Did I mention, you are the best readers in Fan Fiction? Appreciate those who have decided to officially follow the story, and guest who have taken the time to write. Thanks again for the comments. So many of you wanted me to get to the fight, so here it is.

I don't make any money from the use of these characters.

End of Chapter 34

"I was just thinking," she said, the softness of her voice like a pillow under my ear, "I don't say 'I love you' enough, and, well, there you are, trying to save me from the bad guys." Dios, if hesitance were in my repertoire, I'd be feeling it right now, "I know you're busy but can you give me an idea of when you'll be home?"

I surveyed the scene, I'd finally caught up with the guy and things were about to get messy. The place was swarming with cops and Rangeman personnel. I chose my words carefully.

"I'm in a bit of a clinch here, depends, if I need to go the distance it could be a couple of hours," I heard her take in a breath of disappointment, "but if I can knock it out, maybe an hour, or less."

"Alright then." She said wistfully.

I clicked off my phone, it wasn't too late, I could turn back, abort the mission. I may have paused for just a second, but then Morelli came strutting up the aisle and the spectators went wild. I put the ringer on 'silent,' tossed my phone to Tank, and I climbed between the ropes, and into the ring.

Chapter 35

Stephanie's Point Of View

I woke in the middle of the night to the rumbling of thunder and the sound of rain pummeling the roof and windows. I lay in bed counting the seconds between the lightning flashes and the loud cracking booms. Spring rain storms had always excited me with an equal mix of fascination and fear. And when I was young, I remember running into Valerie's room and snuggling into the bed with her. Then another light flashed and I rolled over hoping to find Ranger, but he wasn't there. I looked at the clock, it was 1:38. I slipped on his robe and my ring caught on the sleeve.

I gathered my glass and the water pitcher and headed across the house to the kitchen. Lightening flashed and lit up the newly finished dining room floor, shadows of the rain running down the outer sun room doors danced on the long, bare wall. I flipped on the kitchen light, rinsed the glass and refilled the water pitcher setting them back on the tray, then I opened the freezer and got some new ice packs for my hip.

It was just a little sore now, and most of the swelling had gone down. If I kept ice on it, I thought I could probably go without the pain meds, which meant I could drive, which meant I could get back to work. I opened the refrigerator. Mama had made me a BLT with some of the bacon leftover from breakfast. I took half the sandwich off the plate and ate as I walked around the kitchen. I looked out the window over the sink and another flash of lightning lit up the sky. The Land Rover was back, next to the barn. Sitting there all alone, black, shiny and wet. I picked up the tray and the ice packs and started back toward the bedroom, this time I exited the kitchen from the breakfast room and walked through the dark living room. I was five steps in when I sensed something was wrong, my heart leapt into my chest when a brief flash illuminated a man sitting in the dark, hoodie pulled up over his head, I dropped the tray and turned to run when I heard Ranger's voice.

"Just me, Babe."

He crossed the floor quickly and started picking up the items in the dark.

"You can go back to bed, I'll get this."

I switched on the table lamp, looked down at his face and froze, shocked by what I saw.

"Oh my God, what happened to you?" I gasped. I wondered what the other guy looked like.

He quickly looked away, then down at the floor, then back at me. He had two butterfly closures over his left eye brow. The eye itself was bloodshot, shining and partly swollen shut. His lower lip was cut, the left half was ballooned to twice its size and his jaw was bruised.

I reached my hand down, worried whatever his answer, it was somehow because of me. He took my hand and held it close to his cheek, "there's plenty of time to talk about this later," he seemed preoccupied and that made me nervous. I noticed his knuckles were also cut and red. I pried my right hand free from his and touched his brow lightly, above the closures,

"That looks like it hurts."

"Naaaw." He gave a little smile. I noticed a gap on the bottom.

"Ahh! your tooth," I gasped.

"It's a crown, it's come out before, twice, don't worry, I won't look like this at our wedding."

