, and generally repaired themselves as much as possible without medical attention.

They still looked like dogmeat.

Lenny’s eyes were both ringed with faint purple that Laverne knew would become two black shiners by tomorrow. One of his incisors was wobbly and his lower lip was split and puffy. His nose was swollen and bent to one side, although Carmine had assured her that it would mostly straighten out and snap back into place once healed. She figured he ought to know, having had his own mashed a few times in the ring, and elsewhere.

The side of Carmine’s face was swollen and turning a lovely shade of indigo. He took turns holding a bag of ice they’d picked up at the aforementioned gas station against it and his right knee, which was much larger than the left, obvious even through his jeans.

Yeah, she could see why the waitress bought that they’d been hit by a car. More like a truck.

“Can you eat with that thing?” Squiggy peered across the table at Carmine’s jaw.

When Carmine spoke, it was slow and a bit garbled, as if he couldn’t get his mouth around the words. “That thing being my face? No. I’ll get a milkshake.” He shot Lenny an aggrieved look.

Lenny sighed. “Remind me why we’re here again?”

“We are here,” said Laverne, “because none of us wants to face Shirley without a clear explanation of what went on tonight.” She paused for significance. “I’d appreciate one, as well, and considering I just helped save both your dopey asses from an even more thorough trouncing, I’d say I deserve to hear it first.”

Carmine said, “I came to the warehouse to pick up some fast cash at what I thought was some club boxing and to see if I could find your husband in the Bleeker Street gutter while I was at it, but instead I found out it was a bare-fisted slugfest and your husband was its biggest hero. Oh, and he’s apparently doing it because he’s so overwhelmed by guilt over the events of half a year ago that he’s using these fights to self-flagellate like some masochistic medieval monk.”

Lenny boggled in Carmine’s direction. “Real diplomatic there, Carmine.”

Carmine gave him the stink eye and muttered, “Screw you. I’m tired and hurt and pissed off.”

“Hm. Sounds like a logical explanation to me. Let’s eat.” Squiggy flipped open his menu and began thumbing through the sticky, plastic-coated pages.

“Hang on.” Laverne decided to take full advantage of Carmine’s cranky honesty. “So, assuming one of his big sources of guilt is shooting you, how would waling on you make him feel better?”

“I’m sitting right here,” said Lenny.

Carmine ignored him. “He didn’t want to. Well, maybe a little, ‘cause I cramped his twisted supervillain style by showing up at his private hell. Mostly, though, he wanted to rile me up enough that I’d beat him senseless and then he wouldn’t have to feel guilt or anything else anymore.”

“Really. I’m right here.” Lenny glared at Carmine and then back at her.

She ignored him, too. Be annoyed, she thought. After the worry you’ve put me through the last umpteen months? She had no sympathy. “Do you think he’s gotten it out of his system finally?”

Carmine studied Lenny with a mixture of cool indifference and contempt. “Probably,” he concluded. “But I think he still has to face that he’s got this anger and grief inside him that’s not just going to go away, and that he’s got to do it without crutches like drugs….”

“Hey!” Lenny slapped his palm down on the table, hard enough to make the napkin dispenser jump. The few occupants of the other tables in the place shot nervous glances in their direction. “I’m not using drugs, damn it!”

“Way to be convincing on that score,” said Squiggy. He looked around the restaurant and tried to offer everyone a reassuring smile. It made the other diners shrink back further into their booths.

Lenny closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were filled with a weariness that made Laverne’s heart ache. “I almost did,” he said, more quietly, “right after Poppa…that other hospital gave me painkillers and I used a few.” He saw her stiffen and quickly added, “As soon as I realized I was falling back on old habits, I flushed ‘em all down the toilet. I swear, Laverne. I ain’t had a thing harder than a beer – and that only once in a blue moon – since that first week. I’m totally clean.”

“But not totally fine.” She addressed him directly.

Carmine snorted. “Shut up, Carmine,” said Lenny, without much force.

“Bite me, Lenny.” Carmine picked up his water and tried to take a sip. It dribbled out of the bruised side of his mouth. He put it down, folded his arms on the table, and put his head down on top of them.

“What Carmine said. It’s true?” She caught his eyes and wouldn’t let him look away.

He met her gaze reluctantly. “I guess. When you spell it out like he did – all blunt and stuff,” Carmine flipped him the middle finger without lifting his head, “yeah, I guess that’s the gist of it.”

He looked thoughtful for several moments, processing his own words. Finally, he shook his head. “I guess it was another way of killin’ the pain.”

“By killin’ a bunch of bozos in a homemade ring?”

Lenny started to rub his eyes, but winced as soon as he touched them and put his hands back down on the table. “By feeling, Laverne. Feelin’ the pain on the outside, instead of in, where I couldn’t do somethin’ about it.”

“Outside. Where you could do something about it with your fists.” She stared at his bruised, scraped knuckles. She’d wondered why his hands looked so beat-up all the time, but had bought his mumbled explanations of moving crates and truck loading mishaps. What a dope she’d been. I just didn’t want to see what was right in front of me.

