Fight Card: AGAINST THE ROPES

by Jack Tunney

  Quinn hated attention and felt himself redden as he moved inside. A guy named Mongo Deister was still working the door and looked like a man about half an hour away from the end of his shift usually looks. He was Quinn’s height, but broader and rounder. Harder looking, too. He wore a black suit, white shirt and black tie – the same outfit all of the Kaye Klub doormen wore – but Mongo’s was so tight, it was almost comical.

  “Evening, Mongo. Looks like business is doing okay.”

  Mongo grunted. He didn’t care about business or anything else for that matter. He just cared about getting paid.

  Mongo might not have cared about how business was doing, but Quinn was always happy to see the La Kaye Club busy, not that it took much to fill the small club. Every table and spot at the bar was filled with people watching the floor show while they drank openly. Because in this little spot and thousands of other spots like it all across the country, there was no law against it.

  Because the law stopped at the doorstep in the Kaye Klub, thanks to Larry Kaye.

  He paid off a pretty penny to the Tammany Hall machine to keep the cops off his back while he served alcohol. Everything went just fine, too, so long as no one went blind and he bought his booze from the right Tammany Hall hacks.

  Other places paid extra to run casinos in the basement or joy houses upstairs, but not Larry Kaye. He figured he greased The Tammany Tiger’s paw enough just to run a nightclub that broke the law honestly. Anything more than that was just an unjustified expense. And Mr. Kaye hated unjustified expenses.

  Mr. Kaye waived Quinn over as he stepped inside. He was a slight man in his late forties, just like Augie, but unlike Augie, Mr. Kaye took pride in his appearance. His hair was parted fashionably on the left side and held in place by a good amount of hair tonic. His moustache was equally fashionable and pencil thin. His dinner jacket looked brand new because it was and the crease on his pants was sharp enough to split a ripe tomato.

  He had an easy smile that some people found insincere, but Quinn didn’t mind. He flashed that smile now as he waived his doorman over through a crowd of people waiting for a table.

  “Congratulations, my boy,” he said as he shook Quinn’s hand. “Wish I could’ve been there to see it myself, but,” he waved a hand out at the packed house, “duty calls.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Kaye, I appreciate it. Tex said I could grab a drink at the bar before my shift, if you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? Of course I mind. And you know why? Because you’re going to have more than one drink. You can have your fill, all on the house, too, because you’re not working tonight, my young friend.”

  Something didn’t feel right to Quinn. “I’m not?”

  “After what you did to Frank Genet tonight? You earned it. Mongo’s working a double shift for you, but don’t worry. You still get paid.” He held up a long finger. “Upon that, I insist.”

  Kaye clapped a hand on Quinn’s back and ushered him toward the crowded bar. “Now get up there and start drinking, young man.”

  But Quinn wasn’t so eager. He’d come to work after big fights before and worked a full shift. What was different this time? “That’s real generous of you, Mr. Kaye, but I was just looking for a quick belt to take the edge off. I planned on working my normal shift and…”

  Kaye slipped his thin arm under Quinn’s and steered him toward the bar. “You’re a good boy, Terry. The best. Always have been and I’ve always appreciated it. Always treated you well, haven’t I? Well, think of this as a continuation of my generosity, is all. Enjoy it, because tomorrow night, it’s back to the grindstone.”

  Quinn stopped walking and Kaye almost stumbled because of it. He was lighter than Quinn by almost a hundred pounds.

  “I’ve always appreciated your generosity, Mr. Kaye. You know that. But there’s a reason why you don’t want me on the door tonight and I’d kind of like to know what it is.”

  Kaye shoulders sagged as he sighed. “I keep forgetting you’ve got as much brains as you do brawn. Maybe that’s why I like you.” He gently patted the side of Quinn’s face. “Alright, kid. I’ll level with you: some of the Tammany boys are going to be here tonight and they don’t like you too much.”

  Quinn had an idea why they might not, but he wanted to hear it for himself. “Why not? I’ve never had any run-ins with them.”