"Yeah," I waved off the thought, "I don't care about that." If he's killed someone, and he's in jail, or on the run, there won't be a wedding.

"It's just – you're not gonna end up in my FTA folder again, are you?"

Ranger gave me a lopsided, fat lipped, tooth-gapped grin, and he still looked sexy as hell.

"No, Babe."

We cleaned up the mess and he followed me to the bedroom. I switched on the table lamp.

I could hear the rain pouring outside a steady stream running through the gutters and flowing out the downspouts. I set the tray on the bedside table and he stepped up behind me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and carefully pulled me into him. Lightening flashed outside the window, quickly followed by a crack and rumble that made me jump. He pulled me in closer. It felt like the storm was right over us. I looked down at his hands, in the soft light I could see they were cut and taped in some places. He moved them up to my breasts and lightly grazed over my nipples.

"Did you miss me today?"

"Of course."

He leaned down and nuzzled the undamaged side of his face into my hair and ear.

"I liked your phone call." More thunder rumbled outside.

I turned in his arms, wrapping mine around his waist and he took in a pained breath. He smelled like antiseptic and something I couldn't put my finger on, scotch, maybe.

I looked up at his face and shook my head.

"C'mere, let me kiss that sexy fat lip and make it feel better."

He leaned down, looking at me with his one good eye, half smiling and I gently kissed the swollen tissue, he sucked in a little air, mumbling something about the salt from the sandwich, but he kept kissing and before long he slid his tongue in my mouth and I slipped mine into his and I could feel the little gap where his crown had been and I laughed a little. Between breaths he mumbled,

"sshhhit, this, hurts."

I lifted the sheet and scooted to the middle of the bed, and he sat slowly on the edge, then he turned and eased himself down to the pillow. I reached across to the tray, I took one of the blue ice packs,

"Where does it hurt the most?" he tucked the pack under his right arm. I crossed his hands over his chest and set the second pack over his hands, the third, I gently rested it against his cheek and jaw, then I turned out the light and nestled my head on the pillow next to him, thunder rolled in the distance, I snuggled in a little closer and I drifted off to sleep.

Several Hours Earlier, Stark Street Gym

Ranger's Point of View

I put the ringer on "silent," tossed my phone to Tank and climbed between the ropes. I couldn't worry about Stephanie at the moment. I knew she was safe, in fact, when she was at Stone Cliff, she was safer than being at Heywood. Right now I had to concentrate on Morelli. I wasn't a formally trained boxer, but Morelli was, he'd won some sort of title in the Navy, and he looked confident. Most guys did though, up until their heads hit the floor.

Vinnie was lit, he had a Swisher Sweet in one hand, and a money bag in the other, stalking the perimeter of the gym, laughing and back-slapping and making book. Butch from Shorty's had a make-shift bar and two-dozen boxes of pizzas set up in Jimmie Alpha's old office. Everybody was drinking beer or mixed drinks out of plastic cups. I was pretty sure most guys had come straight from work, watching the rookies spar before us, getting primed. Rock music blared from the speakers adding to the clamour.

I took a look around the ancient gym while the ref gave Carl instructions about the clock and bell. The ring was the standard, elevated, twenty-four foot square set in the center of a larger square room with some offices along the back wall, and a hallway disappearing into locker rooms. It was lit by flood lights hanging form the tall ceiling. A few chairs, but mainly standing room around the ring. I thought it was a little poetic, this was the ring where Morelli had saved Stephanie from the clutches of Benito Ramiriz. This is where he had won her, and this is where he would realized he'd lost her.

Juniac stepped between the ropes and grabbed the mic. He was the Mayor of Trenton, an ex-cop and an everyman. He was also the former Police Chief and his presence assured Morelli would not cry foul.

