I was awake again. Maybe if I could get the money he wouldn’t think I was so bad. “How much does he need?” I asked.
Mamma got to her feet and took the empty plate from in front of me. She went to the sink and began to wash it. “Five hundred dollars,” she said tonelessly over her shoulder, “but it might as well be five million. We can’t get it.”
I stared at her back. Her shoulders were drooping tiredly. There was an air of futility and resignation about her. The fight had gone, the only thing left was the concern of existing from day to day.
Five hundred dollars. Fields should be good for that—easy. He had told me himself that he had booked over four grand on the fight. I looked up suddenly. Mamma was speaking.
It was almost as if she were speaking to herself, though she had turned around and her eyes were on my face. “It was nice even to think about, Blondie. Then maybe things would be again like they were. But it’s no use.”
I got to my feet. My mind was made up. “I’m tired, Ma. I’m going to bed.”
She came toward me and took my hand. “You’ll listen to your father, Danny,” she said gently, her eyes pleading with me. “You’ll give up this fighting business. He means what he said. He swore it all night.”
I wanted to tell her what had happened, but I couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand. There was only one answer I could give her now. “I can’t, Mamma.”
“For my sake then, Blondie,” she begged. “Please. In June you’ll graduate school, then you’ll get a job and everything will work out.”
I shook my head. I looked down at the sheets of notepaper with the figures on them that Mamma had left on the table. That wasn’t the answer. We both knew it. “I can’t quit now, Mamma. I gotta do it.”
As I started from the room, her hand caught at my arm and pulled me toward her. She pressed her hands to the side of my face and looked into my eyes. Fear was mirrored in her face. “But you might be hurt, Danny. Like that boy tonight.” The tears began to spill from her eyes. “I couldn’t stand that.”
I smiled reassuringly at her and caught her head to my chest. “Don’t worry, Mamma,” I said, pressing my lips to her head. “I’ll be all right. Nothing will happen to me.”
Chapter Twelve
I PAUSED in front of the store for a moment, peering through the window. My reflection peered back at me, my hair gleaming with a bluish tinge from the glass that made it almost white. The store was empty, only one man behind the small cages. I walked in.
The man looked up at me. “What d’yuh want, kid?” he asked in a surly voice.
“I want to see Mr. Fields,” I replied.
“Beat it, kid,” the man snapped. “Fields ain’t got no time for punks.”
I stared at him coldly. “He’ll see me,” I said levelly. “I’m Danny Fisher.”
I could see his eyes widen slightly. “The fighter?” he asked, a note of respect coming into his voice.
I nodded. The man picked up a phone and spoke into it quickly. People were beginning to recognize my name. I liked that. It meant I wasn’t a nobody any more. But it wouldn’t last. After the next fight I’d be just another name again, another guy who tried and didn’t make it. I’d be forgotten.
He put down the phone and gestured at the door in the back. “Fields said for you to go right up.”
I turned silently and went through the door. The horse room was empty. It was still morning, too early for the players to be out. I went through it and up the stairway, stopped in front of Fields’s door, and knocked. The door swung open and Ronnie stood there. Her eyes widened and she stepped back.
“Come in,” she said.
I brushed past her into the room. It was empty and I turned back to her. “Where is he, Ronnie?” I asked.
“Shaving. He’ll be out in a minute.” She came toward me quickly. “Spit was up here this morning,” she whispered, her face close to mine. “He told Maxie what you did. Maxie was boiling.”
I smiled. “He’ll get over it, Ronnie.”
Her hand caught at mine. “Last night you called me Sarah. I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“That was last night,” I said in a low voice. “I changed my mind.”
Her eyes dipped into mine. “Danny,” she asked breathlessly, “did you come back on account of me?”
I closed my memory. “Yeah, Ronnie,” I said flatly, shaking off her hand. “For you—and money.”
“You’ll get both,” Fields’s voice boomed from the doorway. I turned toward him as he came into the room. “I said you were a smart boy, Danny. I knew you’d be back.”
