Friends and Enemies: The Past and Present

By Ernest Keegan

Life is a mosaic of pieces that don’t always quite fit perfectly together. Tragedy and reward both take their places in the life puzzle that is Caponi’s Home of Champions. Its unavoidable fingers touching each and every one associated within its walls. Secrets of the past don’t always stay that way. Revenge is a meal best served cold. In today’s world, Dan and Marylou are what the gym rats would term old school. They hold friendships sacred. This time their friendship with Paul DeLuca could cost them everything, even their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662452772

Book preview

Chapter 1

The auditorium was filled to capacity. The boxing fans were here to see the action that was promised by the enthusiastic advertising campaign that preceded this fight show. The air was thick with anticipation. Jennifer Hopper versus Beverly the Beast Bruce was not the main event, but to both combatants, it was the closest thing they would have to a title shot in their young professional careers, a chance to show off their skills, their wares. A good portion of the filled seats were of fans waiting to view and evaluate them. People who place their money where their mouth is had Beverly Bruce a six-to-one favorite to stop Jennifer Hopper inside of four rounds. Most fans thought that realistically the fight would not go the distance with the same result.

It was the step they had to take, wanted to take. No matter what the outcome of this particular confrontation, both would have gained a new following of fans either from the end most expected or the courage of the defeated.

Dan McClain had Jennifer Hopper in the best shape of her growing career. It wasn’t something he normally did. He didn’t care to train female fighters. It wasn’t because he was an avowed chauvinist; he just didn’t want to see a young girl go through the pain and suffering she would have to travel through. He didn’t feel that the end, especially financially, justified the means.

I’ve been told it’s hard enough to walk in those high heels. Over the long road most fighters, male or female, have a good chance that they’ll be walking ‘on their heels’ at the end of their careers, let alone be it in those shoes.

He and Marylou Caponi were both locked into this contract professionally and ethically. They had agreed to work with the young girl for this fight as a favor to her manager and longtime friend, Paul DeLuca, who had recently acquired her contract, unknowing she had already been signed to fight an extremely dangerous opponent. With this in mind and having had previous contact when they had actually given Jennifer an evaluation in their gym at the insistence of her father, who thought her success in the amateur boxing ring would lead to fame and fortune, they signed on. That evaluation had led to the determination by Dan McClain that although she had an abundance of highly natural athletic ability, he felt that the professional pugilistic path was not for her. She had not taken his advice and had headed south where under the urging of a boyfriend she had turned pro. Her career up to this point had in McClain’s opinion been built up by a careful and crafty lineup of opponents of what may have been termed by old-school boxing gamers as tomato cans. They were just put in front of her to build up a positive record that looked great on paper. The opponents weren’t stiffs exactly, but they held no real danger for her advancement. On the other hand, they gave her no advancement on her skill level either. After so long on the upward-scale chart her contract would be dangled in the money stream, and some fish would bite. He should have known better, but Paul DeLuca said gulp with a capital G.

The girl already showed too much wear and tear for her short career, and this was another reason Dan McClain had agreed to take her on, to try to give her the best chance she would have in this fight, against this particular opponent since she couldn’t and wouldn’t pull out even at his advice once again. Paul had told them that because of financial obligations he would go elsewhere if Dan wouldn’t agree to train her. The papers were signed. Dan and Marylou had both given their word to Jennifer and her manager, their friend Paul DeLuca. They would do everything that could humanly possibly be done to keep it, and here they were. The bell rang, end of round one.

The two female combatants had just finished the first round. It had fulfilled and even surpassed, as they like to say, all bad intentions. Louis Caponi, Dan McClain’s mentor and trainer, had taught his fighters to outbox the boxer, outpunch the puncher. Beverly Bruce never expected her own tactics to be used on her from the pretty blonde in the outlandish sequined outfit created especially for her by the eccentric fashion designer Booker, the personal friend of another fighter now in Dan McClain’s stable named Marcel Lovelace. Neither did Bruce’s trainer Ken Stoltz, who sent her out to use one of his favorite ones, the illegal headbutt. It had served him well while he was a professional fighter. He used it with brutal accuracy, a fact personally known to Dan McClain. It was Stoltz’s illegal headbutt that gave the lasting, rippled white scar above his left eye that started his own exit journey from the squared circle. Now he continued to be engaged in the sweet science as the head trainer at Caponi’s Home of Champions.

The single daughter of Louis, Marylou had learned well at her father’s knee and now continued the old pugilistic maestro’s legacy inheriting the gym and all the ups and downs that went with it. She had met Dan McClain when he was a fighter under her father’s tutelage, and they had been together ever since, sort of, most of the time. She had grown into a beautiful woman whose long auburn hair flowed down just over, touching her shoulders. In business dealings, she could use her bright blue-green eyes and flashing smile to turn the outcome to her favor, leaving the person—whether male or female—satisfied that the outcome was favorable for all, even when it was not. Or abruptly end any negotiations with a white-hot, frozen stare from those same gorgeous peepers.

