May There Be a Road (Ss) (2001) (22 page)

Now, it is true that we are not too well aware of who this Malone party is, but an enclosed clipping from a Capetown, South Africa, paper shows us a picture entitled BARNSY MALONS, a picture of a fighter whose resemblance to Bat McGowan is striking, to say the least. The accompanying story assures the interested reader that Mr. Malone is headed for pugilistic fame in the more or less Land of the Free.

Can it be possible that this accounts for the startling alterations in the appearance and actions of Bat McGowan? And if so, who knocked out Hamp Morgan? Was it indeed our beloved champion, or was it some guy named Jones, from Peoria, or perhaps Malone, from Capetown?

I wonder, Major Kenworthy, if Bat McGowan has a large ear this morning?

There was a light step behind them as Malone finished reading, and they whirled about to confront Tony Mada.

He smiled.

"Hello, kid, the boss wants to see you."

"Hendryx? Why don't he come over here like he always does?" Ryan demanded. "He knows it's dangerous to have Barney on the streets."

"We got a car, Barney, a closed car. Come on, he's waiting for you."

Ryan was standing by the window, and he turned his head slightly, glancing at the car across the street.

Suddenly his face went deathly white. Behind the wheel was "Shiv" McCloskey, another of Hendryx's muscle men. He had the feeling that Barney Malone was about to disappear, forever.

Malone picked up his hat, straightened his tie.

In the mirror he caught a glimpse of Ryan's face, white and strained. A jerk of the head indicated the car, with McCloskey at the wheel.

Mada was lighting a cigarette.

Without a word, Barney Malone spun on his heel and as Mada looked up, his fist caught the torpedo on the angle of the jaw. Something crunched, and the gunman toppled to the floor. Quickly, Ryan grabbed the automatic from Mada's shoulder holster.

"Come on, kid, we got to scram--"

Suddenly in the door of the room stood Major Kenworthy, Rack Hendryx, Bat McGowan, and two reporters. Kenworthy stepped over to Mada, and then glanced out the window. He turned slowly to Hendryx.

"I don't know quite what this is all about yet, Hendryx," he said dryl "but I'd advise you to call off your dog out there. He might become conspicuous.

It seems'mhe smiled at Ryan and Malone--"that your other shadow has met with an accident."

"Are you Malone?" asked one of the reporters.

"Of course he's Malone," Kenworthy interrupted. "just what else he is, we'll soon find out. But before asking any questions or listening to any alibis, I'm going to speak my piece.

Apparently, Malone"--he eyed Barney's bruised ear--"fighting as the champion, defeated Hamp Morgan. This means"--he looked at Hendryx--"that your ten thousand dollars is forfeit.

Apparently, Malone, you scored ten knockouts while posing as champion. This is all going to be public knowledge, but you and McGowan are going to get a chance to make it right with the fans. A chance I'd not be giving either of you but for the good of the game. You can fight each other for the world's title, the proceeds, above training expenses, to go to charity .. . that, or you can both be barred for life. And if you can also be prosecuted, I'll see that it's done. What do you men say?"

"I'll fight," Barney Malone said. "I'll fight him, and only too willing to do it."

Hendryx agreed, sullenly, for the scowling McGowan.

"Don't miss any guesses, Barney,"

Ruby Ryan whispered. "Watch him all the time. Remember, he won the title, and he can hit. He's dangerous, experienced, and a killer.

He's out for blood and to keep his title. Both of you got everything to fight for. Now, go get him!"

The bell clanged, and Malone stepped from his corner, stabbing a lightning like jab to McGowan's face. McGowan slid under another left and slammed both hands into Malone's ribs with jolting force, then whipped up a torrid right uppercut that missed by a hairsbreadth. Malone spun away, jabbing another left to the chin, and hooking a hard right to the temple that shook McGowan to his heels.