Not that she’d have ever, in a million years, conjured up the real explanation for his obvious injuries, or the ones he’d obviously been hiding by dodging opportunities to let her see him naked. He must’ve been pretty good at protecting his face, ‘cause she hadn’t seen much by way of cuts and bruises…well, not all that often.

She felt like a fool.

Lenny waited until the waitress had taken their orders to continue. When he did, his voice was so low she had to strain to make out his words. “I just keep seeing everything that happened. It all runs through my head, like a movie stuck on loop-de-loop.” He pointed at his temple. “When I first found out about the fights, I figured, ‘hey, Carmine used to say sparring helped him work out his anger, why not give it a try?’”

“Don’t you go blaming me.” Carmine’s muffled voice rose from the table. He held up a hand and pointed to himself. “I didn’t know anything about that place before yesterday.” He turned his hand and pointed at Lenny, still without raising his head. “You’ve been goin’ to that place for months.” He let his arm fall back into pillow formation under his head and concluded, “Butthead.”

“True,” said Lenny. He frowned at Carmine, but then shrugged. “Yeah, Carmine had no idea. I’ve been avoiding him since – you know.”

“You,” Carmine’s accusatory finger rose again, aimed in Lenny’s direction. “Shot.” He made a gun shape with the finger and thumb. “Me.” He pointed at himself.

“Yeah. That. We get it,” said Laverne. Carmine’s exhaustion-fueled snarking was starting to grate. “You lived. Get over it.”

Carmine let his arm drop back into place again. He grumbled something about not being the one who needed to get over anything.

“Anyway,” said Lenny, “I went the first night and just watched. The second and third times, too. It kind of helped, just watching the free-for-all. I could relate to both guys up there, the winner and the loser. Putting myself in their places, it made me feel…I can’t quite explain it. After awhile, though, just watchin’ stopped being enough.” He gestured at his chest. “I’ve been bulking up a bit for awhile, so I stepped it up until I felt like I could get in that ring without makin’ a complete jerk of myself.”

“You are meatier,” said Squiggy. He poked Lenny in the shoulder and bicep a few times.

“So you went into the ring and you won, and you got hooked,” Laverne filled in.

Her husband shook his head. “Not the first few times. I got my clock cleaned pretty good.” He chuckled, the first trace of real humor he’d shone in a long time. It made her remember how much she’d missed the real him…assuming she knew who the real him was at all anymore. “But even that made me feel kind of – I don’t know how to say it. Cleaner? Calmer inside. Like some of the bad got kicked right the hell out of me. It helped me get through the rest of the week without blowin’ my stack. I got to be functional again.”

“Functional.” Laverne frowned. “Like a machine. No feelings, no expression. Just movin’ when you were supposed to. Doing what was expected.”

Lenny gave her a pained look. “Is that what you saw?”

She bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. She didn’t want to cry, not now. She didn’t want to shift his focus from himself to her.

Lenny looked from her face to Squiggy, who nodded vigorously. “The lights, they’ve been on, but no Lenny was at home,” he confirmed.

Lenny turned to Carmine. At first, Carmine remained slumped over, but then he apparently sensed Lenny’s eyes on him. His curls bobbed as he jiggled his head in assent against his arms.

“Oh.” Lenny’s shoulders slumped. “And here I thought I was actin’ my regular self.”

“Your regular self has emotions,” said Laverne. “He laughs. He hurts. He loves.”

Lenny looked as if she’d slapped him. “I guess I was so focused on controlling the bad feelings that I sort of stomped down the good ones, too.” He picked up the napkin holder and began shredding the napkins out, one by one. “Anyway, then I started doin’ better. I paid attention when I was watching, and I studied what other guys did against me, and pretty soon I was usin’ it all to my advantage.”

He closed his eyes again. “It felt so good sometimes,” he breathed. “But then, I’d see what I’d done to a guy and I saw…not his face anymore. I saw that Russian witch, and my Poppa, and,” he nodded at Carmine, “and then, I just wanted…I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted.”

“Yeah, you do,” said Laverne. “You wanted to be hurt. You’re like a kid who cries when he’s bein’ spanked, but then feels all blissful the rest of the day ‘cause he took his licks and all is forgiven.”

“That’s kind of messed up,” said Squiggy. He looked at the cheeseburger and fries the waitress set down in front of him and his eyes lit up. He dove into the food without further comment.

Carmine finally raised his head and stared, bleary-eyed, at the chocolate milkshake now in front of him.  He took the straw, wedged it between his lips on the uninjured side of his mouth, and took a sip. Then he mumbled, “You’re a nutcake.”

Lenny looked at him wearily. “You’re one to talk.”

“Takes one to know one.” Carmine took another draw on his milkshake, then leaned back against the padded booth and regarded Lenny calmly. “If you wanted me to kick your ass until you felt better, you could’ve just asked.”

“Next time,” Lenny said. He managed a wan smile.

