Monster Man (Fight Card)

by Jack Tunney

  ***

  The walk back to the flophouse from Vicky’s place had not been direct. Ben had wandered the residential blocks off Mamaroneck Avenue in a snaking, meandering pattern before finding his way back to the avenue and, finally, his bed.

  Even then he couldn’t sleep. Instead, Ben laid on his back, his pillow and left hand under his head, his wrapped right hand on his chest, staring at the ceiling while the events of the past two weeks warred in his mind.

  He thought about his feelings for Vicky. He didn’t have much with which to compare them as his experiences with women had been very limited. However, he was pretty sure he loved her, and positive he was an idiot sap for doing so.

  With her son at stake, he understood her doing what she had to do to survive. Was it really any different in the long run than what he and Pete did to survive? Even if it wasn’t about her son, even if she just liked fighters, money and sex, was that so wrong? Perhaps it was in some people’s books, but those were usually the same people who had far worse things to hide.

  In reality, Ben knew it had to be about her son. He’d seen it from the ring. The kid was the prize in the literal tug of war occurring in the aisle between Joe and Vicky. And it made sense. Vicky knew fighters and she knew how to be a woman. Probably knew from the time she was of age if not before. And she was an actress, even if only a crummy one. A Hollywood bit player who knew more about how to be someone else, how to deceive someone else, than how to actually be herself.

  But Ben himself was in Mamaroneck to deceive. Even if he didn’t believe Vicky’s story about the boy, which he did, he hadn’t returned the favor by telling her about his scam with Pete.

  If the incident with Sharp and the big ox hadn’t led where it did, Vicky would have carried right on with her scam. She would have bet on Ben to beat Lance Jackson and then been a victim of Ben’s scam when he took a dive.

  Was this something to feel guilty about in light of what he learned? Ben suspected most people, especially Pete, would say no, but it didn’t stop him from feeling exactly that way.

  If Vicky was sleeping her way through Joe’s fighters to make money, at least it was for a noble reason, even if she put herself in the spot by getting pregnant and falling in with Joe in the first place. Those things were certainly her choosing. Maybe they were reason enough for Ben to stay away from her, but he only knew her, had only met her, because he was in town to pull a scam with Pete.

  Another in a long line of scams. Ben had made his own choices.

  Pete was another St. Vincent’s boy. St. Vincent’s boys stick together, Father Tim always said. Pete was one of the only boys in the asylum who never got the hang of using his fists. Too small, maybe. Too weak? Maybe too smart. For whatever reason, Ben had always looked after Pete, before the war and since. Pete had always returned the favor in the ways he could.

  Especially after Albuquerque.

  The scam was Pete’s baby. His conception in every detail. Ben went along with it because it kept them three steps ahead of anything that would have followed them out of Albuquerque.

  Including legitimate success, comfort and a place to call home.

  As if being with Vicky could ever be called home. Ben wouldn’t know her if it wasn’t for the scam. It was things like the scam and people like Joe who put someone like him next to another scammer like Vicky.

  Vicky. Who, for one night had been his Victoria.

  Maybe she could be again, but did he want her to be? Did she even want him? Ben flinched internally. He was no better than she was. He was a con artist like she was. He was a broken person like she was. He was someone without anyone else like she was.

  He realized it was why he loved her.

  If that’s what it was.

  There had to be a way. If not to make everything the way he wanted it to be, at least he could turn the scam back on itself and use it the way he wanted it to be used. And it was that idea which drove him to confront Pete.

  ***

  “I don’t want to throw the fight,” Ben said.

  Pete looked confused. “What?”

  “Against Jackson.” Ben folded his hands over his chest. “I don’t want to throw it. I want to beat him.”

  “Well, that’s not the plan.” Pete shrugged. “You know that’s not the plan.”

  “It’s my plan.” Ben’s face was relaxed and expressionless. “It’s what I plan to do.”

  Pete sat on the bed, shaking his head. “Is this about the broad? C’mon. If that’s the sort of thing you’re interested in, you can have one in every town we hit.” He laughed a little, hollow laugh. “Two even.”

