The Final Bell

[Robbie C.]

Just a little thing I put together to tell parts of Down for the Count from Larry Zito's point of view. I know I skipped over some stuff from the episode, but it would have been too long if I stuck it all in, and frankly I wanted to explore one or two things Dick Wolf didn't seem to think were important. 

 

In the end it was all my fault. I had to go and invite the Hardy Boys to the fight. Stan came up with the nickname, but it fits Crockett and Tubbs so well. The boy wonder detectives. Especially Sonny. Always stuck in drive with his foot to the floor. He didn’t know a damned thing about boxing, but Rico did. At least he said he did. And since he was a New York City boy I believed him. Still…I should have left Crockett at home.

But I didn’t. Instead I had to ask them along. “I don’t expect you guys to appreciate the fine points in your first fight.” I guessed Rico might have been to a few up in New York, but not Sonny.

Sonny snorted. “Fine points? Oh, you mean whether the guy his the canvas face up or face down?”

I chuckled in spite of myself. Leave it to Crockett to miss the entire point. “I know it’s hard to understand when you’re used to watching eleven slurping styroid mouth-breathers move around on your carpet every Sunday, but being a fighter requires more physical skill than any other sport. Balance. Conditioning, Eye-hand coordination. Fast reflexes.” I thought about going on, but he wasn’t listening.

It had never been my idea to get Moon involved. No way. He was a friend, and I didn’t have a lot of those. No, that had been Sonny Crockett’s idea. And Stan, bless his big ol’ heart, was right: what Sonny Crockett wants, Sonny Crockett gets.

Moon was so proud of his latest find, and after watching the kid in the ring I could understand why. Bobby Sykes wasn’t big, wasn’t super-fast, but he had that thing about him. It wasn’t something you saw right away, but after a couple of rounds you knew he was special. Especially if you knew the first thing about boxing. And that he could go all the way.

Rico saw it. But Crockett…he was fixed on something else. I could see him out of the corner of my eye…staring off to the left with that glare of his that aways means trouble. Not trouble for him, of course, but for someone else.

I forgot about him when Moon started yelling from the corner. You couldn’t ignore Moon in his fighter’s corner unless you were dead. He was always jumping around, shouting, pulling that damned straw cowboy hat back down on his head when his antics threatened to send it flying. The kid won, and it was easy to see Moon finally had a real fighter on his hands. And I didn’t think about Sonny again until the next day.

 

The lieutenant was off somewhere doing lieutenant things, so Crockett had the floor in the squad room. And he was on fire. Rico didn’t look as excited, but I’d seen this show before. And the ending was always the same. What Sonny Crockett wants, Sonny Crockett gets.

I was working on a report. Don’t remember which one…they all kinda look the same after the first fifty or so. But Crockett was holding forth about Oswaldo Guzman. I managed to tune most of it out aside from Gina saying the guy hadn’t had so much as a parking ticket in three years until he asked me how long the guy had been around the fights. It took me a minute to tune back in. “He’s been in the fight game for a couple of years. Came in big. Threw a lot of cash around.” There wasn’t much more to say about him, really.

I should have paid more attention. Maybe I knew it at the time, but I was still feeling pretty good after watching Moon’s prospect wipe up the ring with Batista. It looked like the big guy might have finally found a winner. Then Crockett and Tubbs headed out in a cloud of designer cologne and I got back to those reports.

Maybe I should have paid more attention. When Sonny got back from wherever he’d run off to he called the entire team together in the conference room. I sat next to Stan, as usual, and looked down at my notes while Sonny rambled on about taking down Oswaldo Guzman. There was some stuff about fights and cable, but it didn’t mean much to me. I knew cable was getting into boxing in a big way thanks to HBO, but didn’t see how it factored into our situation.

That was when Sonny started looking at me and his voice turned used-car salesman. How they needed a front guy to sucker Guzman in. A prospect who’d interest supposed cable hotshots Burnett and Cooper. “Somebody charismatic. Good-looking. Articulate. Can handle the press. Kind of a local boy into a regional star sorta thing.” He was looking right at me, and that sick feeling started in my gut again. “Ring a bell?”

I looked him right in the eyes. “Forget it. Moon’s a friend.”

Tubbs had to cut in then. “Does Moon know you’re a cop?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Do you think he wants the best prospect he’s ever had used as bait?”

Sonny had that grin of his working. “Don’t worry about it, Larry. The kid’s not in any danger. They are not going to touch the golden goose.”

