Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4), Brian Shea [free reads .txt] 📗

ring, everything outside it doesn't matter anymore." That was the truest form of therapy for Kelly. Stepping in the ring allowed him to unburden the load of the job in those three-minute rounds.

Brown didn't take it easy on him for another reason. The four friends made a pact long ago to never give each other an easy pass inside the ring. And Brown wasn't showing any signs of letting up. Except for avoiding Kelly's head, he delivered blows as hard as ever. Each impact reverberated through his body, sending a ripple to his head. The blinding pain that followed almost caused Kelly to tap out, but he fought through it. At the two-minute mark, Kelly found his groove. His counter-punches began reaching their mark and he found his distancing again, enabling him to better slip and dip the onslaught delivered by his larger opponent. Of the four friends, Brown was by far the biggest and strongest. Kelly felt blessed to have fought two weight classes below Brown; otherwise he wasn't so sure he'd have maintained his Golden Glove status as an amateur champion.

The buzzer announced the end of the three-minute round. Kelly leaned against the nearest turnbuckle, sweat dripping to the matted floor. He already felt better than he had when he'd first come in. Strange how fighting solved his ails. He and Brown dipped under the top rope and stepped out onto the hardwood floor outside the ring.

Bobby McDonough walked over from the heavy bag and gave Kelly a slap on his shoulder with a gloved hand. "Heard what you guys did out there. That's some brave stuff. The city owes you."

Hearing his mobster friend compliment police work was strange, but the lines of their friendship had always blurred. Deep down, Kelly knew his friend's diehard loyalty to the city they lived in and the neighborhood they'd grown up in, regardless of the path his life had led him down. They were Bostonians. A tough breed who loved their city beyond anything else and would do anything to protect it. Each of them chose their own unique way of answering the city's call.

There was a weird yin-and-yang pull to the city, to the crimes surrounding it and to the people who fought against them. Bobby had saved Kelly's life, and that debt would never be forgotten. Father Donny O'Brien took care of their neighborhood through the work he did at the church. And then there was Edmund Brown, who now ran the school they attended as children. Each one of them caring for their community in the way they knew best.

McDonough led the way to the back lot where their cooler of beer awaited. The cool night air felt good. The cold beer in Kelly's hand felt better.

"You doing okay, Mike?" Edmund leaned in, speaking in almost a whisper.

"I guess. It's just been hard. I've never lost before."

"You didn't lose. You guys got him, didn't you?"

"We did, but a lot of people lost their lives and were injured because I couldn't get there quick enough, because I couldn't figure it out. I still don't completely understand what the hell happened. This one really made me question myself." He'd always been able to speak frankly with Brown. His friend had a way of drawing out the root cause of his distress.

"Do you remember when we were kids?"

"Can you be more specific?" Kelly removed the cold beer can pressed against his throbbing head and took a long pull.

"Do you remember how I was treated when I first came to the school, when I first moved in? Do you remember that?"

Kelly did. Brown came from Mattapan, a rough neighborhood abutting the west side of Dorchester. When he moved into Kelly's neighborhood, there weren't any other African-American kids around. He stood out. And in a neighborhood of tough Irish Catholics, some of the other boys were not as open-minded to his physical differences and gave him a hard time as a result.

"Do you remember when Danny Cushman tried to beat the crap out of me?"

Kelly knew the story Edmund was about to tell, but he didn't mind the retelling. He hadn’t heard it in a while.

"I do."

"And he would've done it. I hadn't been boxing back then. I was a gangly kid with no coordination."

Kelly had been boxing for a year when he met Brown. He wasn't great, but he'd built up a decent level of confidence with his pugilistic skills. He’d seen Cushman giving Brown a hard time and hadn’t liked it. So Kelly stepped in.

"You didn't know me, Mike. Remember that? You didn't even know me, but when you saw that Cushman singled me out and was about to pound me into the concrete, you stepped in."

"If I recall, I stepped in and he broke my nose." Kelly pointed to the faint scar on the bridge of his nose.

Brown chuckled softly. "He did, but you blackened his eye. And more importantly, you never backed down. You stood your ground. And you did it for me, a black kid from another neighborhood who you didn't even know. Cushman never bothered me again after that day. Not ever. And I owe that all to you."

Kelly remembered the story. He remembered the immediacy of the bond formed in that moment, one that had lasted decades.

"It mattered to me, Mike. I know I've said it before, but if you hadn't protected me that day, I don't know what would have happened. I'm sure more would've followed. It would've been a nightmare. I don't know if I would've even gone to school. I probably would've begged my mom to move." Brown nursed his beer. "But after you stepped up on my behalf, I had this sneaking suspicion that everything was going to be okay. You made it right for me. Now I do that for kids. I give them a place to feel safe. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Maybe." Kelly wasn't sure where his friend was going.

"Look, I don't know how hard your job is.