by Unknown
Berryman’s face got white. Gus Monkly got to his feet, shoving back his chair. The blond girl swung around and kept her left arm low.
“You be good!” she warned. “I’ll give you the works quicker than hell—”
Hurry Lassen raised his right hand and closed the fingers. He struck without much effort, but the blow sounded as though Berryman’s jaw was broken. The second slipped off the right side of his chair and hit the wood of the speakeasy heavily. Beyond the swinging doors someone swore loudly; there was the metallic sound of a bar dropping against steel.
Gus kept his beady eyes on the girl. He didn’t speak. Hurry got up from his chair and wiped his right-hand knuckles with the fingers of his other hand. On the floor, Berryman groaned.
The girl said: “He had that comin’, Hurry. How about Gus?”
A man with a mop of black hair swung open the doors and started to talk. Hurry turned around and the man stopped talking. He said, after a few seconds’ silence:
“Hell—I didn’t figure you were in, Hurry. I was in back when you—”
Lassen nodded his head and smiled. “Keep that bar on the door until I get through,” he said.
The waiter stood back of the polished wood and kept his eyes on Hurry. Gus looked at the girl.
“Take that rod off me, Edna,” he breathed. “I don’t get this slamming down—”
Lou Berryman pulled himself to his feet, and kept his hands over his face. Hurry said sharply:
“Burke!”
A medium-sized man with gray hair and a brown-skinned face came in through the swinging doors. Hurry smiled at him, but kept his eyes on Berryman.
“Get Berry’s rod,” he ordered. “Take him in back and stay with him. Let him wash his face, but don’t let him use brains. That is, if he has any.”
Burke elbowed the second away from the table. Hurry Lassen said pleasantly to Gus Monkly:
“Sit down—put your hands out where I can see them. Keep that rod in your lap, Edna. I got a question you didn’t hear the first time. You didn’t hear it—and Berry didn’t have the right answer.”
Gus Monkly lifted an empty beer glass with fingers that didn’t shake, and tried to moisten his thin lips. He set it down and smiled at Hurry.
“You can’t get a cut in on Pardo—not by slugging,” he said.
Hurry leaned his broad shoulders and big head across the table surface. He said coldly:
“The beer racket got too tough for you, Gus. And when you pulled out you left me holding the bag. We needed guts and guns—and you took a little of each with you. You cost me money. I figured on getting some of it back. I’ll gamble for it. Twenty grand for a forty percent cut-in on Pardo.”
Gus swore. “You just offered Berry twenty-five grand,” he stated grimly.
The round-faced one grinned. “He didn’t have it to sell,” he replied. “And it was different—five minutes ago.”
The manager shrugged. “If Pardo loses to Bolley, he won’t be worth twenty grand to you. I don’t get it all, Hurry. The big boy gets his share.”
The girl laughed. Hurry kept on grinning.
“I’ll bet you treat him square,” he said mockingly. “You get sixty percent of what’s left after you settle with him, Gus—I get forty. That guy you said got twenty—he don’t. I’ve got a good shyster we can get tonight—he’ll fix the papers.”
Gus narrowed his little eyes on Lassen’s. He shook his head.
“What I’ve got of that palooka—I’m keeping,” he said slowly. “I don’t owe you anything, Hurry. I played with you—and I quit clean. I dug up Pardo. He’s dumb as hell. What he knows, I taught him.”
The blonde chuckled. “And he’s still dumb as hell!” she muttered.
Hurry nodded agreeably. “Just the same,” he said quietly, “I’ve got a hunch he’s going to take Bolley.”
Gus shook his head. “We may pick up a few grand in the sticks, after Bolley takes him,” he said. “But you’d be making a bad buy-in, Hurry.”
Hurry lighted a cigarette, and started tapping the floor with a foot again. Gus was getting nervous. The girl said:
“Take him in back and give him the works, Hurry. He’s lyin’—and he’s yellow. He got me this slug in the arm—”
The moon-faced one shook his head. He smiled at the manager.
“You were slow shiftin’, Kid,” he said. “Gus used to be real fast at the wheel. We got out of places in a hurry—when Gus was workin’ with us.”
