Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “Talk? About what?” Reggie said, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone of voice.

  “About tonight’s fight, let’s say,” Nolan said. “You told us Nelson was going to win. Acting on that, like an idiot I’ll grant you, I bet everything I own, and some things I don’t, on him to win. Now I understand,” Nolan paused for breath, and his face got even redder, “now I understand you don’t have any real information about it. You got Nelson from some drunken halfwit at that loony bin you hang out in. Now, let’s have the truth. Who’s going to win? Or don’t you really know?”

  “Honest, I don’t know,” Reggie said. He felt cheered. Now that was settled and he could clear out of there. “I’m glad to help out,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll just run along. After you untie me, of course.”

  “Boss, I think he’s lying,” Ben said suddenly. “He ain’t as dumb as he looks. Remember those comics.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” Nolan said. He turned %o the big men at his back. “I’m going up to the office. See if you can’t refresh his memory.”

  “With pleasure, boss,” one of the men said, slowly removing his coat.

  Sari leaped to her feet. “Don’t you dare touch him,” she shouted.

  “Now relax,” Nolan said. “This is going to work out for the best, baby.”

  “No, I won’t let you hurt him,” Sari said.

  Nolan sighed. “Come on with me and Ben, baby. This isn’t going to be anything for a lady to watch.”

  Sari turned helplessly to Reggie, but Nolan caught her arm and then jerked her around and lifted her into his arms. He carried her off into the darkness, kicking and screaming, with Ben tagging along behind him.

  “Now,” one of the big men said to Reggie, “we can get down to business . . .”

  THE NEXT ten minutes were extremely painful for Reggie. The two big men bounced him on the floor like a basketball, and shook him until his teeth rattled like castanets. The violent session disproved to Reggie the theory that one could get used to anything in time; in ten minutes he was no more used to it than he was at the start, and he was convinced that he wouldn’t get used to it if it lasted ten years.

  Finally he was dropped on the floor like an old dishrag, and one of the men said, panting, “Well, he’s a secretive cuss, ain’t he?”

  “Maybe just stupid. All he says is he don’t know nothing,” the other man said.

  “Let’s check with the boss. He might have some ideas.”

  “Okay.”

  They found Nolan sitting behind a bare wooden desk frowning moodily at his big hands. Ben lounged against a wall. Sari was trussed up in a chair with a handkerchief wadded into her mouth. The only sound in the room, as Nolan looked hopefully at his two muscle men, was the muffled, indignant squawks that came from Sari.

  “Well?” Nolan said.

  “No dice. He don’t know nothing.”

  Nolan drummed his fingers on the desk. “This is very serious,” he said into the dusty silence of the office. “I have made contracts with certain gentlemen in town. When those contracts aren’t honored.—as they won’t be—they will be very unhappy. They will feel slightly better perhaps after cutting my throat, shooting me through the heart, and feeding me to the fish. After that, they’ll look for you boys. If you are dumb enough to still be inhabiting the world, they’ll find you and give you a dose of the same. Yes, it’s very serious,” he said, and shook his head.

  “Boss, I got an idea,” Ben said. “It’s chancy, but so is being shot in the head and having your throat cut.” He took a bottle from his pocket. It contained a few ounces of a colorless fluid. “I got this from a doctor. It affects a man’s eyes. Well, as a last resort, why don’t I try to slip a few drops of it into Bell’s water bucket. If I get away with it, we’ll be set. They’ll slap water over his face between the rounds, and he’ll get some of this stuff in his eyes. After a while he’ll have trouble seeing so well. How about it?”

  “Well, don’t stand there talking,” Nolan said. “Get moving!”

  AN HOUR later Nolan snapped on the small portable radio beside his desk. He wiped sweat from his forehead as the announcer’s voice blasted into the room: “From Madison Square Garden we bring you this year’s classic—fifteen rounds of boxing between Ace Nelson and Wild Billy Bell for the championship of the world. A great amount is in the balance tonight, ladies and gentlemen, a great amount in money, fame, and—”

  “Yeah, you can say that again,” Nolan muttered, standing, and rubbing his forehead.

