A Matter of Life and Death

open space and tried to block out the crowd. He always had prefight jitters, but they were worse tonight. He ran to keep fit, but he worried that the lack of sparring would affect his timing.
Joe was rotating his neck and loosening his shoulders when Sal led his opponent out of an office near the back of the barn. Joe thought it was odd for the referee to bring a fighter into the ring, but he needed to concentrate on the fight, so he tossed the thought aside.
Joe’s opponent was taller and heavier than Joe, but he was flabby and looked older by several years. Joe knew better than to underestimate an opponent, but the man looked out of shape, and that gave him hope. He decided to box at a distance and wear the man out, then finish him when he got tired and his hands started to drop.
Sal stepped between the combatants and spoke into the mic.
“Next up, we have Joe and Carlos. You fellas ready?”
Joe nodded, but Carlos just stared. His eyes looked glassy, and Joe frowned. When the spectators finished laying their bets, the man in the blazer signaled the referee.
“Okay, gentlemen. Let’s get it on.”
Joe was a professional boxer, and boxers were only allowed to use their fists in a fight. But Joe had been in more than his share of street fights, where you used every part of your body in an effort to stay alive. In a boxing match, you only had to worry about the reach of an opponent’s arms, but Carlos could use his legs, and Joe made a mental calculation of the reach of both sets of limbs as he stepped forward with his hands up.
Carlos charged, but he was slow. Joe sidestepped and landed a punch to his opponent’s neck. Carlos staggered. Joe was tempted to step in and land another punch, but he didn’t know how much the punch had affected Carlos.
Carlos shuffled toward Joe and threw a few ineffectual jabs. Joe kept just out of range. Carlos lunged forward and threw a slow, looping roundhouse right that Joe blocked easily before kicking Carlos in the shin. Carlos dropped his hands, and Joe threw a vicious hook. Joe wasn’t wearing boxing gloves, which would have blunted some of the force of a punch. His knuckles were wrapped in tape to protect them, and the tape ripped open the skin over Carlos’s eye. Blood ran down, blinding him. Joe moved to his opponent’s blind side and hit him in the jaw.
Carlos staggered back and raised his hands. He looked groggy. Joe shot a kick to the bigger man’s groin. When Carlos sagged, Joe broke Carlos’s nose. Carlos flailed in defense, but his punches were very slow. Joe’s next flurry sent Carlos to the ground, and Joe leaped on him, landing punch after punch to the head.
The crowd roared with bloodlust. Sal kept his distance. Joe raised his hand to land one more blow when he noticed that his opponent’s eyes were closed. Fear gripped him, and he leaped to his feet. He’d lost himself in the fury of the fight. Boxers wanted to win, but most fighters never wanted to seriously injure another fighter so badly that it would affect his livelihood. Carlos looked like he might be in very bad shape.
“We need a doctor!” Joe shouted.
Sal rushed to the fallen man. Then a skinny man in a gray suit carrying a black bag knelt beside Carlos. The man in the blazer joined Sal and the doctor, and they conducted a whispered conversation. After a minute, the man in the blazer walked over to Joe.
“Wait here while I clear the barn.”
“What’s wrong?” Joe asked nervously.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” he said. Then he took the microphone from the referee.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation that needs attending to, so I’m afraid our evening is at an end. Please leave the barn in an orderly manner, and thanks for coming. We’ll notify you about the time and place of our next event in the usual way.”
The crowd rushed out. Joe heard car engines starting and the crunch of tires on gravel as the parking area emptied. The man in the blazer moved Joe far away from Carlos.
“Is he okay?” Joe asked nervously.
“I’m afraid Carlos is dead,” the man in the blazer said.
“Oh no,” Joe whispered as his knees buckled.
The man with the blazer laid a gentle hand on Joe’s shoulder.
“You’re going to be okay. I’ll see to that.”
“But I…”
“You didn’t do anything, and you didn’t see anything. Forget you were ever here. Understand?”
Joe nodded. He felt numb.
“Give me your hand wraps.”
Joe gave the hand wraps to the man, who handed him an envelope stuffed with cash.
“There’s a little extra in here for your troubles. Now, go outside and we’ll get you home.”
Joe left the barn in a daze. Maybe they had made a mistake, he thought, and Carlos was just unconscious. He hoped that was the case, because it would be hard to live with himself if he’d killed Carlos.
“He’s hurt bad, Kevin,” the doctor told the man in the blazer when the crowd and the fighters were gone.
“Okay, Doc, thanks.”
“He should go to a hospital.”
Kevin smiled. “Great advice. I’ll take it from here. Why don’t you take off?”
“But—”
Kevin handed the doctor an envelope filled with cash. “I appreciate all you do for us. Go home, get some rest.”
The doctor left, and Kevin knelt next to Carlos. He was emitting rasping breaths but wasn’t doing much more. The truth was that Carlos never stood a chance after he drank the drug-laced water Kevin had given him before the fight.
Kevin stripped naked to keep blood, which would be trace evidence, off his clothes. After wrapping Joe’s hand wraps around his knuckles, he pounded Carlos until the breathing stopped. Kevin checked for a pulse. When he didn’t find one, he called over the men who had carried the Asian woman out of the ring.
“Get rid of this sack of shit