Lightning's Run Page 4

  “Very nice,” he says, patting Carter on the back. “You’ll be a good addition to the roster.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask, walking straight over to Bulldog. As I approach, Carter’s lips twist into a smile. He brings himself up to his full height, which is a whole head taller than me. Now that I’m closer, I’m pretty sure he’s even more muscular than Lightning.

  Bulldog throws his arm across Carter’s shoulders. “Hey, kid, I was thinking about what you and Lightning was telling me. You want to fight on his behalf? Meet your next match. My new protégé.” He snarls the last word to mock me.

  “You’re training him?” Ice runs up and down my arms.

  “He’s a fast learner, but he already had lots of natural talent,” Bulldog says. “I’d say he could even give Lightning a run for his money. But Lightning ain’t fighting him, right? You are.”

  I swallow. “What about the Mauler from the Bronx?”

  Bulldog frowns. “What about him? I say you’re fightin’ this guy, you’re fightin’ him. If not, the deal’s off.”

  Carter hasn’t stopped looking down at me. It was one thing for him to beat me up in the street for money. Once he got what he wanted, he walked away.

  In the ring, he could kill me.

  Nearby, Monty has finally come to. Silas is helping him limp out of the back room. The kid looks back at me with fear in his eyes.

  “Two weeks,” Bulldog says with a growl. “You fight in two weeks. And if you don’t show, you can tell Lightning he ain’t fightin’ here no more, even after Mr. Fancy Pants from the South goes away.”

  Bulldog brushes past me. As Carter follows, he slams his sweaty shoulder into my side, nearly knocking me over. In that moment, it’s like I’ve forgotten everything Lightning has ever taught me. It’s like the last few weeks of my life have vanished. I’m outside the brick factory, waiting for Carter to pummel me.

  And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “You’re letting him get in your head!”

  Lightning scolds me as we spar in a Bowery back alley at sunset. We’ve been training harder than ever this past week. Ever since I found out I’m supposed to fight Carter. I couldn’t fake being sick anymore, so our training takes place once the sun goes down.

  Even though we’re not training as much, I can feel myself improving. Lightning hardly lays a finger on me anymore. Still, I can’t get that picture of Carter clocking Monty out of my mind. And Lightning knows when I’m thinking of Carter. My fighting gets sloppy.

  “What did I teach you?” he asks, throwing a punch at my stomach.

  I tense my muscles, and his fist bounces off. “Fight smarter, not harder.” I fake a left jab, then land a right hook to his chin.

  Lightning reels back, drops his fists, and grins. “Exactly!”

  “Bulldog’s the best trainer in New York,” I say. That was the whole reason I sought him out in the first place.

  “There’s no fighter Bulldog trained that I haven’t been able to beat,” Lightning says, spreading his arms wide. “And I’m training you.”

  He scoops my shirt up from the alley floor and tosses it at me. “Now you get to the Woodrat and tell Bulldog the fight is on. You can do this, Hiram. I’ll meet you back at my place.”

  Lightning heads off to his apartment. I throw my shirt on, stick out my chin, and make my way across the Bowery to the Woodrat. I scope out the entire place but can’t find Bulldog. Instead, I find Silas tearing up strips of cloth to use as bandages.

  “Hey, Silas,” I say, “when’s Bulldog coming back?”

  “Dunno,” he says with a shrug. “Should I give him a message?”

  I nod. “Tell him I’m in. I’ll take on Carter next week.”

  I turn to go, but Silas grabs me by the elbow. “You don’t wanna do that, Hiram. I’m serious. This Carter guy … There’s somethin’ not right about him. Monty won’t spar with him no more. Says the guy doesn’t know when to let up.”

  I want to tell him everything. That it’s not just about getting the money for Lightning. That if I don’t face Carter, he’s going to torment me and my brother for as long as we work at the brick factory.

  “Just tell Bulldog what I said.” I pat Silas on the shoulder and leave.

  I wind my way through the darkening streets of the Bowery. Every day this week, I saw Carter on our way home from the brick factory. And every day, I expected him to start something. He never did. But our eyes locked. I could tell he was picturing all the different ways he plans on beating me in the ring.