  Ben steepled his index fingers. The right one hurt. “Joe tell you he turns girls out? That he turned this girl out while he keeps her kid as collateral? That he keeps upping the interest so she never gets square?” He peered at Pete over his fingertips. “He tell you that?”

  “No.” Pete’s shaking head rattled his cheeks. “No, he didn’t tell me any of that. We talk about fights and money, that’s it. I think I’ve had four conversations with the guy and none of ‘em were about the dame or her kid.”

  “Well.” Ben sat up straight. “That’s what he’s doing and it’s messed up.” He cleared his throat. “If I can beat Jackson and become the champ here, I can call some shots, make some real money. Maybe get this girl her kid back.”

  Pete’s palms pressed the sides of his face. “Are you nuts? Tell me this is a joke.” He got up, hands on his hips. “This is craziness you’re saying to me. This is not what we do.”

  Ben folded his arms. “It’s what I want to do. Now.”

  “Well, forget it.” Pete pointed somewhere. “Forget her. Ben, please. This is crazy. I know we’ve had a few bumps in the road on this one, but we’re still in a good spot to get what we gotta get and move on.” He shuffled to the corner of the bed closest to Ben and sat down. He put a hand on Ben’s knee. “That’s what I need you to do.”

  Ben looked Pete. “I thought this is how you might feel, so I have an alternative.”

  “Okay.” Pete smiled. “Now you’re talking sense.”

  “We carry out the plan as usual.”

  “That’s my boy.”

  “And then we give Victoria the money.”

  Back on his feet, Pete paced the little room, squeezing his forehead between a thumb and pinkie. “Okay, Ben, now you listen up because I’m only going to say this once.” He wheeled on Ben and waved a finger between them. “We are St. Vincent’s boys, yeah? Father Tim’s boys. Father Tim’s boys stick together is what he always said, right? Together. We’ve been on the road together doing this thing for a while now, and you know I was with you, helping you out, long before that, too. Right?” He stomped his foot. “Right?”

  Ben allowed him a single nod. “Right.”

  “Okay, so now we got that established, please believe me when I tell you there is no way in hell I’m going to let the fruits of my labor, or yours, go to some two-bit townie whore who couldn’t find her way to the closet for a hanger. You got that?”

  Ben jumped up and drove a left hook into Pete’s belly. Breathless, Pete collapsed onto his side and stayed there, fetal. Ben stood over him. “When you look back on this, try to figure out where it was you went too far.”

  ROUND THIRTEEN

  The next day, Ben did some road work, ate lunch in a little cranny at the end of Mamaroneck Avenue and then did more roadwork. He walked back along the avenue and watched Johnny O’Hara huff and puff in front of a heavy bag before he grabbed a drink in the bar. Even then, it took several looks over both shoulders and a nap in his room before Ben decided what to do next.

  Once the sun was well on its way out of town, Ben put on his darkest clothes, made sure no one was in the hall and eased his way down the steps to the flophouse lobby. He made sure the pile of worthless goo behind the desk was looking the other way, slipped past the pillar, keeping it between him and the desk, then ran out the front door. Once on the street, he bypassed Mamaro
neck Avenue and headed south along the Post Road before he could duck into the side streets.

  The lights in the front room of Vicky’s house were off, but the upstairs light, perhaps the bedroom lamp, remained lit.

  Ben thought about trying to get her attention from the yard – whispering, tossing up a pebble, something, but crossed to the front door instead. He peered through the little window in it. He couldn’t see anything but black inside. He froze when a car passed by on the street, then, facing the street, he tried the knob with his left hand.

  It turned easily and the door opened.

  Creeping forward, Ben kept his eyes on the street and the yard until he eased into the house. He slowly closed the door, locked it and felt around with his left for a light switch. It was to the left of the door. He flipped it.

  The sitting room looked exactly as it had when he last saw it. The coffee table was still where he’d thrown it. Sharp’s blood still stained the carpet in spots and streaks, only now it was dry, dark and flakey. Ben was standing in the little patch of it Vicky had stepped over the night before.

