“You too, Joey?”
“I got nothing against them personally, Jack. I just don’t want to box with them.”
“So that’s it, then? You’re quitting?”
“No. Maybe go to Lopez’s.”
“You boys don’t have a problem with the Spanish, then.” The old man sat back in his chair, the old wood creaking with the weight. Joey could see the ghost of a fighter’s body beneath the thin shirt, the hard-won biceps and pectorals. “I’ll need my speed gloves back. And the shoes.”
The boy stood looking at the ground.
“Just that it wasn’t my idea, Jack.”
“I know, kid.”