The Bat by Jo Nesbø Read Free Book Online

blew her a kiss before two assistants tied his boxing gloves. The marquee began to buzz as Toowoomba slunk in between the ropes. He was an erect, unusually black and good-looking man.
    “Murri?” Harry asked.
    “Aboriginal from Queensland.”
    Johnny’s gang came to life as they realized they could use “Bobby” in their choruses now. The gong was struck and the two boxers approached each other. The white man was bigger, almost a head taller than his black adversary, but even to the untrained eye it was easy to see that he didn’t move with the Murri’s light-footed elegance.
    Bobby rushed forward and launched a missile of a punch at Toowoomba, who swayed backward to avoid it. The audience groaned and the woman in white screamed encouragement. Bobby punched holes in the air a couple of times before Toowoomba glided in and planted a careful, probing right in the Lobby’s face. Bobby staggered back two paces and it looked as if it was goodnight nurse for him.
    “I should have put
two
hundred on him,” Andrew commented.
    Toowoomba circled Bobby, threw a couple of jabs and swayed back with the same ease when Bobby swung his log-like arms. Bobby was panting and yelling with frustration while Toowoomba never seemed to be where he had been a moment before. The audience started to whistle. Toowoomba raised a hand as if in greeting, then buried it in Bobby’s stomach. He folded and stood doubled up in the corner of the ring. Toowoomba drew back a couple of paces and looked concerned.
    “Finish him off, you black bastard!” Andrew screamed. Toowoomba turned in surprise, smiled and waved a hand above his head.
    “Don’t stand there grinning, do your job, you dingbat! I’ve got money on you.”
    Toowoomba turned to get the whole thing over and done with, but as he was about to give Bobby the
coup de grâce
, the gong went. The two boxers approached their corners as the MC took the microphone. The woman in white was already in Bobby’s corner and giving him an earful while one of his assistants passed him a bottle of beer.
    Andrew was annoyed. “Robin doesn’t want to hurt the whitie, fair dinkum. But he ought to respect the fact that I’ve put money on him, the useless bugger.”
    “Do you know him?”
    “Yes, I know Robin Toowoomba,” Andrew said.
    The gong went again and this time Bobby stood waiting in the corner for Toowoomba, who approached with a determined gait. Bobby was holding his arms high to protect his head and Toowoomba fired a body punch. Bobby collapsed backward against the rope. Toowoomba turned and looked imploringly at the MC—who was also working as a kind of referee—to make him stop the fight.
    Andrew screamed again, but too late.
    Bobby’s punch sent Toowoomba flying and he hit the canvas with a thud. As he staggered to his feet, dazed, Bobby was on him like a hurricane. The blows came straight and true, and Toowoomba’s head was batted to and fro like a ping-pong ball. A thin stripe of blood issued forth from one nostril.
    “Shit! A hustler!” Andrew shouted. “Bloody hell, Robin, you fell for that one.”
    Toowoomba had his hands in front of his face and was retreating as Bobby went after him. Bobby’s left arm was pumping in and out, followed by powerful haymakers and right uppercuts. The crowd was in ecstasy. The woman in white was on her feet again, screaming the first syllable of his name and holding the vowel in a long, shrill tone: “Boooo …”
    The MC shook his head as the gang of cheerers quickly launched its new chorus: “Go, Bobby, go-go-go, Bobby-be-good!”
    “That’s it. It’s over,” Andrew said, dispirited.
    “Toowoomba’s going to lose?”
    “Are you crazy? Toowoomba’s going to kill the bastard. I’d been hoping it wouldn’t be too gruesome today.”
    Harry concentrated, to try and see what Andrew could see. Toowoomba had fallen back on the ropes; he appeared almost relaxed as Bobby pummeled away at his abdomen. For a moment Harry thought Toowoomba