The Boxer and the Spy by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online Page B

tired, the punches began to slide off with less pop.
    “Torque your forearms,” George said. “First two knuckles ... Breathe... Keep your feet under you... Left foot forward ... Punch from the floor ... Turn your hip into it... Good, take a seat.”
    Terry went and sat. He was sweating. His chest was heaving. He felt good.
    “How’d you come to be a fighter, George?” Terry said.
    George smiled. Terry noticed he was not trying to catch his breath.
    Hell, Terry thought, I was doing all the punching .
    “Old story,” George said. “Grew up in Baltimore. No father. Mother working two jobs to keep us going. I spent most of my time in the streets. In that part of Baltimore, on the streets, you had to fight. Didn’t have no choice. Got in some trouble. So my mother say you gonna fight anyway, maybe you should learn how. Maybe make some money. Took me to a priest, white priest, run an athletic program for street kids. Got me signed up for boxing.”
    “You Catholic?”
    “Nope,” George said. “Wasn’t white neither. Priest didn’t care. Went to Golden Gloves and then pro. Made a living. Most of the kids I fought in the street with are dead or in jail.”
    “Wow,” Terry said. “A real priest.”
    George smiled and nodded.
    “Yep,” George said. “A real one.”
    They went another round on the combinations and moving. Then they did what George called speed drills.
    “Want you hit that heavy bag, left-right, left-right, fast as you can, keepin’ your form. Gonna do it for a minute.”
    Terry did it. George counted it down.
    “Good,” George said. “Take a break.”
    Terry went, and sat, and breathed.
    When he could, he said, “I used to think, like, a priest wouldn’t do a bad thing. A teacher wouldn’t do that, you know?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “But sometimes they do bad things. Priests can be bad. Teachers, you think they’re all supposed to be good, and some of them aren’t.”
    “Way it is,” George said.
    “Makes it hard to trust people,” Terry said.
    “It do,” George said.

CHAPTER 18
    T hey were hanging on the Wall: Terry and Abby, Tank, Suzi, and a small smart kid named Otis. A silver BMW sedan pulled up in front of them and Kip Carter got out with two friends.
    Otis said, “Uh-oh.”
    “Hey, boxer boy,” Carter said. “You keeping your nose clean?”
    Terry didn’t say anything.
    “What do you want?” Abby said.
    “Want to know if boxer boy’s being good,” Carter said.
    “Why don’t you go bother somebody else?” Abby said. “Creep.”
    “‘Cause we want to bother you, slut,” Carter said.
    “Hey,” Terry said. “Watch your mouth.”
    “He’s telling me to watch my mouth,” Carter said to one of his friends.
    The friend’s name was Gordon. He played linebacker and was part of Carter’s entourage.
    “Or you’ll do what,” Gordon said.
    “I told him about you being a boxer,” Carter said. “And Gordon don’t think much of that. Gordon thinks he can kick your butt.”
    Terry nodded slowly.
    “I think he can too,” Carter said. “You think so, Mikey?”
    Mikey was another hanger-on. He played center on the football team and followed Carter around most of the rest of the time.
    “Sure he can,” Mikey said.
    “How ‘bout you, dweeb,” Carter said to Otis. “What do you think?”
    “I don’t know,” Otis said.
    “And you, Kitty Cat?” Carter said to Abby “What do you think?”
    “I think you should buzz off,” Abby said.
    “Me too,” Suzi said.
    “Well we’ve heard from the Kitty Cats,” Carter said to Terry, “what you think.”
    Terry took in a long breath of air, and slid off the wall.
    “Terry,” Abby said. “Don’t.”
    “Hey, the boxer boy’s gonna show us his stuff,” Carter said. “You stay out of this, Tank.”
    “You too,” Tank said.
    Carter laughed.
    “Sure, sure,” he said. “I’m thinking Gordon won’t need no help.”
    Terry went into his stance. Left foot forward. Hands high. He heard Carter laugh. It