I kept waiting for Castillo to say something, but when he didn’t I knew I’d lost. Sonny and Rico kept going on…I guess they thought they could paper it all over by saying the right things. But it didn’t really matter. I was the one who’d have to sell it to Moon. And even though they said they’d find another way if he said no, I knew they wouldn’t. I’d seen the movie before. Too many times.

 

I gave it to Moon straight. Hell, there was no way I could do anything else. He just looked through me with those eyes of his, the straw cowboy hat stuck on his head like it was nailed there. Then he said it. “Bobby hates cops. His brother was wasted by one.”

“He doesn’t ever need to know.” I hated myself just then. It sounded like Crockett talking.

“What he doesn’t need is to get hurt.” Moon leaned in close, reminding me of how big, and how dangerous, he really was. “Cause I’ll tell you right now…if anything, and I mean anything, happens to my man, you an’ me got problems. We got major medical problems. You got that?”

All I could do was nod. It was a fair statement.

We were still standing there watching Bobby shadow-box when a goof in a suit came in. Moon spotted him right off, and knew exactly what he was up to. Not more than thirty seconds later he was out on his ear. It brought a smile to my face, one I really needed after what had happened that morning, but I couldn’t shake the feeling in the pit of my stomach. We’d started something…or Sonny had started something…and we had no idea where it would going or how it would end.

Stan caught my mood and parked his broom against the ring ropes. “Easy, Lar. We just gotta keep our heads down and ride this out.”

“Yeah. I get it. But it just doesn’t feel right.” I watched Moon stomp over to the corner and start shouting encouragement and instructions at Bobby. “Moon’s a friend, and the kid’s his ticket to better things. It feels like we’re about to mess all that up. For both of them. And for what?”

He slapped me on the shoulder with a big hand. “Yeah, I get it. Guzman’s a slime bag. No question. But I don’t like it, either. Bobby’s a good kid, and I don’t know Moon like you do but he seems like a good guy, too. We just gotta stick close to ‘em and keep ‘em safe while the Hardy Boys do their dance.”

 

We had another chin-wag in the conference room. Well…mostly Sonny did. Gushing about Don Cash and his big idea with the cable angle. The lieutenant seemed to buy it, but he also wasn’t paying close attention. I didn’t know what was going on there, but it left another of those bad feelings in my gut. I knew I had to see Moon again. Try to talk him out of what I’d gotten him into in the first place. Sonny had that ‘bit in his teeth’ look, and I couldn’t shake the feeling he was moving too fast. He didn’t know the fight game like I did, and he wasn’t the kind to listen. But maybe there was a chance…

Moon was in his ratty single-wide trailer, the walls papered with old fight posters and the flat spaces decorated with empty beer cans and the remains of last week’s take out. He was sprawled back on his bed, the cowboy hat tipped a bit over his eyes. He grunted when I came in. “How’s the kid doing, Lar?”

“Good. But you already know that, Moon. That kid’s special.”

“Yeah. He is.” Moon didn’t say anything for a time, and I started getting nervous. Moon going quiet was never a good sign. “You know…” he finally said, not quite looking at me. “You got good hands for a white boy. Why don’t you take over training Bobby? Get him ready to fight.”

“Sure. But what about you?”

He got a look on his face I couldn’t really read. Somewhere between sneaky and mean. “I got things to do. That’s executive high-level classified information. You’re not…you’re not cleared for that kind of stuff.” He chuckled.

I knew it was pointless to ask anything else. Moon could be stubborn sometimes. We bantered back and forth for a couple more minutes and then I headed out. There was no way I’d get anything else out of him until he was ready to tell me, and I needed to start planning a workout routine for Bobby. He was good, no question, but he had to get better if we were going to make the kind of regional splash we needed to sucker in Guzman. And much as I hated to admit it, the sooner we did that the sooner we’d be out of Bobby and Moon’s lives. At least that’s what I kept telling myself.

 

The next day I met up with Bobby Sykes and started working him out. Speed bag and then shadow boxing. We talked a bit, mostly about how we’d met Moon and the general stuff two guys who don’t know squat about each other dream up to make noise. Words to fill the space but not give up too much too soon. We were both wary, but not for the same reasons.

I wasn’t dumb enough to try sparring with him again, but I knew I could give him some pointers. Help him work on his weak hand and some more advanced footwork. And he was smart enough to see I could teach him something.

We were just starting the final round with the bags when I heard Stan’s voice over the background gym noise. “Larry! Got a call! We gotta go, man!”

The bottom fell out of my heart, but I managed to slap a grin on my face for Bobby’s benefit. “Go ahead and finish up here, kid. Stan’s car’s in the shop, and if I don’t get him there to pick it up I won’t hear the end of it for weeks.” It was thin, but all I could think of through my own fear. I knew what the call was about. Moon’s face last night danced through my mind as I headed for the big bay door. What the hell did you get into, you big ass?

