Pound for Pound Read Online Free Page A

better.”
    Tim Pat had been brown-bagging for three years. Dan said, “Why do you want to eat lunch at home?”
    Tim Pat said, “I just wanna.”
    Dan said, “Son, the shop’s always busy at lunchtime. When my guys are all at lunch, and people come in for their cars and stuff, I have to be there.”
    Tim Pat said, “You could take my lunch to the shop and I could walk over there to eat.”
    Dan said, “Walkin would take time, and maybe I wouldn’t be able to get you back to school for class. Besides, you couldn’t play noon games with the kids, right?”
    “Yeah, okay.”
    Dan didn’t understand. Tim Pat had grieved following his parents’ death, and after Brigid’s. That was normal enough, but like most kids he was resilient, especially when he found abundant love from his grandfather, comfort from the nuns, and playful attention from Earl and the guys at the shop. All served to compensate for much of the boy’s loss. He began to grow, to flourish, to break through the sadness and reserve of silence. He was particularly secure in his grandfather’s love. He’d had his scuffles at school, like every other little boy, but no one had ever preyed upon him. He still walked to Christ the King School the way Brigid and Dan had taught him. Dan picked him up at school and usually took him to the shop, where Tim Pat would do homework or tinker with junk cars until closing time. The boy was good at team sports and liked to compete, but had never shown an interest in boxing, which was fine with Dan. Boxing was something you wanted, or you didn’t, and Dan would never have pushed it on a son of his own, much less Tim Pat. Tim Pat liked baseball, was a good hitter, seldom struck out. Dan went to every game. Now things had changed. Tim Pat no longer seemed interested in baseball and Dan didn’t understand why.
    Earl said, “Watch the boy close, it could be his hurt comin back on him.”
    A week later, Dan noticed that Tim Pat had dark circles under his eyes. As a fight trainer, Dan was attuned to shifts. Tim Pat looked like he’d lost weight. A loss of a pound or two is nothing to an adult, but for a nine-year-old weighing sixty-four pounds at four foot six, it’s a significant amount. Two pounds can be significant in boxing, as well. Should a 135 -pound fighter come in at 137 at the weigh-in for a 135 -pound fight, he’d have to make weight by sweating off the two pounds in the steam room or by doing roadwork. Having to lose weight so close to a fight would give the other guy the edge. Only the dummies showed up overweight. But this was about something more than weight.
    Dan said, “Are you feeling all right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Then what’s wrong, son?” Dan asked.
    “Nothin.”
    Dan didn’t buy it, waited a few days. The kid withdrew even more, looked cold all the time, went to his room.
    Sister Mary Virginia called from school. “Is there something wrong with Tim Pat, Mr. Cooley?”
    “Is he skipping classes, or something?”
    Sister said, “It’s not that. It’s his schoolwork.”
    “Is he eating at lunchtime?”
    Sister said, “I’m sure he is. No one has said otherwise.”
    Dan hung up. He could have kicked himself. “No one said otherwise” back in his own school days either—least of all him.
    Dan waited for Tim Pat to leave for school the next day, then followed in the pickup from nearly a block back. Instead of going by way of Melrose, Dan and Brigid had taught him, Tim Pat dropped all the way down to Rosewood, then crept along the fence of the Wilshire Country Club. He danced through traffic on Rossmore, then headed for Arden Boulevard, and cut back again toward school.
    Seeing Tim Pat weave through traffic had nearly stopped Dan’s heart. When the boy got a short block from school, he slid behind a hedge and waited. He peeked through the leaves, and waited a few moments more. With his books and his lunch clutched to his chest, he began to run to school. Dan sped up, and as he drew closer,