Fight Card Presents: Battling Mahoney & Other Stories

by Jack Tunney

  “Cam, guess what?”

  “What?”

  “No school tomorrow, or Friday.”

  He laughed. “You’re off for New Year’s, turnip.”

  “I know. It’s gonna be 1950. The century is half over.”

  “That’s what your mom was saying this morning,” he agreed.

  “Teacher says we’re all gonna have helicopters in our driveways someday.”

  “Helicopters!”

  “Yeah, she had pictures of them. I’m gonna learn to fly.”

  Cam dropped a gentle hand over the girl’s shoulder, guiding her through the inner lobby to the elevator on the far side of the room. His cane thumped hollowly against the hardwood floor, echoing faintly down the long hall of street-level offices. The cellar door was open and he could hear voices down below, the clatter of metal wrenches on ancient steel and iron. Curses rose from out of the unlighted stairwell, bringing Lori to an abrupt stop.

  “Momma says those are bad words.”

  “Your mom’s right,” Cam replied, irritated by the disregard coming from the cellar. “Come on, honey. They’re trying to fix the boilers. Let’s let them finish.”

  “Momma says they should’ve replaced those boilers twenty years ago, except old Mr. Van Dyke likes to pinch every penny twice before he lets it go. Momma says ….”

  Cam smiled as the elevator door slid open and he ushered the child inside. Although Lori’s honesty amused him, he suspected Margie would be mortified to learn of some of the things her daughter had repeated to him over the past couple of years.

  They disembarked on the sixth floor. The Dunford’s apartment was street-side, just above Cam’s. The door was locked, but he had a key and let Lori run in ahead of him.

  “Cam, it’s cold,” she cried, stopping in the middle of the living room and spinning a slow circle. “I can see my breath,” she added, then blew toward the ceiling to illustrate her point.

  “It’s been cold all day. Go hang up your dress, then put on the pants and sweater your mom left out for you.”

  “Okay.” She ran over to the radio and turned it on first, then dashed into her bedroom, only to reappear a few seconds later with her newest acquisition, a Betsy Wetsy doll Santa had brought her for Christmas a few days before.

  “You hold Janey while I change,” she told Cam, thrusting the blond-haired, blue-eyed plastic infant into his scarred fists.

  “I don’t know. Are you sure she isn’t wet?”

  “I checked and she’s dry, but I’ll give her some milk later on, and probably have to change her after that.” She huffed. “I swear that child wets a diaper more than any other doll I’ve ever had.”

  Cam had to bite his bottom lip to keep from laughing at the girl’s overly-serious demeanor, but he dutifully cradled the toy in his arms until Lori vanished into her bedroom, closing the door after her. When he was alone, he sat the doll on the sofa and limped over to the window. There was a build-up of frost on the inner pane and he ran his fingernail through it, scraping a trough through the gray ice. Despite the tape around the window’s frame, he could feel the breeze squeezing in past it, ruffling his cuff. The radiator rattled gently in its moorings, and Cam imagined he could hear the men below, still cursing the obstinate boiler.

  A faint hum spilled into the room from the Philco’s massive speaker, increasing steadily in volume as the old set warmed up. A couple of minutes later, Cam was listening to Jack Benny and Rochester bickering over a ten-cent debt one of them owed the other, the laughter of the station’s studio audience nearly drowning out the punch lines at times. Then the bedroom door flew open and Lori came screaming into the living room, dressed in wool pants and a heavy sweater, but with only socks on her feet. She scooped Janey into her arms and carried her into the kitchen.

  “Do you want some milk, Cam?”

  “No thanks, turnip.” He went to the door, leaning heavily on his cane. His knees felt like red-hot rivets after his long hike to Pug’s that morning. “You’re not going to give Janey real milk, are you?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she replied, dragging a bottle of Borden’s from the refrigerator and setting it on the table next to the glass her mother had left out for her that morning. “Janey drinks water milk. Only momma and me drinks Elsie’s milk.”

  There was a loud pop from behind Cam and he turned partway around, scowling at the radiator.

  “What was that?” Lori asked.

