Hawk said, “Cómo se llama?”

“Martita. Mi hijo se llama Juanito. Tiene mucho fiebre.”

“Habla inglés?” Hawk said.

“Sí. Un poco.” She smiled and I could see she was missing a front tooth and the rest of them looked brown.

“Do you know Carmen?” I said.

“Sí, sí! Es un angel!” She smiled some more. “She is my amiga.”

“Your friend. And Slide?” I said.

“Sí. She takes care of him.” She smiled and shook her head slowly. “He is like a little brother to her.”

“Do they live near you?” I said.

“Sí, sí.” She put her hands together.

“Carmen lives with you, not at the big house?” I said.

“Sí, sí.” She smiled some more. “Por uno o dos días.

“Ah! A la izquierda!” she added.

“Left,” Hawk said.

Halfway down the block in a storefront was a medical building. A line of people, looking miserable in the cold, waited to get inside. Above them, the Christmas decorations, big red bells and candy canes and sleighs with Santa in them, were hung along the lines between the telephone poles. Hawk got out with Martita. She was headed to go to the end of the line, but Hawk took her under the arm and marched her into the building. I thought I would let him take care of this situation. He could be very convincing when he wanted to be. I watched the line of people—men, women, and children, all sick with something—patiently waiting to get medical attention, at a place that looked nothing like Mass General.

Hawk returned, quicker than I would have thought.

“I told them I was President Obama’s cousin,” he said.

“See how well the health-care system works,” I said, “when you give it a chance.”

I HAD PROMISED JACKIE I’d drop by Street Business to give his charges a boxing lesson. We agreed on a time that fit my hectic holiday schedule, and I had imposed upon Henry Cimoli to scrounge up some used equipment for me to bring. Because Hawk was curious about Street Business, I invited him along. I also invited him because I couldn’t carry all the equipment by myself.

On the way to the house on Curtis Street, Hawk said, “You going to a lot of trouble for this Jackie fellow. Christmas spirit?”

“Maybe. I remember my father and uncles teaching me how to box when I was about ten. Learned a lot. Not just how to move my feet.”

Hawk was silent. After a moment or two he said, “You know Jackie’s kids, they different from you. Come from a different place.”

I glanced at Hawk. He was looking at the road ahead, expressionless. “Worth a try,” I said.

Jackie had cleared the exercise room and put down some canvas on the floor, flat and neat and secure. When Hawk and I arrived, he and four of the boys were waiting for me. They all wore sweats and high-top sneakers.

I introduced Hawk and Jackie. Jackie offered us both coffee, which we declined.

“How goes Street Business?” I said. “Everything quiet?”

“Since I came to see you,” Jackie said.

“The Christmas lull.”

Jackie turned to the boys. “This is Mr. Spenser,” he said, “and his friend Hawk. They’ve offered to show you boys some basics of boxing. Please introduce yourselves and welcome our new friend.”

The tallest boy, but not necessarily the oldest, stepped forward. “I’m Teddy,” he said. He had red hair, freckles, and pale blue eyes, and was thin as paint. We shook hands.

Next was Mike. A pudgy kid with a wide grin. “We heard about you, Mr. Spenser. Jackie says you’re a tough guy,” he said.

“Ram tough,” I said, “but I use my power only for good.”

There was Pedro, one of Juan’s immigrant kids, who had a baby face and looked about ten, and Carl, who was the oldest and had started to shave. He sported a small scraggly beard and lank blond hair.

Carl’s expression conveyed either disdain or a severe stomach cramp. “I know how to box already,” he said.

“Good,” Jackie said. “Then you don’t have to stay. No need to waste our guests’ time.” His rebuke was friendly but firm. Carl stayed.

Hawk and I unloaded the used mitts, gloves, and headgear from Henry, as well as the mouth guards from a local sporting goods store. Jackie passed out the equipment while I surveyed the room. There were two bags attached to opposite walls, one a heavy bag and the other a speed bag. Some jump ropes. Some hand wraps strung over the back of a bench.

“Okay,” I said. “Any of you do any running? Or any other exercise?” I said.

“Naw,” Mike said. They all shook their heads. “We ride our bikes, that count?” Teddy said.

“Sure. But boxing takes both strength and endurance, maybe more than any other sport. You have to be in good shape,” I said. “So the first thing we’re going to do today is run in place and jump some rope.”

Carl sneered. “Jump rope’s for girls,” he said.

Hawk looked at him. “Jump rope’s for athletes,” he said.

I handed out the ropes. One to Teddy, one to Pedro, and one to Hawk the athlete. “Mike, you run in place with me,” I said. “We’ll try five minutes. Come on, Jackie, you up for this?” He grinned at the challenge and grabbed a jump rope.

Five minutes later the three boys were red-faced and puffing. “You guys ain’t even breathing hard,” Mike said. “Neither’s Jackie.”

“We’ve had a lot of practice,” I said. “If you want to box, you need to do this every day. And look, the fun part.”

Hawk and I took the hand wraps and put them on the boys’ hands in figure eights, fitting them snugly on their small hands. Then we put mitts on them and took them over to the speed bag. “Try hitting it, any way you want, just to get the feel of it,” I said. “Take turns.”

“You box?” I said to Jackie.

“A little,” he said. “But I can mix it up with them anytime. Today’s for the professionals to show their stuff.”

The kids had stepped up to the speed bag one by one, and flailed away, missing it most of the time, laughing and jabbing one another in the ribs, and dancing around the bag. Carl watched. He had put on wraps. He went over, picked up a pair of old leather boxing gloves, and went to the heavy bag. He stepped up to it and whacked it like an amateur, but with some strength. I held the bag for him. He went at it again.

“Good,” I said. “Next we’ll work on your footwork.”

“Don’t need to,” Carl said. He was starting to breathe heavily. “Footwork’s fine.”

I pushed the heavy bag slightly, and Carl’s next punch hit the side and brushed off. His momentum carried him forward, and he tripped. He staggered through the punch and stumbled to the floor.

The others kids stopped and stared at him. Pedro and Mike stifled laughs in their gloves.

“Hey!” Carl said. “That’s not fair. You tricked me.”

“You don’t have to worry about footwork if you’re hitting something that’s stationary,” I said. “Problem with people is they tend to move. If you’re going to box something that has feet, you’ve got to have good footwork.”

I put my hand down to help him up. He pushed my hand away and pulled himself to his feet.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s try it again. This time I promise I won’t move the bag. We’ll work on footwork next time.”