  “Not yet you haven’t, but you will. Wild Whitowski’s their boy. Brought that tough Polock all the way out here from Chicago to groom him for a shot at Dempsey. They’ve been angling to get him a shot at the champ before he had to fight you, but now you beat Genet the way you did, they’ve got no choice but to put him in the ring with you and they’re not likely to be too happy about it. Can’t blame them, can you?”

  Quinn didn’t care about blame. “I don’t make the rules, Mr. Kaye. I just fight whoever they put in against me.”

  “But these Tammany guys are used to making the rules,” Kaye explained. “They like sure things, and putting an animal like you in there with their golden boy is anything but a sure thing.” His moustache twitched as he added, “And I hope you realize I call you an animal with all due respect.” He finished the gag by blessing him as though Kaye was a priest.

  Quinn couldn’t help but smile. Kaye had a knack for delivering bad news in a good way. “I don’t want to cause any trouble, boss. I’ll leave if you want.”

  “Not at all,” Kaye said, meaning it. “This is my place and you’re my boy. I pay off plenty to those hacks anyway. I just don’t want you to be the first thing they see when they walk in the place, is all. Especially Archie Doyle. He’s the one who brought Whitowski out here from Chicago in the first place. Discovered the kid fighting out of an orphanage, kind of like where you came from. Difference is, Doyle sees him as something of a pedigree of his.”

  “Protégé,” Quinn said. “Pedigree is something else.”

  “Protégé. That’s what I said.” Kaye winked as tucked his arm beneath Quinn’s once more and steered him toward the bar. “You got to get your ears cleaned out, kid. Come on, let me get you set up over here. As it just so happens, I’ve got an old friend of yours over here celebrating something of a promotion, too.”

  ROUND FOUR

  Quinn found Officer Charles Doherty sitting all alone in the far corner of the bar, nursing a Cutty on the rocks. He knew Doherty from when the Kaye Klub had been in the part of town that had been Doherty’s beat as a patrolman the year before. That didn’t mean he protected the Kaye Klub from drunks or criminals. It meant he came by once a week to collect the Tammany payoff Kaye was force to pony up to stay in business.

  It had been a nice, orderly system. Kaye paid off Doherty, who took his cut and then passed the payoff on to the captain down at the precinct. He took his cut and kicked the rest up to the ward boss, who took his cut before giving the rest to The Tammany Tiger. That money made sure the Kaye Klub could still serve booze without fear of getting raided. The Tiger’s paw was greased, the boys got their money and everyone was happy.

  Although Quinn hadn’t seen Doherty since he’d been transferred to headquarters, he certainly didn’t look like a man who was celebrating anything. Then again, he never did.

  He had a droopy, hangdog expression about him. He was only about forty, but too many cigarettes and too much bootleg booze at places like the Kaye Klub made him look much older. He kept his hair cropped short and it was beginning to gray at the temples. He was a little guy as far as cops went – short and thin. Just north of being skinny. But Quinn knew he was no pushover. He’d seen Doherty take down men twice his size with a pair of brass knuckles. He was also an artist with a sap.

  Everyone else at the bar was busy talking loudly over each other to be heard by the person right next to them. Doherty was the only one by himself, mindlessly spinning something on the bar next to his scotch.

  “Evening, Charlie. Haven’t seen you around here since forever.”

  Doherty gave him a boozy smile over his shoulder. “Forever’s a long
time, but sometimes, it’s not long enough.”

  Quinn didn’t know what Doherty’s comment meant, and was too busy trying to get a drink to care. He caught the bartender’s eye and asked for a scotch on the rocks, then motioned for him to give Charlie another of whatever he was having.

  “I’m kind of surprised to see you tonight,” Doherty said. “Thought you’d be out on the town, celebrating your big night. Caught a bit of it on the radio before I got here. Hell of a show you put on tonight.”

  “Thanks, I came to work, but Mr. Kaye gave me the night off, so here I am.”

  “Sometimes, life works out that way, I guess. You show up to dinner expecting beans and cold coffee and Lady Luck serves up a turkey dinner, complete with gravy, mashed potatoes and all the trimmings.”

  The bartender set two fresh drinks in front of them and the two men clinked glasses.

  “Slainte,” Quinn said.

  Doherty belched and took a sip.

