with These Hands (Ss) (2002) (2 page)

The dark man looked at him. "You was expectin' us?"

"Yes," Flash said. "When I had to slug your friend, I expected there would be trouble. So I called the D. A.'s office."

"You did what?" There was consternation in the man's voice.

"He's bluffing, Rice," one of the men said. "It's a bluff."

"We'll see!" Rice's eyes gleamed with cunning. "Tell us what the D. A.'s number is."

Flash felt a sudden emptiness inside.

"It was ..." He scowled, as if trying to remember... "It was seven ... something."

"No," Ruth Connor said suddenly. "Seven was the second number. It was three-seven-four-four-seven."

Rice's eyes dropped to the girl, swept her figure with an appraising glance.

"Okay," he said, his eyes still on the girl. "Check it, Polack."

The man addressed, biggest of the three, turned to the phone book, and leafed through it quickly. He looked up.

"Hey, boss," he said triumphantly. "He's wrong, the number is different."

"It was his home phone," Ruth said, speaking up. "He called him at home. No one is in the office at this time of the night."

Rice stared at her. "You're buttin' in too much, babe," he said. "If I were you, I'd keep my trap shut."

The Polack came over, carrying the book.

"She's right, Rice. It's Grade three-seven-four-fourseven!"

Rice stared at Moran, his eyes ugly. "We'll be waitin', see? I know your name is Reilly."

"My name is Reilly Moran," Flash said. "Just so you know where to look."

"Flash Moran?" Rice's eyes widened and his face went white. "... who fights Barnaby the day after tomorrow?"

"Right," Moran said, surprised at the effect of his name.

Rice backed up hurriedly.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

Without another word, the three hoodlums turned and hurried out.

For a full minute, Moran stared after them. Now what was up? No man with a gun in his pocket is going to be afraid of a fighter. If they'd been afraid they wouldn't have come. They could tell by what he did to the first man that he was no pantywaist. Moran shook his head in bewilderment and sat down.

Ruth and the other girl were staring at Moran.

"Thanks," he said. "That was a bad spot. I had no idea what the district attorney's number was."

"So you're Flash Moran, the prizefighter?" Ruth Connor said slowly. There was a different expression in her eyes.

"Why were those men so frightened when they heard your name?"

"They weren't," he said. "I can't understand why they acted that way." He stood up. "I guess I'd better be taking you home. It isn't safe now."

They stood up.

"Don't bother," Ruth Connor said, "I'm calling for my own car." She held out her hand. "It's been nice."

He looked into her eyes for a moment, then he felt something go out of him.

"All right," he said. "Good night."

He turned and walked swiftly outside.

Dan Kelly was sitting up in the armchair when Moran came into the apartment that they'd rented, his wife was already in bed. The old trainer looked up at him out of his shrewd blue eyes. He didn't have to look long.

"What's the matter?"

Briefly, Moran told him. At the end, Kelly whistled softly.

"Dixie Rice, was it? He's bad, son. All bad. I didn't know Rice was working for Blackie. Times have changed."

Moran looked at him. "I wonder who that girl was?" he mused. "She was beautiful! The loveliest girl I ever saw."

"She knew the D. A.'s number?" Dan scowled. "Might be a newspaper reporter."

"Well, what about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? You skip rope three rounds, shadowbox three rounds, and take some body exercise. That's all.

Then rest all you can."

In the morning, Flash Moran slept late. It was unusual for him, but he forced himself to stay in bed and rest. Finally, he got up and shaved. It would be his last shave before the fight. He always went into the ring with a day's growth of beard.

He was putting away his shaving kit when there was a rap on the door. Dan Kelly had gone, and Moran was alone. He hesitated only an instant, remembering Blackie Marollo, then he stepped over and opened the door. It was hardly open before a man stepped in and closed it behind him.

"Well?" Moran said. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Soldier Barnaby, Flash." For an instant, Flash looked at him, noting the hard, capable face, the black hair and swarthy cheeks, the broad, powerful shoulders, and the big hands. The Soldier pulled a chair over and sat astride of it. "We got to have a talk."

"If you want to work it, don't talk to me. I don't play the game. I just fight."

The Soldier grinned. "I fight, too. I don't want a setup.

Not exactly."

He was studying Moran coolly. "You know," he said.

"You'll make a good champ-if you play it on the level."

He hesitated a moment. "You know Blackie Marollo?"

Flash Moran's eyes hardened a little. "Sure. Why?"

"Marollo's got something on my wife." The Soldier leaned forward. "She's a square kid, but she slipped up once, and Blackie knows it. If I don't do what he says, he's going to squeal. It means my wife goes to the pen ... I got two kids."

"And what does he want?"

"Marollo says I go down before the tenth round. He says I take it on the chin. Not an easy one, as he wants it to be the McCoy."

Flash Moran sat down suddenly. This explained a lot of things. It explained why Marollo was watching him. It explained why, when they found out who he was, the gangsters had backed out of beating him up.

"Well, why see me?" Moran asked. "What can I do?"

"One thing-don't stop me before the tenth, even if you get a chance."

"Not before the tenth? But I thought you said it was in the tank?"

"I talked it over with the wife. I told her I was going sooner or later anyway, that you were a good kid and would make a good champ, and that I'd sooner you had it than the others. I knew you were on the level, knew Dan was, too.

"But she said, nothing doing. She said that she'd take the rap rather than see this happen. That if I lose this fight for Blackie, he'll force me to do other things. Eventually, I'll have to kill him or become a crook.

"She told me to come and see you. She said that not only must I not take a dive, but there mustn't be any chance that he'd think I took it.