There was a little silence. The blonde shifted around and swore.
“Giant Pardo looks good,” she said. “I’ve seen a flock of big boys. Get your cut, Hurry. Gus is a rat.”
The manager swung on the blonde. “The next slug won’t get you in the arm, Edna,” he stated coldly. “You hate out loud. Not so good.”
Lassen frowned. “Gus is all right, Kid,” he told the girl. “It would be just too bad if his big boy didn’t get inside the ropes with Bolley.”
The manager sat back in his chair and kept his eyes on Hurry’s. His hands were on the surface of the table, near the beer glass.
“If anything happens to Pardo—I’ll know who made it happen,” he said slowly.
Hurry tilted his chair away from the table and looked pleased with himself.
“Sure—but will you be able to prove it?” he mocked.
Gus sucked in his breath sharply, leaned forward and spoke in a hard, low voice.
“You keep off, Hurry. I’m square with you. I’m gamblin’ on the Giant—and I’m playin’ it alone. You stay outside, see?”
The big man leaned back and nodded. He spoke in a pleasant voice.
“You got a week to fix me up, Gus. I’m staying near here, and Callahan can tell you where. I’ll see that he does. I’m paying twenty grand for a forty percent share of your take on Giant Pardo. I don’t care how much your take is. It’s plenty, I know that. I’ll gamble that your boy gets the big shot with the champ. If you don’t see it my way—”
He shrugged. Gus’s voice got a little high.
“You lay off Pardo!” he said. “If you fix him so he can’t—”
He stopped as Hurry shoved back his chair slowly and got to his feet. The blonde threw a neck piece over her left arm and hand, got up. She said softly:
“Better be good, Gus. You might be takin’ the count yourself. It ain’t so easy to get over the ropes—”
Gus Monkly spoke through lips that were pressed together.
“I ain’t inside the ropes—”
Hurry Lassen said from a spot beside the swinging doors:
“No? Well, do some thinking, Gus.”
He went outside. The girl followed him. The waiter came around and looked at Gus.
“How about the drinks?” he asked.
The manager paid for them, got up and went into the back room. Burke was gone; Berryman was holding a wet rag to his jaw. He said thickly:
“That dirty—killer—”
Gus swore softly. He said: “You stay here—I’ll get you a drink. We’ve got to watch ourselves, Berry. It don’t look so good.”
Lou Berryman cursed thickly. Gus Monkly went back along the bar and ordered two drinks. The waiter frowned at him when he set them down, glanced towards the table at which the four of them had been seated.
“They come tough in Chi,” he observed. “That Lassen—he don’t feel good tonight.”
Gus lifted the drinks and smiled with his beady eyes on the yellow-red liquid:
“He might be feelin’ worse,” he said slowly, “some night!”
CHAPTER III
ittle Andy came into Bryant’s gym and stood near the mats piled along the wall. He watched Giant Pardo swinging lazily at a punching bag, moved his eyes towards the figure of Gus Monkly. Pardo’s manager stood alone, a short distance from a group of sports writers who were watching the big fighter.
Little Andy was small; he had red hair and blue, watery eyes. They went to the slightly crouched form of Pardo. He smiled.
“Big brute,” he breathed. “But the slugs fix ’em all.”
He leaned against a mat standing on end, half rolled. After a few minutes Gus Monkly called to his fighter.
“All right, Giant—that’ll do. Get a shower and rub. I’ll see you around here. Make it fast.”
Pardo stopped his slow-motion punching and turned towards his manager. He grinned. Gus looked towards the wall and the mats. He saw Little Andy; his body stiffened. The little fellow made a motion with his head. Gus stared at him. Little Andy leaned against the mat and waited. He smiled pleasantly.
Pardo went away from the punching bag, towards the dressing rooms. A few of the sports writers went with him. Gus moved over and stood looking at Little Andy. They were some distance from the nearest humans.
“You got guts—comin’ up here,” Gus said tightly.
Little Andy continued to smile. It was a lip smile; his eyes held a vacant expression.
“Boss sent me,” he replied. “He told me not to get hurt. He gave me a message for you.”
Gus said: “Yeah?”
