‘Right.’ He points at me. ‘We’ll get you out of the way first. Here are your gloves and shorts. I thought about shoes but you’re not getting any. Neither of you are worth it, because I don’t know how long you’ll last. I might get you some later, so wear your gymmies for now.’

‘Fair enough.’

I take my gloves and shorts and like them.

They’re cheap, but I like them a lot. Blood-coloured gloves and navy-blue shorts.

‘Now.’ Perry lights a cigarette and pulls a warm beer from the suitcase. Smokes and beer cans. He annoys me with that garbage, but I listen on. ‘We need to get you a name, for when you get introduced to the crowd before your fights. Any ideas?’

‘The Wolf Man?’ Rube suggests.

I shake my head.

Thinking.

It hits me.

Smiling.

I know. I nod. I say it.

‘The Underdog.’

I continue to smile as Perry’s face lights up and I watch old beggars and weirdos and city pigeons scouring the city floor for the sake of their lives.

Yes, Perry lights up, behind his smoke, and says, ‘Nice. I like it. Everyone loves an underdog. It appeals to them and even if y’ lose they’ll send some tips your way.’ A laugh. ‘It’s better than nice. It’s flat-out perfect.’

No time-wasting though.

‘Now,’ he moves on. There’s a finger pointed, at Rube. ‘You’re all sorted out. Here are y’ gloves an’ shorts.’ Grey-blue gloves. Cheap. No laces. Just like mine. His shorts are black with gold rims. Nicer than mine. ‘You wanna know what name you’ve got?’

‘Don’t I get a choice?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Y’ sorted out, that’s why. Tell y’ what, you’ll find out when you fight, okay?’

‘I s’pose.’

‘Say yes.’ Forceful.

‘Yes.’

‘And say thank you, because when I’m done with you, the women’ll fall over you like dominoes.’

Dominoes.

What a tosser.

Rube obeys him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Right.’

Perry stands and leaves, suitcase by his side.

He turns.

He says, ‘Let me remind you fellas that your first fight is next Sunday, at Maroubra. I’ll take you there in my van. Be here at Eddy Avenue again at three o’clock sharp. Don’t make me wait or a bus’ll clean me up and I’ll clean the pair of you up. Okay?’

We nod.

He’s gone.

‘Thanks for the gear,’ I call, but Perry Cole is gone.

We sit there.

Gloves.

Shorts.

Park.

City.

Hunger.

Us.

‘Damn it.’

‘What, Rube?’

‘It’s been annoyin’ me all day and night.’

‘What?’

‘I wanted to ask Perry if he could get his hands on a punching bag for us, and some of that other practice gear.’

‘You don’t need a punching bag.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’ve got me.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Y’ didn’t have to agree.’

‘I wanted to.’

A long pause …

‘Are y’ scared Rube?’