  You’re letting him get in your head.

  Lightning’s warning comes back to me. I gotta stop thinking about it. Gotta concentrate on what I’m gonna do to him.

  I find Lightning sitting on the stoop outside his rundown Delancey Street apartment. He leans back with a sigh as I approach.

  “Didja do it?” he asks.

  “Did it,” I say.

  He holds out his hand, and we shake on it. One more week to train. One more week until Lightning can head to Europe. And one more week until my brother and I can walk home safely.

  “Will you miss America?” I ask, sitting next to him.

  He shrugs. “Maybe. Do you miss where you’re from?”

  “Sometimes. Our neighbors back home always told stories about America. It seemed like such a paradise. It’s definitely better than back home but … not quite as wonderful as we were told.”

  “I beg to differ,” says a voice. “America is full of opportunities … if you know where to look.”

  Lightning and I exchange glances. We know that thick drawl.

  A moment later, Nehemiah Beauregard slinks from the shadows. He’s dressed in his finest suit and smiling. “To get what you want in this country,” he says, “you only have to be persistent.”

  His one good eye rests on me. That’s when I realize: he followed me here from the Woodrat. I led him straight to Lightning.

  I’m on my feet, followed quickly by Lightning. “It’s been a while, Mr. Beauregard,” Lightning says. “Come to give me a shot at taking out that other eye?”

  Beauregard frowns for the first time. “No, boy. We’re here to take you home.”

  Five hulking men appear behind Beauregard. I recognize them. They’ve all fought at the Woodrat. And they’ve all been beaten by Lightning.

  We try to run, but we don’t make it half a block before Beauregard’s men snatch us. Two of the biggest thugs each grab one of Lightning’s arms, pinning them behind his back. I land two good jabs at another guy before he tackles me at the waist and we fall to the sidewalk together. Another bruiser jumps on top, and the two of them pin me to the ground.

  Lightning twists and jerks, trying to shake off his captors. Distracted, he can’t brace himself when the fifth guy—Carew, from a few weeks back—buries a fist deep into Lightning’s stomach.

  “Oof!” Lightning moans. He doubles over, but the thugs pull him upright so Carew can deliver an uppercut to Lightning’s chin.

  Dazed, Lightning stops resisting. Carew hammers away at Lightning’s ribs until I hear several loud cracks. Then he goes to work on Lightning’s face.

  Right cross, then left, then right. Over and over until Lightning can’t even hold his head up.

  “Let him go!” I scream. One guy is sitting on my chest, and I can barely get the words out. He silences me with an elbow to my nose.

  Soon the only thing keeping Lightning standing is the thugs holding him up. His legs dangle limply. His face is almost unrecognizable, shiny with blood in the moonlight.

  “I think that’s enough, boys,” Beauregard finally says, stepping forward. He walks over to Lightning and lifts his chin. Lightning’s eyes, barely open, stare back blankly. “It would seem, Buford, that you’ve made enemies besides me. They’re proving to be very useful.”

  “Just one more,” Carew snarls, stepping forward to continue the beating.

  But Beauregard holds up an arm.
“No, don’t. You’ll kill him. I want him alive for now. Until I get him back to South Carolina. We have our own way of handling things.”

  Beauregard heads off, his henchmen dragging Lightning behind them. The two men on top of me get up. One of them kicks me in the back of the head to keep me down, a warning not to follow or I’ll get worse. My cry for help dies on my lips as the six of them disappear into the night.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Walking home from the brick factory, Yossel is going on again about belonging in rabbinic school. I feel Ezra’s hand slide into mine. I look down to find him looking at me gloomily.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispers. “You’ve been sad all week.”

  He’s right. I haven’t really cared about anything in the week since Beauregard and his thugs ambushed me and Lightning. I’ve spent every night since trying to find them. But I realize that they probably left for South Carolina that night. They’re probably back there now. Lightning will be dead soon.

  And it’s all my fault.