The little fellow nodded. “That’s right,” he replied. “He said to tell you that if he didn’t get a cut of that prize hunk of beef—there was a jingle you had better read.”
The manager frowned. “Yes?” he said. “What jingle?”
Little Andy scratched his head and smiled with his eyes, this time.
“Something about ‘the kid’s last fight,’ ” he said very slowly.
Gus Monkly stood close to the little fellow and swayed a bit. He sunk his head down on his shoulders. The half-moon scar on his cheek twitched. He said softly and not too steadily:
“Listen, Andy—this is a money scrap. The big ones are getting aboard. If Hurry does anything that ain’t just nice—”
The little fellow looked blank. “That was the message, Gus,” he said. “That was my job. No use talkin’ to me.”
The manager straightened. He stared at the blue eyes of Little Andy. There had been a time when Andy had been sitting right alongside of Hurry Lassen. Gus had the idea he was still sitting there.
“All right—all right,” he replied. “Tell the boss I listened to you, but I didn’t get the idea.”
The little fellow widened his blue eyes, swore softly.
“Jeez!” he breathed. “I figured you was just as green in the fight game as the paper boys have been sayin’. But I didn’t figure you was green in other things, Gus.”
The manager smiled. “Bolley’ll take the big boy,” he said. “What coin I make—that’ll be made in the sticks, after Pardo is flattened. It won’t be too much, and I ain’t going to split it up any.”
Little Andy whistled softly. “For a guy who figures his scrapper is going to lose, refusing a twenty-grand buy-in—that looks dumb, eh?”
Gus shook his head. “I don’t want to get in a jam,” he said. “I don’t want to be worried about things. I’m saving the boss coin. And I ain’t runnin’ with the mob, anyway.”
Little Andy shrugged. “You’re pickin’ the spots,” he said carelessly. “Well—s’long.”
He went out and down the stairs that led from Bryant’s gym. Gus stared after him, swearing to himself. When he turned towards the dressing rooms Lou Berryman came up to him. He was scowling. In his right hand he held a yellow slip of paper.
“Hell, Gus,” he said, “I got to get back to Chi. My sister got hit by a truck—she’s dying.”
The manager narrowed his eyes on those of the chief second. He said softly:
“Yeah? Say—that’s tough.”
Berryman nodded, keeping his eyes away from Monkly’s. He raised the telegram a little.
“It sure is,” he said slowly. “With the big scrap on tomorrow night.”
Gus reached for the wire, read it. He handed it back.
“That’s tough, Berry,” he repeated. “Yeah—I’m sorry. But you might get back in time—there might be a mistake.”
The second nodded, scowling down at the yellow sheet of paper.
“The big boy’s right, anyway,” he said. “And if I can get back—you know I will, Gus.”
The manager looked beyond Berryman and nodded his head.
“Sure, I know you will,” he said quietly, but his voice held a peculiar tone.
Berryman said: “I’d better get going right away.”
Gus Monkly nodded. He reached into a pocket and drew out a roll of bills. He handed the chief second several of them. They were new and crisp.
“I’m sorry, Berry,” he said. “That enough?”
The second nodded. “Connors can handle Giant—if I don’t get back,” he said. “He knows what the big boy needs. But I’ll try to make it.”
The manager nodded. Berryman met his gaze with half-closed eyes, turned away. He went from the gymnasium. Gus went into the dressing room and found Connors standing near a locker and humming to himself. Connors was a big man, with Irish features and a flat nose. He was an ex-pug.
“Berry’s gone to Chicago,” Gus said slowly, and smiled a little. He touched the half-moon scar with his fingertips, lightly. “His sister’s dying.”
Connors swore softly. “Sick—or was it something sudden?” he asked.
Gus smiled more broadly. “Sudden—she got hit by a truck,” he said. “You’ll be handling the big boy, unless he gets back in time.”
Connors nodded. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “You know, Gus—the palooka’s got a chance, maybe. Bolley’s a sucker for a straight right. Bell made a bad match, the way I see it. We got a chance to take that guy.”
Gus nodded. “I’m puttin’ coin on it,” he said. “Got any relatives in Chi, Connors?”
