by Jack Tunney
Of course the crowd here at the Excelsior is more a squirrel-masquerading-as-mink than a real fur and diamonds crowd.
And Lola is my diamond. She smiles at me, I smile back. My face wasn’t even bruised up that night. No cold steak over a black eye for me. A night out with my winnings, treating Lola the way she deserves. A double in her highball and desert after the meal.
Two more fights to go that night and she knows the drill. I’ll meet her out front. She can’t make it to the locker rooms and there’s no reason for her to hang around inside to see a bunch of sluggers she doesn’t know.
After my three seconds of glory standing center ring with my fist in the air, Sal takes me down to the locker rooms.
“Real good, kid. Real good,” he says. “You read him like a book.”
Easy for Sal to say. He can’t read no more than I can do Chinese algebra. That part of his head was punched away a long time ago.
We go through our usual post-bout rubdown and there’s not much to talk about since the fight went so well. We don’t talk about what to work on for next time. In fact, there’s no next time scheduled.
“What do we got lined up, Sal? I gotta eat, y’know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, Jimmy.” Sal kept on rubbing, squeezing a little hard like his mind was somewhere else.
“Hey, lay off there, Sal. I won. No need for punishment.”
“Sorry, kid.” He took his hands off me, rubbed them together to get rid of the liniment oil. “I been meaning to talk to you . . .” He trailed off. Not unusual for Sal. He sometimes dropped thoughts like the act of letting them out of his mouth made the whole idea he was trying to communicate slip away.
“Just let me know when we got the next one set, okay, Sal? Maybe after tonight I can get something a little further up the card, y’know?”
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe, Jimmy.”
I hopped off the table and started dressing. “It’s just, well, you know how it is, Sal. How I feel about Lola. You know I been wanting to ask her to marry me. I can’t do it without two nickels to rub together.”
“Yeah, Jimmy. It’s tough times all around.”
Just like Sal to make me feel guilty about wanting the best for Lola. Sal had it rough. Not a dime left from his fight days, and when I go on a three-fight losing streak it makes it hard to secure any kind of purse. And him taking a percentage of what I think isn’t enough to live on? Man, I’m a heel for not thinking about him first.
“I’m sorry, Sal. I know I ain’t been exactly making it easy for you.” Neither had any of his other pugs, but I didn’t want to remind him. Rubbing salt in the wound, y’know?
“Well, you see, Jimmy . . .”
This time he was cut off by a knock at the door. Odd. Not many people made it down the long hall to the locker rooms. Fewer had the politeness to knock.
I looked up, my pants on but unbuttoned and my chest still bare. Through the door came a small man in a fancy suit. Two much bigger men were with him but they stayed outside, bookending the door and looking like they were waiting for something to happen.
“Sal!” the man said. Sal looked down at the concrete floor and sheepishly extended a hand to the well-dressed man.
“Mr. Cardone, good to see you again.”
Cardone shook Sal’s hand but looked past him to me standing by my locker, half dressed.
“This is the guy, huh? Jimmy, right?” He pointed at me and despite the smile on his face it felt like an accusation. “A hell of a bout out there. You really showed that joker what for.”
He brushed past Sal and held out a hand for me to take. I turned and shook with him. The top of Cardone’s head came to my shoulder. It wasn’t until he was right up on me that I noticed exactly how short he was. He carried himself like a much taller man.
He aimed that wagging finger at me again. “I came here tonight with an eye on you. Sal here has told me a lot about you.”
“That right?” I couldn’t figure this guy. He didn’t smell like a promoter. Too much aftershave, not enough sweat. The suit, the vest, the tie clip, pocket watch chain and mirror-shined shoes all said money. But what kind of money?
“I got a fight for you. Next week if you want it.”
“Sure. I want it.” It’s what I’d just been on Sal about, so I couldn’t turn down an offer just because the guy offering it gave me the creeps. “You a promoter? I never seen you around.”
“I’m a promoter of sorts. I put things together. Fights, other things. Entertainments.” He lowered his chin, looked up at me from under the brim of his expensive hat. “I arrange things.”
He was dropping hints and I was catching them.
“How’d you like another one in the win column?” Cardone said with a smile. I caught him sliding an eye down across my bare chest.
“Always.”
“I think I can,” he winked at me. “Arrange that for us.”
I turned to Sal who was still staring at the floor.
“Is this a fix up?” I asked. Why not get it out there? I’m not much for speaking in codes.
“It’s a chance for you to win another one and make a little scratch while you do it.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
For the first time the smile slipped off Cardone’s face. He turned to Sal. “Sal, are we gonna have a problem here?”
Sal didn’t react. Staring at the floor, I figured Sal just didn’t hear him.
“Sal?” he said louder.
Sal finally looked up. “No, no, Mr. Cardone. No problem. We’ll take the fight. No problem.”
The idea of a fix didn’t sit well with me. Even if I came out on the winning side. Plus, I was upset with Sal not telling me beforehand, but I realized he was trying to do so when Cardone came in. Still, it made me wonder how long he’d been planning it.
Cardone turned back to me. “So, kid, we have a deal?”
I looked again at the expensive suit Cardone wore. How much money does a man have to have that makes him carry himself a foot taller than he really is? Must be a lot.
“Did I mention it pays five hundred bucks?” he said.
I felt like I took a glove to the temple. My knees went a little soft. I don’t think he noticed. I learned something about myself right then. I learned I had a price.
FIGHT CARD: SPLIT DECISION
JACK TUNNEY
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