He was wearing a lounge robe of pure red silk. It was tied around his big middle with a contrasting blue cord, and yellow pyjama trousers stuck out beneath it. His blue jowls were shiny from the soap, and a big cigar was already clenched between his teeth. He looked as I always thought Maxie Fields would look.
“I hear you pay good, Mr. Fields,” I said quietly. “I came back to see if what I heard was true.”
He dropped into a chair in front of me and looked up into my face. He was smiling, but his eyes hadn’t changed; they remained crafty. “You did a job on Spit,” he said softly, ignoring my statement. “I don’t like my boys handled that way.”
I kept my face impassive. “Spit used to be my friend,” I said slowly. “We did a couple of jobs together. But he broke the contract when he spied on me. I don’t like that from a friend.”
“He was doing what I told him,” Fields said gently.
“That’s okay with me—now,” I said, my voice as gentle as his. “But not before, when he was supposed to be my friend.”
The room was silent except for the sound of Fields sucking on his cigar. I stared into his eyes, wondering what was going on behind them. He was no fool; I knew that. I knew he had understood what I had said. But I didn’t know whether he would buy it.
At last he took a match from his pocket, struck it, and held it to his cigar. “Ronnie, get me some orange juice,” he said between puffs.
Slowly she started from the room. “And get some for Danny too,” he called after her. “That won’t break his training.”
When the door closed behind her, he turned to me, chuckling. “She treat you right?” he asked.
I allowed myself the flicker of a smile to hide the surge of relief coursing through me. “Good enough.”
Fields laughed aloud. “I told her I’d beat hell outta her if she didn’t.”
I dropped into the chair opposite him. “How much?” I asked.
Fields put on a look of pretended innocence. “How much for what?”
“For throwin’ the fight,” I said bluntly.
Fields chuckled again. “Bright boy,” he rasped. “You catch on quick.”
“Sure,” I said caustically, growing more sure of myself. “Mr. Fields don’t waste time unless there’s a buck in it for him. I can do worse than follow him. What’s in it for me?”
Ronnie came back into the room with a glass of orange juice in each hand. Silently she handed one to each of us. I tasted it. It was good. It had the taste that only freshly squeezed oranges could have. It had been a long time since I’d had orange juice. Oranges were pretty expensive. I drained my glass.
Fields was sipping his juice slowly, his eyes watching me appraisingly. Finally he spoke. “What do yuh say to five C’s?”
I shook my head. I was on home grounds. I knew a bargain when I saw one. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
He finished his juice and leaned forward in his seat. “What do you think it’s worth?”
“A grand,” I said swiftly. That would leave him with a clean three according to his words.
He waved his cigar at me. “Seven-fifty. And the doll here.”
“Talk money,” I smiled.
“Seven-fifty’s a lot of dough,” Fields grumbled.
“Not enough.” I told him. “It’s gotta look good. That means I gotta take a helluva beating to make three grand for you
.”
He got to his feet suddenly, came over to my chair, and looked down at me. His hand clapped down on my shoulder heavily. “Okay, Danny,” he boomed. “A grand it is. You get the dough right after the fight.”
I shook my head. “Uh-uh. Half before an half after.”
He laughed aloud and turned to Ronnie. “I told yuh the kid was sharp.” He turned back to me. “Deal. Pick it up the afternoon before the fight. You can come aroun’ the day after for the rest.”
I rose to my feet slowly, keeping my eyes veiled and cautious. I didn’t want him to know how good I felt. “You got yourself a boy, Mr. Fields,” I said, starting for the door. “I’ll be seein’ yuh.”
“Danny.” Ronnie’s voice turned me around. “You’ll be coming back?”
My gaze swung from her to Fields and then back to her. “Sure, I’ll be coming back,” I said carefully. “For the dough!”
Fields’s laughter boomed in the room. “The kid also makes with the fast answer.”
Her face flushed angrily and she took a quick, threatening step toward me, her hand raised to slap me. I caught her arm in mid air and held it tight. For a second we stood staring into each other’s eyes.
