THE CUTMAN (FIGHT CARD)

by Jack Tunney

  It was hard times for all of us.

  The good thing for me, though, was me getting to see Estefania. We couldn’t go out together since we didn’t wanna get seen together, but we had dinner at her place, and her father even made himself scarce sometimes so we could be alone. I was doing okay, but I knew it couldn’t go on like that forever.

  Then the cap’n came to me while I was shadowboxing and loosening up in the hold, having Sandbag hold the practice targets while I went after them. In between rounds, I was running through the obstacle course through the cargo and climbing crates. I was already in shape. Crewing aboard a cargo ship wasn’t for weaklings, but I had to get that fighter’s mental edge back, that willingness to go the distance. Lucky for me, that mindset was never far away. I came up too hard for it not to be chewed into my bones.

  Sandbag nodded at me, lowered the pads, and took a step back. I turned around and saw the cap’n standing there.

  “You ready to do this, Mick?”

  I looked at him and let my gloves fall to my sides. I grinned, showing more confidence than I felt. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  “Good. Get cleaned up and meet me up top. We’re gonna see about putting the screws to Falcone.”

  ***

  An hour later, we was in the Hotel Nacional de Cuba, and I had never been in a swankier place in my life. The hotel was on the Malecon, the roadway and seawall that held back the Caribbean from the city. The cap’n had gone in before I did, to get himself set up for act two of the little drama he’d put together.

  Tu Li’s wait staff helped us get in, and we went straight on out to the casino. Lucky Luciano ran the casino as part of his deal with Batista, and the New York mobs was pretty happy with him. The place was making a mint, and it was packed with people who couldn’t give their money away fast enough.

  The Chinese waitresses knew to look out for me and the cap’n, so we got took back to where Luciano was holding court at the craps tables. Him and some of the other New York Syndicate guys was hoisting drinks, and one of them guys was Falcone.

  The man was dressed to the nines, acting like he was part of the mob royalty that was turning Havana into their own money-making paradise. Only Tu Li had told the cap’n that Falcone was still a lap dog working to get himself in Luciano’s good graces.

  He was a guy figuring he was on his way up, and he was gonna do whatever it took to get him there.

  That was what the cap’n was betting on. The most vulnerable part of a man was his ego, and Falcone had himself a big fat one. The way he threw his weight around, and the way he had Simbari fight for him, told you that.

  The cap’n wanted to break Falcone, and I was the hammer he was gonna use. And I was only too willing to be used after what was done.

  I looked at them hard guys on the other side of the room, and I admit I felt some fear in me. Them guys – Luciano, Meyer Lansky, Santo Trafficante – they was all killers. They’d shoot a man down on his knees begging for his mother. Luciano had been deported from the United States after World War II, and even been kicked out of Cuba, but that didn’t look like that kept him from dropping by the old neighborhood.

  I recognized them from the descriptions the cap’n had given me. Lansky was the short, Jewish guy with soft, watchful eyes. Luciano was taller and better looking, but he had hooded eyes. Trafficante was a round-faced guy with glasses that put me in the mind of a bookkeeper.

  Screwing down my courage, knowing the cap’n and the crew was counting on me, I crossed over to them men. I didn’t get within ten feet of them before the torpedoes around them bosses closed ranks and kept me pushed back. One of them big palookas left his meat hook hanging in the middle of my chest. I looked at him, then looked past him to Luciano.

  “I didn’t mean to offer no disrespect, Mr. Luciano. Just came to tell you what a nice club you had here is all.”

  The big ape with his hand on my chest grinned at me and I saw the pistol riding in shoulder leather beneath his jacket. “Mr. Luciano don’t fraternize with his fans.”

  “Sure, sure. I get that. I was just surprised you was hanging out with such a lowlife like that bum, Mr. Luciano.” I pointed at Falcone. “I heard you had class. Didn’t expect you to see you with a rat that would stoop to stealing from a ship of hardworking guys that spend their dough in your casino. I mean, a sailor comes in here, puts his money on a number or a roll of the dice, he’s got a shot to walk out a winner, right? But he ain’t got no chance at all if some cheap hood rolls him when he ain’t looking.”

