Брендан Дюбуа - Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 51, No. 7 & 8, July/August 2006

Mrs. McGee snorted but said nothing.

The Gentleman poured the clear liquid from the jug, then picked up both cups and carried one back to Corey.

“What can I do for you, Callaghan?”

“I want to talk to you about William Steed, Lightning Dan, and a fight being scheduled for Friday evening.”

Whatever warmth and ease had been in the room departed as Corey spoke. “Elaine,” the Gentleman’s voice was quiet, but his tone brooked no argument. “Would you take the boys to their room?”

Corey watched quietly as Mrs. McGee rounded up her sons and herded them out of the kitchen. “You heard your father! Now off with you!”

When children and wife were gone, the Gentleman sighed heavily and invited Corey to take a seat at the kitchen table. “I knew they’d gone to you. Can’t say I’m surprised to see you here.”

Corey took the seat, cradling the cup in both hands. “I’m really sorry about the money. I feel bad about this.”

The Gentleman looked up at him, surprise evident on his face. “I won’t be missing that kind of money,” he told Corey. “I’m frankly surprised to learn you’re so eager to have it.”

Corey sat a little straighter in his chair, hearing the scorn in the words but not quite understanding it. “It’s the largest purse I’ve ever had a chance at.”

“What chance?” Mrs. McGee walked back into the kitchen. “They aren’t talking about giving you a chance.”

Corey twisted in his seat so he could face both Mrs. McGee and the Gentleman. “Patrick doesn’t have a high opinion of Lightning Dan. He seems to think I could have taken him even after going fifteen rounds with the Gentleman here.”

Mrs. McGee was clearly furious. “And how will you be taking him when you’re taking a dive in the fourth?”

Corey was on his feet in a flash. If the Gentleman had said those words he’d already be striking him. He could not keep his voice quiet or calm. “I have never thrown a fight in my life! If you weren’t a woman!”

Elaine McGee began an angry retort, but the Gentleman wrapped his arms around her and pulled her back. She struggled with him for a few moments before agreeing to restrain herself. Then it was the Gentleman’s turn to be angry. With his wife safely out of reach he whirled around on Corey. “Callaghan, perhaps you’d better explain why you came to see me this evening.”

“To offer you a chance to take your fight back!” Corey stormed across the room to the outer door. “What a fool I am, feeling bad for you that our fight cost you the chance at a three hundred dollar purse. What a fool I am, coming here to give you a chance to throw your hat back in the ring and win it!”

Corey grabbed the handle of the door and yanked it open. The Gentleman caught up with him before he could step outside. “Callaghan! Callaghan! I’m sorry. We’re both sorry! We misunderstood everything. Please come back.”

Corey almost turned and punched him. He was that angry, and the Gentleman had exposed himself in the way he had reached out to take hold of Corey’s arm. If he hadn’t liked the Gentle-man — hadn’t actually respected him — Corey would not have restrained himself. But Corey did like Gentleman Tom McGee and until a minute ago, he had thought Mrs. McGee a genuine lady, so he let himself be drawn back into the room so that the Gentleman could close the kitchen door.

“I think,” the Gentleman said, “that we’ve had a misunderstanding. I’d like to explain it to you, but I have to have your word you’ll tell no one. You can’t even tell Patrick. You see, they’ve threatened my wife and sons.”

“Threatened your—”

“Please, Callaghan, just take a seat at the table and listen to me. Elaine, will you make certain the boys are still in their room?”

The Gentleman’s wife left to check on her sons, but not before giving her husband a long stare to make certain he knew she doubted his judgment here.

Corey sat in a wooden chair and the Gentleman sat at the table across from him. His mind was not as quick as his fists, but he believed he understood what had happened. He tested that understanding with a quiet question. “Who threatened your family?”

“Steed!” The Gentleman spat out the word. “First he offered a three hundred dollar prize if I could beat his little fancy from Kansas City. Then, a few days after the fight was talked up, he came back around to bribe me to take a dive. When I wouldn’t agree, he told me his men would cripple my wife and boys. Wasn’t anything I could do. And then you knocked me out and I have never been so glad to lose. Elaine saw it before me. I was too hurt to fight Steed’s boy. I may be too hurt to ever return to the ring. I’ll give up boxing to save my family, but I’m a man — I don’t want to take a dive in front of Steed’s fancy kid.”

Corey sighed. He had known the three hundred dollar purse was too good to be true. “They’ve not come to me yet — not spoken to me at all, truth be told. Patrick handles all of the business.”

“They’ll come, Callaghan. And likely to you and not to Patrick. After all, what can they threaten him with? He’s only got you, and everyone knows a boxer’s days are numbered from the first time he enters the ring. No, they’ll come to you.”

“And do what? Bribe me? There’s not enough money in the world. And I’m not like you. I don’t have a wife and children depending on me.”

“Then he’ll hurt you.”

“I’m a boxer,” Corey reminded him. “I understand pain. And if his boys rough me up too bad it will blow the fight on Friday.”

“Which he may want, if he really believes you’ll beat his fancy.”

“Then he cancels the fight,” Corey said. “There is nothing he can do to me that will make me take a dive.”

Steed approached Corey in the morning at the end of his daily training run — two blocks shy of the flophouse where he and Patrick were boarding. It happened all in a rush — three toughs charging out from between two buildings while the well-dressed Mr. Steed hung back in the early morning shadows.

Corey was tired from his run — four miles in the thin mountain air — and the sweat soaked his shirt and cap-covered hair. He was tired, but he was a fighter born for the ring. He danced easily out of the first two men’s way and landed a hard right fist across the jaw of the third. That one spun and hit the ground — no true grit — Corey couldn’t imagine why Steed had hired him. There was no sign of Lightning Dan.

The first two toughs whirled in their tracks and rushed back toward Corey. He hopped two paces back, clearing the man he had knocked down and drifting in the direction of Steed. His hands were up, his feet were dancing, and he had no doubt at all that he would punch these rough fools into next week. He could see it in the way they ran — all brawn and no training. Corey ducked a shoulder and jabbed as the first man darted in. His fist stood the man up straight, but before he could follow through he had to slide to one side in order to avoid the other one. The first tough staggered back, scowling, but by no means looking defeated. The second whirled again, ready to more rationally assist his friend.

Corey prepared to teach both men a lesson in pain.

Steed stirred himself from the shadows. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Callaghan. Boys,” he waved toward the two remaining toughs, “pick up Donny and step back out of the way. You’ve shown me what I wanted to learn this morning.”

He stepped fully into the light of early day. He was tall, lean, and dark of hair but not of face. His features were tight, drawn, and hard — not hard as a man’s face might get if he did honest work for a living, but hard from lack of charity. His disapproval was evident as he watched his men take hold of themselves, restraining their anger with difficulty. They wanted to fight, but Steed paid them. They scowled, then sidled around Corey to help their still-dazed comrade to his feet, then they gathered together next to Steed and stared sullen hatred at Corey Callaghan.