He'd had a few drinks and he was yuckin it up with the announcements. He did his best Howad Cosell in an overdrawn accent,

"And in our feature, catchweight fight, a white-collar match, in the blue trunks, weighing in at one-seventy-four, from Trenton, New Jersey, with a BBC Record of 16,3, and 1, winner of the Brigade Boxing Championship Title, Mad Joey Morelli." Morelli put his gloved hands in the air and danced around the ring, trying to rile the crowd. Most of the cops clapped, even a few of my guys, to show good will.

Juniac staggered a bit from the booze and this got him a few cat calls, he waved it off and gave the crowd the finger, adding to the ruckus, "And in the black trunks," he continued, "weighing in at one-eighty-two, with no titles, no stats on record, just one bad motherfucker, from Newark, New Jersey, Carlos Ranger Manoso." I nodded to Juniak and his handler helped him to his place on the floor. Bottles were clinking and the money was still changing hands.

Mac, the ref, stepped into the middle of the ring, dressed in black and white, and he didn't need a mic.

"I've given these fellas the rules," said the scrappy little Irish guy. He was Jersey through and through, with the ears of a boxer and the nose of a drinker.

"We're gonna have a clean fight, nine rounds, three minutes each, when the bell sounds at the end of the round you must go to your corner, if I tell yas to go to your corner, go to your corner," he looked at both of us, "now touch gloves, and when the bell rings, come out fighting." He held up a finger, to signify round one, then the bell dinged.

I was a swarmer, a true in-fighter, always applying pressure. I didn't want to wait for my opponent to come to me, I was gonna bring it to him. My chin was good, I would take the jabs and get inside where I could do the most damage.

Morelli, on the other hand, he was more the classic boxer, the out-fighter, always maintaining the gap, using his reach for the long-range straight punch and jabs. For a guy who ate Pino's five times a week, he was in decent shape and still quick on his feet.

The crowd was relaxed, a hum of laughs and chatter, people taking swigs off bottles. Vinnie stood in the back, Yankee cap on backwards, taking last minute side bets. The cops were settled back, thinking Mad Joe would go the distance, but my men were honed in, knowing anything could happen at any moment.

Tank was my corner man, he'd done it before: backroom of a salon in Manilla, an alleyway in São Paulo, a parking lot in Mexico City, sometimes for sport, sometimes money, other times it was "fight or you don't leave." Across the ring, Morelli had Mooch and Big Dog, and Carl was running the clock.

We got off slow, cautious, both of us waltzing around. We agreed on a modified version of Queensbury, with gloves and headgear. I stepped in to try out a combination, Morelli moved back and held out his arm keeping me at bay. The first half of round one, it was textbook technique, orthodox moves, footwork, the in and out, me doing the bob and weave.

Then I decided it was time for me to go inside, I was ducking in under jabs, landing body blows, but he was landing plenty of hooks to the side of my headgear, and a few uppercuts hit my chest. I held up my gloves in the peek-a-boo, not wanting any marks on my face. We carried on in a civilized fashion, until the bell rung, a look of confidence on Morelli's face as he bounded back to his corner.

Tank set the stool down and put the towel over my shoulders, he removed the mouth guard, squirted water in my mouth and held up the bucket.

"What are you doing?" Tank asked. I swished the water in my mouth and spat in the pail.

"He's got some moves, more solid than he looks." Tank wasn't buying it.

"You're pulling your punches, you coulda had him down in that round."

"True, but if he's laying on the canvas, I can't hit him any more, what fun is that?" Tank held up the squeeze bottle in front of me and I took a big gulp.

"I think I'll keep him up for a few more rounds and really knock the shit outta him."

Tank clapped me on the back,

"You're a sick fucker, you know that?" he stuck the mouth guard between my teeth and I closed my lips around it.

"Yuuulllp." I nodded, and then the bell dinged.

Round two, he charged out of his corner and headed straight for my face, I sidestepped the jab and hit him with a combination, hook, upper-cut. His eyes got a little wide and he knew I'd just been playin with him earlier. A sane guy would be scared, might even show a little fear, not Morelli, it just made him more brazen. We danced around a little longer, both of us working up a sweat.

