Tiger Strikowski laid flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling of Madison Square Garden. Blood spewed from both of his nostrils, and his left eye was closing up. The reigning Middleweight champion had been knocked to the canvas courtesy of a left cross to his head and a right uppercut that pulverized his jaw. Tiger raised his head briefly to hazily see the referee ushering Kenny Williams to a neutral corner.
His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped back on the mat. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he heard the referee counting, “One, Two, Three..”, as well as a combination of boos and jeers from an unhappy crowd, most of whom probably counted on this championship fight lasting longer than one round. Some of the more bloodthirsty fans stood and yelled for Tiger to pull his sorry ass up to continue to absorb his challenger’s assault. Worse, the flash of cell phones captured the only time in his career he had been knocked down.
Strikowski staggered to his feet and was immediately met by the business end of Williams’ right hand. He held onto Williams to thwart another encounter with the canvas, and as the referee separated them, the glorious and merciful sound of the bell ended Round 1. Tiger staggered to his corner, until he realized it was the wrong corner. His trainer, Gys, guided him to a stool, soaked some blood from his face and spritzed water in his mouth.
“What the hell’s goin’ on out there, Tiger, he’s givin’ you a freakin’ beating”, yelled Gus over the roar of the crowd.
“I don’t know, Gus,” Tiger moaned. “He’s really strong. Quick too. I can’t keep him off me.”
“You’d better start to move better out there or I’ll be having dinner a lot earlier than I thought. You’ll be sipping it through a straw or having round the clock IVs. Now get on your toes, slip his punches and counter-punch. Use your quick jabs. Keep him off balance.”
Tiger raised his right glove to acknowledge receipt of Gus’ message, too exhausted and fuzzy to comment or argue.
The sound of the bell for Round 2 was a jackhammer to the champ’s brain. He ambled from his corner, his gloves resting at his sides, his gaze trying to focus on the charging Kenny Williams. The reigning number one contender landed two punches to Tiger’s face before he could raise his gloves to protect himself. Fearing that the next punch would knock him into next week, the champ put both arms around Williams’ waist and pulled the challenger to him. Before the referee could break them apart, Williams said something to Tiger, which sent him into a frenzy.
As the two fighters were back in the middle of the ring, Tiger pummeled Williams with a flurry of punches to his head, face and body. Williams struggled to keep his hands up to stave off the barrage, and was close to being knocked down when the bell sounded, ending Round 2.
A smiling Gus jumped into the ring with a wet sponge, which he rang out over Tiger’s head.
“Much, much better champ,” he yelled. “I thought you might have had him. Follow that up in Round 3 and you’ll put him away.”
Tiger scanned the crowd to find a face staring at him. He was half listening to Gus’ final instructions when that ominous look from the third row said more to him than his trainer.
The champ pushed himself off his stool, one eye on his opponent and the other eye focused on a certain spectator.
Round 3 began slowly as both boxers were exhausted. As the pace picked up, Williams caught Tiger with a combination to his ribs and stomach, forcing the champ to go down on his right knee, gasping for air. His ears were pierced by a cacophony of deafening yelling and screaming. He rose to his feet before the ref reached a ten count.
The challenger continued to pound Tiger until he couldn’t keep his gloves or his head up. Strikowski was a statue against the ropes, his feet were motionless and his wobbly legs could no longer support his 160 pound frame. A powerful uppercut sent Tiger to the deck. He was down, then counted out. The ref raised Kenny Williams’ hand, signifying him as the new Middleweight champ. After 30 fights, this was his first defeat.
Gus and Tiger’s corner men helped him from the canvas onto a stool. They consoled him as he covered his face with his boxing gloves. The new champ came over to congratulate Tiger for being such a great champion. The former champ forced himself up and embraced Williams, congratulating him on a great fight and wishing him well. Both pugilists then made their way to their locker rooms for some rest and medical attention.
Tiger had lost his cherished Middleweight championship belt, and was not in a talking mood in the dressing room. Gus and Dr. Rosen attended to him, then left the area to afford Tiger some privacy.
Strikowski laid back on the examining table with so much ice on him the Titanic would be in danger. His left eye closed up, his right eye on its way there. Both hands were swelled up like balloons. He tried to get a few minutes of sleep, attempting to put his loss and his physical pain in the rear view mirror.
The silence of the room was broken by the sound of shoes striking the dressing room floor. Tiger forced his right eye open, his left eye remained stubbornly closed. He recognized the blank stare of the fan from the third row.
“Hi, Tiger. How are you feeling?”
“Like shit, what’s it to you?”
“I saw that beating you took.”
“Yeah, I saw you sitting in the third row.”
“I would usually sit in the front row, but you know how hard it is getting blood out of silk. I just wanted to make sure that we were still on for our meeting later on.”
“I should really go to the hospital,” said Tiger, “but I’ll be there, as promised.”
“That’s all I need to know. See you soon.”