Stan drove, pushing his Thunderbird through the afternoon traffic. He kept looking over at me, but I didn’t say a word. Not even to him. Then he made the turn. “We’re going to Moon’s place, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” His voice was almost lost in the wind since we were rolling with the top down. “They didn’t say…”

“They don’t need to. We both know what happened.”

Stan made the last turn and came to a stop just past the cluster of patrol cars and a lone crime tech van. There was no ambulance, but I did see the coroner’s black ride tucked in between two Metro-Dade marked units.

I could barely look at what was left of Moon. A shotgun at close range will do that. Besides, I’d rather remember him waving his damned hat in the corer and shouting all kinds of crap into the ring. Not blown to bits on his bed.

Crockett sighed. “Obviously didn’t find what he was looking for.” He paused, but only for a second. “Moon keep any money here?”

That did it. I could feel the anger starting a slow burn in my gut. “Is that how they’re gonna play it? A robbery-homicide? Who are you tryin’ to kid, man? We both know who did this.”

Tubbs tried to step in, likely protecting his partner as usual. “Easy, man.”

“I told you I didn’t want to get Moon involved!” I was shouting now, and didn’t care. “I told myself that! I didn’t listen to myself!”

What Sonny said next almost got him slugged. Only my badge stopped me. “Zito…this is what we do, man. Come on. If it was Guzman, then he was definitely lookin’ for something.”

“What am I supposed to tell him? Sorry, Bobby…I got the only guy you trusted killed.” I couldn’t believe I was the only one thinking about the kid. The only… And that was it. I turned on my heel and got out of there. Before I really did punch Crockett into next week.

Outside, I took several deep breaths. No one came near me, which was good. What the hell had Moon gotten himself into? I knew from what he’d said the big guy was up to something, and knowing him he’d gone after something Guzman had. And that was on me, too. It was fine for Sonny talk about it being what we did, but it wasn’t what I did. At least when I listened to myself.

God, but I wanted a drink. More than one, honestly. Anything to feel that oblivion slip over me. To make the pain go away. But I couldn’t. Not even one. Moon would kick my ass if he thought I’d thrown four years of sobriety away. So I stood there, taking deep, long breaths.

“Sorry about Moon, Larry. He was a good guy.” It was Stan. Big ol’ Stan. “Let’s get out of here, ok?”

I almost snapped at him, but stopped myself. And he was right. I needed to get the hell out of here. “You got it, Stan. How ‘bout back to the gym? I could stand a few reps on the heavy bag.” And call it Sonny Crockett.

Gotta be honest…I don’t remember much of the drive over to the gym or what Stan and I might have talked about. I do remember getting changed and going head-to-head with both the speed bag and one of the heavy bags…punching the damned things until my shoulders ached and I was having trouble seeing straight. Stan kept an eye on me, waving off people who tried to get too close. He knew my moods.

Finally he tapped me on the shoulder. “Ease up there, Rocky. You’re gonna separate a shoulder or something you keep going at it like that.” He looked at the wall clock. “That and the kid’s gonna be here soon. You ready to deal with him?”

That hit me like a roundhouse in the gut. Somehow in my anger I’d managed to forget all about Bobby Sykes. “Thanks, Stan. I damn near did forget about him. And I have no idea what I’m gonna tell him. You know about his brother?”

“Yeah. I heard. Kid’s had some bad breaks, that’s for sure.”

“And this is another one. One we gave him.” I shook my head, the anger dulled by physical pain but still there. “We gotta make that right somehow.”

“Ya know…even though the cable deal’s crap, he is getting exposure.” Stan pointed toward a paper folded on one of the metal chairs down by the ring. “Papers know who he is now, and last week they didn’t have a clue. So long as Guzman doesn’t get his hooks in him Bobby’s gonna be able to move up now.”

“I guess.” Part of me knew Stan was right. But was it worth the cost? “But did Moon have to die for that?”

Stan shook his head. “No. He shouldn’t have.” Then he paused. “You knew him for a long time, right?”

“Eight years.”

He whistled. “That’s damned near thirty years in our line of work.”

“Yeah, and I had to go get the idiot idea to take Crockett and Tubbs to a fight. What the hell was I thinking?”

“Lar…there’s no way you could have known that Sonny had a hard-on for Guzman. He was just another scumbag promoter as far as we knew.