The handler narrowed his eyes, shook his head. Gus reached into his pocket and slipped the man several bills. He said in a low tone:
“Keep it quiet—that you’re going to be boss in Pardo’s corner. Don’t even tell him—not yet. I’ll do that stuff. And don’t talk much, Connors.”
The handler nodded. “Maybe Berry’ll get back,” he said slowly.
“Yeah,” the manager replied. “He might.”
He went around to the table on which Giant Pardo was being rubbed down. The fighter grinned at him.
“I’m gonna take—this guy, Gus,” he said hoarsely.
The manager nodded. “Sure you are, Big Boy,” he replied. “Like Sherman took Rome. Sure you are. But you got to quit lookin’ for me, after you knock him down, see?”
The big slugger nodded with his head flat on the table surface. The rubbers were working on his legs.
“Me—I go to a neutral corner,” Pardo said thickly.
Gus Monkly nodded. “The right’ll do it,” he said. “And we’ll both be sittin’ pretty and waitin’ for a crack at the champ. We won’t wait too long, at that. He’ll be coming. How do you feel?”
The slugger grinned. “I feel swell,” he returned. “How are they bettin’?”
Gus grunted. “Three to one—with you on the short end. But that’s because Bolley took the nigger. You’ll get him, Big Boy.”
Pardo nodded again. “I feel swell,” he said.
Gus grinned. “You stick with Connors and Eddie—all the time until tomorrow night,” he said slowly. “We don’t want no accidents.”
The Giant sat up and blinked at his manager. He asked hoarsely:
“What kind of accidents?”
Gus slapped him playfully across the back of his big head.
“You might meet up with a blonde,” he kidded. “You stick with Connors and Eddie.”
The big slugger chuckled. He rubbed his broken nose with big knuckles.
“Hell,” he breathed, “with the blondes!”
Gus nodded and went away from the dressing room. In the gym he spotted Connors, went to his side.
“Stay close to the big boy,” he ordered. “Keep him here, or at the hotel—or at a picture show.”
Connors nodded. “I’ll watch him,” he said. “I’m layin’ coin on h
im.”
Gus went down the stairs and into the street. It had started to snow. He turned towards Ninth Avenue. What he wanted was a drink. And he didn’t want it at Cotti’s place. If he could keep clear of Hurry Lassen, until after tomorrow night—
He smiled a little. It would be easy, after that. He’d get Pardo out of sight, out of the city. They could lay low. He knew a few tricks that would throw Hurry off the track, if he tried to trace them. And then they’d sign the big contract, the money contract. Or maybe, if things got too tough, he’d sell Pardo. With the big shot in sight he might get two hundred grand. Two hundred grand! Gus wet his thin lips with the tip of his tongue. That was money—big money.
He reached Eighth Avenue, walked northward a square, turned westward again. Halfway between Ninth and Tenth he stopped and lighted a cigarette. When he got near the corner of Tenth he looked across the street and saw the cheap hotel run by the brother of Lou Berryman. He smiled grimly.
He crossed back of a cab that was going speedily towards the Hudson. There was a lot of noise in the street, which was in the lower fifties. The hotel had signs in front, but no names on them. It was an old building with a dingy entrance. Gus went inside and walked towards a small desk. There was no one behind it. He heard footfalls on the stairs that rose from the rear of the small lobby.
There was a wash-room near the stairs—he stepped into it. The footfalls grew louder; human weight on the steps made them creak. A voice said:
“You won’t be back for the fight, Lou?”
Gus swore softly. He recognized the voice of Al Berryman, Lou’s brother. It had a peculiar grating quality.
Lou replied thickly: “Hell, no! And if you’re wise—”
The words died. Gus got his body flat against a wall of the wash-room and waited. The foot-falls were growing fainter now; they died away completely. Gus stepped into the poorly lighted lobby and saw the back of his chief second. A small bag dangled from Berryman’s right hand. He moved away and his brother came back into the hotel. Gus slipped into the wash-room again. He could hear Al moving around behind the desk.
He waited almost ten minutes, then went down the stairs which he had descended before, and moved over damp concrete towards the basement steps. They led up to the street level, not far from the entrance.
