"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.
"Remember, kid, anytime you see two fighters meet in the center of the ring, and one of them looks at the other one, or tries to look him in the eye, bet on the other guy.
The fellow who looks at his opponent is uncertain."
They wheeled and trotted back to their corners, and then the bell rang.
He went out fast and led with a left. It landed, lightly, and he stepped in and hooked. That landed solidly and he took a left himself before he tied the Soldier up. This preliminary sparring never meant anything. It was just one of those things you had to go through.
Barnaby was hard as nails, he could see that, and fast on his feet. ... A blow exploded on Moran's chin and he felt himself reel, falling back against the ropes.
The Soldier was coming in briskly, and Moran rolled away, straightened up, and then stopped Barnaby's charge with a pistonlike left. He stepped in, took a hard punch, but slipped another and smashed a wicked right to the heart.
He was inside then and he rolled with the punch and hooked his left to the ribs, and then with his head outside the Soldier's right he whipped his own right to Barnaby's head.
It was fast, that first round, and both men were punching.
No matter what happened later, Moran decided, he was still going to soften Barnaby up plenty.
When the bell ran
g for the second, Flash Moran ran out and missed a left then fell into a clinch. As they broke, he hooked twice to the Soldier's head, but the Soldier got inside with a right. Moran smashed both hands to the body and worked around. The Soldier fought oddly, carried himself in a peculiar manner.
It was midway through the third when Flash figured it out. The Soldier was a natural southpaw who had been taught to fight right-handed. His stance was still not quite what a natural right-hander's would be, but the training had left him a wicked two-handed puncher.
Soldier Barnaby was crowding the fight now and they met in mid-ring and started to swap it out.
Outside the ropes all was a confused roar. With the pounding of that noise in Moran's ears and the taste of blood in his mouth, he felt a wild, unholy exhilaration as they slugged for all they were worth.
The first seven rounds went by like a dream. It was, he knew, a great fight. Those first seven rounds had never given the crowd a chance to sit down, never a chance to stop cheering. It was almost time for the bell, time for the eighth.
He got up eager to be going, and suddenly, out of the ringside seats, beyond the press benches, he saw Blackie Marollo. The gambler was sitting back in his seat, his eyes cold and bitter. Beside him was McKracken, his big face ugly in the dim light.
Before the tenth.
He remembered the Soldier's words. Would Barnaby weaken and take a dive? And if he got a chance, should Moran knock him out?
The bell sounded for the eighth and they both came out slower. Both men were ready, and they knew that this was a critical time in the fight. As Barnaby stepped forward, Flash looked him over coolly. The older fighter had a lump on his cheekbone. Otherwise, he was unmarked. That brown face seemed impervious, seemed granite-hard. How like the old Dempsey, Barnaby looked! The shock of dark curly hair, the swarthy, unshaven face, the cold eyes.
Moran circled warily. He didn't like the look of things.
What if the Soldier stopped him before the tenth? How was Marollo's money bet, anyway? Was it bet on a knockout before the tenth? Or on~Moran to stop Barnaby?
Barnaby came in fast, landed a hard left to the head, then a right. Moran started to sidestep, his foot caught and for an instant he was off balance. He saw the Soldier's left start and tried to duck but caught the blow on the corner of the jaw. It spun him halfway around. Then, as Barnaby, his eyes blasting with eagerness, closed in, he caught a left to the body and a right to the chin. He felt himself hit the ropes and slide along them. Something exploded in his face and he went down on his knees in his own corner.
Through a haze of roaring sound, he stared at the canvas, his head spinning. He got one foot on the floor, shook his head, and the mists cleared a little. At the same instant, his gaze fell upon Marollo. The racketeer's face was white.
He was half out of his chair, screaming.
At the count of nine, something happened to his legs and they straightened him up. As the Soldier charged, Moran ducked a driving right and clinched desperately. The referee fought to get them free. When they broke, Moran stabbed the Soldier with a stiff left to the mouth that started a trickle of blood down his face, then crossed hard right to the chin and the startled Soldier took a step back.
But he slipped the next left and came in, slamming both hands to Moran's body. Smiling grimly, Moran stabbed three times to Barnaby's split lip, stepped in, and hooked high and low with the left.
Barnaby's eyes were wild now. He charged with a volley of hooks, swings, and uppercuts that drove Flash Moran back and back. Moran got on his bicycle, fled along the ropes, and circled into the center of the ring, where he feinted with a right. As Barnaby came in, Flash Moran crossed his right to the chin.
The blow caught the Soldier coming forward and knocked him back on his heels. Moran followed it up fast and staggered Barnaby with a left, then stabbed another left to the mouth and crossed a hard right which caught the Soldier high on the head. Barnaby staggered and almost went down. Clinching, the Soldier hung on. At last he broke and tried a wild swing to the head. It missed, but the next caught Moran on the chin.
He went down-hard!
The bell sounded as Moran was getting up. Flash turned and walked back to his corner. He was dead tired, tired and mad clear through. Two knockdowns! It was the first time he had ever been off his feet!
"How's it, kid? Hurt?"
"No. Just mad."