  “Nothing,” he replied, but he went over to turn off the radio so he could hear better.

  Lori followed him into the living room, cradling Janey in her arms. “I never heard that noise before.”

  “They’re still working on the boiler,” Cam explained. “Don’t worry, they’ll get it fixed and soon you won’t be able to see ….”

  The radiator rattled sharply at the heavy bolts anchoring it to the floor, like a beast straining against a cage door.

  “Cam,” Lori said worriedly.

  “Be quiet a minute, hon. I want to listen.”

  They strained together to hear what was going on in the basement, but it was too far away. All Cam could make out was the hum of voices traveling up the pipes. They sounded loud and worried, but still in control.

  “Cam, when’s momma coming home?”

  “She’ll be home soon.”

  He frowned as a distant rumble traveled up the pipes. Then an explosion rocked the building. Lori screamed and Cam uttered a startled curse as his balance abandoned him. His knees buckled and he tipped heavily, turning at the last instant to take the brunt of the fall to his shoulder rather than his knees. Then a second explosion roared through the old tenement, and the safety valve on the Dunford’s radiator blew like a gunshot, releasing a shrieking jet of steam toward the ceiling. In the kitchen, Lori’s milk shimmied off the table, glass shattering across the floor.

  “Cam,” Lori wailed. She was on her hands and knees but crouched low, eyes wide with terror.

  “It’s okay, honey,” he gasped, dragging his broken body toward the child.

  “What happened?”

  “Something must have gone wrong with the boiler, but we’re okay. We’ll be fine.” He pulled the girl into his arms and gave her a quick, reassuring hug, then pushed her back. “Get my cane, will you?”

  Lori scrambled to fetch the cane from where it had slid when Cam lost his footing. She handed it to him, but he had to use the sofa’s arm to pull himself up. Lori started toward the window, and Cam shouted for her to get back, the harshness of his voice bringing tears to the girl’s eyes.

  “Stay away from the radiator, honey. That steam’s hot enough to peel the flesh right off your arms.”

  Lori nodded and sniffed, then picked Janey up off the floor. Hugging the doll tightly in both arms, she retreated to the sofa. Cam hobbled past her to the kitchen, sidestepping the spilled milk and broken glass to approach the window beside the table. The glass pane had cracked in the explosion, and was tipped dangerously inward. Cam grabbed it gingerly with a thumb and forefinger and wiggled it back and forth until it came loose. After setting the spear-tip-shaped length of glass out of the way, he raised the sash as high as several layers of old paint would allow and poked his head cautiously outside. His pulse quickened at the scene that greeted him from the street. There was rubble everywhere, and greasy black smoke pouring from the basement grates and first-floor windows, nearly all of them broken. People in the street were screaming and shouting, many of them digging through the wreckage to drag the injured to safety. Pulling back, Cam saw Lori standing in the door separating the kitchen and living room.

  “We need to get out of here,” he said quietly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s been some kind of explosion. We need to get downstairs as quick as we can. Go put your shoes on.”

  Lori fled toward her bedroom, and Cam headed for the door as fast as his crippled limbs could carry him. Peering into the hallway, he was relieved to find the passage mostly clear of smoke, j
ust a faint, flowing haze near the ceiling. When he heard footsteps behind him, he automatically reached back for Lori’s tiny, cold hand, wrapping his own huge paw around it. She was carrying Janey in her other arm and he almost told her to leave the doll behind, then changed his mind.

  “Come on, turnip,” he said tersely.

  They went to the elevator first, but stopped a dozen feet away.

  “What’s that?” Lori asked, pointing toward a gray veil curling out from the gap between the hall floor and the closed elevator door.

  “It’s smoke, turnip. It means there’s fire in the elevator shaft and we can’t go down that way. Come on, let’s take the stairs, instead. It’ll be safer.”

  He led her down the hall, his hand tight around hers, his eyes beginning to tear up as the haze thickened and lowered. He knew as soon as they reached the stairwell door that they wouldn’t be able to make their escape that way. Thick smoke was already wiggling out from under the bottom rail, and the normally cold steel knob felt dangerously warm to the touch. He pulled his hand away, staring at the engraved plate as if he’d never seen it before.

