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Stoop to Conquer von Bolger, John Michael (eBook)

  • Erscheinungsdatum: 19.10.2015
  • Verlag: BookBaby
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Stoop to Conquer

A coming of age story seen through the eyes of a troubled young man, Francis Doonan. This is a timeless tale, which takes you through the world of family disfunction, substance abuse, betrayal, first love, loyalty, and loss. It is a homage to the 70's in New York City and the era that birthed Studio 54. The Eastside of New York meets the Westside in a confused, bumpy and often times frightening ride. Buckle your seatbelt, Stoop To Conquer is about one boys journey, but captures the heavy heartbeat of what it means to have the 'human' experience.

Produktinformationen

    Format: ePUB
    Kopierschutz: AdobeDRM
    Seitenzahl: 412
    Erscheinungsdatum: 19.10.2015
    Sprache: Englisch
    ISBN: 9781682222751
    Verlag: BookBaby
    Größe: 426kBytes
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Stoop to Conquer

My train of thought jumped its track, though, as the Albaneses made their entrance and Danny sauntered right for the ring, climbing in with his trademark counterfeit bravado. Right on his heels, the Duke got in and started instructing him like some psychotic Ernie Fossey. I realized that Benny's eyes had been as subtly trained on Danny as had mine when his voice entered my ear quietly. "Listen, kid. You're smart, so use your intelligence with this Guinea. His father was never a candidate for Mensa, so chances are that neither is Junior. So stay on your toes. Stick, move, work off the jab. Conserve your energy because these will be the longest three minutes of your life. Seamus is refereeing and he just told me it's gonna be amateur style: three three-minute rounds." To allay my fears, he added a fatherly pinch-caress of my cheek and the encouragement, "You'll be fine, kid." While Benny shook hands with acquaintances on the way to his ringside seat, the boys from the Kitchen headed my way to show their support. I actually had more on my mind than just the fight. When Howie said he was going to do something, he did... late, perhaps... but this was pushing it, even for him. "Where's Howie?" I asked Redbone. "Dunno, Francis," came his reply. "He was supposed to meet us on the stoop. We all came over together. Maybe he got pinched boosting." I just shook my head. howie's too good. something's not right. I couldn't figure out what in the world (or whom) Howie had gotten himself into. It just wasn't like him. The cacophony that vomited from the mouth of J.R. Albanese broke the anxious civility that had hung in the air... and set the tone for the event. "Well, well, well, if it ain't Benny the Kike. Good day to Jew , Mr. Levine." Without so much as turning around, let alone giving Albanese the pleasure of seeing him annoyed, Benny shot back immediately, "If it isn't Johnny Rugs the Dago. Wop 's new, Rugs?" J.R. was not quite so skilled at masking his rage, resorting to throwing one of those "old country" Italian "fuck you" gestures at Benny's back. The place started to fill up quickly since half the neighborhood was there. Even women from the Kitchen sat ruddy faced and smileless in the gym. Mrs. Clancy waved an Irish flag and shouted, "Kick his arse, Doonan! Do it for your people!" The fight had taken on an international significance. I just wished I could disappear. Some of the focus was taken off of me, though, when Roberto Duran emerged from the locker room to leave. Much of the crowd was in tow, asking for autographs or just jockeying for a good vantage point to see the champ. "Hey, Duran," yelled out one local tough named Ciaran Doherty. "Come to Ninth Ave. and I'll show you some hands of stone!" Duran stopped dead. perhaps he understood more english than everyone realized. He locked eyes with Ciaran for a fraction of a second before he broke the gaze and tried to cover it with a smart remark. Duran smirked still unblinkingly, and before continuing on towards the door, he looked in my direction and nodded, his smirk opening to a genuine smile. yeah, he's gonna kill leonard. Doherty decided to capitalize on the Champ's exit. "Everyone saw that, right? Me and Duran, man to man. Mutual respect. He didn't back down and I didn't back down. Shit, I love that fucking Mexican." Seamus coughed, "He's from Panama, you fucking retard." Doherty's retort served only to bolster Seamus' claim: "Panamanish, Mexican. What's the difference? They all eat beans." The crowd howled while Benny directed me to get in the ring. As I climbed through the ropes, an ancient fireplug of a man stepped in my direction. "Chickie," he croaked, extending his hand. I was so nervous by that point that although I shook his hand, it never occurred to me to reply with my name. In one swift movement, Chickie had remo

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