Excerpt from The Slip by Lucas Schaefer, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"You like my new fencing?" said Terry.

David had noticed it as soon as he'd parked: two metal bike racks that Terry had installed in front of the open garage doors that faced the gravel lot, his latest innovation to force all patrons to enter through his office. "I like to make my debtors look me in the eye," said Terry, still sorting. "Don't forget to sign in."

David looked down at the sign-in sheet affixed to a clipboard on the edge of the desk. "Sure thing, boss," he said, and, ignoring Terry, went down the step that led into the gym proper.

4 p.m. on a weekday: no errant jockstrap waistbands here. The current inhabitants of Terry Tucker's were mostly Black and Mexican, big guys in track pants and slim guys in A-shirts, guys who slung over their shoulders not the tidy athletic bags popular among the just-for-fun crowd but the heavy duffels of actual athletes.

David lowered himself onto the bench across from the ring, setting his own tidy gym bag next to him. Soon the after-work crowd would start to accumulate. For now, there was still room to spread out, the heavy bags unoccupied. Gloves came last for the real fighters. Most worked jobs that started early—construction, UPS—and now they were at the beginning of their gym routines, Terry Tucker's just starting to come to life. A buzz-cut blond dude—fat biceps, tank top already dirty with sweat—sent a speed bag ricocheting between the drum and his sideways fists. On the apron of the canvas, a wiry Black woman sat entranced—headphones on, long legs dangling—returning to her body after what, David assumed, had been a long day. He'd been there before.

In the ring, Felix Barrowman, twenty-four, pummeled an invisible opponent, letting out a pa! pa! pa! each time he unleashed a combination. Felix was a sinewy Black guy, a "green-eyed Casanova" in the estimation of Ramona, and the most promising fighter Terry Tucker's Boxing Gym had ever seen.

"Looking like a future middleweight champion of the world!" called David as the fight clock beeped, signaling the end of the round. "Sak pase?" David could never resist testing Felix with the Creole greeting he'd taught the boxer.

"Na-boo-lay," said Felix, breathing heavy but grinning, his accent wholly American. The year before, Felix had knocked out a Brazilian up-and-comer on HBO's Boxing After Dark, and in the process had turned himself into the one who was up-and-coming. Word was if Felix played his cards right, he could set himself and Terry up for a chance at a title.

"Get me four, five more KOs, Tuck thinks I got a shot," said Felix.

"That is what I like to hear," said David. From his bag, he took out his neatly coiled hand wraps, unfurled them.

The fight clock beeped, sending Felix back to the center of the canvas. David began to slowly wrap his hands. He had to give Terry credit: the man was a savvy operator. Terry's amateurs frequently made it deep into Texas State Golden Gloves, and each year one or two turned pro. None had the earning potential of Felix, but that didn't matter. The bulk of Terry's earnings came from monthly membership fees, and the presence of these "real" boxers, who by and large looked one way, gave the gym a legitimacy that attracted the much larger pool of hobbyists—the Bob Alexander set—who by and large looked another.

It was the same reason these nonfighters thrilled at the lack of air-conditioning, why they took pleasure in the mostly harmless riffraff who lurked around the edges of the place.

A couple years before, the Statesman had run a story on the gym, "Not Your Trendy, High-Priced Fitness Club: Everyone Welcome at Terry Tucker's," and it was true: everyone was welcome. Octavio Gonzalez had twice been deported, twice found his way back. The first time Josue Mendoza showed up at the gym he was living out of his car. At least a half dozen of Terry's guys had, at one point or another, done time.

Excerpted from The Slip by Lucas Schaefer. Copyright © 2025 by Lucas Schaefer. Excerpted by permission of Simon & Schuster. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.