  “Cam,” Lori said, tugging at her hand. “You’re hurting me.”

  He looked down, then forced a smile and loosened his grip. “I’m sorry, turnip. I’ll be more careful.” She returned his smile trustingly, and his fear began to subside. “Let’s see if we can get down the outside of the building.”

  “Momma says I’m not supposed to play on the fire escape,” Lori replied solemnly. “She says it’s dangerous.”

  “It is dangerous to play on, but we’re not playing. We want to escape, and that’s what a fire escape is for. It’ll be okay. I’ll talk to your mom and make sure she knows it was my idea.”

  As they walked back down the hall, Cam began pounding loudly on the doors to the other apartments, even though he was pretty sure they were empty. Most of the sixth floor had remained unrented that winter, with only Margie and Lori and a recently married Italian couple named Gallo sharing the entire upper level. Cam had watched all three leave for work that morning, and except for Cam and Lori, the top floor was empty.

  The window at the far end of the hall was swollen shut, but he managed to break it loose. It cost him, though. His legs took the brunt of the force necessary to break the window’s grip, and pain brought a fresh sheen of sweat to his brow. When he had the window open far enough, he leaned outside, staring grimly into the alley, six floors below. Flames and smoke billowed from the windows of the first two floors, cutting off escape in that direction. Twisting partway around, Cam eyed the iron ladder leading to the roof.

  “Come on, honey, let’s go this way,” he called into the smoky hallway, then crawled onto the platform, turning his face away from the smoke flowing up from below. Lori followed, staring apprehensively into the alley.

  “Not that way,” Cam said. He gave the ladder an experimental shake. It seemed solid enough, although narrow and possibly slick from melting frost. “Lori, honey.” He pulled the child around, pointing skyward. “Do you think you can climb that?”

  She stared open-mouthed at the ladder clinging to the outside wall, and instinctively tightened her arms around Janey. “No,” she whispered.

  “Lori.” He took her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “Turnip, you have to. We can’t stay here, and we can’t go back inside. It’s going to get real smoky in there, and we wouldn’t be able to breathe.”

  “But I’ll fall.”

  “Not if you hold on real tight. Just make sure each foot is planted solidly on each rail, and that you have a good grip before you reach for the next rung.”

  “What about Janey?”

  He lifted the doll from her arms. “I’ll bring Janey with me. Don’t you worry about her? You just be real careful, and climb on up to the roof. Can you do that?”

  She nodded and sniffed, and Cam couldn’t tell whether it was from cold or fear.

  “All right, good girl.” He patted her shoulder. “Now get on up there, and when you’re on top, move away from the edge. Go all the way to the middle of the roof and wait for me there. I won’t start climbing until you’re all the way up, okay?”

  “But I want you to come with me.”

  “Honey, you’re going to have to trust me.” He turned her toward the ladder. “Go on now. Hurry, but be careful. Be real careful.”

  She nodded somberly and reached for the nearest rail. Cam stood close, in case he had to catch her, but she scampered up effortlessly and quickly disappeared over the top. Her head popped back into view almost immediately, but she wasn’t smiling.

  “Hurry, Cam. There’s smoke up here, too.”

  “Get away from the edge,” he shouted, and she nodded and ducked out of sight. He shoved the Betsy Wetsy doll inside his shirt, hooked his cane under his belt in back, and took a firm grip on the ladder’s side rails. He paused only briefly, then reached for the first step with his foot. His knee bent slowly, pain darting through his thigh, burying itself in his groin. Gritting his teeth, he more pulled than pushed himself up that first step. He stopped then, waiting for the agony to subside, but when it didn’t, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. Steeling himself against the spasms that continued to explode along both legs, he continued climbing, one insanely slow step after another, until he was finally able to grab the top of the concrete parapet and drag himself over.

  Rolling onto his back, Cam stared bleakly into an overcast sky ribboned with smoke, alive with whirling embers and black soot. His mouth was open as he sucked in the gritty, frigid air, and his heart sounded like drums in his ears. Lori ran forward, dropping to her knees at his side.

