In about two minutes it was all over. The last man went down and Lefty was left all alone, glowering savagely over the carnage he had created. Still, in his eyes, there was a peculiar look, a look of mingled surprise and doubt and disbelief.
I heard a plop at my feet and I looked down to see Perosi’s manager flat on the floor. The shock had been too much for him.
“C’mon,” I said weakly to Lefty, “let’s get out of here.”
Lefty wiped the sweat from his eyes and grinned suddenly.
“Boy oh boy,” he chortled, “who says I’m washed up? Did you see those rights. I never threw punches like them in my best days.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what worrying me.”
IF you’ve read the sports pages lately you know what happened after Lefty knocked out Bull Perosi. The Bull was so badly battered that his manager cancelled the championship fight with Johnny Sylva. Then the papers picked up the story of how Lefty had knocked out both the champ and the Bull, and they began shouting that Lefty be given a legitimate chance at the champ. They pointed out that since the Bull was cancelling the match it would only be fair to give Lefty his chance at the crown.
There was a lot of sentiment in the set-up and the fans went for it like a ton of bricks. The idea of the old washed-up Lefty O’Rourke coming back with a great new punch kind of caught their imagination. At first Morris Kling flatly refused to have anything to do with the deal, but then the pressure was put on him by the papers, and finally he agreed to have Sylva fight Lefty.
The two most surprised guys in the whole surprised town of New York was Lefty and me. But probably the maddest person in the whole town was Lefty’s girl, Ellen.
When she read about the deal she came storming into the gym where Lefty was training, and read the riot act to both of us.
Ellen is small and dark and pretty, but is also as Irish as a shamrock, and that made her pretty hard to handle.
“I’m ashamed of you Micky Flynn,” she blazed at me. “You should have better sense, even if Lefty hasn’t.”
“Now darling,” Lefty said miserably, “you—”
“Don’t ‘darling’ me,” Ellen flared. “You know very well that you’re taking a chance on losing what brains you’ve got by meeting Johnny Sylva. You promised me you were getting out of the fight game, and now you’ve signed up to meet the hardest, toughest man in the middle division.”
“Lefty’s a new man these days,” I tried to explain. “He ain’t the old Lefty. He’s got a punch now. He’s liable to murder Sylva.”
“Lefty couldn’t punch his way out of a paper bag,” Ellen said disgustedly.
“Show her, Lefty,” I said. “Go on and show her.”
Lefty turned to the punching bag which was hanging next to his head and threw a right at it. It was the new right, the steaming blazing right hand that Lefty had somehow developed at the ripe old age of thirty-four. The punching bag exploded with a loud pop! under the rifle-like speed of Lefty’s wonderful right.
Even Ellen was impressed.
She looked at the limply swinging bag and then to Lefty.
“When did this happen?” she asked. “I thought those newspaper yarns were just ballyhoo.”
Suddenly I remembered something that I’d been wanting to find out about ever since Lefty had knocked out Johnny Sylva.
“LOOK, Ellen,” I said. “You’re a smart kid. I mean you’ve been to school and everything, so answer me this. What is this aurora—aurora boric acid, or something like that? What is it?”
“The aurora borealis?” Ellen said, lifting her eyebrows, “Is that what you mean?”
“Yeah,” I said, “that’s it. Now what is it?”
“Well,” Ellen said, “I don’t know whether scientists have agreed on just what causes it, but most of them believe that it is the result of cosmic rays flashing out of the universe to bombard Earth with light. The rays are of terrific force and power put why and what causes them is beyond me. But when did you get so interested in the aurora borealis?”
“Oh,” I said hastily, “I’ve always been interested in it. Now Ellen, Lefty’s got to take a shower so you’ll have to excuse us for a few minutes.”
I grabbed Lefty by the arm then and hauled him off to the shower room. I tell you I hadn’t been so excited in years. The old ticker was thumping like a beaver’s tail and my fingers were trembling.