Beverly Bruce had been a battling machine just as Dan had expected. She had bulled Jennifer into the ropes several times within the opening two minutes. Right from the outset it looked to all that this was going to be an early exit night for the pretty lady wearing the pastel sequin outfit adorned with tassels right down to the ends of the shoelaces of her one of a kind, exquisite creation.

After rocking Jennifer and smelling blood, Bruce had been instructed to use the tactic she was known for and rushed Jennifer with her forehead extended slightly. Jennifer had been schooled by Dan what to do, and she brought both arms up in the nick of time to block and diffuse most of the power of the illegal maneuver. She was knocked violently backward, shaken up but not damaged to any serious effect.

The referee had called time immediately and sent Jennifer to a neutral corner. He admonished Bruce for using the tactic with exaggerated animation, telling her in no uncertain terms he would not stand for that type of action in a fight that he was refereeing. From the neutral corner Jennifer looked not first to Dan McClain but to Marylou. Dan yelled to get her attention. She looked to him as he told her with signs what he wanted her to do. She hesitantly turned back to Marylou, who pointed directly at her with her index finger, moving it from her ears to her mouth and reaffirming what she had told her while they had a get to know each other meeting at the Metropolitan Restaurant when she started her training with Dan McClain. Take the cotton out of your ears and put it in your mouth. Do exactly what he tells you, when he tells you, no matter what, and you might have a chance to do more than survive against the Beast!

Jennifer looked back to Dan and slowly nodded a strong affirmative.

The referee waved the two back to the center of the ring and called time in. Bruce came in for the kill that she felt, along with most of the spectators, was imminent. Jennifer backpedaled from the oncoming juggernaut. Bruce smiled, her aggressive forward motion bending her slightly at the waist into Jennifer. What came in the next seconds caught everyone—everyone, except Dan McClain—by complete surprise. Jennifer instantaneously stopped her backward motion and brought her own forehead with atomic force directly into the middle of Beverly the Beast Bruce’s face. Bruce was stopped in her tracks, bending over with an audible grunt of pain as Jennifer stumbled backward from the concussion, and the referee quickly slid toward her. The crowd went ballistic. It was an internal sonic earthquake.

For several moments, Dan thought his tactical direction might fail him and his fighter. He thought Jennifer might have actually more than stunned herself and might be in danger of collapsing. He, Marylou, and their entire team breathed a collected sigh of relief when she instinctively went to the ropes and leaned to regain her balance. The referee had again immediately called time to halt the action, and after looking to Jennifer to determine she was stable on feet, he directed her to a neutral corner. He then turned his attention back to Bruce, who now wobbled herself. She stood upright as a rivulet of blood ran from the facial disfigurement that was her nose. The referee led her to her corner, where the doctor examined her, and after several long moments of tense examination gave the nod that would permit her to continue over the loud, profane objections from her trainer, Ken Stoltz, that demanded Hopper be disqualified. The referee ignored him as he escorted Bruce back to the center of the ring, where he motioned Jennifer to meet them. Dan had been surprised that there wasn’t a point deducted by the referee especially after he had given stern instructions about the rules inside a ring that he controlled. It wasn’t a big thing in Dan’s tactical thinking. The damage was done; the deed was successful. They would move on from here.

He remembered a story told by Pittsburgh Welterweight Champion Fritzie Zivic concerning his own championship fight with Henry Armstrong. They were both sternly instructed by the referee of the bout to keep it clean, or else! After several boring rounds and the crowd filling the arena with catcalls and boos, Fritzie said in his mind that he could see the Cadillac he had dreamed of buying after winning this fight and the welterweight title going down the street and around the bend. Unexpectedly the referee stepped in and said, You boys are stinking this place out. Go ahead and fight.

All of a sudden I saw my Cadillac coming back around the corner, Fritzie responded with a smile.

In the neutral corner, Jennifer collected herself and looked to Dan for more instruction, indicating that she was now clearheaded, bouncing up and down on her toes. He nodded his understanding and, with a sign of his hand, indicated that he wanted her to dance the rest of the round out, letting Bruce chase her. Jennifer then turned her attention to Marylou, who smiled and gave her a thumbs-up for her efforts.

As they met in the center of the ring, the referee glanced back to Ken Stoltz, who had remained standing up on the ring apron at the turnbuckle, loudly ranting his objections. He was so incensed that he was now directing his venomous tirade against Dan McClain, who quietly crouched in the opposite corner, smiling back and rubbing the scar above his own left eye, the one that Stoltz had given him years ago, with an upraised middle finger. The referee demanded that Stoltz descend from his position, or he would be the one leaving the geographical ring early. The cut man of Bruce’s corner slapped Stoltz’s leg to get his attention, bringing him back to the reality of the situation. With that, reluctantly the trainer stepped back and in one angry motion dropped to the floor, cursing loudly when landing, slightly twisting an ankle.