  “I hope Nelson is knocked out in the first round, you cheap hoodlum,” Sari said. They had taken the gag from her mouth to prevent her from choking to death. They were gentlemen of the old school, in some respects.

  “Oh, shut up!” Nolan said. “As if I haven’t enough on my mind without your yammering at me.”

  Sari twisted at the ropes that held her to the chair and shouted, “I’ll fix you if it’s the last thing I do, Nolan.”

  “You want I should quiet her down?” one of the big men said.

  “Ah, let her yap off,” Nolan said distractedly.

  The announcer’s voice cut across the room: “. . . Seconds are out of the ring now, and there’s the bell! Bell moves out fast, catches Nelson in his corner. He scores with a hard left, and then a right. Nelson backs along the ropes. That first exchange left him with a cut lip. Bell looks very strong. He’s closing again, hammering with straight rights and lefts . . .”

  “Wonderful!” Sari shouted. “Kill him, Bell.”

  “Shut up!” Nolan said.

  “It’s all Bell this round. He’s finding the range time and again. Nelson is in trouble now. He can’t seem to get away from Bell’s hard straight rights. He’s taking a lot of punishment in this first round. Now—and there’s the bell. The first round was Bell by a wide margin, ladies and gentlemen. He looks very strong, very sure of himself, as he goes back to his corner. Pie’s grinning as his seconds work on him, wipe the perspiration from his forehead and face. Listen to that crowd yell.”

  “I feel sick,” Nolan said.

  “What’s a nice fast train to New York?” one of the big men said nervously.

  “And here’s round two! It’s the same thing all over again. Bell is out like a tiger, crowding Nelson into a corner. But wait a minute. Nelson is finding the range now. Bell seems a little fuddled, dazed now. He’s wiping his eyes with the back of his right gloves, and moving away. He shakes his head. Nelson is after him, hitting him with solid lefts and rights. Bell is missing. He seems to have slowed down. He’s blinking his eyes, looking around as if he can’t see. Nelson must have shook him up pretty badly with one of his punches, although it didn’t look too effective from where we’re sitting. This is Nelson’s round, without a doubt. He’s coming in more confidently now, as Bell backs away, shaking his head.” A little later: “And there’s the bell ending round two. And just in time, I’ll bet Bell is saying to himself.”

  NOLAN CLAPPED hands together. “Ben did it!” he said in a hoarse, incredulous voice.

  By the end of round five Nolan was grinning widely. His two henchmen were equally cheerful. They sat smoking cigars and chuckling as the announcer recounted the carnage that Nelson was wreaking on Bell. “What’s keeping him up?” the announcer said more than once, in an awed tone.

  “Ha, ha,” Nolan laughed. “That’s good. Fall over, Bell. Lie down and die. Go on, make me a millionaire, you big bum. Good old Ben!”

  At the end of the tenth round Nelson was hitting Bell with everything but the ring posts.

  “Well, it’s in the bag now,” Nolan said, still yawning. “Let’s finish up our little business here. Go get the boy prophet.”

  “What are you going to do to Reggie?” Sari said.

  “Well, that’s kind of a problem,” Nolan said, blowing smoke in the air. He sighed thoughtfully. “We got to get rid of him, of course. And you too, Sari.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” she said, and then she looked away fr
om him, a tight, nervous smile on her lips. “Yes, you would, of course. You’d boil your mother in oil for a dollar.”

  “Now, Sari,” Nolan said.

  “For half a dollar.”

  “You see, you heard that business about fixing Bell’s eyes,” Nolan said. “Talk could get started about that, and it would make my bookies unhappy. They might think I fixed the fight just to clip them.”

  “But you don’t have to kill Reggie”

  “Well, it’s safer this way. Sari, you know how this business is. I wish you’d stop acting and talking so dumb.”

  The two big men came in carrying Reggie’s bound figure between them. He was conscious, and looked fairly cheerful.

  “This is the end of the line, Sari,” he said. “Don’t worry anymore. We get off here. These men said so.”

  “Oh, Reggie,” she said in a trembling voice.

  “Let’s go,” Nolan said.

