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  And so began a regular routine of roadwork and bodybuilding for Randy. Each morning, Harlow would drive to the park and the two men and the dog would run until nearly sunrise.

  Harlow noted that it helped Randy’s spirits. The young man no longer complained about being cooped up. His body shed fat and gained hard ropes of muscle. Randy continued to work endlessly on the two punching bags and the rowing machine. Often, Harlow would hear Randy continuing to work out in the dark.

  What made Harlow feel best was that Randy had finished Yes, I Can Read. But at the end of each day, Randy would have the same questions: “When do I get out of here? When are we going to get that lawyer?”

  Each time Harlow said, “When I think it’s cool, and no sooner.” Randy would grow more restless. Finally, one night in early September, he exploded.

  “I don’t care what you say!” he shouted at Harlow. “I’m leaving. It’s been almost four months. I’ll take my chances outside. Anything is better than this!”

  “You watch yourself, boy,” Harlow said, “or I’ll take away your roadwork. How would you like that?”

  “How would you like me to walk right over you?” Randy growled.

  “You think you’re man enough?”

  In a dark rage, Randy sprang at him. A looping left hand banged into Harlow’s ribs, and like lightning, a stiff right hand to his head followed.

  As Randy was about to throw another punch, Harlow dodged, hooked a foot behind the younger man’s left ankle, and tripped him. Randy tried to regain his balance, but Harlow stepped in and with three short punches knocked him to the floor.

  His head buzzing from the blows, Randy looked up at his uncle. “You cheated!” he cried.

  “You bet I did,” Harlow answered. “No way I’m going to bust my hands on your hard head. And there’s not enough room down here to fight. But if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Tonight I’ll sneak you over to my gym. We’ll put on the gloves and settle this right!”

  • • •

  The gym was on the second floor of a run-down building, in the shadow of the el. Harlow opened the double-locked steel door and hit a light switch inside the doorway. “Go through that door behind the ring,” he said. “The lockers are in there.”

  In a few minutes, Harlow had pieced together shoes, shorts, and sixteen-ounce gloves for Randy and himself. “One more thing,” he said to the younger man. “Put this on, too.” He handed Randy some headgear.

  “What do I need that for?” Randy asked.

  “We already know you can hit hard,” Harlow said. “But we don’t know how hard a punch you can take. I don’t want to scramble the inside of your head.”

  The two men climbed into the ring. “We don’t have a bell or timekeeper,” Harlow said, “so there won’t be any rounds. When I say ’go,’ you start fighting. When you’re ready to quit, just say ’when.’ Ready?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Then go!”

  As Harlow expected, Randy came on in a rush, swinging wildly. For the first few minutes, all Harlow did was avoid the rushes and tag Randy with a left or right hand as he went past. But after a time, Randy stopped being wild. A cold, hard look came over his face and he began to stalk Harlow.

  Seconds later, Randy connected with a straight left hand that rocked his uncle. He held on, then wrestled Randy into the nearest corner.

  Once his head cleared, Harlow put together a savage left, then a right to Randy’s body. He finished with a stinging left hook that caught Randy square on the headgear. Randy went down.

  “Had enough?” Harlow asked, standing over his nephew.

  “I’ll say when,” Randy growled, getting up.

  It began again. Was it his imagination, Harlow wondered, or was the kid getting stronger? Over the next ten minutes it took all of Harlow’s skills to hit and not get hit. And still the boy came on. He shook off punches that would have taken him out only months before.

  For all of Harlow’s coaching in the basement, Randy seemed to learn better by doing, in the ring. He connected with a solid right to the middle of Harlow’s chest. It felt like a small car had hit him; he was actually pushed back a few steps by the force of the blow. And still Randy came on!

  Harlow felt his strength fading—an experience he hadn’t known in years. He had always kept himself in superb shape. But this nephew of his didn’t seem human. Harlow showered a group of punches on Randy, finishing with a right cross that knocked the younger man to his knees.

  Breathing hard, Harlow said, “Had enough yet?”

  To his amazement, Randy was getting up again! “I’ll say when,” he said.