Kelly grinned. "Don't worry. This round coming up will be yours. Lots of left hands now, and watch that left of his."
The gong sounded. They both came out fast and the Soldier bored in. Flash Moran needled Barnaby's mouth with a left jab, then put a left to the body and one to the head. He sidestepped quickly to the right and missed with a right hand.
Now Flash Moran got up on his toes and began to box.
He boxed neatly and fast. He piled up points. He kept the Soldier off balance and rocked him with a couple of stiff right hands.
For two and a half minutes of the ninth round, he outboxed the Soldier and piled up points. Barnaby had taken the eighth by a clear margin. The two knockdowns had seen to that.
As for himself, Moran knew he had won the first round and the seventh, while the Soldier had taken the second, third, and fourth. The fifth and sixth were even. It left the Soldier with a margin toward the decision; those knockdowns would stick in the judges' minds.
Moran stabbed in with a left, crossed a right, and then suddenly spotted a beautiful shot for the chin.
He let it go-right down the groove!
And then something smashed against his jaw like the concussion of a six-inch shell. Again he went down, hard.
X jf The first thing he heard was five. Someone was saying "i "five." No, it was six ... seven ... eight...
Moran did a push-up with his hands and lunged for; ward like the starter in a hundred-yard dash.
| The Soldier was ready He set himself, and Flash could |; see the fist coming. It had to miss, had to miss, had to--
I | miss!
He brought up hard against the Soldier's body, tied him |: up, and smashed two solid rights to Barnaby's midsection [-; as the round ended.
- He wheeled, ran to his corner, and sat down. As he sat he saw a small, wiry man sitting next to McKracken get up and slip out along the aisle.
A moment later the little man was in the Soldier's corner.
Flash Moran sat up. He shook his head, felt the blast of the smelling salts under his nose and the coolness of the water on the back of his neck. Dan Kelly wasn't talking.
He was looking at Moran. Then he spoke.
"All right, kid? Got enough?"
Moran grinned suddenly.
"I'm just getting started! I'm going to stop this lug!"
He went out fast at the bell, feinted a left and crossed a solid right to the head. He hooked a left, and the Soldier clinched.
"To the devil with it, kid!" Barnaby said in his ear. "I'm going into the tank. Marollo will kill me if I don't!"
Flash Moran fought bitterly, swapping punches in the clinch with the Soldier, then the referee broke them apart.
Suddenly, Flash Moran knew what Barnaby had said couldn't be true. The Soldier was too good a man. What if Barnaby had tried to double-cross him? What if-he stabbed a left to the Soldier's mouth, smashed both hands to the body, and then went inside and clinched.
"You dive and I squeal the whole thing!" he muttered.
"I won't let you dive! I'll talk right here, from the ring. If you go out during the round, I'll spill it right here."
"Marollo would kill you, too!" Barnaby snarled. They broke, sparred at long range, and Flash Moran let go with a right. Even as the punch started, he knew the Soldier was going to take it. The punch was partially blocked, and Barnaby began to wilt.
Like a streak Moran closed in and clinched, heaving him back against the ropes.
"I told you!" Moran muttered. "Fight, you yellow skunk!
Real fighters don't dive!"
Barnaby broke lo
ose, his eyes cold. He stabbed a left to the mouth, crossed a right, and Flash went inside with both hands to the body. He staggered Barnaby with a left, and knocked him into the ropes. As they rolled along the ropes, the Soldier tried to fall again, but Flash brought him up with a left just as the bell sounded. At this moment, Moran looked over the Soldier's shoulder right into Marollo's eyes.
Blackie Marollo was looking like a very sick man.
McKracken, his big, swarthy face yellow, was also sagging.
Instantly, Moran knew what had happened. They had overbet and they wouldn't be able to pay up!
The bell clanged again, and the referee broke the two fighters and they went to their corners.
The eleventh was quieter. Flash knew nothing would happen in the eleventh. Marollo had frightened the Soldier into trying to dive in the tenth, but the Soldier's money was bet on a dive in the twelfth round.
Flash Moran walked in and feinted to the head, then uppercut hard with a left to the liver. He stepped in a bit more and brought up his right under the Soldier's heart.
He landed two more punches to the body in a clinch and they broke. Moran was body punching now. He slipped a left and rapped a right over Barnaby's heart, then hooked a left. He landed twice more to the body as the bell rang.
The twelfth opened fast. Both men walked to the center of the ring and Moran got in the first punch, a left that started the blood from the Soldier's mouth. As he slipped a left, they began to slug, fighting hard. They battered each other from corner to corner of the ring for two solid minutes. There was no letup. This was hard, bitter, slambang fighting. Suddenly, Barnaby caught a high right and started to fall.
Moran rushed him into the ropes before he could hit the canvas and smashed a right to the head. Angry, Barnaby jerked his head away from a second punch, and slugged Flash Moran in the wind. Moran's mouth fell open as he gasped for breath. As he staggered back, all the fighter in Barnaby came back with a rush. This was victory! He could win!
Seeing a big title fight just ahead of him, Barnaby came in slugging!
with These Hands (Ss) (2002) Page 2