The announcer and seconds scrambled out of the ring. Gilroy and Shane touched gloves, turned toward their corners. At the gong Shane whirled, almost ran across the ring. Gilroy looked faintly surprised, waited, calmly ducked Shane’s wild right hook. They exchanged short jabs to the body and Shane straightened a long one to Gilroy’s jaw.
Shane’s hair was so blond it was almost white. It stuck straight up in a high pompadour above his-round pink face, flopped back and forth as he moved his head. He was thick, looked more than his two hundred and eight pounds. Gilroy had put on fat in the year since Kells had seen him in action, but it looked hard. His rich chocolate-brown body still sloped to a narrow waist, straight well-muscled legs. He looked pretty good.
Shane came in fast again; Gilroy backed against the ropes, came out and under Shane’s right — they clinched. The referee stepped between them, and Gilroy clipped Shane’s chin as he sidled away. They exchanged short jabs to the head and body, fell into another clinch. Gilroy brought both hands up hard to Shane’s body. Shane danced away, came in fast again and snapped Gilroy’s head back with a long right. They were stalling, waiting for the other to lead at the bell. The round was even.
The second and third rounds were slow — the second Shane’s by a shade, the third even.
Shane came out fast in the fourth, grazed Gilroy’s jaw with the long right, drove his left hard into Gilroy’s stomach. Gilroy straightened up and his mouth was open; Shane stepped a little to one side, took Gilroy’s weak counter on his shoulder and hooked his right to Gilroy’s unprotected jaw. There was a snap and Gilroy sank down on his knees. The crowd roared. Several people stood up.
Gilroy took a count of eight, got up grinning broadly. He ducked Shane’s wild uppercut, stepped inside and pounded Shane’s body, but his punches lacked steam. The muscles of his face were taut, his eyes big — he had been hurt. They clinched. The round was Shane’s.
Gilroy held on during the first part of the fifth, but snapped out of it in time to smack Shane around considerably before the bell. Shane was tiring a little. It should have been Gilroy’s round but was declared even.
The sixth and seventh were Gilroy’s by a small margin. He seemed to have recovered all his speed; Shane brought the fight to him, made a good show of rushing but it didn’t mean much. Gilroy took everything Shane had to give — fought deliberately, hard, well.
The rounds stood two apiece, three even. Kells watched Shane between the seventh and eighth, decided that whatever the fix had been, he wasn’t in on it. He looked worried, but it didn’t look like the kind of worry one would feel at being double-crossed. His backers had evidently let him believe that he would win or lose fairly. As a matter of fact it hadn’t been bribery or a frameup, strictly speaking — they’d simply scared Gilroy and it had almost worked.
Brand turned around, smiled uncomfortably.