BOOM!  A jab connected to the left side of Bobby's face.  Bobby could feel the sweat dripping down his face.  His opponent was in the corner, gloves to his forehead.  Bobby was laying punch after punch to his midsection.  His opponent, the Notorious Finley, broke out of the corner and hovered over to the middle of the ring.  It was the fifth round.  Bobby had been winning the majority of the fight.  Finley threw a large right hook, and Bobby ducked under it.  Finley landed a hard-hitting jab to the face when Bobby got up.  Bobby stumbled backward into the corner that they had just got out of.  He was exchanging punches with Finley, but he started to slowly drop his gloves to his sides.  

Bobby’s face hit the ground.  Blood spurted from his nose.  Ding! Ding! Ding!  The bell was sounded.  The referee grabbed Finley’s glove and raised their hands up.  The crowd was in shock.  Bobby laid for a few minutes, then picked himself up and went to his empty locker room.  He sat down on a cold, wooden bench and started to put his belongings in his training bag.  He took off his red gloves and dropped them into the black bag.  A man with a mustache came into the empty locker room, handed Bobby an envelope, and left.  Bobby looked inside the envelope, then pocketed it.  He grabbed his red, satin boxing robe from his locker and waved his hands over the embroidered yellow letters on the back.  It read: “BATTLIN’ BOBBY JONES”.  Bobby shoved his robe into the bag and walked home.  

He went through the usual dark, grimy alley, which was a shortcut to his apartment complex.  It smelled rancid, and he saw something scurrying on the ground from the corner of his eye.  He walked up to his door and grabbed his keys from his bag.  Bobby had to exert some force onto the door to open it because it was old.

When he opened the door, his son, Jack, came running to give him a hug.  “You shoulda kept your gloves up,” Jack explained.

“I guess I need you in my corner then,” Bobby replied.  “I’ll go get the kit.”  Bobby walked into the pantry and grabbed a black, metallic box.  In it were bandages, alcohol, needles, and thread.  Bobby had taught Jack how to patch him up when he was younger.  They sat down at the kitchen table.  “So you watched the fight. Did you finish your homework?” Bobby asked.

“Yep, I got it done first.”

“All of it?”

Jack looked down at the table and grabbed the needle and thread.  Jack said, “I’ll finish it tomorrow.”

“Tonight,” Bobby commanded.  Jack looked up at his father with the needle and thread in hand.  “Alright, go ahead,” said Bobby.  Jack starts to stitch a cut above Bobby’s left eye.  Bobby shuddered in pain.

“Is Mr. Ditkovich getting his rent on time this month?” Jack questioned.

“He will get his rent,” Bobby said as he pulled out the envelope from his back pocket.  He slammed the envelope onto the wooden table.  “Boom!” Bobby exclaimed.  Jack’s little hands sifted through the contents of the white, but red from blood, envelope.  There was a plethora of hundred dollar bills.

“You got all of this from losing?” Jack asked curiously.  Though immoral in their ways, Bobby’s “employers” were quite wealthy.  They had been paying Bobby to intentionally lose fights so that they would always win betting money.

“Remember, it ain’t about how you hit the mat, but--” Bobby started.

“How you get up,” they said in unison.

“Alright,” Bobby said, chuckling.  “You go hit the books.”  Bobby watched as Jack left the kitchen.  He quickly shoved the money into the medical kit and stared out the window.

⬦⬦⬦

Everyday after school, Bobby would take Jack to the boxing gym.  Jack would read books, while Bobby sparred with his training buddy.  After a quick session, Bobby went over to check on Jack.  “How are ya’ doin’, champ?” Bobby asked.

Jack looked up from his book and said, “Fine.”

“It’s good that you’re studying. I don’t want you ending up like your old man,” Bobby said.  Bobby took a few sips from his water jug.  Bobby’s bosses, Vinnie and Roscoe, walked into the loud gym.

“Oi, Bobby!” Vinnie called.  Bobby gestured them away.

“Gimme a minute,” Bobby told Jack.  He walked over to a secluded area in the gym away from the punching bags.  Vinnie was a short, chubby man who wore a green suit.  Roscoe was a tall, muscular man who wore a purple suit.  “What can I do for you, boys?” Bobby said while clapping his boxing gloves together.

“We got you a fight with Drago,” Vinnie said excitedly.  Roscoe stayed silent, staring at Bobby.

“What?! Drago? The Drago? How’d you guys pull that off?”  Bobby responded.

“Roscoe can be very compelling,” Vinne said while pointing his thumb to Roscoe.  Roscoe stayed quiet.  “Anyways, you’re doin’ us a real favor, Bobby. The odds are that you win the fight.  We need you to drop in the third. This can do good for you, too. Think about your family.”

“Of course. I’ll do it.”

⬦⬦⬦

Later that evening, Jack and Bobby were eating microwaved pizzas at the small table.  “What’s your record at now, Dad?” Jack asked.

“I’m 24-31,” Bobby responded.

“You’ve been on a losing streak, Dad. It’s been a while since I seen you winning on TV.”

“Yeah, well…” Bobby looked at Jack in contemplation.  “Excuse me, I gotta make a call.”  Bobby got up from the table.  

Bobby went outside their apartment and called his friend/manager.  “Hey, it’s Bobby. I want to change it. Yep. All on me. Win by knockout. As soon as Drago hits the mat, transfer the money into my son’s account. You got all that?” Bobby quickly hung up.  Then, he called a woman.  It went straight to voicemail.  Bobby decided to leave a message.  “Hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but Jack is really gonna need you. Just look after him, okay? He’s a good kid.”

⬦⬦⬦

“Touch gloves,” commanded the referee.  “I want a clean fight.”  Bobby stared into Drago’s eyes.  They were dark and scared.

By the third round, Drago was groggy and beaten.  “The audience paid for their whole seat, yet they’re all only using the edge,” the announcer shouted.  Bobby was still moving swiftly.  The round ended with a powerful right hook to Drago’s face.  Drago was on the mat, eyes shut.  Bobby had a coppery taste in his mouth.  Bobby heard the ref’s count and didn’t even wait for the bell.  He left the ring and speed-walked to his locker room.  He started to pack up his things.

“Jones! Jones! Jones!” The crowd was chanting.  He stopped to soak in his victory.  Bobby quickly left the arena to head home to Jack.

At the end of the alleyway, he was stopped by a tall, shadowy figure.  “You don’t know how to follow directions, Mr. Jones,” said Roscoe intimidatingly.  Bobby quickly turned around and saw Vinnie walking up to him.  He heard a gun cock behind him.  He started to make a run for his apartment.  BOOM!