Bareknuckle Barbarian (Fight Card)

by Jack Tunney

  The two men had walked to one of MacFadden’s Penny Restaurants on the way up town after Howard decided not to check his baggage into a ten dollar a week hotel. Big Carney said the job at the circus came with room-and-board, which was inducement enough for the Texan.

  The restaurant was a godsend to the lower working classes, according to Big Carney. “I has eaten at these places all over the country, Boss Bob. It ain’t exactly food, but it can fill a man between real meals.”

  Nine cents bought a hamburger made from what tasted like meat flavored sawdust (four cents), a good hard roll (one penny), a cup of coffee that owed more to chicory than anything else (two cents), and a desert piece of pie (two cents).

  The unusual pair blended with the other down-and-out diners who all stood at high counters since there were no chairs – standing was apparently good for the digestion.

  “So, what is your real name, or do you want I should just call you Big Carney?” Howard asked.

  “My mama named me Biggles Charles Johnson,” the black said. “But you can imagine the ribbin’ I got as a tadpole, so I was Biggie from real young. Then when I joined up the circus I just sort of became Big Carney.”

  “What made you join the circus?”

  “Oh, I guess the chance to travel, Mister Howard.”

  “Bob, please.”

  “Okay, Boss Bob,” the black man said with a smile, telling the Texan he was not prepared to take too much liberty yet. “Anyway, it was a way to see the country, go places a fella like me might not always be welcome, and still have a family of a sort around me.” Big Carney looked around at the others in the restaurant. “But I like New York. A man can just be here and not be judged. And you get to meet new and interesting people.”

  “Well, a pleasure to know you.” Howard laughed. “And to be deemed interesting. Back home I was just odd. And I appreciate this fine feast you have laid before me.”

  “We eat better at the circus,” Big Carney said. “But I was a bit puckish after my little dance with Joey. Mister Maxim – he’s the fella owns the circus – he sees we all put a good feed on. Says he can work us harder if we have full stomachs.” The black patted his flat stomach as if it were Buddha-like. “I agree.”

  “So, what’s it like working there?”

  The tall African shrugged. “It is a good job. A hard one, don’t get me wrong, but a good one. A man is taken for who he is there, and what he does. Not what some rube’s idea of how people should be treated cause of what they look like, you know?” A shadow seemed to pass across his battered features. “‘Cept, of course, like in any group there is some hold to certain views.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’m hiring boss now for the roustabouts,” the African said. “But there’s a few folk what don’t think no colored should be in charge of nothin’.”

  Howard nodded. “People are the same all over.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve found,” Big Carney continued. “But there are just as many and more who don’t hold to those views. A husky fella like you will fit in just fine. Nobody will put up a fuss.”

  “I don’t want to cause no trouble for you,” Howard objected. “I’m sure I can find me something to tide me over. I plan to hit some of the magazine publishers here in the city, try to get some assignments.”

  “I’m the boss for hiring,” Big Carney insisted. “We always take on some locals when we open. Besides, I figure I owe you a few arguments since you saved both my reputation and my paycheck.”

  “How so?”

  “I done bet all I had on myself,” Big Carney said. “This here is a victory meal you helped pay for. Have another piece of pie!”

  ROUND 3

  THE RING IN THE SQUARE

  The two new friends walked all the way to 49th Street on the west side of Manhattan to come in sight of Madison Square Garden.

  It was a massive building, more impressive to the Texan than even many of the skyscrapers he had seen in his brief time in New York. It was two hundred feet by almost four hundred feet, with seating on three levels, and a maximum capacity of almost nineteen thousand spectators for boxing, but had now been configured inside for the Maxim Brothers’ Circus.

  Outside its most distinctive feature was the ornate marquee above the main entrance.

  “We have a lot in back, too,” the black roustabout said “And two canvas tents to work the animals in, so we are only in the Garden when we need to be. We open in four days. One of the reasons I was down near the bowery was looking for brawny types like you, Boss.”

