Long White Con: The Biggest Score of His Life (19 page)

Folks said, “It’s a pleasure to do business with you, Mister Brice,” as he shoved the copy of the contract and a pen across the desktop toward Tango.

Tango squared up his heavy shoulders, crossed his steel cable legs, picked a mote of lint from his green suit. He stared unhappily at the contract with narrowed maroon eyes. Then he resolutely shook his glittery processed buffalo head. “Mister Hoffman, you ain’t got nothing there yet for me to Hancock.”

Folks and Kid exchanged puzzled and distressed looks.

Tango shot a look at Speedy, beaming proudly, and said, “You gonna have to call that girl back and let her tack on a pair of addenda in that contract. I got to keep my chicken shack and I gotta be the only one on the southside selling Precious Chicken.”

Folks shoved himself back from the desk with maximal aggravation on his face. “Ridiculous! I can’t do it! Mister Brice, a deal like that is unprecedented!”

Tango started to rise, faltered, shot an agonized look at Speedy. Speedy hardened his eyes, nodded almost imperceptibly to prod Tango to hang tough and split.

Tango tightened his jaw, hauled himself out of the chair, swallowed and said stoutly, “Since you can’t do it, Mister Hoffman, I’m walking. I ain’t on welfare.” He turned and walked toward the door, followed by Precious.

The players let them go through the door, waited long moments before Folks said, “All right, Speedy, reel him back in.”

Speedy went after them, spotted them at the elevator and whistled as they were stepping into it. “C’mon back, brothers! We’ve won!”

The corridor resounded as they spanked palms and embraced one another. Tango hugged Speedy’s waist and lifted him into the air as passersby gawked.

“Shit, brother, you got to be the greatest nigger there ever was. I love ya!”

Speedy said, “Now, brother, remember you don’t sign the contract until I can dig us up a contract expert. Pick up the contract and split again.”

Tango said, “Brother Genius, I can dig it. I’m letting you call the shots!”

They entered, went into Folks’ office. Kid was sitting in Folks’ leather throne behind the desk, smiling charmingly. Folks sat, morosely, in Kid’s chair.

Kid said, “Congratulations, Mister Brice. I have decided to meet your demands. Ann is inserting the addenda you requested. Please relax and have a seat. You’re dealing with me now.”

They seated themselves. Ann brought back the contracts, placed pen, and the copy of the contract on the desk top before Tango, smiled and departed.

Kid said, “Mister Brice, for a layman, you’re an absolute whiz at getting your way in a business transaction,” as he darted a hooded, suspicious look at Speedy.

Tango stood, snatched the contract off the desktop and grinned. “I got mother wit, Mister Hoffman. I’ll call you and sign after a lawyer fine-tooths these papers.”

“Of course, Mister Brice, that’s your privilege.” Kid stood and leaned across the desk to pump Tango’s hand.

Then Folks came to shake Tango’s hand. He said, “Mister Brice, your demands shook me up a bit. I’m sorry, I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Tango banged Folks’ shoulder. “Everything is mellow, Mister Hoffman. See ya.” Tango turned away for the door, followed by Precious and Speedy.

Folks said, “Carl, I’d like you to drop me off at the gym before you take Mister Brice and Mister Allen home. I want to check up on Upshaw’s condition.”

Speedy said, “Why not, boss?”

Kid said sternly, “Steven, I certainly hope that you stay away from that gambling den in that building where the gym is located. Gamblers are neurotics, prone to pain and disgrace. Protect our name as your dear departed mother would wish.”

“Dad, I haven’t taken a bet since that raid in college. I share your views about gamblers.”

“That’s my boy!”

As Folks started to leave the office with the others, Kid said pleasantly, “Hope to see you soon, Mister Brice. Oh Steven, may I have a brief word with you?”

Folks turned. “Of course, Dad,” then said over his shoulder, “Carl, you may take the gentlemen to the car. I’ll join you shortly.”

Speedy led them to the limousine’s front seat cushions. They sat smoking in silence for several moments until Tango said, “Brother Carl, you and Upshaw really are boss squares if you wait to start a nest-egg with that dago in the old country. Brother, your boss is ready now for the killing floor!”

Precious exclaimed, “Tango, I know what you’re thinking. And it’s mellow!”

Speedy said, “Me and Upshaw been waiting to do business in Rome because Sergio is the only one with enough bankroll to make Upshaw’s . . . ah, loss worthwhile for us. He guarantees us fifty percent of what the boss loses. We trust him, I trust you, so share your thoughts, Tango.”