He was looking for my weakness, trying to figure me out, and he was getting a little frustrated. By the middle of the round he spit out his mouth guard, and started talkin' shit. His words would sound like mumbles to the crowd, but in the ring, we were close enough to hear each other above the din.

"So your're marrying a porn star, does 'yo mamma' know?" I knew the game, and wasn't about to play. I ducked his roundhouse and landed a gut punch and spit my mouth guard to the edge of the ring.

"Navy ever teach you how to swim? Cause they sure didn't teach you how to fight."

He laughed and started working the stick and move.

"Bet half the department's wacked off to her photos, she's the official TPD screen saver."

I kept even with his footwork and dodged in time with his jabs.

"That all ya got, Mad Joe?"

We both circled around looking for openings, I let him in and we started to brawl. I accepted his jabs as penance for the times I'd pulled her in the alley and kissed her when they were still dating, but I made sure he got his, and every time I landed a blow, a hook, an uppercut, I let slip a name of a woman he'd cheated with: "Angelina," "Terri," "Monique," "Claudia."

"She still has to give me a statement." He didn't know what he was talking about, he had officially been taken out of the loop, Weston had it handled, the chief confirmed it, as of today she was free and clear, nobody gave a shit that she shot a child abductor, the cop was just trying to rattle me. I gave him a shot to his headgear, a little preview of what I was about to do.

"She doesn't have to do shit."

He stepped back and smirked, he thought he was getting to me.

"Course, if she ends up in the joint, Judge might give ya a conjugal for your honeymoon."

We exchanged a few more blows,

"She might be safer in there, with that psycho you let loose."

I did a little in-and-out, and jabbed him to gauge the distance to the spot I wanted. He wouldn't stop running his mouth.

"You rafters can't protect your women, or keep track of your prisoners, Jesus."

I looked at the clock, ten seconds, I dropped my hands to my sides, without hesitation he lunged forward with hopes of a fancy combination, probably his jab-cross, but I gave him the slip and his glove slid across my head-gear. I seized the moment, a little bounce step back, half a step forward, shifting all my weight, I turned and gave him my straight right cross, right at the bell, and he dropped to the mat.

He was down for the count, and I was feeling good. My men were lookin on, lighting up stogies and most of the Cops were nodding their approval. Juniac smiled, tilted his head and left. I lifted my arms and I started to walk around the ring and everybody went crazy, including Joe Morelli.

If I hadn't been wearing the damn headgear I would have seen him coming, If only he'd been as lightning fast during the fight. He came flying over, he'd peeled the gloves off along the way, I felt his knuckles on my right side dig in and up between the ninth and tenth rib, and by the sick feel in my gut I knew it was a well-executed liver punch. Done right, this punch will take down almost any opponent, and I was no exception.

I willed myself not to double over but my body was reacting in a protective response, shutting down to protect the organ, I knew I'd be down ten, maybe fifteen seconds.

As I was dropping to my knee, he threw his left arm around my bowed head and landed three good uppercuts to my face. I tasted blood, and was pretty sure I'd lost a tooth. I pushed off his body, Mooch and Big Dog grabbed him, holding him at bay. Tank stood in front of me assessing my condition, it hurt like hell, but I knew from experience it would pass. A few guys down on the floor had a foot up on the side, ready to jump in the ring.

"No!" I demanded. My head and mouth worked fine, but my body was in suspended animation.

Tank and Carl pushed everyone out of the ring. I looked at Morelli, he had murder in his eyes. I counted to ten and started to regain control of my legs. I gritted my teeth and stood, ripped off my gloves and threw them in the crowd, my headgear came off next, then Morelli did the same. Mac stood between us, palms to chests, he looked at me,

"Manoso, you could take the win right now." A few people up close heard him say this, and started to 'boo'.

"this isn't sanctioned," I said, "we'll pay for two fights, you in or out?" Mac gave one nod and looked at me like I was crazy.

I peered around him and spoke over his head to the cop.

