Fight Card Presents: Battling Mahoney & Other Stories

by Jack Tunney

  “No. You fight with the assistance of the Invisible Man.”

  “I see. So, he's like invisible, right? The other fighter can't see him. And he throws the punches, not me?”

  “That's right.”

  “And why is the Invisible Man fighting with me?”

  “Because he's our client.”

  “Client?”

  “Yeah, we're two detectives on a case, and the Invisible Man is our client.”

  “This sounds awfully complicated.”

  “Na, don't worry about it, Lou. It's gonna make a great movie.”

  “Maybe I should read the script.”

  THREE WEEKS LATER...

  Pre-production. Preparing for their latest movie, Lou and Bud walked between the sound-stages toward the studio gymnasium. Lou was dressed in a toweling robe, under which he wore a pair of black boxing trunks. He also wore boots and boxing gloves. As was so often the case, Bud was dressed completely different, wearing a lightweight gray worsted suit, and a tilted fedora hat.

  “I don't know why I have to do this,” Lou complained.

  “Because you're playing a boxer. A boxer has got to know how to box,” Bud explained.

  “But it's only a movie. I'm not going to be really fighting anyone. I don't see why I have to do this training.”

  “Stop your bellyaching. It'll do you some good to learn the fundamentals of the sweet science. Besides, the producer has already hired some guy to give you a few pointers.”

  “I bet it's some palooka bum,” Lou mumbled.

  FOUR MINUTES LATER...

  Lou and Bud entered the gym. It appeared deserted. The lights were out with only a rooftop skylight casting a yellow pattern against the far wall. Silhouetted against it, Lou could make out the boxing ring standing empty, its ropes hanging loose. It looked like it hadn't been used for quite a while.

  “So, where's this boxer guy, huh?” Lou asked. “I thought you said he was gonna be here.”

  The lights suddenly flickered on.

  “You can run, but you can't hide, Costello!” a jovial voice said from behind.

  Lou turned to face the speaker and got quite a shock. Standing next to the light switch near the door was the Brown Bomber himself, the champ, Joe Louis.

  Lou's jaw dropped.

  Joe Louis had been the world heavyweight boxing champion from 1937 until 1949, retiring undefeated. Joe had put on a few pounds since his layoff, but still appeared in fine shape. He was dressed for the job at hand, wearing gray sweat pants and a white t-shirt. He stepped forward.

  “Why didn't you tell me it was Joe Louis?” Lou asked, turning to Bud.

  “You didn't ask,” Bud replied.

  Regaining his composure, Lou walked over to Joe and held out his glove.

  “I'm honored to meet you, sir. I'd shake your hand, but in these...” He shrugged.

  “That's all right. I've seen all your movies. I’m big fan,” Joe responded with a smile. “And you can drop all the sir stuff. I’m not in the army anymore. Call me Joe.”

  “All right, Joe.”

  “You ready to learn a thing or two?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Let's go to work,” Joe said gesturing toward the ring.

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER...

  Lou knew Joe was going easy on him. He’d started with the fundamentals of boxing, showing him how to stand, how to raise his hands to protect himself, how to jab and counterpunch. But Lou had never been the most adept pupil, and the workout was sorely testing him.

  Joe had told Lou to try skipping. The rotund comedian began skipping around the ring.

  “No! No!” Joe said, trying to hand Lou a rope.

  Now, they were sparring.

  Joe had Lou up against the ropes and was flicking out some gentle jabs. There was no power behind them, but Lou still had trouble defending himself.

  “Hold those gloves up,” Joe said, flicking another left jab. “Higher.”

  Lou raised his gloves covering his face, his elbows out wide like chicken wings.

  Joe threw a friendly right, hitting Lou in the stomach.

  Bud, who was watching from the corner, laughed.

  “Come on,” Lou complained. “You said raise my gloves, so I did. Then you hit me in the belly.”

  “Gloves up, but elbows in,” Joe explained.

  Lou complied.

  “Good. Now, show me what you got. Take a swing.”

  The unexpected happened.

