THE TWO CHINATOWNS
Chapter 2
Cisco Sanchez tucked his chin into his shoulder as he turned slightly and stepped back, deflecting with his forearm the blow meant to shatter his chin. He feinted a left jab and counterpunched with a right, an ineffective shot that grazed the big Toronto cop's muscular right arm and brought a contemptuous smile to his lips, along with a few catcalls from the partisan crowd.
Cisco looked worried, hurt, confused, and out of breath as he backpedaled away from his opponent—but he wasn't. It was the second round and he knew he was way behind on every judge's card, which was exactly where he wanted to be in the scoring at that point. All was going according to plan; he had enraged the Toronto PD by bragging to the local press that he would knock the big kid out in the first round, so the Canadian had come out swinging with all he had. Cisco had taken a few blows that appeared to stun him, and none of the punches he had thrown in return had fazed his opponent in the slightest. However, a lot of energy had been expended in the first two rounds, and most of it had been the Canadian's.
As Cisco handled a few more left jabs while waiting for the bell, he noticed that the punches weren't nearly as sharp and hard as they had been. The Canadian was slowing down, and Cisco also noticed that he had managed to instill the appropriate amount of overconfidence in his bigger, stronger, younger, and apparently much tougher opponent. Although Cisco was known in police boxing circles for his short, hard left hook to the body, the Canadian showed no respect for him as he chased Cisco around the ring with his gloves held high to protect his face. He was open for a body shot, but it wasn't yet time according to Cisco's plan. All that remained for Cisco to do was to go down for the first time, and he did that as well, taking a jab to the side of the head and sliding to the canvas a second before he was saved by the bell.
The disappointed Toronto cop returned to his corner, but he disregarded the stool his cornerman had placed there, and stood savoring the applause of his friends and fans.
Cisco sat up and took in the hostile crowd from his low vantage point on the canvas until he spotted Sue Hsu sitting in the third row. He briefly relished the worried look on her face as she contemplated the imminent, painful defeat of her new boyfriend in the apparent mismatch. She was thinking like everyone else in the local crowd, Cisco knew, fooled into believing that the arrogant, cocky bigmouth from the NYPD was close to getting his long-overdue just desserts at the hands of their champion.
Cisco stood up, shook his head, and answered a few questions for the referee. Since he could remember his name, knew it was still Saturday night, and knew that he was in Toronto, he was allowed to stumble to his corner to receive the ministrations and counsel of his manager before the final round.
"Quite a show you're putting on," Brian McKenna said as Cisco slumped onto his stool.
"Thanks, but I'll admit it's a tough act in a tough town. How does my face look?"
"You want the truth?"
"No, you can lie to me. Do I still look like Omar Shariff, only better?"
"I don't see anything that won't heal in a week, but at the moment you look like Omar Shariff after a plane crash."
"Damn! This is getting to be a tough business for a good-looking man."
"That's what I've been telling you for years. You need anything?"
"Yeah, I need a kiss, a hug, and some kind words from that gorgeous woman. I owe you big for her."
Cisco had been McKenna's partner for three years and his friend for ten, but McKenna still felt he didn't really know the man. Cisco was too full of surprises. With Cisco, he had learned to just take things as they came. Instead of concentrating on survival, the dope had his mind only on the girl McKenna had introduced to him the day before. "Sorry, Cisco. Your romancing will have to wait another five minutes. Anything else? A little water, or maybe a little psychoanalysis?"
"No thanks, Brian. I'm fine and that kid's just about ready to go."
McKenna took Cisco's unlikely assessment at face value. If Cisco said he was going to get up and win, then he would. "You're not gonna ruin his face, are you?"
"Naw, I like this kid. Needs some experience and some fine tuning, but he's good. Gonna leave him still pretty, but his ribs and lungs have got to suffer."
* * *
Sitting in the VIP box overlooking the arena were Ray Brunette and Roy Van Etten, the Toronto chief of police. Unlike most previous New York City police commissioners, Brunette was a fight fan who took an active interest in his boxing team. He traveled with the team whenever he could, and knew the abilities of each of his fighters—especially Cisco's, because he had been watching Cisco fight for more than fifteen years. At forty years of age, Cisco was the George Foreman of the team.
Brunette regarded Cisco as a genuine character, but something of an enigma. Cisco lived life on the edge and devoted his spare time to stock car racing, sky diving, hang gliding, bungee jumping, and romancing jealous, high-strung Latin women, all dangerous pursuits in which he was highly proficient. Brunette also thought Cisco was the greatest natural athlete in the NYPD; in his younger days Cisco had been the quarterback on the department's football team, a forward on the basketball team, and the goalie on the hockey team, but boxing was the only NYPD team activity in which he still participated.
