The Punishing Game Read Online Free PDF Page A

again,” Cullen said.
    Bracing for the worst, they watched as the door opened. Instead of the Bloods, however, in walked a good-looking white kid of around twenty with spiked black hair streaked blond at the tips.
    “What are you doing here, son?” McAlary said. “The gym is closed.”
    “I trained with Nino,” the kid said. “I was out of town for a few days with my grandparents when he was killed.” He hitched up his baggy jeans. “I was walking the streets, just to, like, clear my head, when I saw the lights on in here. For a minute, I thought maybe it’s all been a mistake, that Nino was alive and in here.”
    He walked over to McAlary and shook his hand. “I’ve always been a big fan of yours, Mr. McAlary.”
    “And who might you be?” the trainer asked.
    “Mikey Bellucci.” He turned to Cullen. “I’ve watched a bunch of your pop’s fights on DVD. I like those old-school fighters. Mikey Bellucci got his style from them.” He laid one hand over his heart. “Mr. Cullen, I hope you kick Jermain Simms’ ass.”
    “Thanks.”
    Bellucci turned back to McAlary. “Coach, do you mind if I work out for a while?”
    “Okay. But we’ll be closing up in a half hour.”
    “No problem.”
    As Bellucci hustled into the locker room, McAlary went back to pounding the bag and Cullen started skipping rope. In a few minutes Bellucci came back out wearing just trunks and boxing shoes. Cullen guessed he was about five-foot nine, maybe a hundred-fifty pounds. He looked like he didn’t seem to have an ounce of body fat.
    While he skipped rope, Cullen watched Bellucci climb into the ring and start shadowboxing. Cullen was immediately impressed with his exceptional hand speed. I thought I was fast. This kid puts me to shame.
    As Bellucci began gliding around the ring like a skilled dancer, Cullen stopped working to watch. So did McAlary, though Bellucci didn’t seem to notice them. Then he picked up the pace. His hands were incredibly fast. As unexpected tears suddenly came rolling down his cheeks, Cullen and McAlary quickly turned away. After ten minutes of shadowboxing, the kid climbed down out of the ring. McAlary tossed him a towel.
    “Son, how many fights have you had?” the trainer asked.
    Bellucci’s face beamed with pride as he said, “Fifty amateur. Mikey Bellucci won forty-two and took silver in the U.S. Nationals. Nino wanted Mikey to try out for the Olympics. But Mikey needed to start making money. Be his own man. I’m undefeated in five fights as a pro.”
    McAlary put a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “You’ve got some real talent, son.”
    Bellucci smiled. “Nobody can touch Mikey Bellucci in the ring,” he said quietly. “He’s too fast. Too skilled.”
    Cullen had heard some elite older fighters switch from first person to third in referring to themselves, but never someone so young.
    Bellucci sat on the apron of the ring. As he toweled his sweaty face the bravado was suddenly gone, replaced by a grim look. Looking down at his hands, he whispered, “What am I going to do now without Nino?”
    McAlary put a hand under Bellucci’s chin and raised it. “Get your chin up, son. There’re plenty of trainers who’d be glad to have a fine young prospect like you.”
    Looking up at McAlary, Bellucci shook his head. “Nino was more than a trainer to me. Coach was like a father. He taught me things about life. My own father was a scumbag. He abandoned me when I was only seven.” Bellucci looked down at his hands and continued. “After my old man was gone, my mother shacked up with some guy in Jersey. The fucker liked to beat on Mikey when he was drunk. Which was pretty much all the time. So Mikey split and moved in with his grandparents here in Crown Heights. They wanted me to become a doctor.”
    Cullen looked at him, but didn’t say anything. Neither did McAlary.
    Bellucci looked up and laughed. “Some doctor! I got thrown out of high school my sophomore year for fighting. So what else is