  Lou got lucky with a wild right, hitting the Brown Bomber in the mouth. Joe shook his head. Lou was more shocked than Joe.

  “Sorry, Champ. I didn't mean to lay one on you,” Lou said apologetically, lowering his gloves.

  “That's okay. You've got fighting spirit,” Joe said, the smile slowly returning to his face. “My mind was elsewhere. I've got a few problems.”

  Problems.

  Lou had heard about Joe's trouble with the Internal Revenue Service. It was alleged the champ owed over five-hundred-thousand dollars in back taxes. Money Joe didn't have. It was even rumored the Brown Bomber was even contemplating a fight against Rocky Marciano to pay off the debt. Lou hoped it wouldn't come to that. Joe had been a fine champion, but the years – like they do with all men – had caught up with him.

  As they began to spar once more, Lou wondered if it was Joe's financial problems that had led him to be at the studio on this day – taking a fee as a technical consultant. Whatever the story, Lou felt honored to share a few minutes in ring with undoubtedly one of the greatest champions the world had ever seen.

  TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER...

  Lou was slumped in the corner with his arms resting over the ropes. He was completely exhausted, breathing heavily, with sweat oozing out of every pore in his body. Bud was standing up on the apron behind him like a corner man.

  “How do you feel?” Bud asked.

  “Hungry,” Lou said.

  “You're always hungry,” Bud replied.

  “I could use a little something myself,” Joe chimed in, from center ring. “Let's go out and grab some lunch.”

  “Now you're talkin',” Lou said enthusiastically. “I know the right place. It just opened on Wilshire Boulevard, next door to the First National Bank. They serve the best Coq Au Vin in town.”

  “The bank serves the best Coq Au Vin?” Bud queried.

  “No, the bank doesn't serve Coq Au Vin. What gave you that idea?”

  “You did. You said they serve the...”

  Joe chuckled. “Okay guys. I don't know much about fancy eating, but sounds like we've got a plan. Let's get cleaned up.”

  FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER...

  The taxi dropped Bud, Lou and Joe off outside Maxims French restaurant in downtown Beverly Hills.

  “This is it,” Lou said.

  “It looks like a swell place, but it’s mighty crowded in there,” Joe said. “Do you have a reservation?”

  “You’re taking us to a place you have a reservation about?” Lou asked.

  Lou and Joe looked at each other.

  “He always like this?” Joe asked.

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Bud said. “He can’t help himself.”

  “You can’t help yourself in this restaurant?” Lou said. “Do the waiters feed you?”

  Lou ignored his partner – as usual, he didn’t know if Lou’s intention was humor or true bewilderment.

  The restaurant was busy. For a second, Bud considered Joe may be right. But then again, what restaurant would turn away the famous comedy duo, Abbott & Costello, in the company of Joe Louis?

  “We don't need a booking,” Lou said dismissively, purposely not using the word reservation, which he knew would keep his partner’s gums flapping. “Come on.”

  Walking side by side, they moved toward the entrance. Traveling in the opposite direction were two broad shouldered men wearing overcoats. The pavement wasn't large enough for both parties to pass alongside each other.

  Lou tried to move to the
side to allow one of the oncoming men, a freakishly tall redhead, to pass. However, Lou's shoulder collided with the man's elbow. A brown paper bag the gent was carrying fell to the pavement, landing with a heavy metallic thud.

  Lou bent down to pick up the bag and return it. As he did so, his head collided with the man's, was also bending over to retrieve the bag.

  “Ooooowwwzzza!” Lou cried, standing back upright and raising his hand to his now throbbing forehead.

  “Watch what you're doing, you clumsy oaf,” the man snarled, also in pain.

  While Lou and the red-headed man rubbed away their pain, Bud picked up the bag and handed it to the aggrieved gentleman.

  “Sorry, friend,” Bud said diplomatically. “Looks like the pavement isn't wide enough for all of us.”

  The man took the bag and nodded.

  “It's all right,” he said.

  “Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?” Bud asked.

  “I don't think so. I just have one of those familiar faces.”

  “I guess so. Anyway, no hard feelings, fella.” Bud turned and put his hand on Lou's back. “Come on you, Joe's waiting.”