"Then she asked me if I could beat you." Barnaby looked at Flash Moran and grinned. "Well, you know how fighters are. I told her I could! Then she asked me if it was a cinch and I told her no, that the betting was wrong. It should be even money, or you a slight favorite. You're six years younger than me, and you are coming up. I'm not.

That makes a lot of difference."

Flash Moran looked at the floor. He could see it all. This quiet, simple man, talking quietly with his wife over the breakfast table, and deciding to do the honest thing.

"Then you want me to ease up on you in case I have you on the spot?" he said slowly. "That's a lot to ask, Soldier. You aren't going to be easy, you know. You're tough. Lots of times it's easier to knock a man out in the first round than any other time in the fight. Get him before he's warmed up."

"That's right. But you ain't going to get me in the first, kid. You might tag me about eight or nine, though. That's what I want to prevent.

"You see, the thing that makes guys like Marollo dangerous is money. They got money to buy killers. Well, I happen to know that Marollo has his shirt on this fight. He figures it's a cinch. He knows I'm crazy about my wife. He doesn't know that she'd do anything rather than let me do something dishonest. One bad mark against the family is enough, she says. But if we can make Marollo lose, we got a chance."

Flash Moran nodded. "I see. Yes, you've got something, all right."

"I think I can beat you, Moran. I'm honest about that. If I can, I will. I came because I'm not so dumb as to believe I can't lose."

"Okay." Moran stood up. "Okay, it's a deal. They want you down before the tenth. I won't try to knock you out until the eleventh round. No matter how hard it is, I'll hold you up!"

The Soldier grinned. "Right, then it's every man for himself." He thrust out his hand. "Anyway, Flash, no matter who wins, Blackie Mar olio loses. Okay?"

"Okay!"

When Barnaby was gone, Flash Moran sat down and pulled on his shoes. It might be a gag. It might be a stall to get him to lay off. It would be good, all right. They all knew he was a fast starter. They all knew his best chance would be quick.

Yet Barnaby's story fitted the situation too well. It was the only explanation for a lot of things. And, he remembered, both Marollo and McKracken had been talking the impossibility of a knockout. That would be right in line.

They would do all they could to inspire confidence in the fight going the distance, and then bet that it wouldn't go ten rounds.

He took his final workout, and then left the gym. It was late afternoon, and he walked slowly down the street.

He'd never worked a fight. It wasn't going to be easy, for all his life he had thrown his punches with purpose. Well, he thought ruefully, it would probably take him all of ten rounds to take the Soldier, anyway.

Suddenly, he remembered . . . the Soldier had made no such promise in return.

He turned a corner, and found himself face-to-face with Ruth Connor, walking alone.

Her eyes widened as she saw him, and she made as if to pass, but he stopped her.

"Hello," he said. "Weren't you going to speak?"

"Yes," she said. "I was going to speak, but I wasn't going to stop."

"You don't approve of fighters?" he asked, quizzically.

"I approve of honest ones!" she said and turned as if to go by. He put his hand on her sleeve.

"What do you mean? I'm an honest fighter, and always have been."

She looked at him.

"I'd like to believe that," she said sincerely, "I really would. But I've heard your fight tonight was fixed."

"Fixed? How was it supposed to go? What was to happen?"

"I don't know. I heard my uncle talking to some men in his office, and they were discussing this fight, and one of them said it was all framed up,"

"You didn't hear anything else?" he asked.

"Yes, when I come to think of it, I did! They said you were to win by a knockout in the twelfth round."

"In the twelfth?" he asked, incredulous. "Why, that doesn't make sense."

She glanced at her watch.

"I must go," she said quickly. "It's very late "

"Ruth!"

"Yes?"

"Will you reserve your opinion for a few hours? A little while?"

Their eyes met, then she looked away.

"All right. I'll wait and see." She looked back at him again, then held out her hand. "In the meantime-good luck!"

Reilly Moran walked all the way back to the hotel and told Dan Kelly the whole story.

Kelly was puzzled.

"Gosh, kid! I can't figure it. The setup looks to me like a double double-cross anyway you look at it. Maybe the story about Barnaby's wife is all hokum. Maybe it ain't true. It sounds like Blackie Marollo all right. I don't know what to advise you. I'd go out and stop him quick, only we know you've got blamed small chance of that."

"Supposing the fight went the distance ... all fifteen rounds?" Flash said thoughtfully. "Suppose I didn't stop him?"

"Then neither way would pay off and the average bettor would come out on top. That's not a bad idea, but hard, Flash, damned hard to pull off."

The preliminaries were over before Flash Moran walked into the coliseum. He went to his dressing room and began bandaging his hands. It was a job he always did for himself, and a job he liked doing. He could hear the dull roar of the crowd, smell the strong smell of wintergreen and the less strong, but just as prevalent, odor of sweatsoaked leather.

Dan Kelly worked over him quietly, tying on his gloves, and Sam Goss gathered up the bucket and the bottles.

Flash Moran never had felt like this about a fight before.

When he climbed through the ropes, hearing the deepthroated roar of the crowd, he knew that something was wrong. It was, he was sure, stemming from his own uncertainty.

All he'd ever had to do was to get in there and fight.

There had been no other thought but to win. Tonight his mind was in turmoil. Was Soldier Barnaby on the level?

Or was he double-crossing him as well as Marollo?

What if he threw over his bargain and stopped the Soldier quick? That would hit the customers who were betting against a quick knockout hard. It would make money for Blackie Marollo. On the other hand, he would be betraying his promise to Barnaby.

When they came together in the center of the ring, he stared at the floor. He could see Barnaby's feet, and the strong, brown muscular ankles and calves. Idly, he remembered what Dan Kelly had told him one day.