Before Tango could reply, Speedy’s eyes caught fire. He snapped his fingers. “Don’t tell me, brother! In a week or so you’ll have a big
bankroll from the franchise deal. Then we can arrange a private bout between Samson and Upshaw. Junior makes reparations, a hundred grand or so when Upshaw loses. You bet Hoffman bread against Junior. Brother Tango, what beautiful thinking you do!”

Tango’s Neanderthal face was smug. “Carl, you been playing me cheap. We ain’t gotta wait for that deal to intercourse Junior outta the first bundle.”

“What
first
bundle, brother?”

“You heard me. Why shit, after the franchise deal goes down, Junior’s nose will be wide open for a re-match. That is, if Samson and Upshaw do a secret rehearsal before they have the first bout.”

Speedy leaned across Precious from behind the wheel and pumped Tango’s hand. “Brother, it’s brilliant!” But even as his praise echoed, Speedy frowned. He slumped behind the wheel, apparently crestfallen. “There’s too much risk. After losing that first bundle, suppose Junior gets the idea that we rigged the bout to cheat him. He’ll get salty and maybe cancel the franchise deal.”

Tango said, “That square-ass peckerwood can’t wake up if our fighters rehearse. ‘sides, his old man is handling my deal, and ‘sides that, you heard how his old man feels about gambling. Junior is tee-rolled!”

Speedy’s brows hedge-rowed in thought before he said, “What’s your opinion, Precious?”

Precious answered, “Tango is right. Junior is in a box.”

Speedy nodded toward Folks stepping from the elevator into the garage. “All right Tango, me and Upshaw are in, if you can prod Junior into a bout. You take over, brother.”

Speedy started the car and eased it abreast of Folks, then leapt out to open the rear car door for Folks. Speedy shut the door behind him, went behind the wheel and drove them into the late afternoon traffic.

Twenty minutes later, they sat inhaling sweat and resin odors on a row of reclaimed wooden movie seats at a ringside in the spacious two-ring gym. It was resonating with
grunt, smash
and
whish
sounds
of two dozen black and white pro boxers honing their skills, jumping rope and banging punching bags.

The Folks’ group’s eyes were riveted to the gargantuan Upshaw, in tights and training helmet. His hawk face blossomed sweat as his sleek muscles undulated beneath his inky skin. He thumped and peppered his bullish Mexican spar mate with ferocious jabs and hooks to the face and body as he feinted, danced and sidestepped with superstar matador finesse.

In a clinch, Upshaw’s eye flicked across ringside and snared Speedy’s twitch of right eyebrow signal. The white haired mulatto referee stepped in and separated them. Upshaw rammed a wicked left hook into his opponent’s solar plexus, followed by a crunching right cross to the chin that flew his mouthpiece through the air like a mini Frisbee. The Mexican shook, for a moment, like a cerebral palsy victim before he crashed backward to the canvas and lay motionless in kayo slumber.

Handlers leapt into the ring with smelling salts to revive the boxer, who left the ring on rubbery legs. Harlem grifter Tear Off Thomas, alias Upshaw, climbed from the ring. Folks stood and blotted off his sweat with a Turkish towel. He flung a terrycloth robe across Upshaw’s shoulders and gave him a bottle of Gator Ade as Upshaw sprawled himself on the row of seats between Tango and Folks.

Folks said, “Good boy, Upshaw! I’m proud of you. Your timing is exquisite and your combinations are cooking.”

“Thank you, Mister Hoffman. Does that mean you’ll try to get me a fight soon here in the States, maybe with a ranked contender?”

Folks removed his gloves and patted his shoulder. “I’ve thought about it, Upshaw. You deserve and are qualified for a shot like that. However, there isn’t time to arrange an important match like that. Two months from today we fly to the Continent to fight the number one contender for the European title. I called Rome this morning to make the arrangements.”

Upshaw slumped his shoulders, stared disconsolately at the floor.

Folks jabbed his shoulder. “Cheer up for me, Upshaw, and perhaps I can arrange to get you on the card next month here in the stadium in the main event.”

Then he sighed. “That is, if the matchmaker can dig up an adequate opponent on such short notice. It’ll be virtually impossible for any unranked heavy in America to stand against your attack for more than two rounds. I’d like to insure you some tune-up action and the buffs a run for the price of their tickets.”

Tango snickered.

Folks leaned across Upshaw. “Why do my remarks about my fighter amuse you, Mister Brice?”

Tango grinned and jogged a manicured index finger down the razor crease in his trousers. “’Cause you jiving yourself, Mister Hoffman!”

“Jiving myself, Mister Brice?” Folks asked with rising heat.