  Luciano cut a quick look over at Falcone, who was steaming.

  “Way I see it, though, Mr. Luciano, Falcone there is taking outta your pocket too. Me and my pals, we’re too busted to even play the penny slots here thanks to Falcone. So, I’m thinking maybe you should see him about getting your cut of what he took.”

  Falcone put his drink down and took a step toward me, but he stayed behind them bodyguards. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink, sailor. You should just push off before your mouth gets you in trouble you can’t handle.”

  “I handle trouble just fine.”

  Falcone touched his cheek and smiled. “Yeah, that bruise you’re wearing there is real convincing.”

  “I earn my lumps, Falcone. When’s the last time you took one you had coming?” I shook my head. “I think maybe you forgot how. You got that trained ape of yours to beat on others just so you can watch. You ask me, that takes one sick and disgusting son of a – ”

  Simbari almost blindsided me. I heard him coming, his footsteps heavy and his breath hard, before I caught him in the corner of my eye. His big fist rocketed toward my head and I got away from most of it. The punch exploded against my temple and I went backward. I covered up as he come up on top of me like an avalanche. There was no finesse to him at that moment. He was all fists and knees and elbows.

  ROUND 21

  I blocked and slipped and twisted, escaping the brunt of the violence, staying just ahead of it like a ship cutting around the edge of a storm. But I knew I couldn’t keep that up without getting hurt because he was backing me up against a craps table.

  I saw an opening and I slapped Simbari with an open hand hard enough to jar him. The impact was solid and delivered with a lot of muscle. You can hit a man really hard with an open hand and there’s no risk of breaking or jamming your fingers. I knew I needed to save my hands because this was just the prelude to the main event.

  Still, the slap was enough to give Simbari pause and make him reset himself. He wasn’t done. He was just taking another look at the playing field. And he was grinning. “Now, I’m gonna hurt you.”

  I didn’t say nothing. That red mark on Simbari’s face was all the statement I’d needed to make. I could reach out and touch him too.

  The cap’n was headed toward me and he was gonna stop the fight, only he didn’t have to. Luciano put a cork in it.

  “Pull your dog back, Falcone.” Luciano’s voice was cold enough to freeze water. “I don’t want nothing in here broke, and I don’t want the customers panicked.”

  Falcone didn’t say nothing and Simbari threw a punch that caught me in the gut. I folded over the blow like I hadn’t been able to avoid most of it, then took another clip on the side of my face just above my eye. I lifted my hands then, in case he wanted to pour on any more, and blood trickled into my vision.

  Luciano pulled a .45 from under his jacket and pointed it at Falcone. “I said, pull your dog back. If you don’t, I’m gonna put him down.”

  Simbari froze for just a minute, looking between Luciano and Falcone. He was a wild animal, wanting to close in for the kill because he had the scent of fresh blood in his nose.

  Then Falcone grimaced and forced a grin. “Sure, Lucky, sure. No problem. Just giving this wiseacre what he’s got coming to him is all.” He waved Simbari back and the big guy hesitated, but went.

  I stood and acted a little shaky, but I wasn’t having to act much. Simbari hit like a Missouri mule. I wiped blood fro
m my mouth.

  Luciano put his gun away and looked at me. “That true? What you said about your ship?”

  I nodded. “Every word.”

  “Tough break.” Luciano didn’t care. He was a gangster, and no way was I gonna forget that. But I figured he might give Falcone some grief over the percentage anyway.

  “It was more than a tough break.” Cap’n Slidell waded into the conversation without hesitation, thumping heavily on his wooden leg. “It was thievery is what it was. Falcone already come crying up to my ship for an apology to his fighter, which me and my crew weren’t gonna give. We sent him back where he come from. Man ain’t got the guts to come straight on ahead at you.”