“What’s up?” Lefty asked. “You know I ain’t supposed to take my shower yet.”
“I know, I know,” I snapped. “But I had to talk to you. You heard what she said didn’t you?”
“About me not fighting Sylva?” he asked dumbly.
“No,” I snapped. “I mean about the aurora thingamajig. You know just at the time that Johnny Sylva konked you, one of them cosmic rays she was talking about hit you dead center.”
“Did it now?” Lefty asked, impressed.
“Sure it did,” I said. “It was a big red bolt and I seen it heading for the ring and smack right into you. You’da felt it only, at the same time Sylva’s punch exploded on your button.”
Lefty thought a long time, his heavy brow wrinkling with the effort. Finally he said:
“Okay, I got hit with a cosmic ray. So what?”
“You chump,” I said. “Don’t you get it? That’s where your punch came from. You never had no punch till you got hit with ray. You know that, don’t you?”
Lefty nodded thoughtfully.
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s right.”
“Didn’t you hear Ellen say that these cosmic rays are terrifically powerful?” I asked him.
“Yeah,” he said, “she did say that.” He looked at his right fist wonderingly.
“That’s the whole thing in a nutshell,” I cried. “You got hit with a cosmic ray and now you got a cosmic punch.[*] A killer-diller wallop. It’s as simple as anything.”
Lefty smiled happily.
“Yeah,” he said brightly. “It’s simple as anything. Now I got a cosmic punch. No wonder I’ve been knocking these bums silly. Oh boy, wait’ll I get another chance at Sylva. I’ll murder the bum.”
LEFTY’S new cosmic punch really set the sports world on fire. Every day hundreds of people crowded into the gym where we were training, to watch him dump sparring partners on their ears. He still had no left to speak of, and his legs were like putty after a few rounds, but I was figuring on him dusting off the champ in a hurry.
With his cosmic punch I knew he could do it. He felt the same way. Now that he knew that his right mitt was just chock-full of cosmic power, he was the most confident guy in the world. He predicted he’d knock Sylva out in the first round, and I believed him.
Ellen was still dubious about the fight and she told me that if I let Lefty get pounded to pieces she’d never speak to either of us again. And, believe me, she meant just that. Lefty had to win, and win with a fast knockout or everything was off.
That was the way things stood when Lefty and me followed the guard of cops down the aisle of the Garden a few nights later. The place was jammed to the roof, and everybody there was hollering louder than the guy next to him. It was a smoke filled, noisy arena, of maniacs, but I loved ’em all.
When the champ came in he got a nice hand from the crowd, Hut nothing like they gave Lefty. They were pulling for Lefty to do the impossible. To come back at thirty four to take the crown he couldn’t get ten years before.
And all the stories about his cosmic punch had stirred them up until they were bug-eyed and crazy for him to knock the champ right up into the rafters.
Then both fighters were in the center of the ring getting their instructions. Both of ’em looked in fine shape, especially Sylva.
His heavily muscled shoulders gleamed magnificently under the strong arc lights and he looked in perfect shape and tough as leather.
Lefty looked all right too, except for the paunchiness around his waist and the varicose veins that crawled around his legs like twiners around an oak.
I wasn’t worrying about his legs though, and neither was he. It was that cosmic punch we were counting on. That blast of dynamite in his right hand that he got from the aurora boroxide.
When he came back from the ring and slipped his bathrobe off I started to tell him something, but he wasn’t listening or looking at me.
Instead he was staring down into the second row, where a small, ragged little man, with mean, baleful eyes was glaring up at him.
“Izzy the Eye!” I heard Lefty gasp.
I looked again and sure enough it was. Izzy the Eye was a character who hung around Broadway and the rumor was that he had an evil eye. At most prize fights you could find him staring hard at one man, trying to jinx him with that bad eye of his. Of course he was always paid by the other fighter and his manager. I realized when I saw him down there that Morry Kling had paid him to put the hex on Lefty.
