Warrior Angel by Robert Lipsyte

so many places. None of them had meant anything until he found The Book, and discovered Sonny and his true Mission.
    â€œThe Family Place?” Was Sonny really interested or was he trying to trip me up?
    â€œThe group home. I eloped.”
    â€œEloped?”
    â€œThat’s what they call it when you run away from a loony bin, an elopement.”
    Sonny nodded. “They looking for you, your folks, cops?”
    Starkey looked at him warily. “Probably. Does that make you nervous?”
    Sonny smiled. It was the first time Starkey had seen him really smile. He even had dimples.“Nervous? You came to save me, right?”
    He felt pure joy surge through his body.
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    The next day a TV crew showed up to shoot Sonny boxing Rocky.
    â€œYou want me to call the shots?” asked Starkey.
    â€œYou think you should be on TV?”
    The Voices snickered. He doesn’t really want you.
    â€œSure I do,” whispered Sonny. “But people aren’t supposed to know where you eloped to.”
    â€œNo problem,” said Starkey, relieved.
    â€œLet’s do it,” said Sonny.
    â€œJab, two,” said Starkey, trying to sound crisp as Sonny’s left snapped out into the dummy’s mouth. “Jab, seven. Right, four. Hook, nine.”
    He forced his mind into a laser beam, thinking through the combinations, a jab, sometimes three to set up the big punch, a straight right or a hook, then quickly follow with another punisher or shake up the rhythm with another jab. He could see Sonny was getting into it, appreciating that he wasn’t just calling out shots, he had a plan, the Warrior Angel knew what he was doing.
    â€œJab, seven, nine. Right, four. Hook, thirteen.”
    Someone rang a bell and Sonny ended with a flurry of belly punches, then threw up his arms. The fighters and trainers applauded and whistled.
    â€œYou got enough?” said Johnson. “This is a workplace.”
    â€œWe’re good,” said Dick, a silver-haired sportscaster Starkey had seen on ESPN. “Quick interview with the champ and we’re out of here.”
    Johnson grumbled and shooed the boxers and trainers back to work. While his crew set up for the interview, Sonny asked, “How’d you know I was here?”
    â€œLittle bird,” said Dick. “Actually a big one. I was eating at Jelly Belly’s. What about Hubbard? Don’t you have a contract?”
    â€œHe’ll get his cut, all he cares about,” said Sonny.
    â€œWhen he sees this, he’ll be on the next plane,” said Dick.
    â€œI’m a free man,” said Sonny. “I’ll tell him I’m back with Henry Johnson. And my little brother here.”
    This time the joy made Starkey dizzy.
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    They watched the news while they ate spaghetti with meatballs and a salad, a gift from the Italian restaurant up the street. No question the word was out that Sonny was back. People dropped by to watch him train. Sonny seemed cool about the attention. Starkey thought he accepted it as his due. He wondered how long before other people would start getting between Sonny and him, how long before the private dinners would be over, before Sonny would be staying somewhere else. Would there be time to complete his Mission?
    The anchor introduced an exclusive on the sports report.
    Dick’s face filled the screen. “If, as I did, you wondered where the heavyweight champion of the world, Sonny Bear, disappeared to after that last stinker in Vegas, here’s some good news for a change. He’s back in his home gym in Harlem and back to basics, preparing for his rematch with the ex-champ Floyd (The Wall) Hall.”
    As Rocky appeared on the screen, Dick said, “That’s not just any dummy Sonny Bear’s beating up, that’s Rocky, the target of thousands ofhis training punches over the years.”
    On-screen, Sonny began hammering Rocky as Starkey called out the punches off camera.
    The