Ultimate Sports Read Online Free PDF

no return address, all the cops will have is a Detroit postmark.”
    “That’s great of you, Uncle Harlow! Now, when can I get out of this room?”
    “Hold on! First, the cops won’t stop looking until after they get this paper from Detroit, and probably not even then,” Harlow looked up at the ceiling. “In fact, they could show up here anytime. The best place for you right now is here in the basement. Now, let’s get started on getting your story on paper.”
    A half hour later, Randy crumpled up another yellow page and threw it across the room. “It’s no good!” he complained. “I can’t write this out myself.”
    “Didn’t they teach you anything in school? Or didn’t you pay attention?”
    “Didn’t see no need for school,” Randy grumbled.
    “Okay. I’ll write it down and you copy it, word forword. It’s got to be in your handwriting. It will give you something to do tomorrow.” Harlow pointed to the paper sack. UI got you a razor and shaving cream and a toothbrush. There’s some new underwear in there, too. I got extra-large. Is that right?”
    “I don’t know. Mamma buys all that.”
    Harlow roared with laughter. “Some tough guy you are. What are you? Eighteen… nineteen years old and your mamma still buys your clothes!”
    Randy jumped to his feet. “You got no call bagging on me.”
    Harlow backed off in mock fear. “Oh, please don’t hit me, Mr. Tough Guy,” he moaned. “Otherwise, I’ll have to tell your mamma!”
    With a roar of rage, Randy rushed at Harlow. The older man ducked under a roundhouse right hand and stepped lightly to one side. Then he hit Randy in the gut with a blow that caused the younger man to let out his breath in a giant
whoosh!
Randy fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air.
    Harlow stood over him. “Not only do you have slow hands, you got a soft belly, boy. Must be all those Froot Loops you eat. I hope I didn’t spoil your dinner with that punch. I got you something real healthy tonight.”
    “Like that breakfast?” asked Randy from the floor.
    “Much better. You be nice to me, I’ll let you have some extra wheat germ on it. And if you eat it all up, I’ll show you how to work that speed bag.”
    •   •   •
    The next morning when Harlow awoke, he heard the speed bag going like a machine gun. “The boy learns fast,” he thought. “If he keeps it up, it ain’t going tobe so easy keeping him down there—Oops! almost forgot!”
    Harlow took a book from the shelf alongside his bed. Then he went downstairs and opened the door. Randy was at the speed bag, his hands moving just as Harlow had shown him the night before. He looked up as Harlow entered. The older man tossed the book to him.
    “What’s this?” Randy asked.
    “When you get all punched out, you could look it over,” Harlow said. “It helped me when I was in the joint.”
    Randy looked at the thin book. Painfully, he formed his lips around the words on the cover.
“Yes
…
I
…
Can
…
R-Read.”
    •   •   •
    It was four days later when Harlow came running down the stairs. Randy was working out in silent fury. He barely looked up when Harlow burst into the room.
    “Quick, Randy—into the shower stall!” Harlow commanded.
    “What for? I ain’t finished working out.”
    “There’s a police car just pulled up in front. Do what I say. I’m going to open up this room. Show them the closet, too. With the John door open, I don’t think they’ll check the shower stall. Pull the curtain closed, though.” From the floor above, the doorbell began to ring. “No more time,” Harlow whispered. “Be cool, kid.”
    Harlow quickly locked the door and ran up the stairs. Randy heard voices and the heavy tread of feet above him. He remained inside the shower stall. A few moments later, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
    “What’s in there, Mr. Fuller?” Randy heard a strange voice saying.
    “My private workout room. I’ll show it to you.”
    “You