  Doherty’s dark mood was starting to annoy Quinn. He’d seen the cop drunk plenty of times before, but he usually just got quiet, not sullen. “Say, what are you so glum about anyway? Mr. Kaye told me you were celebrating something tonight.”

  “I am, but in my own way.” Doherty set his drink on the bar and flipped over the thing he’d been spinning on the bar when Quinn got there.

  It was a New York City Police Department badge, Number 787. And it said “Detective” on it.

  Quinn had to look at it twice. “They bumped you up to detective?”

  Doherty raised his glass and slapped on a fake smile. “That’s what the badge says.”

  “Congratulations,” Quinn said. “You ought to be out with Theresa and the girls celebrating instead drowning yourself in here. What’s the hell’s the matter with you?”

  Doherty took the badge off the bar and dropped it in his suit pocket. “Because, my punch-drunk pal, promotions have their price, especially in the N.Y.P.D. I didn’t get this little bauble on my own, you know. You’ve probably been too busy training the past couple of weeks to have heard the news. My buddy, Andrew J. Carmichael himself, just got promoted to Chief of Police last week. And today, he walks up to me and hands me this like he’s handing me Saint Peter’s keys.”

  Quinn still didn’t see the problem. “So your buddy helped you out a little. Gave you a bump up. Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  “Like I said, kid, it comes with a price.” Doherty took another belt of scotch. “Carmichael didn’t give me this badge because I’m a great cop or even because I’m detective material. I’m on special assignment, see? Assistant to the Chief down at headquarters. Know what that means? I’m his new janitor. I’m the guy who walks behind the parade with the pail and broom. If there’s a mess, I clean it up. If he wants something swept under the rug, I sweep it. And I’m also responsible to make sure the grand man gets his take from the Tammany Tiger each week, too.”

  Quinn could see people at the bar were beginning to listen, so he squeezed in between Doherty and the guy next to him so Doherty wouldn’t have to talk so loud. The other guy turned around to complain, but when he saw Quinn looking at him, he turned back around and talked to his lady friend.

  “Keep your voice down,” Quinn told Doherty.

  “What for? Everyone knows everyone’s crooked. From the mayor all the way down to the cop on the beat. Trouble was, I kind of liked being that cop on the beat. Did it for a long time and never complained. Sure, I had to shake down places, but every once in a while, I actually got the chance to help someone.” He shuffled his glass around some more. “Now, all I’m going to do is help fat men get even fatter and that’s not what I signed on for. I didn’t join up to save the world, but I sure as hell didn’t expect to be a lowlife bag man either.”

  Quinn didn’t know how much of this was the booze talking or how much of it Doherty really meant. “You could always give it back. Turn down the promotion and stay in uniform.”

  “This is a gift you don’t give back. I do, I’ll be in uniform all right. I’ll be posted at the ass end of Staten Island watching for the British to invade again. No, I’m stuck. Because Carmichael likes me. He trusts me to do the wrong thing. Or the right thing, depending on how you look at it. We grew up together, you know. Now I’m stuck with him for as long as he wants me.”

  He picked up his glass again and let the scotch swirl. “And you’re right. I could turn it down. Trouble is, I’m too much of a weakling to do it. And Carmichael knows it.” He jiggled his glass at Quinn. “Hence, me taking my medicine here tonight.”

  By nature, Quinn wasn’t much of a thinker, so he didn’t really understand Doherty’s problem. He saw things simply as they were and moved around them as he had to. “Well, you said you’re responsible for making sure Carmichael gets his kickback, right? Well, your piece will go up then too, won’t it?”

  “Sure,” Doherty said. “My wife is over the moon with that idea. She’s already got her eye on a fur she’s been wanting for a while. That broad’ll have more fun spending the money than I will.”

  “So she’ll be happy and that’s what counts, right?” Quinn said. “And if your conscience starts bothering you, you can always remember that you never had a choice in taking the job. They told you to do something, you’ve got to do it, right?”

  Doherty laughed as he drank and scotch came out of his nose. He wiped at it with the back of his hand and said, “I’ll remember you said that when your time comes.”