 

Things went mostly on autopilot from there. Sonny said we needed to get them on tape. “What you gotta do, is wear a wire and make Oswaldo mad,” he’d said with that smug grin of his. “Come on, buddy.” That was his entire pitch, right after Bobby got done punching his way through the best the local clubs had to offer and had a big bout on the horizon. We’d been training like crazy, getting the kid in the best shape he’d ever been in. I think I was even starting to win his real trust. And then Sonny bopped in with his little plan.

Still…we hadn’t seen a thing from Guzman or any of his slugs after Moon was killed. Sure, he was at every fight with those blonde hood ornaments of his, but he’d kept clear of me and Bobby. Stan said one or two of his boys sniffed around the gym once or twice, but they couldn’t get too close. Too many regulars there liked Moon and had long memories. I tried to focus on the Bazooka fight, but the cop part of my brain kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.

When it did, it came in the form of a slime bag lawyer who must own stock in six hair gel companies. He oozed up to me just before the big fight with lots of talk. When he offered two hundred K for Bobby’s contract, I almost laughed in his face. I came back with two-fifty and piece of Guzman’s bookmaking action. We danced a bit over that, then I decided to push the issue. “I’ll be at the gym at ten tomorrow morning. I don’t want a big piece of his action. Just a little taste.” The guy was still chewing air when I turned around and went back into the locker room.

 

Stan wanted to go out to celebrate the win, and I couldn’t blame him a bit. I could still feel the electricity in the air…the intensity rolling off the kid and into me. And it wasn’t hard to imagine Moon looking down waving his mangy straw cowboy hat in the air with that big, goofy grin of his. But thinking about Moon took the buzz away. It was my fault he wasn’t here.

“Can you get Bobby home? I gotta get this stuff to the gym,” I muttered, seeing Stan’s familiar grin. The truth was I just wanted to be alone for a bit. To make my peace with Moon and try to figure out how to keep the kid from going down with Sonny’s ship. Because any plan he had was gonna feature Bobby Sykes center stage. And if I didn’t look out for him, no one else would.

Crockett and Tubbs disappeared like they usually did. Probably out rubbing elbows with the dirtbag and the two blondes he aways had following him around. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. I still felt dirty for lying to Bobby early on, and even the thrill of watching him knock the other guy out couldn’t wipe that away.

The only good thing was it should be over soon. With Guzman’s mouthpiece biting on the contract buy-out it was only a matter of time before the Hardy Boys could swoop in and claim their prize. I knew I should have been excited about taking someone like Guzman down, but I could feel Moon looking over my shoulder and shaking his head. No way I could feel proud about that. I had to grit my teeth them, remembering what Sonny had said. It might be what he does, but it sure as hell isn’t what I do. What kind of cops are we if we’re as bad as they scumbags we’re chasing? The way I saw it, ten tomorrow morning couldn’t get here soon enough.

After the heat of the arena it felt good in the gym, even with the rank stink of sweat. The air rolling through the big doors was cool, and the lights dim enough for me to find my own thoughts without any trouble. The two bags were starting to get a bit heavy, so I set them down on one of the tables and just stood looking at the empty sparring rings and the bags hanging idle.

The first clue I had came when the lights swept across the open bay door and nailed my shadow to the back wall. No one had any real business here this late, at least not the kind requiring a car and more than one person. Turning, I had to squint against the headlights and saw three of them. Two big bookends and a shorter guy in the middle. The same guy Moon had kicked out of the gym before everything went to hell.

Maybe I’d pushed too hard…asking for a taste of Guzman’s book action. But it was the only way to get this damned thing done. And five percent wasn’t much at all. Pocket change if the numbers we’d heard were even close to right. Guzman likely spent that on lunch in two days. Sighing, I kept my arms loose and shifted to the balls of my feet. “You boys lost?” Then I remembered Moon’s line. “Immigration and Naturalization is across the street.”

“That line didn’t work out so well for your buddy, did it?” The little one grinned, brave with two bruisers at his back.

“Brave when you got numbers, aren’t you?” Still squinting against the headlights, I shifted a bit. Trying to get off center stage and gain some room. I knew I could take one of them…maybe two. But three… Still, I’d make them pay for whatever they had in mind.

“Mr. Guzman isn’t a big fan of your offer. He also doesn’t think you have Bobby’s best interests at heart.”

The short one had a smirk in his voice. I wanted to slug him, but there was a little worm of fear starting to turn in my gut. Come on, Stan! Don’t take too long! “I’m still his manager.”

“For now, perhaps. He sent us to discuss that with you.” He gave a quick jerk of his head. “Discuss.”

The air in the gym was close even with the big garage door open. I knew what was coming…and how much it was gonna hurt. All I could hope was I’d hurt them back, and maybe buy enough time for Stan to get here. So I kept moving, kept the ol’ size tens shuffling as I brought my fists up.