My voice was low; it carried only to her ears. “Let it go, Sarah,” I said. “We can’t afford dreams.”
I released my grip and her arm fell slowly to her side. There was something in her eyes that almost seemed like tears, but I wasn’t sure, for she turned her back on me and walked over to Fields. “You’re right, Max,” she said, her back to me. “He is a bright kid. Too bright.”
I closed the door behind me and started down the stairway. Someone was coming up and I stood aside to let him pass. It was Spit.
His eyes were startled as he recognized me. Instinctively his hand shot to his pocket and came out with a switch knife.
I smiled slowly, watching him carefully. “I wouldn’t if I were you, Spit,” I said softly. “The boss might not like it.”
He glanced quickly up at Fields’s door, then back at me. Indecision showed on his face. I didn’t dare take my eyes from him. Suddenly Fields’s voice bellowed out into the hallway: “Goddammit! Spit, where the hell are you?”
Quickly the knife disappeared back into Spit’s pocket. “Comin’, boss,” he called out, and hurried on up the stairs.
I watched him enter Fields’s apartment before I continued down the stairway. It was a bright, clear day and I decided to run over to Nellie’s house. It was early and there might be just enough time for me to see her before she left for work.
And the way I felt, seeing her could do me nothing but good.
Chapter Thirteen
I AWOKE that morning to the drone of my father’s voice. I lay sleepily on the bed, vaguely trying to puzzle out his words. Suddenly I was wide awake. Today was the day. Tomorrow it would be over and I would go back to normal. Back to being a nobody.
I swung my feet over the side of the bed, found my slippers, and stood up, stretching. Maybe it was better so. The old man should be happy then. He would have his dough and I would be through fighting. Then maybe things would be quiet around here. This last week between fights had been hell; Papa had picked on me all the time.
I tied my bathrobe around me and went into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror and fingered my face. No sense in shaving today, it would only leave my skin too tender and easy to cut. I was willing to lose, but I didn’t want to bleed to death into the bargain.
I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and combed my hair. I decided to leave the shower till later this afternoon when I was down at the gym. They had hot water down there. As I went back to my room, the sound of Papa’s voice followed me through the hall. I dressed and went to the kitchen.
Papa’s voice died away as I came into the room. He looked up at me coldly over the rim of his coffee cup.
Mamma hurried over to me. “Sit down and have some coffee.”
Silently I sat down at the table opposite Papa. “Hi, Mimi,” I said as she came into the room. Things were so bad I was even talking to her.
Her smile was warm and genuine. “Hi ya, Champ,” she jested. “You going to win tonight?”
Papa’s fist slammed down on the table. “Goddammit!” he shouted. “Has everybody in this house gone crazy? I don’t want to hear no more fight talk, I tell you!”
Mimi turned a stubborn face toward him. “He’s my brother,” she said quietly. “I’ll say what I want to him.”
I could see Papa’s jaw fall. I think it was the first time in her life that Mimi had ever spoken back to him. He sputtered for breath as Mamma’s hand fell restrainingly on his shoulder.
“No arguments this morning, Harry,” she said firmly. “Please, no arguments.”
“B-but you heard what she said?” Papa seemed confused.
“Harry!” Mamma’s voice was sharp and nervous. “Let’s eat our breakfast in peace.”
A tense silence fell across the room, broken only by the clinking sound of the dishes as they moved to and from the table. I ate quickly and silently; then I pushed my chair back from the table and stood up. “Well,” I said, looking down at them, “I gotta go to the gym.”
No one spoke. I forced a smile to my face. “Anybody here gonna wish me luck?” I asked. I knew it wouldn’t make any difference, but it would be a nice thing to take with me.
Mimi grabbed at my hand, reached up, and kissed me. “Good luck, Danny,” she said.
I smiled gratefully at her, then turned to Papa. His head was bent over his plate. He didn’t look at me.