  Quinn went past curious and straight toward anger. “And just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Doherty quickly shook his head. “Skip it. I’m drunk. What do you say we have another drink?”

  But Quinn didn’t want another drink. He wanted to know what Doherty had meant. He was about to get nasty when he heard a big commotion coming from the door.

  He turned to see Mr. Kaye glad-handing a big group of loud men in sharp tailored suits. Each of them had a broad brimmed fedora and a camel-hair coat. Kaye gave them big handshakes and hearty pats on the back as they cut the line and came inside.

  Quinn recognized every one of them. They’d all been in the Kaye Klub before, though usually at separate times and never together like this.

  The first one in the door was Howard Rothman, the gambler and Tammany fix-it man. He had the biggest, whitest smile in the bunch. Rothman was a sharp, thin-faced man who always managed to sport a tan, even in the dead of winter. He was quite a dandy who loved fine clothes, expensive gold pocket watches, and even rings. Mr. Kaye had once said Rothman wore more jewelry than an Arabian whore, but quickly begged Quinn not to repeat that. Quinn never did.

  Rothman tossed his hat and coat to the hatcheck girl and stuffed a hundred dollar bill down the front of her blouse. A real class act.

  The three men who came in after him were equally familiar. The fat man behind Rothman was aptly called Fatty Corcoran. His face naturally fell into a grin the way Quinn’s natural expression was a scowl. One look at his round, fleshy face and jiggling belly would make one think he was just another jolly fat slob. But Quinn’s life in the ring told him looks could be deceiving and such was the case with Corcoran. He was Tammany’s chief accountant and made sure all the money came in from where it was due and, just as important, went back out to where it was supposed to go. If Manhattan was an island surrounded on all sides by an ocean of dirty money, Fatty Corcoran was Moses, able to part the dirty waters and make them go any way he wanted.

  The squat angry looking man behind Fatty Corcoran, chose to keep his hat and coat because that was his style. Frank Sanders was one of those guys who never wound up in the papers, but everyone somehow knew who he was. He was Tammany’s man up in northern Manhattan: Washington Heights and Inwood. He made sure the machine’s influence was felt even up there. He ran the largest string of pool halls, shine stands, and taxi cabs in the city. That made him awfully useful to an organization that thrived on information, corruption, and mobility.

  But it was the t
hird man in line who drew Quinn’s attention. The man Mr. Kaye had mentioned when Quinn got there.

  Archie Doyle.

  He was shorter than the others, but wider too and the suit did little to hide the fact that he was built like a fire plug. Word had it that tailors had to cut the sleeves of his suit special to accommodate his massive forearms. He had a thick head of black hair quickly turning gray and a square jaw that rivaled even Quinn’s.

  He wore no overcoat. No hat. Because that wasn’t his style. Archie Doyle made his own style.

  Doyle was Tammany’s best earner. He had a growing bootleg booze operation that almost took in half the city and half the Bronx, too. Word was he was becoming something of a king maker in the Tammany organization and was raising his own stable of political hacks and yes men to make sure The Tiger got its way. Quinn had heard Doyle was tougher than he looked and he looked plenty tough already.

  And he was backing the man Quinn was supposed to fight next: Walter “Wild” Whitowski.

  Quinn watched as Mr. Kaye fell all over himself making a fuss. “Come right this way, gentlemen. I’ve got a table down front near the dancing girls all ready and waiting. Guinan’s Graduates are set to start the show any minute now, fellas, and, let me tell you, they’ll knock your eyes out. Every one of them a beauty. I’ve even got champagne on ice and everything. Nothing’s too good for the fathers of our fair city.”

  But Rothman, with his usual flourish, held up his long hands and spoke loud enough for everyone in the place to hear him. “Now just hold your horses, Larry. We appreciate the hospitality, but I hope you’ve got room for one more. Because tonight, folks, you’re in for a special treat, for we have brought with us the next heavyweight champion of the world. The man who will knock Jack Dempsey on his ear. I bring you the great Wild Whitowski!”

  Quinn watched the big lug stride into the place like he owned it. The crowd went wild of course, because that’s what crowds at the Kaye Klub were supposed to do.