Laidlaw had finished putting the wraps around Hanlon’s strong, long fingers. She flexed them and then she held her bandaged hand out and he slipped on the gloves. She threw a couple of experimental punches, jab, jab, then a quick combination, jab, jab, right cross, left hook. As always, she was fast and, above all, elegant.
‘Let’s go.’
They walked down the short, silent corridor that led from his office to the cavernous, empty gym. Hanlon felt light and strong on her feet. She had that pleasurable sensation in the pit of her stomach that she always had before a fight, even though this was simply a sparring session.
Her opponent was waiting for her in the ring. He was huge, a head taller than she was. He said nothing as she climbed through the ropes, the point of no return. They faced each other momentarily, her hard grey eyes locked on to his brown ones. Any doubts he felt about fighting a woman disappeared at that moment. Joe Paulson, his manager, a sceptical look on his face, sounded the bell.
From the viewing gallery at the top of the large room that was the gym, lost in the shadows and unseen by those below, Schneider and Corrigan watched.
The two boxers in the ring were completely unaware of their audience. For them the whole universe had shrunk down to the canvas and its rope borders.
The German wondered what the hell was going on. The contest looked ludicrously one-sided.
The large figure of the black boxer advanced on her, trying to close the ring down, flicking the occasional jab to find his range. Campbell would have been much more used to fighting men of his own size and height. Hanlon, as his opponent would be in his upcoming match, was much shorter, making things awkward. He had to punch down at an angle.
He was also large and lumbering, ponderous on his legs, whereas Hanlon could move with whiplash speed and balletic agility.
For now, Hanlon contented herself with avoiding his gloves as best she could. She was a slim, hard to hit target, never motionless, her head continually bobbing and weaving, her body, side on, light and flexible, and she had exquisite footwork.
Campbell frowned in frustration as his gloves aimed blows at a target that suddenly was no longer there, or she would slip low and rise under the punch, his glove finding air where he had expected her head.
Then she saw a chance, his hands were low and his face exposed, she decided to punish him, to show him what happens when you make mistakes and underestimate your opponent.
Her hand flicked out, hard, fast and accurate and she caught him on the side of his face. There was no great power behind the punch, they were just sparring, but if it had been serious it was the kind of mistake he couldn’t afford to make, particularly in his approaching fight.
His challenger there would not be landing warning shots, that was for sure.
The round continued, frustration visibly growing on Campbell’s face as she slipped under and around his punches, occasionally moving up close underneath his reach and hitting him with hooks to the body.
The bell sounded. Corrigan could see Laidlaw was delighted, Paulson quietly angry.
‘She’s amazing,’ whispered Schneider, happily.
They sat in their corners. Hanlon could hear Paulson berating Campbell for not keeping his guard up. She could see him gesturing with his left – she soon found out why.
Another round went by, this one not so good for Hanlon. Campbell was getting used to his low target and several times his gloves made contact with her padded headguard. Despite the protection and despite the lack of power in his punch, there was enough there to make her head ring. But most worrying was his left hook.
She had no real answer to it. Unlike his forward punches, his jab and right hand, it could cover all of the side of her body. If he’d put power into the shots she’d have been knocked off her feet.
Back in her corner Laidlaw hissed, ‘Get right up to him, right up close, and go even lower, do the unexpected.’
She took a drink of water and nodded. Her top was soaked in sweat now, clinging to her body, but her arms and legs felt amazing. All those hours and hours of training paying off. All that cycling, all that swimming, all that running. Hanlon was super-fit even by boxing standards.
Laidlaw watched with proprietorial pride as she took the fight to the bigger man like a terrier against a mastiff. Campbell’s skin a mahogany shade against the paleness of Hanlon. She advanced on him and he jabbed lazily at her and then she was through, under his guard, practically touching his body.
She unleashed a couple of left hooks of her own, her left foot swivelling inwards to add to their power, the force of the shot coming not from the arms but from the body. Her left elbow was perfectly angled, protecting her face.
He could see the bafflement on Campbell’s face as he tried to deal with her but she was too close, almost as if they were dancing, to be able to get any real angle on his punches.
Hanlon suddenly upped her game. It was like watching a Ferrari race a Ford Mondeo. Class, power, speed.
She suddenly stepped back and, with lightning speed, launching herself off her back foot, delivered a flawless three punch combination to Campbell’s face.
Corrigan heard Schneider say, ‘Scheisse, sie ist ausgezeichnete!’ He turned to him: ‘She really is good.’
‘Break!’ Laidlaw shouted.
Hanlon and Campbell dropped their hands and he gently tapped her gloves in a show of respect.
Hanlon walked over to Laidlaw and he undid the straps of her headguard and pulled it off. She shook her sweat-matted hair. Her top was glued to her upper body with perspiration. He could smell the leather of her gloves, her perspiration and a faint residual perfume.
‘How was that, Hanlon?’ he asked.
She took her mouthguard out and grinned wolfishly at him. ‘Better than sex, Freddie, better than sex.’
Laidlaw smiled and pointed upwards.‘You’ve got admirers.’
She lifted her head. There, leaning over the balcony of the gallery, was a familiar figure.
‘I think you’ve demonstrated that you’re fit enough to come back to work now, Hanlon,’ Corrigan called down to her.
‘Yes, sir,’ she called back.