When asked, as he frequently was, how much longer he would box for the team, Cisco's answer was always the same. "I'm here `til I lose one," a promise that kept the stands full whenever the team was fighting in New York. Although Cisco was well-respected throughout the NYPD for his investigative skills as well as for his athletic prowess, he certainly wasn't well-liked. The problem was that Cisco considered himself to be the best detective in the NYPD, which, to his way of thinking, naturally meant that he was the best detective anywhere. He wasn't afraid to say as much, and his cocky attitude coupled with his frequently abrasive, usually overbearing personality kept the stands filled with cops there to see Cisco finally get his comeuppance.
Brunette wasn't one of those. Aside from Brian McKenna and Inspector Dennis Sheeran, the CO of the Major Case Squad, Brunette figured that he might be Cisco's only other real friend in the NYPD. Brunette found a lot to like in Cisco that wasn't readily apparent to those who had to deal with the cocky detective on a day-to-day basis, and he was there to see Cisco win.
At first, Brunette had been surprised by Cisco's poor showing in the first round. He had expected Cisco to make short work of the young Canadian and, worse, he had said as much to the very skeptical Van Etten. Then Brunette had observed that, theatrics aside, the young Canadian wasn't really hurting Cisco. By the middle of the second round he was pretty sure that he knew what Cisco had in mind.
"Looks like a mismatch," Van Etten observed as Cisco dragged himself to his feet, waiting for the bell starting the third round.
"It does so far," Brunette admitted.
"So far? Last round's coming up, but I'd say it's over right now. Your man's way behind on all the cards. Even if he manages to get lucky and somehow win this round, he's still a loser."
Brunette liked Van Etten, and didn't want to sound as cocky as Cisco had been, but the Canadian had been gently assailing his pride throughout the fight. According to Van Etten, Cisco was too old, too slow, and apparently nowhere near strong enough to be in the same ring with his young Toronto bruiser. "Not necessarily," was the most polite retort Brunette could manage.
"Not necessarily? The only way your man could win is with a knockout," Van Etten said, indicating by his tone of voice that he found that prospect preposterous.
"That's right," Brunette said.
The bell rang and both men sat back to watch the last round, each one thinking that the other was a trifle naive to hold such a high position.
* * *
Just as Cisco had figured, by then the Canadian wanted more than just another win; he wanted a knockout and was doing all within his power during the third round to achieve his goal, throwing roundhouse punches meant to separate Cisco's head from his shoulders each time he managed to get close enough to his retreating opponent. All missed Cisco's chin, but just barely. However, every missed blow drew shouts of approval from the partisan crowd. To them, Cisco appeared lucky to be standing and still in one piece, a condition they loudly encouraged their champion to drastically alter.
These dummies are in for a major disappointment, Cisco thought as he narrowly avoided another series of roundhouse punches and noted that the Canadian's chest was heaving as he took in copious amounts of oxygen to fuel his efforts. He was in the exact shape Cisco wanted him in at that point in the bout—careless, overconfident, and tired.
It was time. As the Canadian once again advanced swinging, Cisco backpedaled a few steps, then stopped abruptly, ducked, and delivered a sharp left and a right into his opponent's midsection.
The blows had an instant effect. All air was forcibly expelled from the young man's lungs as he bent over, clutching his chest. Cisco took his time, positioned himself in front of his helpless opponent, and delivered a slow, light uppercut to the Canadian's nose, just to show the referee and the crowd that he could. The Canadian remained standing, but still bent over as he spat out his mouthpiece and gasped for breath.
Cisco stood back, lowered his gloves, and stared at the referee as the crowd was on its feet, shouting encouragement to their champion.
To Cisco's surprise, the ref didn't get it. He called "Time," then bent over, picked up the mouthpiece, and offered it to the Canadian. The game Canadian opened his mouth to accept it, but remained bent over and gasping.
Cisco had had enough. "It's over, Bozo," he said to the referee. "The kid's not gonna quit, but he's got a couple of broken ribs and shouldn't straighten up too fast." Then he walked to his corner and leaned against the ropes, waiting for the referee's decision.
It took another minute, but it was over. As the Canadian was helped to his corner by the Toronto manager, Cisco was called by the ref to center ring. The crowd was still on its feet as the ref raised Cisco's arm, but they were too stunned and disappointed to even Boo.