  “I wish you’d quit with the boss stuff and call me Bob.”

  “Maybe when we’ve sweated together a bit and in private,” Big Carney said. “But I likes to be careful.” The African left unsaid what the Texan knew – being too familiar with the wrong person was punishable in many parts of the country. Even if New York was broad-minded, it was not a good habit to get into. As it was, places like the Cotton Club still did not allow the black talent to mix with the all-white patrons – and that was in Harlem itself.

  The large open field-cum-parking-area behind the Garden was a beehive of activity, which seemed to the Texan to put the mad activity of the city itself to shame.

  A horse training ring was set up outside one of the tents. A thin, pale man in jodhpurs and a pith helmet was working a grey gelding on a long lead. He was cursing the animal as it went through its paces.

  A pretty blonde woman, also in jodhpurs, was watching from the side of the ring. When the trainer snapped his whip at the horse and hit it in the muzzle, she flew from the railing to yell at him.

  “Klaus you can’t keep hitting him,” the girl yelled. “It just makes him stubborn.” Her voice was distinctly New York, seeming at odds with her delicate, almost ethereal features.

  “I’ll teach this devil horse some respect,” Klaus said. His thinness was an ascetic thin, and vaguely familiar to the Texan. It was only after he studied him for a long moment that the man’s vaguely rodent-like aspect struck a bell. It was the second bet-taker from the boxing match on the Bowery.

  “Not if you terrify him.” The girl said to the trainer. “You gotta make him respect you.”

  “I’d rather have him fear me,” Klaus said. “These things ain’t smart enough to respect nothin.” He caught sight of Big Carney and Howard and sneered. “Like some other dumb animals.”

  The Texan saw the muscular black bite his lip at the clear insult and would have said something if he had not feared costing Big Carney his job.

  “That is Boss Klaus,” Big Carney said when the friends had past the ring. “He’s billed as the Colossal Klaus. Clearly, he has a horse act. The little lady with him is Miss Julie. She is his lead rider and his wife, though what she sees in him none of us can figure.”

  “Sometime it’s hard to figure females,” The Texan said. “I ain’t never got any of them figured at all.”

  “What fella does?” The black laughed and Howard joined him.

  “I saw that fella at the fight,” Howard said. “He was taking money.”

  “He gambles everywhere we go,” the black said. “Some of us suspect he’s got mob connections, but we never say so in public, ya know? It ain’t healthy.”

  Inside the open-sided tent, Howard and Big Carney found half a dozen burly men seated around a boiling pot of stew and chatting.

  “Boys,” the black said, “This here is Bob Howard. He’s in from Texas and he’s gonna be helpin’ you fellas with the rigging inside. Bernie, show him where to stow his gear then you can all meet me in the center ring and we’ll set out what is what for tomorrow.”

  Bernie was a fireplug of a fellow. He barely came up to Howard’s shoulder, but he radiated both power and amiability. “Come with me, Bob,” The man said. “I’ll get you settled.”

  The smaller man led the Texan to the back of the tent where a sort of barracks with cots had been set up for the roustabouts.

  “I ain’t never been as far south as Texas,” Bernie said. “I�
�m from Jersey myself. Heck, I ain’t even been south of Trenton! I’m hopin’ the the circus will take me along when they go on tour.”

  “You don’t work with them all the time?” Howard asked.

  “Naw, just the last two times they come to New York. I met Big Carney at a bare knuckles match, and he invited me to work here. It’s good food and the pay is good, and I like the people.”

  Howard smiled. “I gotta say, I’m with you, Bernie.”

  After the Texan picked a bunk and stowed his gear beneath it, the two men walked back across the open area and into Madison Square Garden itself. An army of workers were already rearranging the floor for the circus.

  “The hockey teams are here when we aren’t,” Bernie said. “We have priority, but we have to move the seats and set down planking and sawdust by ourselves. Plus, they just did some repairs on the place, so there is a lot of just plain junk around we have to deal with this time. That’s why the circus came in two weeks early this time, so more bucks for us!”