  This time, Harlow didn’t back off and allow Randy to regain his senses. With all he had left, Harlow hammered his nephew to the canvas. Again, he stood over the young man.

  “Enough?” he asked. Randy shook his head and tried to get to his feet! Harlow put a hand on his nephew’s headgear and pushed him to the canvas. “Well, I’ve had enough,” he said. “You got heart, boy. Seems to beat you, I’d have to kill you. And I’m not ready to do that.”

  Randy stayed down. Harlow pulled off his gloves and reached a hand out to help him up. To his surprise, a thundering right hand caught him flush on the chin, knocking him onto the seat of his shorts. Randy was on his feet like a cat. He looked down at Harlow.

  “I been trying to catch you standing still all night,” he said. “Now I did.”

  “You cheated!” Harlow accused.

  “You bet I did,” Randy replied. “Same as you did, back at your house. But I got to say you did beat me, fair and square.”

  Harlow sat up and roared with laughter. He took the hand that Randy extended and got to his feet. As they left the ring, Harlow began talking. “See, you couldn’t get at me because of the way I was moving. And you got to stop dropping that left jab after you throw it. I came over that left with my right all three times I dropped you.

  “That left jab has got to snap out straight and come back just as fast. You practice and you can double up the jab. That’s a real setup for a right hand.” He rubbed his rib cage. “And you got some right hand on you, kid. I’m going to get you a mirror for the basement, so you can see what you’re doing better.”

  “The basement again!” Randy moaned. “When do I get out of there? When do we get that lawyer?”

  “I’ll make you a deal, Randy. When you beat me, you’re out of that room.”

  “You got a deal, Uncle. When’s our next fight?”

  Harlow groaned in mock pain. “Soon as I get over this one.” Both men laughed, then walked together to the locker room.

  The next three weeks marked an even greater change in Randy. Harlow had given him a copy of The Ring Encyclopedia. Though Randy had shown some interest in easy-to-read stories, this new book was something different.

  Randy began asking Harlow to help him sound out words in the book. And it seemed that Randy could remember almost everything he read—so long as it was about boxing.

  As always, he went at his workouts in a rage, but it was different now. It was a cold anger. Randy stopped wasting his moves. He paid attention to every detail.

  When he and Harlow ran in the park, Randy would reel off the names, dates, and winners of title fights, going back for years. Sometimes he seemed to know more than Harlow about the subject.

  Every time Randy would ask a question about boxing history that Harlow couldn’t answer, it pleased the younger man. It was as though he had won something personally over Harlow.

  But on the subject of leaving the basement room, Randy was unchanged. It was in early October that he greeted his uncle with: “I’m ready for that rematch. We still have the same deal?”

  “Same deal,” Harlow answered. “You beat me—we get the lawyer, and you get out of the downstairs.”

  • • •

  When they came up the stairs and Harlow simply pushed the door to the gym open, Randy looked at his uncle in surprise. “Did you forget to lock up?”
he asked.

  “I’d sooner forget my head,” Harlow replied. “I called someone to be here. To keep time and count for knockdowns. We’re going to go six rounds, boy.”

  As the two men entered, an attractive woman of about thirty came out of Harlow’s office. She was over five feet seven inches, Randy judged, and her well-muscled form was properly shown off by the jeans and light sweater she wore.

  “Hey, Danielle,” called Harlow. “I got someone I want you to meet.” Harlow saw the look of near panic on Randy’s face and whispered as Danielle approached. “It’s okay. She’s cool.”

  “But she’s a woman!” Randy whispered.

  “Sure is, isn’t she?” Harlow said, grinning. “And she knows her boxing, too. Try some of your questions on her.”

  “What questions are those?” asked the young woman.

  “This is my nephew Randy. I told you about him on the phone. He’s some kind of expert on the fight game, Danielle.”

  Danielle looked Randy over with a cool gaze. “Good-sized kid,” she said to Harlow. “How much do you weigh, Randy?”

  “Two-ten. But don’t you say ’hello’ or ’pleased to meet you,’ lady?” asked Randy.