But Bat McGowan looked fit. For two months, he had trained like a demon. Ryan had not been joking when he said that McGowan was out for blood. He crowded in close, Malone clinched, and McGowan tried to butt him, but took a solid punch to the midsection before the break.

McGowan crowded in again, slugging viciously, but Malone was too fast, slipping over a left hook and slamming him on the chin with a short right cross.

Bat McGowan slipped under another left, crowded in close to bury his right in Malone's solar plexus.

Malone staggered, tried to cover up, but McGowan was on him like a tiger, pulling his arms down, driving a terrific right to the side of his head that slammed him back into the ropes. Before he could recover, McGowan was throwing a volley of hooks, swings, and uppercuts, and Malone was battered into a corner, where he caught a stiff left and crashed to the canvas!

He was up at nine, but McGowan came in fast, measured Malone with a left, and dropped him again. Slowly, his head buzzing, the onetime ghost fighter struggled to his knees, and caught a strand of rope to pull himself erect. McGowan rushed in, but was a little too anxious, and Malone fell into a clinch and hung on for dear life.

At the break, McGowan missed a hard right, and the crowd booed. Malone circled warily, boxing.

Bat McGowan crowded in close, but Malone met him with a fast left that cut his eyebrow. Then just before the bell, another hard right to the head put Malone on the canvas again. The gong rang at seven.

"Say, you sap," Ruby Ryan growled in his ear, "who said you couldn't take it? Whatever has been wrong with you is all right. You've taken all he can dish out now. Keep that left busy, and keep this guy at long range and off balance, got me?"

The second round opened fast. Malone was boxing now, using all the cleverness he had. McGowan bored in, then hooked both hands to the head. But Malone took them going away. A short right dropped Bat McGowan to his knees for no count, and then the champion was in close battering away at Malone's ribs with both hands. Just before the bell, Malone staggered the champion with a hard left hook, and then took a jarring right to the body that drove him into the ropes.

Through the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth rounds the two fought like madmen. Toe to toe, they battered away, first one having a narrow lead, then the other.

It was nobody's fight. Bloody, battered, and weary, the two came up for the seventh berserk and fighting for blood. McGowan's left eye was a bloody mess, his lips were in shreds; Malone's body was red from the terrific pounding he had taken, his lip was split, and one eye was almost closed. It had been a fierce, grueling struggle with no likelihood of quarter.

McGowan came out slowly and missed a hard right hook, which gave Malone a chance to step in with a sizzling uppercut that nearly tore the champion's head off! Quickly Malone feinted a left, tried another uppercut, but it fell short as McGowan rolled away, then stepped in, slamming both hands to the body, and then landed a jarring left hook to the head. Slipping away, Malone jabbed a left four times to the face without a return, danced away. McGowan put a fist to Barney's sore mouth, but took a fearful right and left to the stomach in return that made him back up hurriedly, plainly in distress. McGowan swung wildly with a left and right, Malone ducked with ease, and came up with a torrid fight uppercut that stretched the champion flat on his shoulder blades!

McGowan came up at seven and, desperate, swung a wicked left that sank into Malone's body, inches below the belt!

There was an angry bellow from the crowd and a rush for the ring amidst a shrilling of police whistles! But Malone caught himself on the top rope, and as McGowan rushed to finish him, the younger fighter smashed over a driving right to the chin that knocked the champion clear across the ring. Staying on his feet with sheer nerve, Barney Malone lunged across the canvas and met McGowan with a stiff left as he bounded off the ropes, then a terrific right to the jaw and McGowan went down and out, stretched on the canvas like a study in still life!

Ruby Ryan threw Malone's robe across his shoulders, grinning happily. "Well, son, you made it! What are you going to do now?"

Barney Malone carefully raised his head. "A couple more fights. Then I'm goin' back home.." buy a farm up north near Windhoek... find a wife. I need to be in a place where a man can just be himself without having to be someone else first!"

