Дэшил Хэммет - The Collected Dashiell Hammett

He was pretty tight. “What the hell are you doing up?” he said.

I told him about Mrs. Schiff and what she told me to tell him.

He stood there in his hat and overcoat until I had told it all, then he said, “That chiseling dago rat,” kind of half under his breath and his face began to get like it got when he was mad.

“And she said you mustn’t do anything crazy.”

“Crazy?” He looked at me and kind of laughed. “No, I won’t do anything crazy. How about you scramming off to bed?”

I said, “All right,” and went upstairs.

The next morning he was still in bed when I left for the gym and he had gone out before I got home. I waited supper for him until nearly seven o’clock and then ate it by myself. Susan was getting sore because it was going to be late before she got through. Maybe he stayed out all night but he looked all right when he came in Tubby’s the next afternoon to watch me work out, and he was making jokes and kidding along with the fellows hanging around there just like he had nothing at all on his mind.

He waited for me to dress and we walked over home together. The only thing that was kind of funny, he asked me, “How do you feel, Kid?” That was kind of funny because he knew I always felt all right. I guess I never even had a cold all my life.

I said, “All right.”

“You’re working good,” he said. “Take it easy to-morrow. You want to be rested up for this baby from Providence. Like that chiseling dago rat said, he’s plenty tough and plenty smart.”

I said, “I guess he is. Loney, do you think Pete really tipped Big Jake off about—”

“Forget it,” he said. “Hell with ’em.” He poked my arm. “You got nothing to worry about but how you’re going to be in there Saturday night.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he said. “Maybe you’ll be lucky to get a draw.”

I stopped still in the street, I was so surprised. Loney never talked like that about any of my fights before. He was always saying, “Don’t worry about how tough this mug looks, just go in and knock him apart,” or something like that.

I said, “You mean—?”

He took hold of my arm to start me walking again. “Maybe I overmatched you this time, Kid. This sailor’s pretty good. He can box and he hits a lot harder than anybody you been up against so far.”

“Oh, I’ll be all right,” I said.

“Maybe,” he said, scowling straight ahead. “Listen, what do you think about what Pete said about you needing more boxing?”

“I don’t know. I don’t ever pay attention much to what anybody says but you.”

“Well, what do you think about it now?” he asked.

“Sure, I’d like to learn to box better, I guess.”

He grinned at me without moving his lips much. “You’re liable to get some fine lessons from this Sailor whether you want ’em or not. But no kidding, suppose I told you to box him instead of tearing in, would you do it? I mean for the experience, even if you didn’t make much of a showing that way.”

I said, “Don’t I always fight the way you tell me?”

“Sure you do. But suppose it meant maybe losing this once but learning something?”

“I want to win, of course,” I said, “but I’ll do anything you tell me. Do you want me to fight him that way?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “We’ll see.”

Friday and Saturday I just loafed around. Friday I tried to find somebody to go out and shoot pheasants with but all I could find was Bob Kirby and I was tired of listening to him make the same jokes over and over, so I changed my mind and stayed home.

Loney came home for supper and I asked him what the odds were on our fight.

He said, “Even money. You got a lot of friends.”

“Are we betting?” I asked.

“Not yet. Maybe if the price gets better. I don’t know.”

I wished he had not been so afraid I was going to lose but I thought it might sound kind of conceited if I said anything about it, so I just went on eating.

We had a swell house that Saturday night. The armory was packed and we got a pretty good hand when we went in the ring. I felt fine and I guess Dick Cohen, who was going to be in my corner with Loney, felt fine too, because he looked like he was trying to keep from grinning. Only Loney looked kind of worried, not enough that you would notice it unless you knew him as well as I did, but I could notice it.

“I’m all right,” I told him. A lot of fighters say they feel uncomfortable waiting for their fight to start but I always feel fine.

Loney said, “Sure you are,” and slapped me on my back.

“Listen, Kid,” he said, and cleared his throat. He put his mouth over close to my ear so nobody else would hear him. “Listen, Kid, maybe — maybe you better box him like we said. O.K.?”

I said, “O.K.”

“And don’t let those mugs out front yell you into anything. You’re doing the fighting up there.”

I said, “O.K.”

The first couple of rounds were kind of fun in a way because this was new stuff to me, this moving around him on my toes and going in and out with my hands high. Of course I had done some of that with fellows in the gym but not in the ring before and not with anybody that was as good at it as he was. He was pretty good and had it all over me both of those rounds but nobody hurt anybody else.

But in the first minute of the third he got to my jaw with a honey of a right cross and then whammed me in the body twice fast with his left. Pete and Loney had not been kidding when they said he could hit. I forgot about boxing and went in pumping with both hands, driving him all the way across the ring before he tied me up in a clinch. Everybody yelled so I guess it looked pretty good but I only really hit him once; he took the rest of them on his arms. He was the smartest fighter I had ever been up against.

By the time Pop Agnew broke us I remembered I was supposed to be boxing so I went back to that, but Perelman was going faster and I spent most of the rest of the round trying to keep his left out of my face.

“Hurt you?” Loney asked when I was back in my corner.

“Not yet,” I said, “but he can hit.”

In the fourth I stopped another right cross with my eye and a lot of lefts with other parts of my face and the fifth round was still tougher. For one thing, the eye he had hit me in was almost shut by that time and for another thing I guess he had me pretty well figured out. He went around and around me, not letting me get set.

“How do you feel?” Loney asked when he and Dick were working on me after that round. His voice was funny, like he had a cold.

I said, “All right.” It was hard to talk much because my lips were puffed out.

“Cover up more,” Loney said.

I shook my head up and down to say I would.

“And don’t pay any attention to those mugs out front.”

I had been too busy with Sailor Perelman to pay much attention to anybody else but when we came out for the sixth round I could hear people hollering things like, “Go in and fight him, Kid,” and “Come on, Kid, go to work on this guy,” and “What are you waiting for, Kid?” so I guessed they had been hollering like that all along. Maybe that had something to do with it or maybe I just wanted to show Loney that I was still all right so he would not worry about me. Anyway, along toward the last part of the round, when Perelman jarred me with another one of those right crosses that I was having so much trouble with, I got down low and went in after him. He hit me some but not enough to keep me away and, even if he did take care of most of my punches, I got in a couple of good ones and I could tell that he felt them. And when he tied me up in a clinch I knew he could do it because he was smarter than me and not because he was stronger.