  His gaze darting to every door and window, Ben stepped into the center of the room. A light shone from the top of the steps. He called Vicky’s name in a harsh whisper, then a harsher whisper. Then he did it with his hands cupped over his mouth. No answer.

  Ben crossed to the staircase, watched the front door for a few seconds, then ascended the steps with his wrapped right hand on the banister. At the top, a dark hallway extended to his right. He couldn’t quite see to the end, but the light coming from his left lit enough of the fixtures for him to guess that way lay the bathroom. There were two more closed doors along the far wall between him and the bathroom.

  The door on Ben’s left was open. That’s where the light emanated. He glanced down at the front door one more time, then stepped toward the light.

  It was a bedroom. The two closets and most of the drawers were open. All of them were empty.

  Ben looked in a few of them, opened one of the drawers, but there was no evidence to dissuade him from the obvious conclusion. He sat on a corner of the bed, put his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. He sat, just like that, shaking his head.

  That’s when he noticed the envelope with his name on it sitting right next to him on the bed.

  A note from Vicky.

  She confirmed she’d left, and wouldn’t be coming back, at least not anytime soon. She hated leaving her son, but she didn’t see any other way to continue her life in Mamaroneck. She vowed to return someday to reclaim her son once she had a home for him and enough money to get him away from Joe.

  She wrote that things had been different with Ben than they’d been with any other fighter, but she knew he’d never believe it. She thanked him for what he did to Sharp.

  There were some other words about fighting on and being a champion, but Ben stopped reading and just sat with the note in both hands. He scanned the rest of it and read parts of it over again, but didn’t find the word love written anywhere on the paper.

  Ben still sat on the bed, staring at Vicky’s note, when the big ox who’d been with Sharp the night before and two thugs just like him rushed into the room. They grabbed Ben’s arms and, even though he didn’t resist, blackjacked him across the temple.

  ***

  The chain lock.

  When Ben next became conscious, the image of Vicky’s front door, locked but unchained, filled his head before he even opened his eyes.

  If the big ox and his pals wanted to get him, they would have come through the door, chain or no chain. But with the chain in place, they would have made some noise when they forced it, noise he might have been able to hear to escape or to prepare for a fight instead of getting caught sitting on Vicky’s bed like a stooge with her note in his hand.

  Ben’s thoughts might have continued to weave a tapestry of ironic conspiracy from yarns of chain and paper, but his mouth, nose and esophagus were suddenly full of water. He choked, his body jerking. His eyes fluttered open, becoming awash in light.

  “Hey, you’re awake.”

  Ben’s awareness spread to his limbs. He was on his back, on carpet. Rather thick carpet. He shielded his eyes from the bright, bare bulb mounted on the ceiling and sat up using only his abs. His right hand was still wrapped, but the elastic was fraying at the edges. The hand underneath the wrapping pulsed along with his heart.

  Ben blinked the light spots out of his eyes. He was in a sitting room, but not Vicky’s.

  This one had dark green walls and red furniture with black accents. The carpet he sat on was huge and lush. A harsh, gray stone fireplace on the wall ahead of him had a marlin mounted above it. The two chairs to either side of the hearth looked like red leather. A much simpler, black wooden chair stood on the carpet between him and the fireplace, facing him.

  “We’re over here, friend.”

  Ben put his left hand in the carpet and used it to twist around to one knee.

  Joe sat in a bigger, deeper, red leather chair at the other end of the room. The big ox from Vicky’s stood at his right shoulder, another just like him, but older with a bigger nose, stood on Joe’s left.

  Wrapped tight in an olive green robe over dark red pajama bottoms with black slippers, Joe put his arms on the chair arms and leaned forward a bit. “Sleep well? You’ve been out a while.”

  The oxen snorted their amusement.

  “About the same as the flop,” Ben said. He remained on one knee.

  “Heh.” Joe nodded. “Nice comeback.” He crossed his legs with a hint of strain and sat back. “Here’s the thing…You kind of screwed up one of the best rackets I had going. You also ruined my best guy for me with his own knife.” He looked at his nails, then over them at Ben. “Got to pay for that.”