And Lefty was superstitious as only an Irishman can be.
“Don’t pay him no mind,” I said hurriedly. “You got that cosmic punch in that right mitt of yours, and don’t forget it.”
“I won’t,” Lefty said uneasily. “But I wish he’d quit staring at me. I feel like he’s draining the strength right out of me.”
“Forget about him,” I said desperately.
Then the bell rang and the fight for the middleweight championship was on.
SYLVA came out fast carrying the fight to Lefty with a barrage of hard rights and lefts. Lefty backed away clumsily. He had a chance to use his right once, but he hesitated for an instant and the chance was gone. I began to feel the sweat running down my back.
Lefty wasn’t fighting the way I’d told him to. He was trying so hard to get away from the champ that he was leaving himself wide open. Sylva missed a few times but he wouldn’t keep that up. He was still a little worried about Lefty’s cosmic punch and that made him cautious.
Lefty got through the round, but he didn’t look a bit good when he settled on his stool for the minute rest.
“What’s the matter?” I hissed. “Take a pot at him. You got all the punch you need to put him away. You got the whole aurora borealium in back of you. You can’t miss.”
“I’m worried, Mickey,” he panted. “Izzy the Eye is draining my strength. It’s no use. I’m through. I can’t hit no more. My cosmic punch is gone.”
“You’re crazy,” I stormed at him. “How do you know it’s gone if you don’t try?”
“I just know,” he muttered.
And he was right.
In the second round the champ laid himself wide open on a wagon tongue left hook and Lefty popped him on the button with the cosmic punch. But it was just a weak imitation of the real thing.
It didn’t have any steam at all. It traveled so slow I could count the stitches in Lefty’s glove as it fanned through the air.
The champ shook the punch off, grinned and started to bore in. It was apparent that he wasn’t worrying about Lefty’s cosmic punch any longer. He backed Lefty around the ring and finally caught him in a corner. Lefty took a bad mauling before he could get away, and then he was panting hard and bleeding from two cuts over his eye.
He looked desperate out there and, if I hadn’t known he’d kill me when he got hold of me, I’d of thrown in the towel.
When he wobbled back to his stool after the second, I knew he was through. And he knew it too.
“I’m done for,” he gasped. “Izzy the Eye has drained all the cosmic rays out of me.”
I could do nothing but nod glumly. It was the only thing I could think of that would account for Lefty’s lack of steam.
WHEN the bell rang for the third, Lefty tottered back to the slaughter and I hated to see him go. But he wouldn’t let me stop it.
Just about that time a dark-haired wildcat clawed at my shoulder and I turned to find Lefty’s girl, Ellen, at my side.
“You brute” she cried angrily. “Why do you let him stay in there and take that beating?” This is all your fault. If you hadn’t gotten him all excited about this stupid aurora borealis business he wouldn’t be in there. He thought because of that he was invincible and now he’s getting the sawdust knocked out of his head for it.”
“Please,” I said frantically. “I—” I stopped dead. Something Ellen had said suddenly leaped before my mind in neon letters three feet high. “He thought . . . he was invincible . . .”
“Ellen,” I shouted suddenly. “Do you want to help Lefty?”
“Yes, but—”
“No ‘buts,’ ” I yelled. “Listen to me.” It took me twenty seconds to get the idea over to her, and then she said it was crazy, mad, senseless, stupid and a few other things.
“Don’t argue with me,” I shouted. “Do as you’re told.”
I didn’t mean to shout at the kid, but it was a good thing I did, I guess, because it got results.
“All right,” she said, “I’ll do it.”
“Not till you get the signal from me,” I said. “Now get going.”
She hurried away, running up the aisle like a startled deer.
I watched her for a second and then turned back to the fight. Lefty was still on his feet, but it was a miracle to me how he did it. For another two minutes he staggered around taking more and more punches and then the gong saved him.