"You want nine rounds? I'll go nine rounds. Let's get it on!"

Morelli stood back, motioning with his hands for me to 'bring it.'

Mac yelled out over the crowd,

"Alright boys, bare knuckles, same rules apply," then he pushed us toward our corners. The spectators barked in approval, people crowded the office window for more beers, and Vinnie for more bets.

Tank forced me onto the stool, doused me with water and wiped off my head with the towel. He was cussing to himself and preaching at me, but I wasn't listening, I was staring down Morelli.

Mac walked to the middle of the ring and held up three fingers, Carl started the three-minute timer then dinged the bell.

We went fists to cuffs for three more rounds, most of the three-minute intervals I was just dancing on the outside, biding my time. Occasionally I'd let him land a good one so I could jab him or give him a cross or hook. I faked him out with a couple bolo's catching him off-guard with a rounder or uppercut. I wasn't really targeting his face, I was going for the body, I wanted every muscle above his belt to hurt, but by the end of round five he was starting to look like hamburger, by the start of six, his nose looked like the casing of an overcooked sausage, ready to burst, he had a mouse on his forehead, over his left eye. His eye socket had narrowed to a slit. I was pretty sure Mac was gonna stop the fight, but I didn't want it to end by decision, I was gonna do it my way, I was in control. I got back on the inside, his nose was seeping blood, right eye closing fast, I wrapped my arms around him, got him in a clinch, my mouth close to his ear.

"I coulda had you down in one, didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends, but I gotta go now." Mac stepped in and separated us. Morelli's footwork had slowed down, I took my time and circled around, he tried to rally with a few weak blows which I blocked, then I grappled up to him again,

"My woman is waiting for me, she's in my bed, wondering when I'm coming home, can't keep her waiting."

I pushed him away from my body, gave him my haymaker, and knocked him the fuck out.

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The Next Morning

Stephanie's Point of View

I awoke at nine feeling much better. I washed my face and slipped my hair into a ponytail and changed the bandage on the stitches. The cut looked good, not too red. Then I dug in the drawer and found some lightweight khaki cargos and a navy v-necked tee and some Converse tennies.

I smelled food cooking. I expected to find Mama Manoso manning the stove, but instead, Ranger was standing at the counter pouring coffee. The table had been set the same as yesterday, a blue tulip shared the bud vase with a twig of bright yellow forsythia. Ranger turned a cautious eye to me, pulled out my chair and took the cover off the plate. His face looked a little better, the swelling had gone down a bit, but in daylight I could see the bruises developing under his mocha skin, and nearly every knuckle on his hands was taped. The large blue icepack was tucked into the right side of his waistband.

"Where's Mama?"

"She's off and running, said she had to go pick up a bolt of something called tuille?

He pulled out the chair next to me and sat, his knee resting against mine, holding his plate with his hand as he forked the veggie omelet into his mouth. He got up a few times to refill my water, top off the coffee, bring me butter, each time touching me: a hand on my shoulder, a kiss on my cheek, the slide of a wayward curl behind my ear.

I picked up my coffee cup, the only dish he hadn't cleared and stood next to him by the sink. I couldn't take the suspense any longer. I had to know, was Dvorak dead? Did anyone know? Would a fixer arrive in a dark van with new identities and whisk us off to Uruguay? I put my hand on his biceps and turned him to face me,

"Spill it."

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"You what!" I yelled. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Give me that back!" I yanked the blue ice pack out of his waistband, "and here I was, worried you'd killed someone because of me, but no, you were, what, street fighting?"

"Boxing," his voice was barely a whisper.

"Why?" I knew there was no sane answer to that question.

"It was his idea."

"Oh! Like that matters?" I threw up my hands.

"He still thinks he has a chance with you," he said in a low regulated voice.

"Who doesohmyfrickinggod… Morelli? Of course, who else. I held my hand to my temple, I felt a headache starting. Then I took a cleansing breath and regulated my voice,

"Eddie used to have a crush on me, in third grade, are you gonna fight him too?" my head shaking back and forth, "Oh, and Donnie, at Tivollis, his phone number is in my phone, what are you gonna do, break his arm?"