  TWO MINUTES LATER...

  Lou stood before Maxims maitre'd, while Bud and Joe stood to one side. The maitre'd had a grim expression on his face.

  “Sorry sir, but we are booked out for lunch,” he said. “You should have made a booking.”

  “Do you know who we are?” Lou said angrily, his finger flittering toward Bud.

  “Certainly, sir. I have on occasion enjoyed your films.”

  “And do you know who he is?” Lou indicated Joe.

  “Certainly, sir. Mr. Louis is one of the nation's elite sportsmen. However, neither fact allow me to conjure a table out of thin air. We are fully booked.”

  Lou nodded. Dejected, he turned to Bud and Joe. “Sorry boys.”

  “Never mind,” Joe said cheerily. “I'd be happy just to get a steak or a burger.”

  “Let's go,” Bud said.

  NEXT DOOR, AT THE FIRST NATIONAL BANK...

  Angelo Mad Dog Norton walked into the bank with Pistol Pete Maginty at his side. Along with Maginty, Mad Dog had another man in his team, a driver named Canyon, who was to pick them up once the heist was complete.

  But first they had to get to the loot.

  Mad Dog pulled a pistol from the paper bag he'd been carrying and waved it in the air.

  “Everybody remain calm!” he yelled “This is a stick up. Remain calm and do what we say and nobody gets hurt.” Mad Dog said, rushing to the counter and leaping over it. He waved the pistol in the face of one of the tellers. “You, fill these sacks with all the cash! And be quick about it!”

  FORTY-FIVE SECONDS LATER...

  As Lou, Bud, and Joe stepped from Maxims, the alarm from the First National Bank beside them, rang. Then there was a gunshot, and the man Lou had crashed into earlier burst from the door of the bank holding several large cotton sacks overflowing with cash. He was quickly followed by the other man, who was also holding a gun.

  “Hey, I remember now,” Bud said. “That's Mad Dog Norton, the criminal. I knew I had seen him before – in the newspaper. And the other fella is his accomplice, Maginty.”

  “We gotta do something,” Joe said.

  “Not me. I'm a coward,” Lou said. To prove his point, and attempting to get away from the scene as quick as he could, he moved onto the roadway to hail an approaching taxi.

  In doing so, the driver of a midnight blue DeSoto, was forced to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting the rotund comedian.

  As the DeSoto came to a halt, the taxi following behind, rear-ended it. The hood of the taxi crumpled like a concertina, steam from the ruptured radiator billowing into the air.

  Then another car rammed the taxi from behind, and another car ran into him, shunting that vehicle out into the opposite lane. Now traffic was blocked in both directions.

  Car horns began to sound, and angry drivers cursed.

  Lou shrugged.

  HALF A BLOCK AWAY...

  Brett Canyon was Mad Dog Norton's driver. Canyon was considered one of the best wheel-men in the business. That was because he didn't just use any old vehicle on a job. He chose vehicles that would aid in their escape.

  For this job, he had chosen a taxi as the getaway vehicle – after all, in Los Angeles, a city with so many taxis, it would be hard for police to find them, short of stopping every taxi in the city – which was a near impossible task. Even if they did try, by the time they police could get organized, Canyon would have changed vehicles.

  At the moment, however, he faced a challenge of a different kind. The worst kind. A traffic jam. From his vantage point, half a block away, he had seen his partners in crime burst from the front door of the bank. But as he moved to pick them up, a fat man ran out on to the road, causing an accident. Now the traffic was completely jammed up in front of Canyon.

  He could see his comrades, but he couldn't get to them.

  Then he saw something else. A large, dark, gentleman struck Mad Dog Norton. Canyon was a huge boxing fan. From the way the man moved, he recognized him straight away. He couldn't believe it. It was Joe Louis!

  ON THE PAVEMENT...

  Joe bounded forward and knocked the gun from Mad Dog's hand. The pistol clattered to the pavement, then rolled into the gutter.

  “What?” Mad Dog exclaimed, taken by surprise.