  “I don’t get social with fighters,” Danielle answered. “Bad enough I go out with Harlow. But what did you want to ask me?”

  Randy was silent for a moment, his mind racing. “Who beat Tommy Burns for the heavyweight title in 1908?”

  Danielle laughed. “You joking? Jack Johnson. He held the title from 1908 to 1915.

  “Let me ask you one. Name the only heavyweight champs who retired undefeated.”

  “That’s easy. Rocky Marciano and Joe Louis.”

  “Wrong!” crowed the woman. “You forgot about Jim Jeffries. He quit the fight game in 1905.”

  “I ain’t that far back in the book,” grumbled Randy. “Besides, I ain’t into any of the fights before black men had a chance at the titles.”

  “I don’t know what book you’re reading, but you better read it better. There were other black men in boxing before Jack Johnson. Check out the other weight divisions, Randy.”

  “I told you she knew her stuff,” Harlow said. “Now, let’s get set for our little rumble, okay? You hit the locker room. I’ll be there in a minute. And don’t forget your headgear.”

  When Randy had left, Danielle fixed Harlow with a hard look. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Harlow? You told me that kid’s been in heavy training for almost six months. And you’ve been teaching him all you know.

  “You got a few pounds on him, that’s true. But face it, man, you’re forty. If he’s got any real stuff, that kid can do you world-class harm.”

  “Now, that’s real caring of you, Danni,” Harlow responded, “looking out for an old man. But I didn’t say I showed the boy everything I know. I still got some stuff he’s never seen.”

  “I’m looking out for the fancy dinner you promised me. And I want both of us in shape to eat it. Now how about you get ready, too?”

  In a few minutes, Harlow and Randy were standing in the middle of the ring, with Danni between them. “All right, you two,” she said. “I can’t be in the ring and work the bell, too. And all I can time rounds with is my watch.” She raised her wrist to show a sports watch with a built-in stopwatch.

  “When I say ’fight!’ you go at it. If you clinch and I say ’break!’ you break, and break clean. When I holler ’stop!’ you quit, or I’ll take points away. I keep score, and whoever I say wins is the winner. You got that?”

  Both men nodded. “You’re going to be your own seconds. And you won’t get to sit down between rounds. I can’t be shuffling buckets and stools around. If there’s a knockdown, you get to the nearest neutral corner. I won’t start counting till you do. Now, go to your corners and don’t come out till I say so.”

  The two men went to opposite corners. Danni raised her hands over her head, then brought them down, smacking her palms together. “Fight!” she cried out.

  Randy moved in fast. Harlow began a circling motion, blocking or slipping past Randy’s punches. Each time Randy would be about to get set, Harlow would hit him with a quick left, then circle again, always keeping the younger man off-balance.

  As he continued the pattern, Randy’s punches kept getting closer. Still, the only solid blows struck were by the older man. Ten seconds before Danni cried “Stop!” Randy missed a punch aimed at Harlow’s head, and instead caught him on the left shoulder.

  Harlow felt like he’d been hit with a hammer. For a second, he lost feeling in his left arm. “I got to slow this kid down,” Harlow thought as he stood in his corner, his mouthpiece in his hand.

  Almost before he knew it, Danni had called out “Fight!” again, and Randy was closing in. This time Harlow appeared to stand his ground. As the younger man closed, Harlow moved his left shoulder but threw a hard, right-hand lead that caught Randy flush on the button. The younger man was knocked onto the seat of his pants in the center of the ring.

  Danni waved Harlow to the for corner and began a count. But by the time she got to four, Randy was on his feet. “Hold on!” Danni cried to Harlow. “Standing eight count here!”

  She finished the count and cried “Fight!” Randy moved in again, this time keeping his hands higher. As Harlow began to circle again, Randy kept after him, cutting off the ring and working his uncle toward a corner. It was there that Harlow experienced the roughest few seconds of his entire career.

  Randy let loose a series of lightning-fast short blows to Harlow’s body. Every time Randy hit him, Harlow felt the pain. But when Randy shifted his attack “upstairs,” Harlow slipped two blows. Bouncing off the ropes, he punched his way out of trouble. As he moved away, he connected with a straight left hand that he felt hit the mark.