  “Cam?” she cried. “Cam?”

  He reached out weakly to pat the girl’s arm. “I’m okay, turnip. Give me … just a minute. Need to … catch my breath.”

  Janey was hanging half out of the top of Cam’s flannel shirt, and Lori pulled the doll to her, hugging it tight. “What are we gonna do?” she asked plaintively. “How are we gonna get down?”

  Taking a final, deep breath, Cam pushed up on one elbow, brought his cane around, and then scooted back until he could use the two foot-tall parapet to shove himself to his feet. He made sure to lean away from the edge until he was certain of his balance, then took a slow look around. It was his first time on top of the tenement, and there wasn’t much to see. A dozen or so vents poking out of the flat, tar-and-gravel roof, a broken whiskey bottle, a dead starling nearly decomposed.

  Taking Lori’s hand, Cam led her across the roof to the side street, above the building’s entrance, but he saw only chaos below -- women crying, men cursing. The pavement was rubbled with broken bricks and shattered glass. There, a sofa cushion stippled with what looked like blood, a crushed lamp shade, a mangled coat rack, a single work boot, its leather shaft smoldering. A growing crowd of spectators was swarming the far side of the street, and Cam could hear the wail of sirens in the distance, the fire department on its way.

  Placing one hand carefully on the parapet, Cam leaned forward, surprised and dismayed by how swiftly the fire seemed to be climbing. When he’d last looked, it had been contained to the first two floors. Now flames were shooting out of several windows on the fourth floor, and with a sinking sensation in his chest, he knew they didn’t have much time left.

  “Momma,” Lori cried, and he looked to where she was pointing and saw Margie far below, running frantically among the survivors, searching.

  “Momma,” Lori shouted, but her voice was lost in the din at street level. It didn’t matter. As if drawn there, Margie stopped and her gaze rose, and Lori screamed even louder. The mother’s reaction wrenched at Cam’s heart. He tightened his grip on the girl’s shoulder, afraid that in her excitement she might venture too close to the edge.

  “Momma,” Lori cried, but Cam didn’t think she could be heard, any more than Margie’s reply could be understood above the roar of the inferno, gnawing hungrily at the building’s lower floors.

  “Come
on,” he told the child, pulling her away from the parapet.

  “No, I want my momma.”

  “We’ve got to go down to see your momma, honey. She can’t come up here. We’re going to have to climb down to her.”

  “How?”

  Half-sick with helplessness, Cam could only shake his head. “Come on, let’s have a look around.”

  Although the child followed quietly, there was nowhere for Cam to lead her. After a single, fruitless loop, he returned to the fire escape ladder where they’d come up. He tried looking over the edge, but the heat flowing up from the alley was too intense, and he had to pull his head back before he could tell how high the flames had climbed on this side of the building.

  “Cam.”

  “Hush, honey, I have to think.”

  “Cam, I don’t wanna die.”

  Gritting his teeth, Cam lifted the child into his arms, holding her close. “We’re not licked yet,” he told her, his voice raw with emotion.

  Her reply, barely audible, was whispered into his ear. “Promise?”

  “I promise, turnip.”

  His eyes came to rest on the building across the alley, so similar to his own, yet different … shorter. He edged closer to the parapet to gauge the distance. Fourteen feet across at least, maybe three feet lower, rooftop to rooftop. It wasn’t much, he cautioned himself, but it was something.

  Gently, Cam hefted the child in his arms. Forty pounds, he thought, forty-five at most. He eyed the space separating the two buildings. Could he throw the girl that far? Possibly, but it wasn’t her weight that concerned him, it was the bundle itself. A child wasn’t like a javelin or a medicine ball. She would be … looser. Her arms and legs would fly freely, and she would struggle all the way. He had no doubt of that. Launched, she would panic, flap her arms, kick, scream.

  He turned away and closed his eyes, telling himself the tears were brought on by the smoke, and meant nothing. He knew he would have to do it, though, risk everything or lose it all. As for himself, he didn’t matter. He’d told Margie the same thing that morning, after she berated herself for burning the potatoes.