In the press benches, a radio columnist was speaking into the mike: "Well folks, it's all over! Barney Malone is heavyweight champion of the world, after the first major ring battle in recent years in which neither fighter was paid a dime! And"--he glanced over at McGowan's corner, where Hendryx was slowly reviving his fighterm'if Major Kenworthy is asked tomorrow morning whether Bat McGowan has a large ear, he will have to say "Yes," and very emphatically!"

*

Chapter
1

Ponga Jim Mayo walked out on the terrace and stood looking down the winding road that led across the miles to Fortaleza and the Brazilian coast. Behind him the orchestra was rolling out a conga. Under the music he could hear the clink of glasses and the laughter of women.

His broad, powerful shoulders filled the immaculate white dinner coat, and as he walked to the edge of the terrace, he thrust his big, salt-hardened hands into his coat pockets, bunching them into fists.

"It doesn't make sense," he muttered, "something smells."

"What is it, Captain Mayo? What's troubling you?" He knew, even as he turned, that only one woman could have such a voice. Seorita Carisa Montoya had been introduced to him earlier, but he knew well enough who she was. She was visiting from Sao Paulo, and he had met her ships in a score of ports, knew of her mines and ranches. He had been surprised only that she was so young and beautiful.

He shrugged. "Troubling me? I'm curious why the skipper of a tramp freighter is invited here, with this crowd."

He glanced out over the spacious, park like grounds. All about him was evidence of wealth and power.

A little too much power, he was thinking. And the people dancing and talking, they were smooth, efficient, powerful people.

They represented the wealth and ambition of all Latin America.

She smiled as he lit her cigarette. "You seem perfectly at home, Captain," she said, "and certainly, there isn't a more attractive man here."

"At home?" He studied her thoughtfully.

"Maybe, but being invited here doesn't make sense. I had never met Don Pedro Norden before."

"Possibly he has a shipping contract for you,"

Carisa suggested. "With his holdings, shipping is a problem during a war."

"Might be." Ponga Jim was skeptical.

"But with your ships and those of Valdes, he wouldn't need mine."

"You're too suspicious," she told him, smiling. She took him by the arm. "Why don't you ask me to dance?"

They started toward the floor. usplclous. Of course I am, this is wartime."

She glanced at him quickly. "But aren't you a freelancer? A sailor of fortune? I hear you take cargo wherever you choose to go, regardless of the war."

"That's right. But I'm still an American," he said simply. "Even sailors of fortune have their loyalties."

Three men stepped out of a door. One was Don Ricardo Valdes, a shipping magnate from the Argentine.

The other two were strangers. One tall, slightly stooped, middleaged. His gray face was vulpine, his eyes intent and cruel.

The other man was slightly over six feet, but so broad as to seem short. His blond hair was trimmed close in a stiff pompadour, and he had a wide, flat face with a broken nose. He looked like a wrestler, and had actually been a top-notch heavyweight boxer.

"Captain Mayo?" Valdes held out a hand.

"I'd like to present Dr. Felix Von Hardt and Hugh Busch."

Von Hardt's hand was what Mayo expected, careful, and without warmth. Busch had a grip to match his shoulders, and when Ponga Jim met the challenge, strength for strength, the German's face flushed angrily.

"If the seorita will excuse us?" Von Hardt's voice was smooth.

"Of course." Carisa looked at Ponga Jim. "But I'll be expecting you later, Captain. We must have our dance."

When she was gone, Valdes lit a cigarette.

"Captain, we've heard you have an aircraft man eight-passenger ship? We'll give you fifty thousand dollars for it."

The plane was stowed away on the Semiramis at Fortaleza. No one had been aboard but the crew and government officials, so how did these men know of the plane?

"Sorry." Mayo's voice was regretful.

"It's not for sale." Did they know where he got the plane, he wondered? He had taken it, as one of the fortunes of war, from Count Franz Kull, a German espionage agent and saboteur, in New Guinea. It was specially built, an amphibian with a few hidden surprises that the agent had paid dearly for.

"I'll double the price," Valdes said. "One hundred thousand."