  The Texan and a dozen other burly men worked for the rest of the day setting the flooring of the building in place at the direction of the Garden staff.

  Howard found himself enjoying the physical labor and the camaraderie. All the men were simple blue-collar types, some quite rough and ready, but all grateful to have the work, and all a little enamored with the circus life.

  While they worked, the circus folk proper were beginning to rehearse in the space. Bob got to see the equestrian girl, Julie, again as she rode around the outside of the arena while the workmen were laying the center ring’s floor.

  He, and many of the other men, studied her whenever their attention was not centered on the work at hand.

  “Something, ain’t she?” Mike said to the Texan when he saw him looking at the blonde rider.

  The girl in close up was fulfillment of her distant image. She had warm blue eyes and a ready smile, and she worked the horse with centaur-like skill.

  If she was aware of the men ogling her, she gave no sign, apparently lost in the joy of the ride.

  “Like a Valkyrie come to earth,” Howard said.

  “Huh?”

  “Yeah, she’s somethin’,” the Texan said. “Like she was born on the horse. I ain’t never seen a better rider back home.”

  “You know something about horses?” Bernie asked.

  “I used to ride,” the Texan said. “And my dad was a doctor, but in my area that meant animal doctoring as well, so I’d go on calls with him.”

  Just as he spoke, one of the workers up in the seats dropped a wrench, which clattered down the metal stairs with a sharp din, cutting through the noise of the general work.

  It was a sharp enough sound to startle the horse the girl was riding. It spooked and the girl had to move quickly to rein him in. Her actions were almost enough, but a worker in front of the animal dropped a pile of boards getting out of the way. The resultant commotion caused the already unnerved animal to bolt.

  Even a rider with the blonde girl’s skill could not control the doubly frightened animal. The white stallion whinnied in terror and spun, fighting the girl’s attempts at control.

  The panicked horse snorted in fear and it was all the blonde rider could do to keep from being thrown from the back of the maddened runaway animal.

  Howard saw the girl’s predicament immediately. He dropped the planks he was holding and raced across the arena before anyone else even realized something was wrong.

  ROUND 4

  THE PRICE OF HEROISM

  The Texan had the presence of mind to grab for a coil of rope on a crate as he ran past a pile of construction debris. He began waving his arms above his head with the rope in his hand. He knew with the poor eyesight of the equine any object in front of it would appear larger and, by holding his hands up, he would be even more frightening to the beast than the sound that scared it.

  The horse saw Howard and shied. It veered off while Bob made a quick loop in the rope. The Texan ran at an angle to the startled horse while he twirled and tossed the lasso he’d made. His first cast was a good one and slipped over the animal’s neck with an almost supernatural skill. He leaned back and the loop tightened.

  The horse bucked and snorted, but the rope held, dragging the Texan a few feet before he could lock his legs and plant his feet.

  The other roustabouts moved to create a human blockade while Howard leaned into the rope, careful to only apply enough pressure around the runaway’s neck to slow it down rather than bulldog it and cause it to fall over with the girl on its back.

  The blonde rider, with the rope lead as a distraction was able to regained control of the stallion. Howard choked up on the rope and walked slowly forward, pulling in the rope hand over hand until he was close enough to place a gentling palm on the muzzle of the horse.

  “Easy, boy,” the Texan said in a relaxed drawl. “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you none at all.”

  He continued talking calmly to the horse in an almost hypnotic voice while the other roustabouts closed in to hold the animal.

  The girl vaulted from the saddle and stood breathing hard, leaning against the flank of the stallion.

  The horse gradually calmed down with Howard’s gentle voice and hand on him until one of the other men took the horse’s reins.

  “You alright, ma’am?” Howard asked the girl as the horse was being led away.

  She looked up at Howard and a radiant smile flashed across her features. “I am thanks to you, cowboy. That was pretty quick thinking.”

  The Texan colored and forced himself to tear his gaze away from the blue eyes of the damsel. “I, uh, saw he was gonna spook just a hair before he did. I’ve seen that look in a cayuse’s eyes before.”