“Aw…he thinks he can fight.” The bigger one with the lame mustache started to smirk, then took three steps back when I smashed him right in the nose. Something crunched under my knuckles…don’t know if I actually broke it but it got the blood flowing. “Shit!” That was one out of the fight. At least for now.

The other one was faster. I had to give him that. He got a couple of glancing blows in before I planted a solid right hook in his stomach, leaving him doubled over and gasping for breath. But I’d spent too much time there. A heavy thunk on the back of my head told me the other one was back in action. I started to turn, bringing my fists up again, when another of his big blows connected and the room started to spin.

When things back back into focus I was back in the showers. They had one going, mostly to clean the blood off the bigger guy but also to make it uncomfortable as hell. I groaned in spite of myself, feeling the stabbing fingers of pain running through my head and neck. How long had I been out? Where was Stan?

“Looks like sleeping beauty done woke up.”

The shorter one, who’d been careful to avoid the fight, grinned in the gloom. They had a light rigged up from somewhere, and I had to squint against the glare. “So…jo see what happens when you go again’ Mr. Guzman.”

“Who’s going against him? All I want is a fair shake for my guy.”

“That’s not how Mr. Guzman sees things.” The goof adjusted his tie, and I really wished Moon had broken his scrawny neck instead of shoving him out the door toward INS. “Mr. Guzman, he doesn’t like punks who try to get in on his business.”

“Who’s trying to get in anything? And he’s the one who’s trying to…”

The last punch felt like his fist drove all the way through my gut and came out my back. I was already doubled over, all the fight ripped from my body. The bigger one looked down. “Aw, man. He puked on my shoes. That why we got him in the shower?” I wanted to grin. Big goof seemed to be having trouble forming his words. Maybe I had broken his jaw with the one uppercut in addition to giving him a record nosebleed.

The voices sounded like they were coming through a long pipe now. I just recognized the one belonging to the little guy. The errand boy. “Yeah. Easier to clean him up. And your damned shoes, too. How can you call yourself a man, you cry so much about them damned shoes.”

It had to be close now. They had the contract. They had the kid. I had nothing they could possibly want. But I was a witness. A loose end. Part of me wanted to scream. To run. But I couldn’t do either. What air I was getting came in jagged gasps pulled around what had to be broken ribs, and when my brain tried to send messages to my arms and legs all that came back was pure, white hot pain. But Stan had to be coming. He’d wonder where I was. He’d…

“Enough.” It was a new voice. I tried to raise my head, to see who was talking. But I couldn’t. Just that slight motion sent waves of pain rolling through my head and narrowed my vision to a little point of light. “You know what to do now. Gotta look like an accident.”

I didn’t know what he meant until I felt the jab in my arm. I had just enough strength left to flinch back, but the hands gripping my upper arms were like twin vices. Needles were bad enough, but this… I knew enough about how this worked to know they’d use heroin.

I’d never understood why people used smack. Until now. The pain just melted. Yeah…melted into something else. Something warm and flowing…like butter on popcorn we used to get on the boardwalk. I could feel it moving through my veins, even as I tried to fight it. Taking the pain away. Pushing it into my fingers and running down the shower drain. So warm. So quiet. So…

 

Stan Switek turned the corner into the main part of the gym, his Browning Hi-Power up and ready. Swinging right. Clear. Then center. Clear except the shower. Then left…

The water ran from the nearest shower head like holy water from a priest’s fingers. In the faint light he could see Larry Zito slumped against the back corner of the shower, his legs sprawled out in font of him like he was catching a quick nap in the conference room before a briefing. Then he saw the jacket draped across Larry’s left arm, and his eyes followed it up to the needle dangling from the skin.

Stan felt his heart stop. He wanted to scream…to shout. Something. But nothing came out. Instead he got to one knee, not feeling the water soaking through his slacks, and reached out. Larry’s skin was cold and clammy, but he didn’t feel a thing. No pulse. No life in the eyes. Nothing. Putting his hand on the back of Larry’s neck, Stan pulled him close. There was nothing to say…nothing to do. His friend was gone. And he knew who’d done it. Now they had to pay. Both of them.

[fakespyder]

I envy your passion @Robbie C.

[Robbie C.]

8 hours ago, fakespyder said:

I envy your passion @Robbie C.

Hope you enjoyed the story! I just felt like it was something Larry deserved.

[sdiegolo78]

On 12/2/2022 at 2:19 PM, Robbie C. said:

Hope you enjoyed the story! I just felt like it was something Larry deserved.

A true tribute to an awesome character