I turned to Mamma. Her eyes were wide and anxious. “You’ll be careful, Danny?”
I nodded silently. A lump came into my throat as I looked at her. Suddenly I could see all the changes the last few years had wrought in her. She pulled my face down to her and kissed my cheek. She was crying.
I fished in my pocket. “I got two tickets for you,” I said, holding them toward her.
Papa’s voice rasped at me. “We don’t want them!” He stared angrily at me. “Take them back!”
I still held the tickets in my hand. “I got them for you,” I said.
“You heard me! We don’t want them!”
I glanced at Mamma and she shook her head slightly. Slowly I returned the tickets to my pocket and started for the door.
“Danny!” Papa’s voice called me back.
I spun around hopefully. I was sure he’d changed his mind. My hand was already in my pocket taking out the tickets again. Then I saw his face and knew nothing had changed. It was white and grim, and his eyes stared hollowly at me.
“You still going to fight tonight?”
I nodded.
“After what I told you?”
“I got to, Pa,” I said flatly.
His voice was cold and empty. “Give me your key, Danny.” He held his hand out to me.
I stared at him for a moment, then at Mamma. Automatically she turned to Papa. “Harry, not now.”
Papa’s voice quavered hollowly. “I told him if he fought again he would not come back here. I meant it.”
“But, Harry,” Mamma pleaded, “he’s only a child.”
Papa’s voice burst into rage. It filled the small kitchen like thunder in a summer storm. “He’s man enough to kill somebody! He’s old enough to decide what he wants! I took enough trying to make something for him. I’m not going to take any more!” He looked at me. “You got one more chance!”
I stared at him for one blazing moment. All I kept thinking was that he was my father, that I had sprung from him, from his blood, and now he didn’t care. Almost with surprise I saw the key fly from my fingers and ring crazily on the table in front of him. I stared at its shining silver brightness for a second and then turned and went out the door.
I stood in front of Fields’s desk as he counted out the money and dropped it on the desk. There was no smile on his lips now; the eyes, almost hidden in their rolls of fat, were crafty and cold. He pushed at the money with a pudgy fing
er. “There it is, kid,” he said in his husky voice. “Pick it up.”
I looked down at it: five crisp new one-hundred-dollar bills. I picked it up. It felt good in my hands. Papa would sing a different song when I showed him this. I folded it and stuck it in my pocket “Thanks,” I said grudgingly.
He smiled. “Don’t thank me, Danny,” he said quietly. “And don’t cross me.”
I looked at him in surprise. “I wouldn’t do that,” I answered quickly.
“I didn’t think you would either,” Fields said, gesturing with his hand, “but Spit thought you might.”
I looked at Spit, who was leaning against the wall, cleaning his nails with his switch knife. He met my gaze. His eyes were cold and wary.
“What ever gave him the idea he could think?” I asked Fields sarcastically.
Fields laughed loudly. His chair creaked as he got out of it. He came around the desk to me and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Bright boy,” he said, geniality back in his voice. “Just don’t forget that’s my dough you’re wearin’.”
“I won’t forget, Mr. Fields,” I said, starting for the door.
“There’s one more thing I don’t want yuh to forget, Danny,” he called after me.
From the doorway he looked immensely gross and powerful, standing there in front of his desk. This was the Maxie Fields I had heard about.
“What’s that?” I asked.
His eyes seemed to open suddenly, revealing colourless agate irises and beady pupils. “I’ll be watchin’ yuh,” he replied, his voice heavy and menacing.
The hoarse shouting of the crowd came down to the dressing-room and beat against my ears. It was a heavy, monotonous sea of sound, a cry as old as time. People screamed like this in the jungle when two animals fought; they screamed like this in the Colosseum on Cæsar’s holidays. Five thousand years hadn’t changed them.
I turned my head on the table so that my arms covered my ears and deadened the sound, but I couldn’t keep it out altogether. It was there, only fainter now, just below the range of hearing, but it would come back the minute I turned my head.
A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) Page 19