  Luciano picked up a highball glass and took a sip. He was watching Falcone pretty close. “You backed away?”

  Falcone looked flustered. “They had guns.”

  “Of course they had guns.” Luciano sounded sarcastic. “You had guns too. I don’t let a man with a gun stop me if he’s got something I want. Including an apology. You get a reputation like that, you ain’t gonna be in this business long.”

  “I’m gonna take care of it, don’t you worry.” Falcone waved a dismissive hand at the cap’n.

  “How you gonna do that? Come creeping into my bedroom and short sheet me next time?” The cap’n could be full of bluster when he wanted to be, and he was full of it then. Everybody around us was staring, waiting to see what happened.

  Simbari started for the cap’n, and I took one step and put myself between them.

  I grinned at Simbari. “Heel, boy. Before you get yourself shot.”

  He caught himself and looked over his shoulder at Luciano.

  Falcone cursed. “I’ll pay for whatever Simbari breaks, Lucky. Just let him have these two. He’ll chew them up and spit them out.”

  “In a fair fight?” The cap’n pushed his way forward, having to be held back by Luciano’s bodyguards now. “That plug-ugly of yours wouldn’t stand a chance against my boy.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at me.

  Falcone’s eyes blazed. “Your boy wouldn’t stand a chance against Simbari.”

  “You wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

  That took Falcone back a minute. Then he shook his head. “You ain’t got nothing, old man. You already said that.”

  “I still got my ship. I’ll put that up if you wanna match your thug against my fighter.”

  Well, I stood there flummoxed. Could have knocked me over with a feather. I’d thought the plan was to go in there and bet with the money the cap’n was getting from the Chinese. Suddenly, I felt like I was in way over my head. Fighting for money was one thing, but Wide Bertha was all the cap’n and a lot of us crew had. I couldn’t imagine losing her too.

  Luciano looked at Falcone. “You think that animal of yours can take this sailor?”

  “Of course he can. You just watch.”

  “Then it looks like you’re about to go into the shipping business.” Luciano glanced at the cap’n. “Maybe, if you’re feeling generous, you can throw the old guy a bone. Let him captain the ship he used to own after his boy kisses the canvas.”

  I wanted to stop the cap’n right then and there, but I couldn’t get close to him. I’d told him I didn’t know if I could beat Simbari as plain as I could. I didn’t know what he was thinking.

  But it was done before I could say anything.

  “Fine.” The cap’n nodded. “We’ll do this tomorrow night at that dive you own.”

  Falcone scowled at the reference to his business, but he nodded. And the deal was done. I felt the weight of Wide Bertha resting on my shoulders as me and the cap’n walked out of the casino.

  ROUND 22

  I didn’t sleep good that night. I tried, but I couldn’t. Sandbag said the cap’n slept like a baby, which disturbed me to no end. With everything we had to risk, I didn’t know how he could keep from being worried sick.

  Then again, I figured I was worried enough for the both of us. I got up the next morning with the rest of the crew and tried to get some work done, but the cap’n made me sit some more.

  I did some roadwork running the length of Wide Bertha. I heard the men and the ships around me, the voices and the diesel engines, felt the pulse of the ocean sway the ship while she set at anchor. The wind blew in layers, warm, then cool, like it couldn’t figure out what to do either.

  Sweat poured from me and I made sure I stayed hydrated, drinking plenty of water and nothing else. Sometimes I rested and I looked at the water, thinking about all them places I’d been, and how many of them I’d like to see again. There was a whole world out there, and I was getting to see a fair chunk of it. Life was pretty good.

  And tonight, every minute of my future was gonna get laid on the line. If I went down, if we lost Wide Bertha, I didn’t know what would become of me or the cap’n or the crew. I couldn’t imagine any of us living any life, but the ones we had.

  I couldn’t shake that thought. Made me think of the way me and Patrick had ended up being orphans, me holding him while we was both staring down at our mother bleeding in the street. My father had been there, too, but he’d been hiding behind a car, not believing that hail of bullets had somehow missed him.