  The original big ox shifted in his pinstripes.

  Ben glanced at the area behind Joe – a dining room with one black chair missing from the table.

  Ben pushed to his feet. He turned his back to Joe and stepped to the simple black chair on the carpet in front of the fireplace. No fire burned in it and no tools for stoking a fire near it. Ben gritted his teeth, then turned back to Joe and extended a hand, palm up, to the black chair. “This for me?”

  Joe nodded. “Please.”

  “Thanks.” Ben sat down like a man thrice his age. He folded his arms over his chest, careful to keep his right tucked away. “I don’t understand. You said I ruined your racket. That mean I’m not fighting Jackson?”

  “It means…” Joe folded his hands. “On account of you, I’ve got a kid upstairs that’s about the most useless piece of coercion in the history of blackmail.”

  Ben shrugged. “Kinda think she took off more on account of you than she did me.”

  “Oh.” Joe glanced at his herd. “That right?”

  “Hey.” Ben turned up his palms. “If I’m already in trouble, why not be honest?”

  “You like honesty? Well, here’s some honesty.” Joe switched legs and brushed at something on his pajamas. “Since the kid is useless to me now and I’m still owed what I gotta get, the broad’s debt is on you, Harman. How’s that for honest?”

  Ben’s face twisted and wrinkled. “But I don’t even want the kid.”

  Joe squeezed one of the leather chair’s arms. The oxen grumbled and stirred, but Joe’s growl kept them in place. “No, I don’t guess you do. You’re a little too…” His gaze searched the ceiling. “Rondo Creeper to be a daddy.”

  Ben’s ears and cheeks flared.

  “That’s right,” Joe said. I know you got that disease. You and Carnera, only you ain’t ever going to be heavyweight champ.”

  Ben’s arms dropped to his chair’s arms. “No.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen here.” Joe rubbed his fingers across his opposite palm. “You’re gonna do exactly what I tell you in the ring, or wherever else, until your debt is paid in full.”

  Joe glanced at his big cronies, then nodded at Ben. “These boy
s will show you to your new room.”

  The brutes started forward, the original ox with his blackjack, the other one slipping big brass knuckles over his frozen chicken hand.

  Ben thought of fighting them, of course, of trying to get away, but there was no telling how big a herd there was between him and freedom.

  Even if he got away, he had no idea where he was. Mamaroneck still? Probably. But if not, how far could be get without so much as a bearing. And if they were still in town, he knew by now Joe had the ability to make him a fugitive with a phone call.

  Almost no chance he could get away, but then he wasn’t sure if he wanted to get away.

  While the harbingers of his virtual enslavement stomped across the room with a blackjack and knucks, Ben’s mind swirled with a mix of two images...

  The first, a jagged scar cutting across a beautiful face from ear to mouth…

  The second, two little wrists pulled in opposite directions…

  Ben slipped from his chair and stepped behind it, putting it between him and the toughs. “Hold it, Joe. Hold it.”

  “All right.” Joe shrugged.

  The thugs halted their advance.

  Ben put both hands on the back of the black chair. “I have a counteroffer.”

  Joe smiled. “Mine wasn’t so much an offer as it was a way of life, but...” He waved at Ben. “Go ahead.”

  Ben cleared his throat. “First, we forget about this debt. As far as I’m concerning, that went away when Vicky left town and let you keep her collateral.

  “Which I don’t even want.” Joe’s eyes hooded. “I don’t like this so far.”

  “Hang on.” Ben pointed overhead somewhere. “I know a place where the boy can still have a chance. It’s in Chicago.” He licked his lips. “If I can beat Lance Jackson and become the champ here, you agree to send him there.”

  Joe shook his head, lips twisted. “Still don’t like it.”

  “And.” Ben showed him his left index finger. “Once the boy is safely away, I’ll fight for you for nothing, for as long as I can stand.” He gripped the back of the chair with both hands. The right one flared with pain running up to his elbow.