Patterson had other plans. He opened the second round with the same dancing and punching from long range and Hugh couldn’t pin him on the ropes. He missed badly with a couple of wild rights and Patterson countered with more jabs to the nose. Halfway through, Hugh got frustrated, ducked low and tried to charge. Patterson hit him with a hard right that stunned him and buckled his knees. He didn’t go down, but the referee stepped in and gave him a standing eight count. By the end of it his eyes were clear and he was fired up. By allowing Patterson to bomb away, he was losing the fight. He had to get inside and land some body blows. Buster kept yelling, “Head up! Head up!” But the problem was Patterson’s long arms. Hugh practically tackled him and they grappled on the ropes until the ref broke it up. Patterson took a step back and threw a wild left that missed. Just like Buster said, he dropped his right hand, and Hugh spun a left hook that had no chance until Patterson stepped into it. The hook smashed into his right jaw, popped his head back against the ropes, and Hugh was quick enough to land a hard right as Patterson was falling. He fell in a corner, and would be there for some time.
It was the first knockout of the evening and the crowd went wild. Hugh wasn’t sure what to do—he’d never scored a knockout—and had to be pushed by the ref to a neutral corner. As he began counting it was obvious that Patterson wasn’t getting up anytime soon. Keith and his friends were screaming and Hugh flashed another smile as he bobbed on his toes. He was almost as stunned as Patterson. Minutes passed and Patterson finally sat up, took some water, shook his head, and got to his feet. His coach walked him around the ring a few times as he came to his senses. At the appropriate time, Hugh stepped over and said, “Good fight.” Jimmy smiled but it was obvious he wanted out of the ring.
When the referee raised Hugh’s hand and the announcer declared him a winner by knockout, the crowd roared its approval. Hugh basked in the glory and smiled at his father and Nevin, and also at the crowd from school. Oddly, he thought of Cindy and wished she was there for his greatest moment. But no, she was back at Red Velvet hustling soldiers. Nevin was right. It was time to stop seeing her.
* * *
Wednesday was a regular school day. The knockout artist arrived a few minutes earlier than usual. His name was in the morning’s paper and he was anticipating a pleasant day being admired by his peers. Word spread quickly and different versions of his dramatic victory were making the rounds. Keith, always with plenty to say, announced the knockout in homeroom and invited everyone to the second round of fights Thursday night. Their new hero would fight a guy named Fuzz Foster, who, according to the paper, was undefeated after eight bouts.
The paper said no such thing. Keith was exaggerating and trying his best to whip up enthusiasm for the fight. With a nod from the teacher, Keith went on to say that, after watching at least a dozen fights the night before, he was now of the opinion that their new hero, the knockout artist, was in bad need of a catchy boxing nickname. “Hugh” just wasn’t sufficient. Therefore, it was incumbent upon them, as his biggest fans, to find one. All manner arose from the floor. Hack, Duck, the Assassin, Bazooka, Scarface, Bruno, Rocky, Sandman, Babyface, Razor, Lazer, Machine Gun Malco. As things were getting out of hand, the teacher listed a dozen of the better ones on the chalkboard and called for a vote, but the bell rang and nothing was accomplished. Hugh trudged off to first period with no change of identity, no colorful nickname that might intimidate opponents or make him famous.
He completed his classes that Wednesday without skipping a one, and left after the final bell to see Cindy. She was not at her apartment, and one of her roommates finally admitted that she had left town. “She quit, Hugh.”
“What do you mean she quit?”
“Gave it up. Gone home. I think her brother found her and made her leave.”
Hugh was stunned and said, “But I need to talk to her.”
“Let it go, Hugh. She ain’t coming back here.”
He left and went searching for Nevin Noll. He was not at the Truck Stop, Red Velvet, Foxy’s, or any of his usual hangouts. A bartender whispered, “I think they’re having some trouble with O’Malley’s. Nevin might be there but you’d better stay away. Things are heating up.”