  We pass the corner where Carter is waiting. He hasn’t touched us in weeks, but Yossel still moves to the other side of the street when he spots the bully. Ezra squeezes my hand. As usual, Carter and I glare at each other. He holds up his index finger. One.

  He means “one more day.” Tomorrow night, I’m supposed to face him at the Woodrat. But I stopped training when they took Lightning. I don’t care about the fight anymore. I don’t care about anything.

  We round the corner, out of sight from Carter, and I squeeze Ezra’s hand back. “Everything will be fine,” I assure him.

  “Hey! Hey, Hiram!”

  The voice screeches from behind us. I turn to see Silas running down the street, one hand on his bowler hat to keep it from flying off.

  “I finally found you!” Silas says as he doubles over to catch his breath. “Lightning told me once you work in a brick factory. Jeez, do you know how many brick factories there are? It’s been like looking for a needle—”

  “Silas,” I interrupt him, “what are you doing here?”

  “I’m here because of Lightning,” he says.

  “Beauregard took him back to South Carolina,” I tell him. “He’s gone.”

  “Not yet, he ain’t,” Silas says, shaking his head. “Look, I was at the hospital. You know … stocking up on supplies. And I heard that Southern guy talking to the doctors. He really wants to take Lightning outta there, but the doctors say he’s not well enough to travel yet. But he will be in a couple a days.”

  I feel sick to my stomach. They put Lightning in the hospital. But he’s still alive! Or he will be until he’s good enough to travel.

  “I thought you’d want to know,” Silas says, tipping his hat to me.

  I turn to Ezra. “Go home with Yossel. Tell Mama and Papa I’ll be back later tonight.” Ezra nods and heads off with Yossel. I grab Silas by the shoulders. “Show me where Lightning is.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Silas and I peek around the corner in the hospital hall. Carew and one of the other thugs are standing guard outside Lightning’s room.

  “Think you can take ’em?” Silas asks.

  I frown. “Maybe one of them. But not both.”

  “So whadda we do?”

  “We do what Lightning always says to do: fight smarter, not harder. You’re a pretty fast runner, right, Silas?”

  He nods. “Yeah, not to brag, but I’ve been known to …” He sees the look in my eyes and swallows hard. “Oh. You want me to … ?”

  “Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

  Silas sighs. He pulls the bowler down tight around his forehead, salutes, then walks around the corner toward the guards. He stops when he gets in front of them.

  “Hey!” he says loudly. “I know youse guys. Yeah, Carew, right? And Morton. Remember me? Silas? I patched you up after Lightning beat you into paste.”

  Carew and Morton look around nervously. They clearly don’t want anyone to know they’d been beaten up.

  “Yeah, those were some fights,” Silas continues, louder than ever. “And the way that Negro made you cry like a couple a babies. Oh, man, I’ll never forget it!”

  “Scram, kid,” Carew says, raising a fist.

  “Hey, no need to be sore,” Silas says, so loud now that people are poking out of their rooms to see what’s going on. “I’m sure you could always get a rematch. And if you wanted to win, maybe you could send your mothers to fight Lightning instead. They’d stand a better chance, I think.”

  With that, Silas turns and charges away down the hall. Carew and Morton take the bait and run after him. Silas continues to hurl insults over his shoulder while the hospital staff dive out of Carew and Morton’s way.

  When the coast is clear, I sneak into Lightning’s room. There are twelve beds in the ward. Lightning is closest to the window. He’s covered in bandages. One arm is in a sling. His face has started to heal, but he’s still in rough shape.

  I gently poke him awake. “Hey,” I whisper, “you in there?”

  Lightning stirs, his face racked with pain. “Who … ?”

  “We need to get out of here,” I say, taking his hand. “Silas is fast, but I don’t know how fast. Come on.”

  “Gott im Himmel!”

  Mama gasps when she sees Lightning. I help him over the threshold, into our tenement. Despite being shocked at his appearance, she doesn’t hesitate. She helps me guide Lightning into the bedroom and lay him down. Leah, who sees I’m upset, takes my hand.

