Solea by Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis Page B

before the bell, I hit him on the nose. Mavros lost his balance and tried to support himself on the ropes. I kept punching, though I was at the point of exhaustion. A few seconds more, and he might have laid me out with a single uppercut.
    His father declared me the winner. Mavros and I embraced. But come Friday night, Ophelia decided she wanted to go out with him. Not me.
    Mavros had married her. She had just turned twenty. He was twenty-one, with a good career as a middleweight ahead of him. But she had forced him to give up boxing, which she couldn’t stand. He’d become a truck driver, until one day he realized she was cheating on him every time he went out on the road.
    Â 
    Twenty minutes later, I threw in the sponge. I was out of breath, and my arms felt weak. I spat out my mouth guard into my glove and went and sat down on the bench. I was too exhausted to keep my head up straight, and let it drop between my shoulders.
    â€œSo, champion, giving up?”
    â€œGo to hell!” I hissed.
    He burst out laughing. “Let’s take a shower, and then we’ll go get a cold beer.”
    That was exactly what I had in mind. A shower and a beer.
    Less than an hour later, we were sitting on the terrace of the Bar des Minimes, on Chemin Saint-Antoine. By the time we were on our second beers, I’d told Mavros everything that had happened. From the time I met Sonia to my lunch with Hélène Pessayre.
    â€œI have to find Babette.”
    â€œYeah, and what are you going to do then? Have her giftwrapped and hand her over to those guys?”
    â€œI don’t know, Georges. But I have to find her. I need to know just how serious this is. Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement with them.”
    â€œAre you kidding? You think guys who’d kill a girl just to get you up off your ass are the kind of guys you can talk to?”
    The fact was, I didn’t know. I couldn’t think straight. Sonia’s death was elbowing out every other thought in my head. But one thing was for sure: I might have been angry with Babette for triggering this horror, but I couldn’t see myself handing her over to the Mafia. I didn’t want her killed.
    â€œYou may be on their list,” I said, jokily.
    The possibility had only just crossed my mind, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
    â€œI don’t think so. If they whack too many of the people around you, the cops won’t let you out of their sight. And then you won’t be able to do what these guys are expecting of you.”
    That made sense. After all, how could they know Mavros was a friend of mine? I went to his gym to work out, the same way I went to Hassan’s bar to drink. Were they going to kill Hassan, too? No, Mavros was right.
    â€œYou’re right,” I said.
    His eyes, though, told me it’s easier to say things than to believe them. Not that Mavros was afraid. But there was anxiety in his eyes. It was understandable. We weren’t afraid of death, but we’d have preferred it to strike us later rather than sooner, and if possible in bed, after a good night’s sleep.
    â€œYou know, Georges, whatever coaching you’re doing, you could put off till later. Why don’t you take a vacation? It’s a good time for it. A few days chilling out in the mountains . . . A week at the most.”
    â€œI don’t have anywhere to chill out. And I don’t want to. I’ve told you how I see things, Fabio. What if they come after you? Beat you up? I don’t want to be too far from here if that happens. O.K.?”
    â€œO.K. But keep your distance. This is nothing to do with you. Babette is my concern. You hardly know her.”
    â€œI know her well enough. And she’s a friend of yours.”
    He looked at me. His eyes had changed. They had turned coal black, but without the brightness of anthracite. There was nothing in them but a great tiredness.
    â€œThe way I look at it,” he