Sugar Pop Moon by John Florio Read Free Book Online

“Once our boy plows through Leo, he’ll take on Tommy Burns,” he said, smiling.
    He and his cronies had been coveting the world heavyweight title ever since Burns had taken it from Marvin Hart in February. Burns, they felt, was beatable. Even Dorothy had to admit that her father’s timing was impeccable. He’d bought into Higgins on a Monday, and by Friday, Burns was champ.
    Ernie windmilled his arms in looping circles from his shoulders. A group of five men sitting ringside—two rows in front of Dorothy—hurled insults at him. They all wore grubby pants and yellowed white shirts; they couldn’t have been more than a year older than Dorothy.
    â€œHere comes the whupping,” the youngest one yelled, his hands cupped around his hairless lips like a ten-fingered megaphone.
    â€œKiss the canvas, boy!” another shouted, his dark brown eyes bulging with every syllable. Then he turned to his friend and laughed as if he had come up with a line worthy of Vaudeville.
    Ernie’s brown shoulders gleamed like wet stones under the glare of the torpedo lamps. Dorothy had never been attracted to a dark-skinned man before Ernie, but she couldn’t help fantasizing about running into the ring and sucking him on the mouth under the glaring lights. Her corset, already biting into her bust, seemed to squeeze her lungs even more tightly whenever she looked at him.
    Her father nudged his elbow into Dorothy’s arm and motioned with his chin to the back of the aisle. There strutted Higgins, a tall, sinewy specimen with long arms and sweaty blond hair that dangled like string onto his forehead. He didn’t have Ernie’s muscles; he was lean and towered over most everybody in the crowd. He swaggered down the steps of the aisle, twisting his lanky body to avoid the outstretched arms of boxing fans hoping to shake the hand of their favorite thoroughbred.
    â€œThere’s our future, honey,” her father said. “I can feel it.”
    Dorothy excused herself, quickly making her way back up the aisle to get some air. She knew that Ernie had refused a bribe from her father’s friends to fall in the seventh round. Now she wished he had taken the money, at least he would have walked away with something in his pocket.
    When the bell rang, the two fighters left the safety of their corners and approached the center of the mat with their gloves raised. Dorothy watched from the cheap seats, barely able to see over the standing crowd. Every so often, between the padded shoulders of the cheering fans, she glimpsed Higgins pelting Ernie’s right eye with lightning-quick left jabs. Ernie shook them off, but she’d been tagging along with her father long enough to know how quickly those kinds of punches could wear on a fighter.
    The bell clanged and Ernie trudged back to his stool. Dorothy returned to her seat, knowing the fight would soon be over.
    â€œDorothy, get over here,” her father said, smiling. “You’re missing the action.”
    She sat down just in time to see the fighters start up again. Higgins stalked Ernie, pummeling his forehead. After a stiff right from Higgins, Ernie leaned back on the ropes and took a barrage of blows to his meaty trunk. But instead of crumbling to the floor, he pushed Higgins back, surged forward off the ropes, and lit into Higgins with a left hook that seemed to start at his knees. The blow bashed Higgins’s ribcage and sent the tall man’s right leg into a spasm. Higgins pinned his elbow to his midsection and took a couple of shaky sidesteps. Dorothy leaned forward, her heart racing at the thought of Ernie knocking Higgins out. But any hope she had of Higgins’s demise was yanked away when the Irishman fired three rapid blows to the bridge of Ernie’s flat, broad nose. Ernie’s head snapped back, spraying sweat with each shot. Dorothy prayed he would fall without enduring any more punishment, but he bounced off the