  Papa’s face is blank as he watches Mama tend to Lightning. He has a thousand questions, I know that much. I’m so grateful when the one he asks is, “How can we help?”

  I tell him everything about Beauregard and how Lightning needs to get out of the country. Papa seems sad I didn’t tell him about this sooner, but agrees that Lightning can stay with us until we can arrange safe passage on a ship. When I tell him how much money Lightning still needs, his brow furrows.

  “We’re barely getting by,” he says quietly. “I don’t think we can—”

  “It’s alright, Papa,” I assure him. “I know how to take care of it.”

  Papa raises an eyebrow. He’s not stupid. He knows Lightning was beaten within an inch of his life. He can only imagine my plan. “And how is that?”

  After everything, I’m still not ready to tell him the whole story. Right now, I can’t live with his disappointment.

  “Trust me, Papa. I’ll take care of it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The crowd at the Woodrat is rowdier than I’ve ever seen it. Some guys come to see their favorite fighters duke it out. But sometimes, new blood is more thrilling. Two unknown fighters could be full of surprises. It’s something new, and that’s always good.

  I only hope I can pull off the kind of surprises I need.

  In the corner across the way, Bulldog is giving last-minute instructions to Carter. The guy’s a beast, sweat glistening off his beefy chest. With his clothes on, you might think he’s fat. But with his shirt off, you can see there’s not an ounce of fat on him. It’s all muscle.

  I have a feeling that he’s held back every time he’s hit me before. There’s no telling what will happen now.

  “Can I do this, Silas?” I whisper.

  “Bad time to ask,” he says.

  Carter is bouncing up and down as the crowd eggs him on. Everyone knows Bulldog trained him. He’s favored to win.

  When I see Oakley reach for the bell, I slip my shoes off. The floor is cool on my bare soles. I think back to my first lesson with Lightning. It seems like years ago.

  The bell rings. Carter and I meet in the center of the ring, arms raised. He doesn’t waste a second. As soon as I’m in range, Carter throws a wild haymaker. I see it coming, duck out of the way, and land a solid jab to his cheek. He grunts and looks surprised. But he can’t be more surprised than I am.

  Circling around, Carter winds up like he’s going to throw an uppercut. It’s like he wants me to know what he
’s doing. When he finally acts, I’m nowhere near his fist, having jumped to the side. I follow up with a quick one-two to his chin.

  It’s almost too easy. Is it a trick? Is Carter trying to make me think he’s terrible so I’ll lower my guard? No. No, he’s trying really hard.

  In fact, the harder he tries, the more careless he gets. In just a minute, he hasn’t laid a hand on me, and I’ve landed four solid punches to his face. He’s getting angrier. He has no idea why this wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be.

  I sneak a glance over to Bulldog. He winks. And I get it.

  He’s been training Carter wrong. Carter’s doing everything Lightning warned me against: aiming for the stomach, making wide punches that are easy to see.

  And it doesn’t hurt that Lightning made me a better fighter. Now’s the time to make him proud.

  Each unfocused punch makes Carter more tired. So I move in, blocking every blow and responding with my own. A right hook knocks out a tooth. A left jab threatens to close his eye.

  He gets in a lucky shot, grazing my temple. An opened cut fills my view with blood. In the moment that I’m dazed, he hammers away at my stomach. His punches are harder than Lightning’s, but I keep my muscles tight and nothing gets through.

  He could have me if he keeps it up. But he gets messy again, pulling back for a right cross. I don’t give him the chance. I close the distance, keeping my arms in tight, and fire jab after jab into his chin. I force him over the border. The crowd, hungry for blood, throws him back at me.

  That’s when I see it. Those quick glances at my feet. His eyes keep darting down, and I can see the idea appear in his eyes. I take a small step forward, tempting him.

  The dumb ox falls for it. He pretends to throw a punch, but really he’s trying to stomp on my foot and break it. I’m ready for him. My foot moves to safety at the last second. Because I’ve only ever been striking his head, he’s not ready for the punch I send into his gut. He gags as his stomach closes around my fist.