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The tall, lean Lee put down the Indian clubs and climbed into the ring.
Culp lumbered toward the door. “You’ll excuse me, I have to dress for dinner. Enjoy the facility, Detective Bell.”
“I wondered when you’d figure that out,” said Bell.
“Long before I saw your gun.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Now I know for sure what you’re up to.”
Culp laughed. “You won’t know your own name when these two get through with you. Go to it, boys.”
He whipped Bell’s holster off the peg and took it with him.
Lee put up his fists. “Shall we say fifteen rounds?”
“Or until you get tired,” said Bell.
“When he gets tired,” called Barry, “it’s my turn.”
At the end of five rounds, Lee said, “Something tells me you didn’t learn that footwork at Yale.”
“South Side,” said Bell.
Lee was breathing hard. So was Bell. Barry was watching closely, learning his moves.
“South Side of what?”
“Chicago.”
“Thought so.”
Barry rang the bell.
Lee backed slowly out of the ring after ten rounds. “Finish him.”
Barry swung through the ropes, feet light on the canvas floor, which was slick with Lee’s blood. “O.K., Chicago. Time for lessons.”
“You’ll have to do a lot better than your pal.”
“First lesson: A good big man will always beat a good little man.” Barry glided at him, fast and hard.
Isaac Bell was tired. His arms were getting heavy. His feet felt like he had traded his boots for horseshoes. His ear was ringing where he had caught a right. His cheek was swollen. No serious damage to his torso yet. Barry moved in, feeling for how tired Bell was.
Bell locked eyes with the bigger man and threw some feints to send messages that he was still strong and dangerous. At the same time, he forced himself to override the desire to move fast, which would tire him even more. Barry kept coming, jabbing, feeling him out. Suddenly, he tricked Bell’s hands up with his own feint and landed a left hand to the tall detective’s chest. The slim, long-armed Lee had thrown stinging punches. Barry hit like a pile driver. Bell forced himself to stand tall and hide the damage.
“Lee!” he called. “Come back.”
“What?”
“I’m getting bored. Why don’t you both get in the ring; we’ll make this quick.”
“Your funeral.”
Lee climbed in slowly, stiff, sore, and exhausted.