  “You know horses?” Her voice was musical.

  “A bit.”

  “More than a bit, I think,” she corrected him. She put a long fingered hand on his arm. It was surprisingly strong for so delicate a hand. “Thank you.” She came up on her tiptoes and leaned in to peck the Texan on the cheek. “Everyone should have a cowboy standing by to help!”

  The Texan colored again and the roustabouts nearby all snickered good-naturedly when suddenly a sharp voice intruded.

  “What the hell is going on here?” It was the horse trainer Klaus. He strode across floor of the Garden directly at the blonde girl.

  The much larger roustabouts parted to let the trainer through. He went directly to the girl and snapped at her, “What the hell are you doing with Champion, you idiot?”

  “Klaus, I was just…” she began.

  “I don’t want to hear you stupid excuses,” he yelled. The horse, hearing his voice began to snort in discomfort.

  “Easy off there, hombre,” Howard said. “That ain’t no way to talk to a lady.” The burly Texan moved to interpose himself between the trainer and the girl.

  “How dare you even address me, you dung sweeper,” Klaus hissed. He looked past Howard to stare daggers at the blonde. “As for you, I will deal with you later.” He turned abruptly on his heels and strode off as if his pronouncement was final and complete on the subject.

  Howard clenched his fists so hard his hands vibrated to keep himself from swinging at the trainer. The blonde girl saw this and put a hand on his arm again.

  “It’s okay,” she said in a subdued tone. She watched Klaus leave then added, “I really do appreciate you saving me, cowboy.” She leaned in and planted another quick peck on the Texan’s cheek before taking the lead line from one of the other men and walking the horse across the Garden floor.

  Howard stood staring after her, his suppressed rage at the trainer’s insults sending blood roaring in his ears.

  “Let it go, Bob,” Big Carney said, sliding up beside the Texan.

  “I ain’t so good at swallowin’ that kind of guff,” Howard said. “It comes hard to Texans.”

  “It comes hard to all of us, Boss Bob,” the black said with a deep sadness in his tone. “But youse gotta do it to get b
y.”

  Howard looked up at the African giant and gave a wan smile. “And sometimes even triumph, eh?”

  “We hope so, boss,” Big Carney said.

  The roustabouts returned to their duties, but all afternoon Howard’s mind kept returning to the placid beauty in the blue eyes of the girl and the viciousness in Klaus’s expression.

  Bernie and the Texan were thrown together often enough they were able to chat a bit as they worked.

  “So you write stories and people pay you?” The smaller man asked as they unloaded pallets of wood.

  “Well, they’re supposed to,” the Texan said with a laugh, “But places like Weird Tales take a dog’s age to pay.”

  “I just think it’s pretty amazing,” Bernie said. “I ain’t never met a writer.”

  “Well, I ain’t either,” Howard said. When the Jersey man looked confused Howard added, “Where I grew up, they kinda thought I was a circus freak for even reading as much as I did, let alone the idea of makin’ stories up and getting’ folks to buy them.”

  He hefted a four by four off the truck bed and stopped to wipe his brow. “I’ve only corresponded with a couple of writers. Howie Lovecraft up in Boston most, but I hope to meet some while I’m in New York and even visit some magazine publisher offices and get some assignments before I take off for Europe.”

  “Europe,” Bernie said with awe, shaking his head. “I’m just hoping to make it as far as the Mississippi with the circus someday. For a country boy you sure think big.”

  “Maybe,” Howard said with a chuckle. “But I’m a country boy from Texas, and that makes all the difference.”

  That night in the dinner tent, the hard working men were a jocular group and Howard almost forgot the incident until he saw the blonde rider and the trainer enter the tent. The girl had a black eye.

  There was a murmur of discontent as all those in the tent noticed the shiner on the pretty girl’s face.

  When the Texan saw it he started to rise, but Bernie put a hand on his arm and a discouraging glance from Big Carney kept him seated.