Page 103 of Mean Machine

“Until they’ve forgotten all about me. Besides, there’s still the money and fame to keep me warm at night, so don’t worry about me. I prefer to be seen as trying, working towards that comeback, but you and I both know I will never box again.” Thorne lifted his heavy shoulders. “On the positive side, I can stop fretting about my weight, and I’ve had calls from Hollywood about consulting on a boxing movie. They might even cast me as a villain or minor character, depending on how they like me on screen. I have other things going now—things that don’t require me to risk my health.”

While all of that made sense, and Brooklyn wasn’t surprised in the least that Hollywood had called, because he’d always thought Thorne had the screen presence of an action hero, part of Brooklyn kept hold of the resentment from Thorne leading them on for so long, even if it had only been to secure his legacy and keep his reputation intact.

Ultimately, Thorne was in it for only himself, and that wasn’t news. Everything he’d done had been to sell tickets, run his career, look good on screen, and contribute to his legend, as it was. Maybe Brooklyn was a fool to leave that kind of planning in Joseph’s and Cash’s hands. He assumed either of them would likely tell him when it was time to make such decisions.

“Okay. I’m sorry to hear about your health. I’d have fought you, you know.”

“I know. I heard you got a very nice contract from UPTFN?”

“Yeah. I owe them one more fight, and then we’ll renegotiate. They’ve been happy with the earnings and viewer numbers, so….” Brooklyn shrugged. “They have an option for two more fights, provided I keep winning, and Cash figures they might pay another hundred mil for the next two, plus a bigger cut of pay-per-view.”

Thorne whistled tonelessly. “That’s a decent deal.”

“Cash says it’s not quite Mike Tyson money, but it’ll do.”

“Ah, but you’re less of a bad boy than Iron Mike.” Thorne looked down at the grass, then way into the distance. “And another hundred million is a nice chunk of change. You can probably earn a lot more if you manage to stretch out your career.”

“I have no interest in fighting the bum of the week just for money. I want to box real fighters.”

“But every one of those can hurt you badly; that’s the reality. The bum of the week can’t fuck you up. But every real fighter has a chance to end you.”

Brooklyn reached up to his face and couldn’t suppress a grimace. The bones of his face likely would never recover fully, and if an opponent hit him exactly right, there was always nasty swelling and the visceral horror of another crack and emergency surgery.

“Yeah, you understand me.” Thorne sighed and shook his head. “I get that you fight for money. That deal was the first decent payday you got in your life, congratulations.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean it. Lots of fighters don’t come out of the meat grinder with that much money. Plenty of good boxers who can’t afford to retire, and nothing’s sadder than a former champ past his best who’s whoring himself out for a few dollars or a small taste of that stale fame.” The words resonated with so much suppressed emotion that Brooklyn realised belatedly that this was the reason Thorne had quit, not the health concerns. Those were glib lies he told himself.

“So you’re saying I should take the money and run.”

Thorne seemed to chew on that for a while, the jaw muscles tensing under that outdoors tan. “Think of your big idol. Wouldn’t you have preferred Ali had taken fewer than those two hundred thousand punches that some people say he’s taken? Sure, some people say that wasn’t the reason he deteriorated, but think about it. A human body takes two hundred thousand punches—what happens?”

“Yes, it’s dangerous. So?”

“I’m saying, think about why you’re willing to do this. What drives you. You already made more money than you’ll need, unless you want to live like a billionaire, then you got to fight. But if you don’t, what are you fighting for? You got the belts, what more do you need?”

Well, the lifestyle was admittedly nice, because it came with a sense of freedom. There were few things he couldn’t simply buy if he wanted them, and he didn’t need big yachts or planes, or whatever filthy rich people spent their money on. Considering he’d made do on a cop salary and then existed without any money at all, his current wealth was barely more real than a stack of paper won in a Monopoly game.

Still, he wasn’t a used-up old champion, not by a long shot. Viewers flocked to the fights, even though there had been some gripes about Thorne bowing out and Brooklyn having to box a guy with far less standing, but it had been a good fight with a strong opponent for high stakes. As long as he could deliver those, he’d make boatloads, and get all the fame and interviews and reputation he wanted.

By now he’d proven he wasn’t a one-hit wonder. Thanks to Joseph, Brooklyn was getting better with every fight. And admittedly, being considered the best and most interesting of a decent crop of younger heavyweights held its own rewards.

“I get what you’re saying, but I’m not done yet.” Brooklyn nodded back towards the caddy, and Thorne followed his lead. “And in any case, I have to deliver another fight first, before I can make that decision. Right now it feels good being at the top.”

Thorne cracked a grin. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Brooklyn responded with a smile. “Yes, it does. Thanks for the chat, old man. I’ll keep all that to myself. I’ll hopefully see you in cinema, then?”

“Oh, most likely.” Thorne patted Brooklyn good-naturedly on the arm when they shook hands. “You take care.”

“Always.” Brooklyn slipped from Thorne’s grip and turned away, though he waved at him once more before he returned to the club house at the far end of the lawn.

Round 10

BROOKLYN WAScoming back from the gym after a heavy cardio session that left him out of breath and had driven him to edge of very nearly blacking out, when he spotted Cash and Joseph in the coffee shop where they had a habit of meeting up for a late working breakfast. Joseph had his laptop open, Cash had a small pile of phones to the side, but their discussion seemed a little more lively than normal. Brooklyn stopped and stepped inside, his empty stomach and empty muscles immediately perking up at the lingering background smell of coffee and molten cheese and carbs coming from a grilled sandwich that the barista was pulling out of the mini oven.

“It’s not sustainable, Joseph,” Cash said with a note of exasperation.

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