The spic was going to try for a knockout, which meant he wasn’t going to work the body, and this suited Diesel just fine because Bernardo would be working with his hands high. If he managed to land a hard one in Bernardo’s gut, the spic would double like a pretzel, and a hook would straighten and set him up for a hard smash to the mouth that would loosen at least three or four of those nice white teeth.

Taking Bernardo’s short left on the shoulder, Diesel countered with his own left to Bernardo’s ribs. The punch lost its power because Bernardo had rolled with it, but not before his own left flicked Diesel’s lip, which began to swell.

The American was tough, Bernardo knew, and as his hand grazed Diesel’s mouth, he wanted to crow with triumph. His feet certain and confident, Bernardo moved around Diesel, darting in to land one, take one, and skip away and start again.

Fighting was like dancing; it had certain steps and rhythms, and once they were learned they were executed naturally, without really thinking about them. He would circle clockwise just a little longer, jabbing and hooking, feinting and ducking, then begin to circle counter-clockwise. This might throw Diesel and make him drop his hands for a second, which was all Bernardo needed for the one clean shot.

Bernardo heard someone call and stumbled awkwardly to one side, then saw that Diesel had also stepped backward. “Just hold it!”

“It’s Tony,” someone called. “Better late than never.”

Tony breathed heavily as he stood between them.

“What’s with you?” Riff said, stepping forward.

“All of you, hold your water,” Tony said as he moved to keep Bernardo and Diesel from throwing punches at each other.

“Man, you’re in deep water,” Riff said angrily. “Just what the hell are you doing? You better talk fast, Tony.”

Resting easily, breathing through parted lips, Bernardo corkscrewed the knuckles of his right fist into his left palm. “Maybe he has found the guts to fight his own battles,” he observed, and smiled as the Sharks laughed at his joke.

Tony also laughed and the smile stayed on his lips as he offered Bernardo his hand. “It doesn’t take guts if you have a battle, ’Nardo. But we haven’t got one.”

Bernardo slapped the side of Tony’s hand before he gave him a hard push and sent him sprawling into the dirt. “To you and all other trash, the name is Bernardo, and after tonight it’s gonna be Mr. Bernardo.”

“That’s enough,” Riff said, as he helped Tony to his feet and gestured for the Jets to relax, that he had the situation covered. “The deal is a fair fight between you and Diesel.”

Bernardo moved in and hit Tony a light backhand slap across the face. “Don’t be impatient, you’ll get yours later,” he warned Diesel. “First I’m gonna take on pretty-boy for a warm-up.” He taunted Tony, who was rubbing his cheek. “What’s the matter, pretty-boy? You afraid? Chicken? Gutless?”