1 story submitted to Kitsap Regional Library "Write On" contest 2011 (Theme; Based on photo of concert)- 2nd place
“Laaadies, and gentlemen! Welcome to the boxing match! Weighing 162 pounds, wearing black and white trunks, in Chicago, Illinois, we have Riley Kraus!” Charlotte Saunders bit back a hiss of pain as a heavy foot crashed into her own slender one. The owner mumbled something and jostled her side before melting into the crowd, leaving Charlotte straining to see the fight through a solid wall of backs. She scowled, abandoning all pretenses and shoved her way through the crowd, regardless of how many shoved back. Grudgingly bits of the mass gave way, mainly men. She was at least a head shorter than most of the men here, but their eyes followed her nonetheless, some subtly, some less so.
The dank and smoky air clung to her skin, flushing rosy cheeks and brightening kohl-rimmed green eyes through the dim light. A canary yellow, loose fitting dress did little to conceal slender curves, girlishly obvious, a stark change from the boyish fashions. White-blond hair was cropped into a bob, the ends unintentionally curling, snaking out from under the rim of a clothe hat. She’d surpassed the fashion in this way as well, flat out refusing to dye her fine hair jet black. Long black beads dangled from an ivory neck, swaying as she pushed and pulled her way through the crowd.
“And our reigning champion and challenger here, Barney Ross!” The crowd roared in unison, yelling obscenities or encouragement depended on the way their bets were hedged. Charlotte swore as one particular barrel of a man shoved her back, sending her backtracking a few good yards backwards, erasing minutes of progress.
She narrowed her eyes, glaring at the endless row of backs, before turning around with a vengeance, stalking off like an injured cat around the growing perimeter of the crowd. She held her head up high, straining to find a vantage point where she could view the match before it was over. A ruddy faced policeman sneered at the blond as she passed him, his bulbous nose buried in a bottle. Charlotte grimaced back at him disapprovingly, shaking her head.
Liquor was still illegal the last time she’d checked- it was one thing for the average workingman to make his way down to a speakeasy now and then, quite another for a law enforcer to drink away his pay. It wasn’t unusual to see law enforcers at speakeasies or illegal fight clubs, but Charlotte doubted she would ever approve.
She darted through the remaining people, mainly young women like herself. The catwalk was her goal- if the police ever raided the seemingly normal warehouse, they’d receive quite the shock upon entering the basement. For one, once cleared of people, it was vast. Far vaster than a normal warehouse indeed, and sporting a raised boxing ring, and an announcer's podium and desk with bright, multicolored lights above. For all its more illegal additions, it was still a warehouse, and still sported high walkways, far above the smoky haze and mob. Charlotte paused over the rail, taking a breather as her jade eyes combed the crowd, automatically drawn to the boxing ring centered squarely in the thick of the mass.
Two figures braced themselves in the corner of the ring, causing Charlotte’s heart to skip a beat for a moment, then run on double time. The greasy haired, muscled fellow must be Barney Ross. They hadn’t even bothered to list his weight, he was so well known in Chicago. And there, half as muscled and twice as lean, was her Riley. The red mop of hair was visible even from this height, sending the girl’s heart high above into palpations.
A bell tolled, earning another wave of approval from the teeming crowd. The two forms launched themselves from the corners of the ring, circling one another warily. Charlotte swallowed, watching in anticipation as the stocky champion charged, crashing a ham-sized fist into the redhead’s chest. Riley stumbled back, then darted forward with an answering slug of his own. Charlotte groaned, closing her eyes for a moment.
The crowd cheered and jeered in turn as minutes passed, a constant din beneath the young woman’s feet. Gritting her teeth, she opened her eyes just in time to see the lean form of the redhead drop to his knees, swaying. The crowd roared, writhing in a mass and blanket of a hundred different colors. The bull-like man bellowed a victory cry, and threw one last fist into the smaller man’s shoulder, leaving him to collapse onto the ground. Charlotte swore, and thre herself down the walkway.
The mass of people disintegrated, clumping together as they dished out dollar bills with solemn or exuberant expressions. It was far easier to part the crowds like this, even if they’d been betting on her friend’s survival. She could see the boxing ring now- two men were helping a pounded Riley to his feet. He tried to stand on his own for a moment, swaying, before he stumbled on his first step and gave in to the support of the men. Even with the crowd divided, she couldn’t reach the ring before he was escorted into a side room.
“Riley! Hey, Riley!” The call burst from her throat, carrying out across the wharehouse. He sported a bloody nose and a cut lip, but the blood was already beginning to dry. Chapped lips broke into an easy smile with the grace of someone born to wear one as his dark eyes caught hers. As she watched, the cut on his lip reopened and smeared blood on his upper lip. He winced as Charlotte stared, and let the two men carry him in the back room.
She trotted after them as they disappeared behind a heavy metal door. The blond took a deep breath, raising a fist to the door. She rapped swiftly, glancing around. Most of the people had retreated to their flasks or the card tables, joking and laughing.
She couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as the shorter of the two men opened the door, nor did she wait for an invitation. He was sprawled out over a makeshift bed, wincing slightly as the second man dabbed something onto one of his cuts.
"Charlie!" That was Riley, using her childhood nickname as easily and innocantly as he could be.
“Riley. Is he okay?” She directed the question towards the second man, looking far more seasoned and experienced in such manners than the lanky youth being treated.
“Fine, he didn’t even hit that hard. He’s just a wuss. Did you see me when I slugged him in the stomach? Doubled up like a- ”
“Shhh, Riley. I wasn’t asking you. Doctor?” Riley grumbled as the other man looked up, his blue-green eyes weary. A neat mustache ornamented his upper lip, and a receding salt-and pepper brow line revealed him to be around his early sixties or late fifties.
“I’m not actually a certified doctor. Only if you're a horse."
“A veterinarian?” Charlotte felt queasy at the thought.
“I was the only man available.” He shrugged. “Mr. Kraus here has got just a slight concussion. He’ll have to be pretty inactive for the next few days, I’m afraid. A lot of resting and sleep. Nothing strenuous.”
“No problem there,” Riley smirked. Charlotte spared him an exhausperated look, a flimsy mask in hiding a small smile of her own.
“How much do we owe you?”
“On the house. I come here so often to patch people up, it doesn’t matter anymore.” Charlotte breathed a relieved sigh of relief, and turned to the grounded redhead.
“Are you okay?”
“My head pounds like a hayburner on a dirt road.”
“Good. That means you’re alive.” Riley snickered and grinned at her answer, and reaching up, he took her lily-white hand into his own calloused one and pulled her down beside him. He sighed, a stupid smile still gracing his face.
“How can you be so happy? You almost got pummeled.”
“Oh. You saw that?” Charlotte snorted, placing her left hand on his brow.
“Who didn’t?” Riley frowned at that, closing his eyes sourly.
“Charlie, you’ll stay with me, right?”
“Of course. Where would I go?” Charlotte half smiled.
“Good. Just don’t...” He trailed off, his eyes closed.
“Don’t?” Charlotte waited for an answer, then smiled when she realized she wouldn’t be getting one. He was well and completely asleep.
The career path he’d chosen was a dangerous one. He was still new in this- tonight’s challenge had been his first to a well known and admired boxer. No one had expected him to win, and as much as Charlotte hated to admit it, it would have been a miracle if he had. Most in the profession he’d chosen strayed off the straight and narrow, aiding the mafia and supporting brothels. It would be hard to resist such temptations once he’d reached fame.
But then again, the other boxers didn’t have Charlotte Saunders to watch their backs.