When he collapsed on the stool, he was too far gone to talk and I didn’t have anything to say then that would help him. My eyes were glued on the big platform up on the rafters that held the various spotlights and photographic equipment. For an anxious ten seconds I watched the platform railing and then, to my great relief, I saw a small feminine form appear and wave frantically to me.
I waved back, and I had to keep my teeth clamped shut or my heart would have jumped right out of my mouth. I was that excited.
Then suddenly from the spotlight platform a great light broke as a half-dozen of the long range beams began sweeping about the arena. They were of all colors, and since they had been used the week before in the annual fire show, red predominated. I grabbed Lefty and shook him desperately. His eyes flickered groggily.
“Look,” I yelled. “The aurora bronchitis is back again. The cosmic rays are beaming all over you again!”
Just then a big red beam of light swept over the ring bathing Lefty in its crimson glare.
“Holy smoke!” he cried, shaking his head.
The lights all disappeared then, and the bell for the fourth round sounded. Lefty was so impatient that I had to drag him back to shove the mouth protector into his face. Then I let him go out there to fight.
HE charged into the middle of the ring like a new man. Unfortunately the champ didn’t realize this. For he tried another round house right which left him wide open for Lefty’s right counter.
And how Lefty countered!
Later, the press gang at the ringside claimed that four of their typewriters was busted when the champ came over the ropes and landed on top of them. Of course reporters always exaggerate. As a matter of fact only three machines was busted.
But three or four, it makes no difference. Lefty won the middleweight championship with as pretty a right to the chin as I’ve ever seen.
I only made me mistake after the fight. I told Lefty what Ellen and I had done with the spotlights. I told him that it wasn’t the cosmic punch which had beaten the champ, but straight Lefty O’Rourke.
When Lefty realized that the cosmic punch was gone for good he decided to quit the ring without even defending his title.
I’ve never seen anyone happier than Ellen when he told her this.
She slipped into his arms and, take it from me, the cosmic punch might be gone, but Lefty has got a cosmic clinch to take its place.
And me? Well I’m looking for Izzy the Eye, and when I find him I’m going to get him under contract. Because those cosmic rays went somewhere and there’s just a chance that Izzy might have absorbed them from Lefty. And if he did, well I’ll have the new bantamweight champ right in my pocket.
[*] Cosmic Punch. While
Lefty and Micky Flynn have arrived at their conclusion in a very naive fashion, it is possible that their reasoning has a sound basis of scientific fact behind it. The aurora borealis is one of Nature’s most perplexing mysteries. Opinions regarding it vary greatly, but it is definitely agreed that the brilliant rays of light which accompany this beautiful phenomenon originate from outer space, from some remote area of the great dark depths of the universe. Cosmic storms in space might produce such disturbances, and if this is true, it is not terribly far-fetched to suppose that these powerful emanations from space might be absorbed by a human body on Earth. As the body absorbs the sun’s rays, so it might absorb the mighty cosmic space-rays. Something like this might have happened to Lefty O’Rourke. Something like this might also have happened to Lou Nova, but evidently a very good antidote for such “cosmic” punches are a couple of Brown Bombs, taken externally.
HOWIE LEMP MEETS AN ENCHANTRESS
First published in the February 1942 issue of Fantastic Adventures.
The Leanhaun Shee lived on love—and she was the slave of any man who could resist the enchantment of her charms!
THE meteoric rise of Howie Lemp to the head of Colossal Films was one of those things that happen too frequently in Hollywood to cause a great deal of excitement.
The City of Celluloid has come to accept Boy Wonders in the same spirit they would any natural phenomenon. That is, as something inexplicable, but inevitable. Usually the human eccentricities that thrive in the eccentric atmosphere of Hollywood are speedily eclipsed and forgotten.
For that reason it is a remarkable fact that the feminine star Howie Lemp brought to Hollywood with him will never be forgotten. It would be easier to forget an earthquake than to forget the amazing girl who precipitated the chain of events that finally led Howie Lemp to Bagdad-on-the-Pacific.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 72