There was grumbling. Some clicking noises. “I don’t know what to tell ya, pal. Based on what I’m seeing here, there’s no movement. And no interest.”

“No interest in what?”

“Doin’ anything about it.”

I raked a hand through my hair. “So, the city wants…what? A trash heap filled with rats on a block with kids running around?”

Fred made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know what this city wants, okay? I’m just the guy who reads the reports, and this report right in front of me, on my computer, is saying they wanna let it sit there.”

My shoulders twitched. My right hand curled into a fist. Uncurled, slowly. “What do we do in the meantime?”

There was a beeping sound and a few rustling papers. “I don’t really know, and it’s not really my problem. No offense.”

“Okay,” I said through gritted teeth. I’d spent the past week glaring at the empty space on our street. Being in a boxing ring was awful on a good day and absolutely brutal on a bad. But at least I knew how to handle my opponent. How to get what I wanted from him.

Now I couldn’t even get some underpaid city employee to listen to me.

“Hey,” Fred said. “The zip code for this lot. It’s where I grew up too.” His voice dropped. “I’m only saying this because I’m guessing you and me went to the same school. But I ain’t ever seen this city move fast to clean up anything in that zip code. Have you?”

I looked down at my running shoes. The sidewalk was cracked. Uneven. “No.”

“What’s your name, by the way?”

I hesitated. I wasn’t in the mood. “Dean,” I said. “Dean Knox-Morelli.”

He barked out a laugh. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“I am not.”

“Me and the guys used to watch you down at Snyder’s Tavern, off Oregon Ave. You know it, right?”

It was one of the bars in the city with a dedicated following of boxing fans. Place was packed for every match. It used to be I could walk in there any night of the week and drink for free. I wasn’t welcome there anymore.

“Used to know it, yeah,” I said.

“How long has it been since you quit?” he asked.

My shoulder muscles twitched again. “I retired three years ago.”

“Huh,” Fred said. “Time flies. You were really somethin’ else in that ring. But I guess you already know that.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I mumbled.

I got all kinds of responses from fans who had opinions on my early retirement from professional boxing. Sometimes fans like Fred were the hardest. The wistful ones. Like I was already a has-been, and they were sad for me about it.