Satisfied, the referee turned to the two fighters and stepped back, making a wide arc, and slapped his hands together and called time in.

Jennifer did as instructed and danced away from a now-enraged, plodding opponent, who snorted a small fan of blood from the mangled cartilage with each breath. In her heart she wanted to step up and confront the Beast but controlled herself, listening and following instructions as Marylou had told her to do. Dan McClain knew that the Beast with every step taken, every breath taken, as she blew the excess out in a thick mist, spotting Jennifer’s sequined outfit, the rest of that blood was going somewhere. Yes, the Beast was swallowing it, and as she blew harder through her nose it wouldn’t be long before her eyes would start to swell shut. That was the way it would work out. He knew it, Ken Stoltz knew it. The Beast would be extremely dangerous now. She would be desperate. Now he had to keep Jennifer under control, to keep her dancing and out of danger, piling up points and waiting for the Beast to make a disastrous mistake.

Marylou sat at ringside, alongside the others from the gym. Seated next to her was Jake Conley, their fighter who was currently waiting for the state boxing commission to declare him the middleweight champion of the world because of his recent win over Marco Bentley. The win had been overshadowed by the results of Bentley’s postfight drug test and death, which had been ruled a homicide. Next in line was Jennifer’s manager, Paul DeLuca, who was also glued to his seat. Then came the two sparring partners who had done their best to get Jennifer worked into tip-top shape, Bobbie Dylan and Connie King. The bell rang, ending the first round, and it gave an A-plus for their efforts. There were nine more rounds to deal with. The fans would still be wound up from the previous three minutes of mayhem.

Chapter 2

In the corner, Dan McClain checked over his charge. He carefully looked for any nicks that may become problematic as the fight continued.

Are you clear? he asked.

He checked her eyes, covering them with his palm, then removing it to watch the pupils dilate. Dizzy?

She shook her head.

He wiped her face and ran the end-swell metal spoon across and around her eyes and high cheekbones, paying special attention to the bump on her forehead. It was the result of her vicious headbutt. He held the water bottle up to her.

Not too much, he said as he pulled it up and away then added a new layer of Vaseline to her face, continually talking, giving instructions. He squeezed her left forearm. Jennifer winced but was able to move without any problem. This injury was the result of the defensive action against Beverly Bruce’s onslaught. The referee called, Seconds out! Dan replaced Jennifer’s freshly rinsed mouthpiece. Jennifer stood up, and the stool disappeared from sight. Dan slipped through the ropes and made his way down the steps as the bell rang. Jennifer danced to the middle of the ring and started to circle to her left and then back to her right. Instead of cutting the ring off, Beverly Bruce followed the sequined ghost in front of her, who disappeared every time she set herself to punch with authority. The round minutes crawled by, and with a sense of urgency and blowing the growing thick mist of blood before her, Bruce swung wildly as soon as Jennifer was in range. Only air was met for her efforts. Then it came—the tell.

Bruce was in front of Hopper as the fleet-footed girl seemed to stumble. The following Bruce saw her chance, and the predator instinct in her took it. She started to switch up from orthodox, the right-hand stance, to the southpaw or left-hand stance. She did this in most of her fights.

There was the tell, the set movement a person commits over and over sometimes without their own knowledge. As Bruce switched positions, she always stepped twice with her left foot then dragged it behind her, planting it solid and at the same time dropping her right hand slightly. It made Bruce vulnerable as she became squared up just for a moment, but it was all Jennifer Hopper needed. Jennifer stopped and delivered with blinding speed the combinations Dan and his other trainers Bob Gilotti and Bullion had worked over and over with her. The straight line to the chest of the Beast was open and the right hand of Jennifer Hopper landed with all the speed and power she could deliver directly to the middle of her target, the Beast’s chest, her heart. The effect was instantaneous.

Instinctively shifting her weight to her own right the way Dan had instructed her, she followed with a blistering left hook to the head as Beverly Bruce’s entire body seemed to have frozen, the predicted effect from that particular blow, the heart punch. Bruce had become a concrete statue waiting for the wrecking ball to finish its mission of demolition. The left hook was that bomb of destruction as it landed solidly, twisting and contorting the Beast’s face into an unrecognizable mass of flesh. Bruce collapsed straight down, first into a sitting position then dipping forward with her body bent and her forehead just touching the canvas. Blood was now rapidly pumping unchecked from her nose and mouth.

Jennifer stood above the heap at her feet, wide-eyed, staring at the ruby river snaking toward her like a living entity