I looked down at my hand, at the engagement ring he had retrieved from his safe and slipped on my finger in the middle of the night. It wasn't so much the Neanderthal behavior I was mad about. Like so many bad decisions, it was never the original behavior, it was the cover-up that had me seething.

"You told me you were tracking down Dvorak," he took a small step toward me and I stepped back.

"I was, most of the time, we've got some good leads, some hits on a debit card he held under an alias, his mom put some money out on a Western Union account, and we're waiting for him to claim it, then we'll know where he is."

Hearing this made me feel a little better, I took in a deep breath and exhaled a bit of my resolve.

Just then we heard the doorbell. Ranger crossed to the side door; Father Ramos smiled and stepped inside carring a shoulder bag.

"What a beautiful day, everything's so green after that rain, can you believe this….wea…ther…his eyes locked in on Ranger's face, then he looked at me fearfully,

"Hey, don't look at me," I raised my hands in surrender, "I didn't do it. Ask your fellow altar boy how it happened."

Ranger closed the door and changed the subject, "Why don't we go into the living room and sit down."

I turned to Father Ramos and took a breath, "I'm going to get a coffee, would you like something to drink? Go ahead, I'll meet you in there." I made the offer to Father Ramos, and only Father Ramos.

The men stood when I entered the room. I handed the holy man in black a mug. Ranger had fluffed up the seat cushion next to him on the sofa, but I crossed the room and sat down on the loveseat, Father Ramos in a wingback chair between us.

If he was concerned over the tension hanging in the air, it didn't show.

"Before we begin, let us bow our heads and ask for God's blessing."

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"Did you both have a chance to look over the booklet?" I nodded my head 'yes,' and was surprised when Ranger did the same.

"Good, how about the questions, did you at least have time to get through the short answer?"

Again we both nodded. Now how was that possible? I wondered, Ranger had come home late last night. I narrowed my eyes at him, leaned forward and tried to glance at the question packet lying next to him on the sofa. I could barely make out some writing and yes, some ovals were filled in. He noticed me looking, picked up the pages, folded them up the center and crossed his arms.

"Do you know where you want to start? Miss Stephanie?"

"How about the section on 'trust?" I emphasized the word.

"Alright, but first, I would like to hear, in your own words, why you are getting married. Miss Stephanie, let's start with you. I sucked in a breath, a little nervous, not prepared for the question.

"I am marrying Rang…Carlos because I can't think of anything better to do," I blurted.

Both men looked at me wide eyed, and Ranger looked crest fallen. I realized the words had come out wrong, I soften my gaze and took in a breath, as I spoke directly to Father Ramos.

"By that, I mean, there's no one else I'd rather be with. There's no place I'd rather live, there's no job I'd rather have, no group of friends I'd rather spend my time with. I don't want to conquer the world or run off to Grad school, or start my own business. I just wanna be me, I like who I am, especially when we're together."

I stole a glance at the big dummie, and I swear his fat lip was quivering, and that made me smile.

"Alright, very good," Father Ramos looked pleased, "now, Ricardo, your turn."

He cleard his throat and looked at the floor for a moment, then he looked up under his brow and into my eyes.

"I am getting married," he treaded slowly, "to Stephanie Michelle Plum, because, I love her with my whole heart," I set down my coffeecup and put my hands in my lap, "she is like my oxygen, and like oxygen I will do anything to protect it, hoard it, and keep it for myself. Without her," he breathed out, shoulders sluped, deflated, he looked back to the floor, "without her, I'm dead. She's the only reason I still have a heart."

I looked at him, with his butterfly closures, his cut lip and black eye. Do not smile at him, damnit, I told myself. But I couldn't heip it. One thought invaded and kept circling my brain: meh, maybe, Joe Morelli had it comin'.