Tango smirked. “Yeah! You remind me of them kooky jokers that seen the moon in a pool of water and tried to cop it with a rake. Mister Hoffman, you ain’t got to waste no time moon raking to find a heavyweight to sweat Upshaw. I got one that will pop sweat and fire outta Upshaw’s old ass. I got one that can beat Upshaw!”

Folks said, “This marvel of yours, anyone anybody has ever heard of?”

“Everybody is gonna hear about young Samson, the champ in a couple years.”

Folks frowned in thought for a long moment, then he laughed. “Samson! He’s just a novice with moderate promise. I saw him in a pre-lim at the stadium. Why, he can’t be more than twenty years old, raw and unseasoned, fresh out of amateur competition!”

Upshaw glowered and sneered. “Brice, I’ll chase any green punk like that back up his mammy’s ass. I want Samson, Mister Hoffman!”

Folks tightened his face in fake apprehension as he massaged Upshaw’s neck, corded in grifter rage as he stared balefully into
Tango’s eyes. Upshaw rhythmically sledged his fists against his thighs. His jaw muscles rolled and lumped.

Folks crooned, “Easy now, Upshaw, get hold of yourself. Don’t do anything foolish. Remember you fight for money, not for fun. Forget Samson. I can’t let you fight pre-lims. That’s all a matchmaker would give us with Samson. Now go to the showers.”

Upshaw stood, then glared down at Tango before he turned away.

Tango loud-mouthed, “Oh, Mister Hoffman! Thank you! I’m so glad you called off your ugly gorilla before I crapped my pants!”

Upshaw spun back, fearsome face contorted as he lunged for Tango as Tango leapt to his feet in a combat crouch. A small crowd gathered. Speedy jumped between them and led Upshaw away beyond earshot of the ringside.

“Tear Off, that was sweet! Play the gorilla for the mark until I cut him in as a friend later on,” Speedy whispered as he smacked the giant’s rump.

Speedy turned and joined the others at ringside.

Tango was saying, “You heard me right, Mister Hoffman. We’ll put up a respectable purse for a private bout. The winning fighter takes the pot . . . unless you done changed your opinion about your gorilla being so great.”

Folks frowned and procrastinated a response.

Tango goaded, “Well, Mister Hoffman, you eating crow?”

Folks smiled. “We’ll fight Samson, Mister Brice. But not in your personal ghetto ring, not with the ill feelings you forced between Upshaw and yourself.”

Tango snickered. “You copped out! You know they can’t fight in the alley. You afraid to fight Samson, ain’t you?”

“Hell no!” Then he stood and walked away.

The trio watched Folks enter a glassed-in cubicle at the far end of the room with
OFFICE
stenciled on its door. Folks smiled charmingly at the cauliflowered owner of the gym, seated behind a blistered desk.

“My name is Jelke, Mister Dolan. As a manager, I want to congratulate you for having a truly fine facility here.” Folks shook hands with the battered ancient and seated himself in front of the desk.

The trio, at ringside, watched Folks animatedly chatting with Dolan in the manner of old friends.

Precious said, “I wonder what he’s doing in there?”

Speedy offered, “Knowing Junior, I’d bet he’s making arrangements with his old friend Dolan to stage our fight, privately, right here.”

Tango said, “You’re right! I told you we could trim him!”

Folks came back to join them with a radiant face. The trio stood.

“Well, Mister Brice, it’s all set. This gym closes early tomorrow at two
P.M.
At three, we’ll have our bout in private with Mister Dolan as referee. Any questions, Mister Brice?” asked Folks.

Tango said, “I don’t like the referee, if he’s gonna judge the fight solo.”

“Would you still have that objection if we agreed to a fight to the finish? Mister Brice, you can referee since I’m confident Upshaw will knock out your guy early on. Mister Dolan will preside simply to break clinches. Well?”

Tango grinned. “Your way suits me. What kinda purse we gonna put up?”

Folks said, “I’ll cover, in cash, any amount of cash you bring to wager, Mister Brice. Carl will pick you and Samson up in the early afternoon tomorrow for a meeting before the bout. Agreed?”

“I sure do. See you tomorrow!”

Folks turned to Speedy. “Carl, I’ve invited Mister Dolan to cocktails down the street. Please wait and take Upshaw to his hotel.”

Folks shook hands with Tango and Precious before he turned away and walked back toward the office. They watched him as he paused to speak briefly with Upshaw, togged out in a noisy maroon ensemble, with his boxer’s bag in hand. Speedy led the way to Upshaw as Folks walked away to enter the office.