Tyler moved forward, his fists loosening and tightening. Martin shifted one foot slightly to preserve his balance. The motion was small enough to escape Tyler’s notice.
Eddie Thompson appeared in the corridor carrying a box of old mouthguards to be discarded. He stopped when he saw the two men facing one another.
“Everything all right?” Eddie asked.
Tyler turned with a dismissive laugh. “Just talking to the help.”
“I heard the conversation from the hall,” Eddie said. “Sounded one-sided.”
Tyler stepped toward him. “You got a problem too?”
Eddie set down the box. “I have a problem with people blocking exits.”
Martin used the opening to move the trash bag past Tyler. He brushed the door frame lightly, keeping the injured knee from twisting. Eddie noticed the foot placement. It was the same economy of movement he’d seen in the old film. It was also, now he recognized it, the way Martin had slipped past opponents much younger than himself.
Tyler followed them into the corridor, still talking, but Frank called him from the main room. A sponsor wanted to discuss an appearance, and the opportunity was enough to turn his attention.
As Tyler walked away, Eddie picked up the box.
“I found something,” he told Martin.
“Where?”
“In a box of programs from 1994.”
Martin’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“I used to collect them,” Eddie continued. “I watched a man fight at the Garden. He was thirty-six. Had a way of making a younger opponent miss without looking like he was trying. Called him Iron.”
Martin lowered his eyes to the floor.
“I remember that evening,” he said.
Eddie looked at him steadily. “You going to tell me?”
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
Martin glanced into the main room where Tyler was laughing into Amanda’s camera. “Somewhere nobody has a phone pointed at us.”
Eddie nodded. He had waited thirty years to recognize a face. He could wait one more evening to hear the story from the man himself.
PART TWO — WHAT THE RING REMEMBERED
CHAPTER 11 — COFFEE WITHOUT CAMERAS
Eddie chose a diner three blocks from the gym, a place with red vinyl booths, cracked sugar dispensers, and a waitress who knew which customers wanted their coffee refilled without asking. Martin arrived at seven forty-five on a cold Friday evening. He had finished his shift, changed into a plain green jacket, and walked the distance slowly to protect his knee.
Eddie was waiting in a rear booth with the old Madison Square Garden program beside his cup. He had taken it out of the plastic sleeve but had not opened it. The cover showed two boxers facing in opposite directions, each wearing the serious expression that promoters believed sold tickets.
Martin slid into the booth. “I was hoping you’d brought a newspaper instead.”
“I could’ve brought three. They’re all written about you.”
“Then you know how unreliable newspapers are.”
The waitress came and placed two menus between them. Eddie ordered soup and toast. Martin asked for coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich. For a few minutes they spoke about the weather, the traffic near the bus depot, and the cost of replacing the gym’s roof. Neither hurried toward the question that had brought them together.
At last Eddie opened the program.
“I watched you from the upper section,” he said. “My cousin had two seats. We couldn’t afford them, but he knew a man who knew a man. We sat so high up the fighters looked like pieces on a board.”
Martin stared at the photograph. “You remember the fight?”
“Every round. You didn’t have the reach. You didn’t have the legs anymore, by the looks of it. Half the people in our section thought you’d be finished by the sixth.”
“Half the people in my corner thought that too.”
Eddie smiled. “But you kept getting your man to chase what wasn’t there.”
Martin lifted his coffee. His hands had been swollen that morning. Now he held the cup with both of them, letting the warmth settle in his fingers.
“It was a hard night,” he said.
“How’d you wind up cleaning floors here?”
Martin considered how to answer without making it sound as though the job itself was an embarrassment. “I spent too many years letting strangers decide which part of my life counted. I learned after a while that work is work. The gym needed somebody reliable. I needed a paycheck and health insurance. Those are respectable reasons.”
“I’m not questioning the work.”
“Most people who ask are.”
Eddie nodded. “I can understand that.”
Martin looked toward the front window, where a city bus pulled away from the curb. “When I stopped fighting, everybody wanted a story about a fallen champion. They wanted a tragedy they could put beneath my photograph. I was still married. I had a daughter. I had a house payment. Some days I was happy. Some days I wasn’t. It never fit the story they wanted.”
