Ultimate Sports Read Online Free PDF Page A

center of the floor. Harlow set the tray before him.
    “What’s this?” Randy asked, eyeing the tray.
    “High-protein drink, high-fiber cereal, and skim milk. Some complex carbohydrates and a handful of vitamins.”
    “This is garbage,” Randy said. “Ain’t you got any Froot Loops?”
    “You’re something else, boy,” Harlow answered. “Here you show up at my house, on the run. I take you in, give you a nice place to stay, and you try to punch me out. Then you complain about the eats. You sure got a short grip on being grateful, boy.” He pointed to the tray. “If you’re hungry, eat it. If not, I’ll be taking it with me, along with the mattress.”
    “What are you taking that for?” Randy asked. He had secretly intended to go back to sleep once his uncle had left.
    “I got it off the bed in my spare room. If anyone came by to look for you, they’d wonder where the mattress was.
    “I’m going to be gone for most of the day. When I get back, we’ll have dinner.”
    “But what will I do for lunch?”
    “That’s why I gave you such a big and healthy breakfast. Eat it, or don’t.” Harlow grinned widely as Randy began to try the cereal. He was still smiling as he locked the heavy door behind him and tugged the mattress upstairs. As he reached the top step, he heard Randy call out through the door.
    “What am I supposed to do in here all day?”
    “You could do a couple of things,” Harlow called back. “You could think on how you got yourself into this mess. And you could also do your body some good. You maylook okay, but you’re slow on the punch. The only thing you could hit for sure is the floor.”
    As Harlow left the house, he could hear thumping coming from the basement. He paused outside to feed Emile before getting into his car. He patted the dog and whispered, “You take care of things around here, Emile. I think we got us a heavyweight, all right.”
    •   •   •
    It was growing dark when Harlow returned to his home. He was greeted by Emile. He reached into his car, took out a large paper sack, and walked into the house. He checked his answering machine, then went downstairs. As he did, he heard the
rat-a-tat
of the speed bag. It didn’t last long. But then it began again, after some muffled curses from Randy.
    Harlow unlocked the door to find Randy flailing away at the speed bag. “I told you that you had slow hands,” Harlow said, setting the paper sack on the floor. “Didn’t anyone show you how to use that bag right?”
    Randy turned and looked at his uncle sullenly. “Nobody ever showed me nothing. But I had to do something. I’m going crazy down here.”
    “After only one day? What do you think you’d do in a jail cell?”
    “Maybe I’d have somebody to talk to there.”
    “Maybe you would. But I’ll tell you this: In the six years I listened to jail talk and yard talk, I never heard anything worth two cents. And best you get used to being here. It may be a while before you see the outside.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “That ’dude’ you told me about. His name was Arnold Jensen—the homeboys called him Zipper, right?”
    “Yeah. How did you know?”
    “He’s in the papers, Randy. He died last night from the gunshots. Now the cops really want to talk to you.”
    Randy sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands. “What am I gonna do?” he moaned. “I told you I didn’t have nothing to do with the shooting part.”
    “I believe you. But the police might not. That’s why I bought this today.” He reached into the paper sack and took out a long yellow legal pad.
    “You’re going to write down exactly what happened. Then you’re going to sign it. After that, I’ll send it to the police.”
    Randy got to his feet. “Are you crazy? Soon as they get that, they’ll be here!”
    “Oh, I don’t think so,” Harlow said. “I’ll mail it to one of the kids I used to train. He lives in Detroit. He’ll send it from there. With