Dreadful Summit (6 page)

I didn't know what to do then. I couldn't run what with all the people blocking the way out, and I could hardly get at the gun because he had me crowded in so, and he might get suspicious if I made a quick grab for it again. I figured he must have seen the gun or felt it or something and that was why he pinched me, and then my mind started to go around like crazy trying to think of a good lie to tell him.

But he didn't frisk me. He didn't say anything about the gun. All he said was, ‘How much did you get for that ticket, Joe?'

I tried to tell him but it stuck in my throat so I held out the ten-dollar bill and he grabbed it and looked at it. He said, ‘That's all I want to know,' and he shoved me hard up against the wall and almost leaned on top of me. ‘Don't you know you can't go around peddling tickets like that, bud? You ain't as dumb as allo that, are you?'

There was a radiator up against the back of my legs, and it must have been red hot because I started to get all warm there and my whole body started to sweat. And he had his face right in mine and I could smell beer on him and it smelled awful. Only I was afraid to move my face away or my legs because it might make him sore, and if he moved one little inch he would be pushing right up against the gun. I tried to stand as still as I could, even with the radiator scorching through my pants, and I said, ‘I didn't know it was wrong to sell a ticket. Honest, mister, I wouldn't do it if I knew it was wrong. My father got two tickets, only he's sick so he couldn't come along with me. Honest, mister, I didn't know it was wrong.'

I talked as fast as I could, and he stood there blowing that beer in my face and not even blinking his eyes. ‘Got any identification, Joe?'

I said, ‘No,' and that was no lie. Everything was in the top dresser drawer. That was my drawer, and I knew my library card and my G.O. card from school were there, but all I had with me was the ticket and the gun. I was thinking fast. If I could shove him away with one hand, I could have a chance to get at the gun and make a break for it, and that was the only way I could see it. I would lay for Al Judge until the fights were over and then see if I could find him.

I started to let my right hand underneath my overcoat very slow, and the cop didn't notice. He said, ‘Where's your draft card? Don't you have sense enough to carry that around?'

I got my hand down into my pocket so my fingers touched the gun. My legs were burning so I didn't think I could stay like that much longer. I said, ‘I don't have any draft card. I'm not old enough.'

I got a good grip on the gun and started to draw it out of the pocket with my thumb on the safety. I started to slip the safety off but I stopped. It was better to wait until I had the gun out of my pocket. The backs of my legs were so hot they were one pain up and down, but I braced them against the radiator, so that when I shoved I wouldn't be pushed off balance.

One second before I was ready to shove, he stepped back away from me and held out the ten-dollar bill. He said, ‘Bud, as long as I got this evidence here you're in plenty of trouble. But you know, if there wasn't no evidence there isn't a damn thing I could do. Got any ideas?'

Then I saw the way he was looking at me and I caught on. I said, ‘That isn't my money. I don't know anything about it.'

He pushed his face close to mine again. ‘You sure?'

‘I don't know anything about it.'

‘You picked it up when you seen it fall out of my pocket, didn't you?'

I said, ‘Yes, that's what happened.'

He looked at the money, and then he folded it up very small and shoved it into his pants pocket. ‘Bud, let me give you some advice. The next time you see somebody drop money, don't think about it so long before you give it back. Now go on, get the hell out of here.'

My legs were so bad when I pulled away from the radiator that when the air hit my pants it felt like ice water. I didn't stop though, and I kept my hand on the gun while I walked over to the guard at the door. It felt like the cop was looking at the back of my neck every step I took. After I gave my ticket in and the guard tore it in half and gave me half back, I got up my nerve and looked around, but the cop was gone.

Then when I got into the lobby I bent and rubbed my hand up and down my legs because they felt like fire. And while I was doing that, it struck me for the first time maybe the guy wasn't a real cop after all. Maybe he was just a smart chiseller that got away with my ten dollars, and that made me hot all over.

