Sam leaned the mop against the wall.
He walked toward the ring.
“That's enough.”
The room became quiet.
Travis turned.
At first, he appeared unsure who had spoken.
Then he saw Sam.
The old janitor.
The man who had been cleaning the floor ten minutes earlier.
“What did you say?”
Sam looked toward Danny.
“I said that's enough.”
Travis stared at him.
A grin slowly appeared.
“You coaching now, Sam?”
A few people laughed.
Sam didn't.
“That young man came here to learn,” he said. “Not to help you impress a camera.”
The laughter faded.
Danny looked down.
Travis rested his arms on the ropes.
“You think I hit him too hard?”
“I think you knew exactly how hard you were hitting him.”
The smile disappeared.
Kevin Ross stepped closer.
“Come on, Travis. We have footage to finish.”
Travis ignored him.
He looked at Sam.
“You got a problem with the way I box?”
“No.”
Sam picked up the mop.
“I've got a problem with the way you treat people who can't stop you.”
The sentence changed the atmosphere immediately.
Nobody laughed.
Travis climbed through the ropes.
He landed on the floor and walked toward Sam.
He was more than forty years younger.
His shoulders were thick with muscle.
His arms looked enormous beside the old man's.
“You got something you want to prove?”
Sam shook his head.
“At my age, son, proving things is expensive.”
A few older men near the lockers smiled.
Travis did not.
“You sure talk like you know fighting.”
Sam looked at him.
“I know enough to recognize when it stops being training.”
Travis laughed.
Then he looked toward the camera.
That mattered.
His pride would not allow him to walk away.
He pointed toward the ring.
“Get in.”
Sam raised his eyebrows.
“With you?”
“Yeah.”
Kevin immediately stepped forward.
“Travis, don't be stupid.”
Travis waved him away.
“I won't hurt him.”
Sam said nothing.
Travis smiled.
“I'll give you thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds for what?”
“To survive.”
Several people laughed again.
Travis lifted both hands.
“Thirty seconds. You stay on your feet, I apologize to Danny.”
Danny immediately shook his head.
“No, Sam. Don't.”
Travis continued.
“If you go down before thirty seconds, you admit you don't know what you're talking about.”
Sam looked toward the ring.
Then toward Danny.
Then at Travis.
There was no anger in his expression.
Only disappointment.
“Son, I'm seventy-one.”
“Then thirty seconds should feel pretty long.”
Travis's entourage laughed loudly.
Sam lowered his eyes.
For a moment, he seemed to be calculating something.
Then he smiled.
Not a nervous smile.
Not an embarrassed smile.
A small, quiet smile.
Three older men near the far wall stopped talking.
One of them was Eddie Grant, the seventy-eight-year-old owner of the gym.
Eddie had been sitting inside his office, watching through the half-open door.
When Sam smiled, Eddie slowly stood.
“Oh, Lord,” he whispered.
The trainer beside him looked confused.
“What?”
Eddie shook his head.
“Travis has no idea who he just invited into that ring.”
Ten minutes later, Sam returned from the locker room.
He had changed into an old pair of black boxing trunks and a plain white T-shirt.
His body was thinner than Travis's, but not fragile.
The years had taken size from him.
They had not taken all the strength.
Scars crossed his left ribs and right shoulder.
His hands were wrapped in white gauze.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Exactly.
Travis watched.
Something about the way Sam wrapped his hands made him uncomfortable.
He could not explain why.
Marcus Hill, one of Grant's senior trainers, stepped between them.
“This is thirty seconds.”
He looked at Travis.
“Light contact.”
Travis nodded.
Then he looked at Sam.
“You ready?”
Sam looked at the clock.
“I'm ready.”
Marcus raised his hand.
The gym fell silent.
The timer beeped.
And the old man stepped forward.
The First Ten Seconds
The first thing Travis noticed was that Sam did not move like an old man.
He moved like someone who knew exactly where his feet belonged.
Not fast.
Not yet.
Just precise.
His left foot shifted half an inch.
His right foot followed.
His shoulders relaxed.
His hands rose.
Travis smiled.
“You sure you want to do this?”
Sam said nothing.
The timer counted down.
Twenty-nine seconds.
Travis stepped forward.
He threw a jab.
Sam moved his head.
The punch missed.
Travis blinked.
He threw another.
Sam slipped it.
Still no counter.
The gym became quiet.
Travis smiled.
“You're quick.”
Sam looked at him.
“I'm economical.”
Travis frowned.
He threw a third jab.
Sam stepped outside.
Then he tapped Travis lightly on the chest.
Not a punch.
A touch.
A reminder.
Travis's smile disappeared.
The timer showed twenty-three seconds.
He attacked again.
This time, he threw a right hand.
Sam leaned backward.
The glove passed inches from his nose.
Travis followed with a left hook.
Sam ducked.
The hook passed over his white hair.
A murmur moved through the gym.
Travis stepped back.
He was beginning to realize something.
The old man wasn't guessing.
He was reading him.
Every movement.
Every shoulder twitch.
Every change in balance.
Sam had seen the punches before they came.
Travis bounced lightly.
“You've got some tricks.”
Sam breathed slowly.
“Not tricks.”
“What, then?”
“Experience.”
Travis's eyes narrowed.
He attacked again.
This time he increased the speed.
Jab.
Right.
Left hook.
Right uppercut.
Sam blocked the first.
Slipped the second.
Rolled beneath the third.
The uppercut never came close.
Travis stepped back.
The timer showed seventeen seconds.
Someone whispered:
“Who is this guy?”
Eddie heard him.
He said nothing.
He was watching Sam.
Watching the old man's shoulders.
Watching the way he kept his chin tucked.
Watching his breathing.
It brought back memories.
Forty years earlier, Eddie had watched the same man fight in Philadelphia arenas.