  The two men carried Reggie up to the river’s edge. Nolan followed them with Sari in his arms. One of the men attached a heavy iron weight to Reggie’s feet. “Well, this is it, chum,” the man said. “Give my regards to the mud carp.”

  “Now wait a minute, you can’t throw me in the river,” Reggie said.

  “Why not?”

  “Why, I’d drown,” Reggie cried triumphantly.

  “Yeah, that’s the idea,” the man said, and pushed him into the river.

  “Reggie!” Sari sobbed. “Oh, you monsters!”

  AT THAT instant something incredible happened. Something so incredible that Malachy Nolan, who had seen such miracles as honest cops and virtuous chorus girls, very nearly swallowed his cigar in astonishment.

  A flaming streak, trailing plumes of fire like a comet, flashed from the heavens and plummeted into the river. There was a flat, echoing smack! as this phenomenon struck the water, and then it reappeared, climbing in an arc to come to rest on the dank wooden wharf of the river.

  Nolan sank to his knees, dropping Sari like a bundle of old clothes. His face grew pale, his eyes bugged out.

  A man stood before him, a tall, heroically proportioned man with calm, noble features, and long black hair. He wore a flowing white robe and a band of gold gleamed across his head. In his arms he carried the limp, damp figure of Reggie Saint Gregory.

  “What are your wishes, my master?” this incredible figure sad in a deep powerful voice.

  Reggie coughed, spewing out dirty river water. “Well, what do you think? Get these silly ropes off me.”

  “It is done, master.”

  Reggie stood free and unencumbered. The ropes had dissolved with the words.

  “And her, too,” Reggie snapped. Yoh-Agparth waved a hand, and the bonds fell from Sari’s wrists and ankles. She sat up slowly, her eyes round as saucers.

  “Reggie, who is he?”

  “Well, I’ll be blasted if I know,” Reggie said. He studied the man for a moment, then light broke into the dark areas of his memory. “Oh, I say! It’s the fellow who sold me the paper.” Reggie wagged at a finger at Yoh-Agparth. “I’ll just take that nickel, old man.”

  “You desire a nickel?”

  “I should say I do,” Reggie said indignantly.

  Something cold and shining appeared in his palm. It was a nickel. He bit it cautiously, then slipped it into his damp pocket. “Well, that’s better.” He scratched his head, suddenly recalling the words he had read in the issue of True Astrology that he picked from the newsdealer’s lap that night. Of course! It was all very clear now. He had decided that if he ever had an anchor around his neck and were about to do a bit of high diving—well, there it was! Pip! Pip! Here came this chap to help him out.

  “Is there anything else, master?” Yoh-Agparth said. “If my mission is completed, I shall return to my eternal solitude.” There was more than a touch of hope in his voice.

  NOLAN HAD got to his feet. Some of his poise had returned. One of his men said, “Who is this character, boss? He’s upset our plans, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” Nolan said. “Shall we take care of him?” Reggie put a hand on Yoh-Agparth’s massive shoulders. “There’s just one little thing you might do, old chap.”

  “Command, master,” Yoh-Agparth said disconsolately.

  “These chaps here take care of them,” Reggie said, folding his arms and smiling genially at Nolan and his two hulking henchmen.

  “Take care of them? In what manner, master?”

  “Well, let me see,” Reggie mused. “Tell you what. They’re crazy about fighting. It’s on their mind all the time. Supposing you just fight with them a little bit.”

  “I cannot fight ‘a little bit’, master.”

  “Well, fight a lot, then,” Reggie said.

  “Very well, master.”

  One of Nolan’s men suddenly lunged at Yoh-Agparth, whipping a sap from his pocket.

  What happened then was difficult to follow and, if one were sensitive, extremely painful to watch. Yoh-Agparth gathered the lunging thug into his arms almost tenderly, then tipped him upside down and caught hold of his ankle with one hand. Swinging the man about his head in a spinning arc, Yoh-Agparth advanced on Nolan and the remaining hoodlum. Nolan dug into his pocket for a gun, but the human flail struck him at that moment and knocked him twenty feet away, where he landed on his head and lay still. The second thug, showing better sense, attempted to run. Yoh-Agparth let him get a full fifty yards away, then hurled the thug after him like a javelin. His aim was perfect. The two men went skidding along the wharf in a tangle of arms and legs, and came to rest with sickening abruptness against an iron stanchion.