Tiger propped himself up to a sitting position. When Gus came back into the dressing room, Tiger explained that he needed to make a quick stop, and then he would be back. He waved his hand at his trainer’s insistence that they should get to the hospital immediately.
Strikowski let the hot water pulsate over him in the shower, attempting to soothe each aching muscle and swollen joint. He dressed quickly, throwing on a hooded sweatshirt, sweatpants and a Giants winter jacket, left Madison Square Garden unobserved with the help of a security guard, and headed for 41st and 10th, behind the Federal Express building.
The cool November air hit his warm facial wounds. Tiger squinted his puffy eyes as he adjusted to the moonlit night. He picked up his pace as he saw the meeting place approaching.
Tiger waited a few minutes until Frank Pallone arrived, wearing a stylish long gray overcoat over his blue Italian silk suit. Pallone yanked at his cuffs and adjusted his gold cufflinks. He approached Tiger with an envelope, which he slid into his inside jacket pocket.
“It’s all here, Frank, $50,000, as you promised?”
“Everything I say, by definition, is a promise,” replied Pallone.
“I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t try any bullshit.”
“That’s not the way my organization operates. But speaking of which, I thought that we were going to have a problem in the second round. You almost knocked Williams out, Tiger. That would have disappointed me. I don’t handle disappointment well. I may have gotten very unpleasant.”
“Williams got out of line. A little trash talking is part of the game, but he crossed the line. He said something about my wife. I wanted to kill him right there in the ring, but I thought better of it. Anyway, he apologized to me later. He’s an okay guy.”
“That was a wise choice, Tiger, and I understand your anger. Family is sacred to my culture. Mr. Williams may have received a worse fate if he had insulted my family, especially if I had a wife who was dying, God Forbid.”
The temperature was dropping on this cold November night, and Tiger was ready to wrap up this little get together. He placed his hands in his pockets and addressed Pallone firmly.
“Just so we understand each other, Frank, the only reason I agreed to your scheme is because my wife’s terminal. Hanna wants to live out whatever time she has left in her own home. She requires round the clock care, nurses, aids, medicine, the whole bit. And she’ll get that. She’ll get anything she needs or wants.”
“Of course she will, Frank. She is a courageous woman and deserves the best.”
“Spare me the Pope of Greenwich Village act, Pallone. You approached me because you knew my situation. You knew I was vulnerable. It killed me to tank it tonight, to not put up any real fight. Williams is a good fighter, no doubt. He’s a climber, but he’s not ready for the big stage yet. But you and your buddies wanted your big payday, and I needed some extra cash.”
“I know that losing the title is tough, Tiger, but consider the big picture. And nobody says that you can’t get it back. I’m sure Williams can be spoken to, that he may play ball.”
“He’s a good kid, Frank, with a real legitimate future. Don’t make him a pawn in this crap, don’t crush the kid.”
“As much I appreciate your input, Tiger, please don’t ever tell me what I can or can’t do.”
Tiger pursed his lips together with such force that they disappeared.
“Well, there’s one thing I can tell you Frank. I’m out, do you understand, no more of this shit for me. Tonight will be our last meeting.”
“That disappoints me, champ. Excuse me, former champ. I thought we had covered that subject earlier. But I’ll chalk up your rash decision and rude demeanor to your having a bad night, similar to your fortunes in the ring earlier.”
Pallone pulled a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at Tiger. “This is just my way of being satisfied that I can count on your full cooperation, until it is deemed no longer in our best interest.”
Tiger had anticipated Pallone being less than satisfied with his news. His right hand was still firmly planted in pocket, resting on the trigger of his pistol. He did not plan on the night ending this way, but he was prepared for it. If Pallone persisted, he would find out what four years in the military had done for Tiger’s shooting skill.
Suddenly the stalemate and the silence were shattered by a loud bang which penetrated Tiger’s soul. He checked himself to see if he had been hit, but there was no blood on him. However, Frank Pallone began splattering blood, let out a blood-curdling moan and fell face first to the street.
Tiger looked up to see pistol smoke hovering in the cold night air, behind it stood Kenny Williams, a gun at his side. Tiger’s eyes expanded and his mouth flew open, but nothing came out.
“Don’t say anything, Tiger. I followed that asshole when I saw him following you at 34th Street. I knew the score tonight, that you were not yourself. I figured it was a set-up, and I also figure that it wouldn’t be long until I had a visitor with a plan in mind. I’ve seen Pallone and his pals hanging around my fights lots of times.”
“I don’t know what to say, Kenny. You see, I have a family situation…”
Williams cut Tiger off. “I heard most of what you guys were saying. I get the gist and I am sorry. Just promise me that if I give you a rematch I’ll get your best.”
The long and violent night had taken a toll on Tiger, leaving him drained and fatigued. He could only muster a quick nod of agreement.
The two men shook hands silently and went there separate ways. Tiger would eventually head back to the Garden and then to the hospital, but first he would take a five block walk home, to check on his wife.