  Then…

  He was gone. I knew he came around a while after that. He even came to St. Vincent’s a few times, always telling me and Patrick stories of how he was gonna get us out of there and get us back in a house, and how we’d be happy with our new mother.

  None of that ever happened.

  I thought about how the Korean War had separated me and Patrick. I’d felt like I’d had to go, and I did. But when it was over, I’d tried going out to see Patrick in Los Angeles where he’d lighted. I’d hung out there for a while, but it didn’t take. I still had too much wanderlust in me and Patrick had his own life and he knew what he was doing with it.

  So I’d found a ship that would take me on, not Cap’n Slidell and Wide Bertha then because I’d found them a short time later, and Patrick had walked me out to the pier one morning in his shiny blue uniform, shook my hand, and I’d took my leave.

  We saw each other now and again, but he had his life there catching bad guys, and I had…

  Wide Bertha.

  I looked around the ship and noticed how Sandbag and the rest of the crew forced smiles at me and tried to look hopeful. But I knew they was scared too.

  It was even worse than going through a white squall, one of them storms that just blew up outta nowhere. Sitting there on that deck, I felt alone, and I knew that feeling was gonna be even worse when I stepped inside the ring that night.

  ROUND 23

  That evening, it looked like everybody in Havana turned out to see the fight. Word of what was happening musta got around pretty quick. The cap’n and the crew crowded in because Sandbag had been sent ahead to scout out the territory and secure seats. Falcone’s people were camped there too, and I saw Luciano had showed up as well, looking out of place because he was dressed so swell and looked so dangerous.

  And then there was the regulars and a whole lotta tourists. If they’d all breathed together, I was thinking them walls woulda probably heaved in and out right along with them.

  I sat on a stool in one corner of the ring, my hands taped up and my gloves on tight. Sweat was already trickling down my body. Simbari was nowhere to be seen. I guessed he was making me wait and wanting to make a dramatic entrance. I also guessed that was Falcone’s idea. But the clock was working against them now Luciano was there. The mob boss wouldn’t want to be kept waiting. The action had to start soon.

  The cap’n stood near the corner and was rubbing the back of my neck with one of his big hands. I felt his rough calluses like they was sandpaper. “You’re too tense,” he said.

  I rolled my neck in an effort to loosen it, but it didn’t help.

  “You’re gonna have to protect that eye, Mick.”

  He was talking about the one Simbari had punched last night. The skin had split a
nd the cap’n had had to put four stitches in. If this had been a regulation fight, I wouldn’t have been able to put on the gloves before a ref would have tossed me.

  But this wasn’t a regulation fight.

  “I know.” I bumped my glove against my left eye so I’d remember. Simbari was right handed, so most of the jabs and punches would be coming to the right side of my head. I could protect my left side okay.

  “You get that cut opened up, it’s gonna bleed and make it hard to see.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” I pounded my gloves together, ready to get started. My heart was thumping and I hated it. I always got nervous before a fight.

  The referee, a short guy with a bald head, came over to us. “Where’s your cutman?”

  The cutman was also the corner man, and he was the guy supposed to keep a fighter together between rounds. He used styptic pencils and medicine to keep a fighter from bleeding too much, and to make sure the fighter wasn’t going out onto the canvas punch drunk and unable to defend himself.

  The cap’n looked at the referee. “I’m the cutman.”

  The referee sized him up with a glance. “No, you ain’t. You gotta have a cutman or you ain’t gonna have a fight. You need somebody to check on your fighter, make sure he’s okay.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t see Falcone going to all the trouble to set this fight up just to yank the carpet out from under our feet. Didn’t make sense.

  “Lucky for you, I got a cutman for you tonight.” The referee crooked his finger at an old Cuban guy sitting against the back wall. “Hernando. Got a client for you.”

  The cap’n blustered and cursed and threw his weight around, but the referee stuck to his guns. “No cutman, no fight. That’s how it’s gonna be.”