“Or, you could have, I don’t know, just accepted my forgiveness. Which I freely gave you six months ago,” said Carmine.

“It wasn’t just about you, Carmine. I mean, yeah, that was part of it, but my father, that spy….”

“Who totally had it coming,” said Laverne. She had no mercy for the woman who’d run Lenny down and started this whole downward spiral.

“This is what I said,” said Carmine. He held up his hand as Lenny opened his mouth. “And as for your father, you didn’t contribute to his death in any way. You loved him, Len, and he loved you.”

Lenny looked as though Carmine had slugged him again. In a small voice, he said, “I was awful to him right before…I didn’t even know who he was until those last few minutes.”

Carmine’s hangdog expression softened. He leaned across the table and rested his hand on Lenny’s shoulder, even though he cringed with each movement. “He didn’t blame you. I was with him, Lenny, searching for you. All he wanted to do was find you, keep you safe. And he was so happy when he found your mom again.”

Lenny looked away. Laverne saw his eyes shining with tears and had to swallow her own. Carmine continued. “Trust me when I tell you, there’s no way he blamed you for anything that went on that horrible last day. I know.”

“You were busy bleedin’ on the floor,” murmured Lenny.

“I. Know.” Carmine’s hand tightened on his shoulder. His voice brooked no opposition.

They sat there like that for awhile. Squiggy shoved French fries in his mouth and Laverne toyed with her tuna sandwich. Finally, Lenny took a deep breath and let it out in a long, slow hiss. He sagged back against his seat. Carmine released his shoulder and sucked down the rest of his milkshake as if trying to wash away something stuck in his throat.

Lenny said, “Did I at least look good up there?”

It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. She met his eyes and they crinkled at the corners. Lenny, her Lenny, looked back at her with an echo of his old twinkle and the invisible weight she’d been shlepping around for months slid off her shoulders. “What, you mean all bare-chested and muscle-y, splattered with blood and covered in bruises, beating this guy here until he cried like a baby?”

“So?” said Lenny.

“Yeah. You looked scorchin’ hot.” She grinned.

“Hey!” Carmine said, indignantly. “I was winning! And I did not cry. There’s no crying in boxing.”

“Right, sure.” Squiggy snorted around a mouthful of cheeseburger. “You were winning. Tell that to your face.”

Lenny laughed and Laverne joined him. The release was damned near orgasmic.

“I held back in there! If I’d have let loose totally, they’d still be scraping pieces of you off the canvas.” They kept laughing. Squiggy joined in with a hearty guffaw.

Carmine glared at each of them in turn. “You suck. And you suck.” He took out his straw and flicked milkshake at Lenny’s face. A small chocolate blob landed on Lenny’s nose. “And you suck most of all.”

“I tell ya what, Carmine,” said Lenny, dabbing his nose with one of the paper napkins. “Meet me at the gym tomorrow morning, and I’ll be happy to teach ya a few moves. Whatta you say?”

Carmine studied his face for a moment. Laverne saw his natural good-humor reassert itself and he grinned, lopsidedly. “All right, you’ve got a deal, Lenny Kay.” He considered. “But could we make it the day after tomorrow? I plan on being in a coma until then.”

“Sounds fair to me.” Lenny smiled at him then looked over at her and his expression warmed another several degrees. “Gives me more time to spend with my family.”

It took everything Laverne had not to leap clean across the table into his lap.

“So,” said Squiggy, after they’d finished their meals and the waitress had dropped off the check. “What’re we gonna tell Shirley again?”

Laverne turned her head and exchanged panicked looks with Carmine. He shrugged. “I liked your car story,” he said.

“Remember that whole honesty policy you’ve got goin’ with her these days?” she said.

Carmine groaned. “Okay, fine. I’ll go outside and let a car really hit me.” He slowly dragged himself to his feet.

Laverne caught his hand. “No, no. Come on, Carmine. You faced ol’ Lenny Kay here in the ring. You can face one tiny little Irish girl.”

“Have you met my wife?” He shuddered. “No offense, but she’s a lot scarier than Lenny.”

Lenny nodded. “That’s true.”

Squiggy hugged himself, eyes wide. “Better you than me, Carmine.”

Laverne sighed. Men were such wussies. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to her.”

Carmine sagged with relief. “Really?”

“Sure. You helped pull my spouse away from a dangerous sport; I’ll help save you from a tongue lashing. That’ll make us even, way I figure it.”

He smiled. “Sounds perfectly fair to me.”

They collected themselves and headed out the door. On the way, Lenny put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his less-wounded side. She was careful not to squeeze around his ribs when she hugged him back.

They walked back outside and over to the car like that, without exchanging more than the occasional loving glance, yet she felt more connected to him than she had during their past dozen or so conversations. Her man was back – wounded, hurting, both inside and out – but he was Lenny again. Knowing that, she could face the rest of his recovery without flinching. Hell, she could face another warehouse full of thugs, a hundred Big Rosie Greenbaums, whatever life threw her way next.

Maybe even one tiny little Irish girl.

--END--