If I only knew for sure he was a real cop I wouldn't care. I mean, all right, you pay off a cop, everybody does, and that's why guys want to be cops. But if a chiseller gets your money you're just dumb, and it shakes you all up inside.

Chapter Eight

I
WAS
getting close all right. I was on top of him now. He was sitting down there by the ring somewhere and before everybody started leaving and getting in my way I would be right after him and watch the way he went. I would tag him through the street or the subway or wherever he went. Maybe he would smell trouble and start to sweat. But if there was anybody around, it was still no good. He had to be alone, and even when I got him alone, I had to be careful because of that cane. I knew what he could do with that cane and I couldn't take any chances.

I leaned over the rail in front of my seat and tried to figure. His arm gave him about four feet, and the cane was good for another four. Then if he took a step, that was maybe two, three more. I added it up in my head and it came to ten, eleven feet, so the nearest I could come was twelve feet because I didn't want to take any chances.

Suppose he started to put up a fight before I got a chance to tell him what it was all about? I would have to plug him in the belly then, so he could hang on a little while and I could tell him. Then I would put in the finisher.

The big clock on the wall said ten o'clock, because the last preliminary was over and the main bout was ready to go on. That meant they were putting it on the radio too, and maybe Flanagan was sitting there and listening. He was a bug on fights, and if he got my father to bed all right he would sit in the parlor and listen. But what if my father got worried and they started looking for me? They would know easy where I was because the tickets were gone. The best thing would be if the fight was over right away and I could get going.

Only what worried me was finding Al Judge down there. There was no fighting in the ring, only a lot of guys walking around and talking, and plenty of light. Once the fight started, it would be even harder to find him, and it was plenty tough enough now without my glasses.

I started looking at one corner of the ring and I looked all around the four sides trying to count heads, but I could hardly make anything out. Then I saw the man next to me was looking through a little pair of field glasses, not big ones like Mr Reardon had for the races but little ones, and I figured I would ask for a lend of them. When I started to ask, I saw it was the redheaded man I sold my ticket to.

That shows how dumb you can be sometimes when you're all hot and bothered. I mean, he was using my other ticket so of course he would be sitting next to me, and I hadn't even thought about it until I saw him there.

He had his hat on his lap and he was looking through the glasses very busy, and his hair was about the way I figured it, short with a little wave in it and very red. When I started asking for the glasses he took them down, then he took a good look at me and grabbed my hand and shook it. His hand was very soft and smooth but he had a good grip. He said, ‘Well, I'm glad to see you. I saw that guy grab you right after I got inside the door, and I was wondering if I got you into any kind of mess. What was it all about?'

I said, ‘He was sore because I sold my ticket. He said I wasn't supposed to.' I was almost starting to spill what I figured out about the guy maybe being a chiseller and not even a cop, but I stopped myself. It wasn't anybody's business anyhow, so I only said, ‘Could I take a look through your glasses?'

He gave me the glasses and while I was winding that screw on them so I could see clear he said, ‘You did me a big favour. I've been looking forward to this fight, but I came down on a late train and by the time I got here there wasn't a ticket to be had. It looks like Abruzzo is a national hero.'

I said, ‘He's a good fighter all right,' but I didn't like him to bother me while I was monkeying around with the glasses. Then all of a sudden I was looking right at Al Judge and it was like catching a pail of cold water on my belly. Before I even thought, I jumped right back in my seat so he wouldn't see me. Then I remembered I was looking through the glasses and he couldn't see me at all. I was scared for a minute I wouldn't find him again, but it was easy now that I knew where he was.

He was sitting with a little typewriter in front of him and he was half turned around to say something to the man by the bell. His overcoat was off, but the big white scarf hung loose around his neck, and over the back of the chair was the cane. It was Al Judge all right, and I had him pinned down. He couldn't walk fast with his bad leg, I figured, and before he could get up from the chair I would be downstairs and right behind him.

Then the redheaded man said, ‘What's so interesting?' and started to reach for the glasses, and I gave them back before he could see where I was pointing them.