  For years Harlow had practiced this “going away” punch, made famous by the great Sugar Ray Robinson. He had knocked men cold with it. Now Harlow felt the force of the blow throughout his whole body. But Randy just took the shot, blinked, and moved in—just as Danni called “Stop!”

  As Harlow stood in his corner, breathing heavily, Danni approached him, with one eye on her stopwatch. “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Harlow said. “But you didn’t do me no favor with that standing eight.”

  “Don’t complain,” Danni said. “The way it’s going, you might need one yourself. That kid is real good. A little green, but he’s good. You take care of yourself, Harlow.”

  “I’m trying! I’m trying!”

  Danni called “Fight!” and it began again. After the harm done in the corner, Harlow wasn’t moving well. His ribs hurt, and his punches were slower. Still Randy came on. Harlow landed a three-punch combination that should have knocked the younger man down. It didn’t even slow Randy.

  Harlow got set to try the right-hand lead that had floored Randy earlier, and suddenly his world exploded in a shower of bright light. When he opened his eyes, he was looking into Danni’s. “What?…” he said.

  “What do you think?” Danni replied. “He tagged you. Before you could throw that right, he put a straight left in your dumb face. You scared me, man. You were really out.”

  “Where’s Randy?”

  “I told him to hit the showers. You going to be all right?”

  “Yeah… I think so. Man, that boy can hit!”

  Harlow got to his feet and walked with Danielle to his office, where he sat down heavily at his desk. Danielle took off his gloves, then talked with Harlow for the next few minutes. Finally, cleaned up and wearing street clothes, Randy came into Harlow’s office.

  “Are you okay, Uncle Harlow?” he asked.

  “Fine, boy… just fine. I got to admit you beat me.”

  “Hard not to admit,” said Danni, “when they scrape you off the canvas.”

  “This might not be the time,” Randy said, “but how about that lawyer?”

  Harlow waved a hand at Danielle. “Go ahead and talk. You’re looking at her.”
/>   “You’re a lawyer?” Randy gasped at Danni.

  “One of the best,” Harlow said. “She gave me a lot of help in getting your case together.”

  “Case?”

  “Yes, Randy,” Danni said. “I’ve been involved since last June. That’s when Harlow told me what had happened with you in Brooklyn.”

  Randy turned to Harlow. “But you told me…”

  “It’s complicated, Randy,” Harlow said. “Why don’t you just listen to what Danni has to say?”

  “You’re in trouble, all right, Randy. But not as big as you think,” Danni said. “Yes, you were at the scene of a crime. And your connection to it isn’t the cleanest. But you didn’t do the crime.

  “As to that, both people involved in the double murder—Eddie and Zipper—are dead. I talked to the police and to a judge. Nobody is going to miss either one of them too much. But you saw it all happen, Randy. Did you ever hear of a material witness?”

  “No…”

  “Well, that’s what you were. In fact, some of Zipper’s friends were looking for you. The police only wanted your statement as to what happened. Zipper’s friends were after your head. There were two things the police could have done. One was lock you up to keep you safe.”

  “In jail?”

  “No place safer, except if you were being hidden by a responsible person. In your case, you had a family member—Harlow—who is also an assistant probation officer.”

  Randy turned to Harlow. “You’re a cop!” he accused. “And all that time you had me in that little room, you were lying to me! And you lied about you getting into trouble, I bet!”

  “No, Randy. That part’s true. But your mamma has the same ideas about ex-cons that lots of people do—that they can’t go straight. I went back to school when I got out. Got my degree in social work. Working with the Probation Department, I opened this gym.

  “I try to keep kids like you from getting into big trouble by putting them into boxing. It was a way of putting together my talent for athletics and my new career.”

  Harlow waved at the wall of pictures behind his desk. “All these kids you see were in trouble when I found them. I’m proud of all of them. Some of them went on to be pretty fair fighters. Others have good jobs and are making something of their lives.”