  “And now, master, I bid thee farewell,” Yoh-Agparth said.

  “But just a minute!” Sari cried. “Reggie, the fight. Bell is being murdered. That means these bums will collect fortunes. Oh, Reggie, can’t he do something about that?”

  REGGIE TURNED to Yoh-Agparth.

  “I hate to impose, old man, but—”

  “I am at your service,” Yoh-Agparth said wearily.-

  “Well, I’d like a man named Bell to win a prize fight. Now, it’s rather difficult to explain, but—”

  “I understand,” Yoh-Agparth said. “And is that all?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Something flashed into the sky like an arcing flame. Reggie blinked. Yoh-Agparth was gone. “Skittish sort of chap,” he muttered.

  Sari had run back to the office and was listening to the radio. “It’s the last round, Reggie, Bell is being killed. Listen!”

  “. . . What’s keeping him up we’ll never know. Nelson is hitting him at will. The crowd is demanding that the referee stop the fight and—wait a minute—I think he will. Yes, he’s over in Bell’s corner, Bell’s manager picking up the towel. Bell has put up a game fight, he’s taken a terrible beating, but it will be over in a minute. Nelson is still moving in, still throwing leather—and just a minute! Bell has straightened up and started to fight. He shakes his head. He’s like another man. Nelson is backing away. Bell hits him once, twice, and Nelson is down! This is amazing! Everyone is on his feet. They’re screaming. I’m screaming! Nelson can’t get up! The referee is counting him out. It’s all over, it’s all over . . .” The announcer’s voice broke and he began to babble.

  “Well, shall we go?” Reggie said, snapping off the radio.

  They took a cab to his apartment, where Reggie got into dry clothes. Roberts brought them sandwiches and a drink. They settled down comfortably on the couch. “You know, those friends of yours are definitely not out of the top drawer,” Reggie said. “Definitely.”

  Sari hugged his arm. “When they find out who won the fight, they’ll be hiding in some bottom drawer.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” Reggie said. Already the affair was assuming an unreal, dream-like quality. The past was past, Reggie always felt, so why worry about it? Still, there was the future. “You know, old dear,” he said, munching a sandwich, “if I asked you to marry me, and you said yes,
then I’d be in a spot, because I have no money.”

  “Reggie, that doesn’t matter,” Sari said happily.

  “Doesn’t it?” Reggie said. “Most girls make a frightful row when you tell them about the lack of the old ready.”

  ROBERTS CLEARED his throat.

  “Pardon me, sir, but I must confess to a most reprehensible bit of conduct. Last week I found an odd newspaper by your chair and, on examining it, I realized that it purported to be a record of coming events.”

  “Yes, it was next week’s newspaper,” Reggie said. “I made a nice bit of cash with it. Picked up seven dollars betting with Doaby on the comics.”

  “I, too, made a nice bit of cash with it,” Roberts said. “I once had some experience in the stock market and, seeing that the market reports in this particular paper were highly interesting so far as certain future fluctuations were concerned, I took the liberty of . . . ah . . . parlaying our meagre assets into a quite impressive sum. You will not have to worry about the rent any more, sir. Or anything else, for that matter.”

  “Well, that’s fine,” Reggie said. “Top hole, and all the rest of it.” He wished Roberts would go away and stop bothering him with these details. Today there was money, yesterday there wasn’t. It was all so boring. He wished Roberts would make up his mind once and for all.

  When Roberts finally left, Reggie kissed Sari thoroughly. Finally she stirred in his arms and sat up straight. She looked him in the eye.

  “Reggie,” she said, “I don’t want to talk about that friend of yours. The one in the white toga. Not now. Not for a good many years. Some day, when we’re old and settled, I’ll make you a cup of tea and sit quietly while you tell me all about him. Do you understand?”

  “Why, sure, old dear. He was a decent chap though, wasn’t he? I’d rather like to get to know him.” Reggie sighed. Good chaps flitted in and out of your life, and that was the end of it. It was very sad. “Yes, I’d like to know him better.”