I said, ‘I saw my friend down there,' and he said, ‘Hell, the way you jumped I thought it was some good-looking babe taking her clothes off.'

Then he stuck his hand out again and said, ‘The name is Cooper. Dr Lloyd Cooper. What's yours?' and I shook his hand and said, ‘George LaMain.'

I was sorry right away. If there was going to be any trouble about what I did to Al Judge, it would be that much easier to put the finger on me. I mean, somebody knowing my name was bad and I started to sweat about it. Then I got an idea and I said, ‘I got a bet on with my friend, and if you're a doctor maybe you can settle it. I bet that a doctor has to keep everything a secret like a priest. Is that true?'

He thought it was a big joke. He laughed and said, ‘Not my kind of doctor. I'm a Ph. D.'

‘What kind is that?'

‘That's the kind that knows a lot about nothing. I'm a college instructor. Teach at Troy College upstate. Even so, I think you win the bet about doctors and secrets.'

I didn't win any bet, because if he wasn't a real doctor I shouldn't have said my name, but I was wondering if he wasn't lying about it. We have a doctor comes in the bar now and then and we have to call him mister because if the guys hear he's a doctor they start to bother him about what they have, and he doesn't like that. I figured maybe Dr Cooper didn't want me to ask him stuff about being sick and doctors, and that's why he said he was only a college professor. He didn't look like a college professor either. I mean he was young and pretty sharp, and they're all kind of old, I figured. I took a quick look at him, but he saw me and said, ‘What's the matter? Something worrying you?'

I said, ‘What do you teach?'

‘Oh, that. I'm preparing a load of foreign correspondents for shipment to the big city. I'm in the English department. Specialize in journalism.'

When he said that, the first thing I thought was crazy. I knew it but I couldn't stop it buzzing through my head. I thought, Al Judge knew everything about me and this guy was a friend of his he got to tail me, and I was a sure goner. Almost before I knew it, I turned a little sideways on the seat and got my hand on the gun. Then I knew it was crazy, it was too much of a long shot, and I started to breathe all right again. But even if it was a long shot, I had to make sure. I read plenty books and stuff where you find out what happens to guys who get careless. So I kept my hand on the gun and I said, ‘Do you know Al Judge?' I watched his face while I said it.

‘You mean the
Press
sports editor?'

‘Yes. Do you know him?'

‘Christ almighty, he was the first man I worked for when I got out of journalism school! And if there was ever a better excuse for getting out of newspaper work, I never found it.'

He wasn't lying. I was watching his face, and he meant it. Then he said, ‘Maybe I shouldn't have talked like that. Is he a friend of yours?'

I said, ‘No,' and then I sat up straight and let go of the gun because there was a lot of excitement downstairs with everybody yelling and some guys whistling and Rocks Abruzzo came into the ring, and right after that Joe Shotfield came in the other side.

After Dr Cooper was done looking through the glasses, I looked through them and I could see both of them very clear. But mostly I wanted to look at Al Judge, and when I got the glasses on him he was banging away at the typewriter and the scarf was flapping around right by his hands and it didn't seem to bother him. After I gave the glasses back, I could see that white scarf no matter where I looked. It was always in the corner of my eye, and I felt good about that.

I thought the fight would start right away now, but it didn't. There was still a lot of walking around and talking in the ring, and then a man got in the middle and he made some fighters come up and wave their hands at everybody.

All this time Rocks Abruzzo was sitting there, and there were a couple of men talking to him and one of them pointed to Joe Shotfield and Rocks Abruzzo shook his head. Joe Shotfield was tall and kind of skinny and he was holding on to the ropes and jumping up and down. I could see all that even without the glasses.

But it took a long time and I could feel my hands getting colder and colder while I was watching and keeping that white scarf in the corner of my eye. The gun hurt me too. The way I was sitting my pants were pulled tight, and something on the gun was sticking into my leg. I was afraid to move around and fix it because of the way Dr Cooper was leaning over.