  The criminal dropped the loot he was carrying, balled his fist and swung wild and high. Joe ducked under the blow, and pushed out two lightning fast jabs.

  Mad Dog was stunned and staggered backward, tripping over one of the sacks of money. He fell to the concrete, landing on his backside. Joe moved in to apprehend the criminal, only to have Mad Dog kick him in the groin.

  The Brown Bomber staggered back, tears in his eyes. He suddenly realized there was no referee on the street to keep the fight clean. Mad Dog was not going to fight fair.

  MEANWHILE...

  Bud tackled Mad Dog's partner, Pistol Pete Maginty, and both men crashed into the wall of the bank. Bud grabbed the crook's gun-hand and smashed it into the masonry till the man's knuckles were bloodied and raw.

  Pistol Pete cried out and dropped his pistol. With both his hands free, Pete pushed Bud away and legged it.

  “Oh, no you don't,” Bud yelled. As he regained his balance, he rushed after the fleeing criminal.

  ON THE STREET...

  In the middle of the road, amidst a chorus of angry car horns, Lou could see the crumpled taxi was not going anywhere. He turned and looked back along the row of backed up traffic. There, half a block away was another taxi. If he could get to it, maybe the driver could do a U-turn and get him away from this crazy scene.

  Lou started walking through the line of cars toward the taxi.

  ON THE PAVEMENT...

  Mad Dog Norton knew how to box. He’d learned the skill several years earlier during a stint in prison. Inside the big house, he had fought some tough guys. But he never figured he'd be taking on the legendary Brown Bomber.

  Mad Dog adjusted his stance and fired out a quick left-right combination. The blows were deflected and a big right tagged him on the chin. Norton couldn't recall ever being hit so hard. He staggered back, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

  What was he trying to do? He couldn't beat Joe Louis in a boxing match. If he was going to come out of this in one piece, he had to change tactics. He had to fight dirty.

  Mad Dog dropped his guard and reached out for Joe's legs. He grabbed the Brown Bomber's ankle and lifted. The champ didn't go down, but he dropped his guard and tried to drag Norton off. As he did so, Mad Dog bobbed up and thrust a thumb in Joe's eye.

  The champ reeled, and staggered back in pain, raising his hand to his eye.

  “Why you dirty...”

  Mad Dog saw his chance. He elbowed Joe in the sternum and ran.

  HALF A BLOCK AWAY...

  Canyon saw the fat man walking toward him. It looked like the jig wa
s up. It had been a trap from the outset, and it looked like they even knew about the taxi. Canyon did not want to go to jail.

  Panicked, Canyon threw open the door of his stolen taxi and stepped out onto the road. He looked across at the fat man advancing on him. He was almost upon him.

  Canyon turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

  Behind, he heard the man call, “Stop! Stop! Wait! Hey, fella...”

  Canyon was not stopping for anyone. If they wanted him, they would have to catch him.

  Then he saw a sight he didn't want to see. Police. The roads may have been blocked, but the police were coming on foot. Four beat cops were running straight for him.

  Canyon stopped dead in his tracks. His escape was blocked.

  He turned and ran back the way he had come.

  BESIDE THE TAXI...

  Lou was confused. Why had the taxi driver run off? Didn't he want the fare? He should have his license revoked. Lou stood with hands on hips beside the taxi, staring at the driver as he weaved through the people crowded onto the pavement.

  But then the driver stopped. He turned, and began running back.

  Good!

  “Hey?” Lou called. “Driver, stop!”

  The driver did not listen. He ran straight past Lou, only slowing momentarily to look over his shoulder. Lou turned to see where the driver had been looking. He saw the police officers.

  To Lou, it seemed strange the police should be after a taxi driver, when less than a block away the bank had been robbed.

  What was the country coming to?

  ON THE PAVEMENT...

  Bud took off after Pistol Pete Maginty, but he had hardly taken five steps when he crashed into someone running across his path. Both men fell to the pavement. Bud turned and looked at the man he had collided with. It was Mad Dog Norton. Mad Dog looked like... well, a mad dog. His eyes were wild and full of fire, and his teeth were bared.