Уильям Макгиверн - Collected Fiction - 1940-1963

“You want I should quiet her down?” one of the big men said.

“Ah, let her yap off,” Nolan said distractedly.

The announcer’s voice cut across the room: “... Seconds are out of the ring now, and there’s the bell! Bell moves out fast, catches Nelson in his corner. He scores with a hard left, and then a right. Nelson backs along the ropes. That first exchange left him with a cut lip. Bell looks very strong. He’s closing again, hammering with straight rights and lefts...”

“Wonderful!” Sari shouted. “Kill him, Bell.”

“Shut up!” Nolan said.

“It’s all Bell this round. He’s finding the range time and again. Nelson is in trouble now. He can’t seem to get away from Bell’s hard straight rights. He’s taking a lot of punishment in this first round. Now — and there’s the bell. The first round was Bell by a wide margin, ladies and gentlemen. He looks very strong, very sure of himself, as he goes back to his corner. Pie’s grinning as his seconds work on him, wipe the perspiration from his forehead and face. Listen to that crowd yell.”

“I feel sick,” Nolan said.

“What’s a nice fast train to New York?” one of the big men said nervously.

“And here’s round two! It’s the same thing all over again. Bell is out like a tiger, crowding Nelson into a corner. But wait a minute. Nelson is finding the range now. Bell seems a little fuddled, dazed now. He’s wiping his eyes with the back of his right gloves, and moving away. He shakes his head. Nelson is after him, hitting him with solid lefts and rights. Bell is missing. He seems to have slowed down. He’s blinking his eyes, looking around as if he can’t see. Nelson must have shook him up pretty badly with one of his punches, although it didn’t look too effective from where we’re sitting. This is Nelson’s round, without a doubt. He’s coming in more confidently now, as Bell backs away, shaking his head.” A little later: “And there’s the bell ending round two. And just in time, I’ll bet Bell is saying to himself.”

Nolan clapped hands together. “Ben did it!” he said in a hoarse, incredulous voice.

By the end of round five Nolan was grinning widely. His two henchmen were equally cheerful. They sat smoking cigars and chuckling as the announcer recounted the carnage that Nelson was wreaking on Bell. “What’s keeping him up?” the announcer said more than once, in an awed tone.

“Ha, ha,” Nolan laughed. “That’s good. Fall over, Bell. Lie down and die. Go on, make me a millionaire, you big bum. Good old Ben!”

At the end of the tenth round Nelson was hitting Bell with everything but the ring posts.

“Well, it’s in the bag now,” Nolan said, still yawning. “Let’s finish up our little business here. Go get the boy prophet.”

“What are you going to do to Reggie?” Sari said.

“Well, that’s kind of a problem,” Nolan said, blowing smoke in the air. He sighed thoughtfully. “We got to get rid of him, of course. And you too, Sari.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said, and then she looked away from him, a tight, nervous smile on her lips. “Yes, you would, of course. You’d boil your mother in oil for a dollar.”

“Now, Sari,” Nolan said.

“For half a dollar.”

“You see, you heard that business about fixing Bell’s eyes,” Nolan said. “Talk could get started about that, and it would make my bookies unhappy. They might think I fixed the fight just to clip them.”

“But you don’t have to kill Reggie”

“Well, it’s safer this way. Sari, you know how this business is. I wish you’d stop acting and talking so dumb.”

The two big men came in carrying Reggie’s bound figure between them. He was conscious, and looked fairly cheerful.

“This is the end of the line, Sari,” he said. “Don’t worry anymore. We get off here. These men said so.”

“Oh, Reggie,” she said in a trembling voice.

“Let’s go,” Nolan said.

The two men carried Reggie out to the river’s edge. Nolan followed them with Sari in his arms. One of the men attached a heavy iron weight to Reggie’s feet. “Well, this is it, chum,” the man said. “Give my regards to the mud carp.”

“Now wait a minute, you can’t throw me in the river,” Reggie said.

“Why not?”

“Why, I’d drown,” Reggie cried triumphantly.

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” the man said, and pushed him into the river.

“Reggie!” Sari sobbed. “Oh, you monsters!”

At that instant something incredible happened. Something so incredible that Malachy Nolan, who had seen such miracles as honest cops and virtuous chorus girls, very nearly swallowed his cigar in astonishment.

A flaming streak, trailing plumes of fire like a comet, flashed from the heavens and plummeted into the river. There was a flat, echoing smack! as this phenomenon struck the water, and then it reappeared, climbing in an arc to come to rest on the dank wooden wharf of the river.

Nolan sank to his knees, dropping Sari like a bundle of old clothes. His face grew pale, his eyes bugged out.

A man stood before him, a tall, heroically proportioned man with calm, noble features, and long black hair. He wore a flowing white robe and a band of gold gleamed across his head. In his arms he carried the limp, damp figure of Reggie Saint Gregory.

“What are your wishes, my master?” this incredible figure sad in a deep powerful voice.

Reggie coughed, spewing out dirty river water. “Well, what do you think? Get these silly ropes off me.”

“It is done, master.”

Reggie stood free and unencumbered. The ropes had dissolved with the words.

“And her, too,” Reggie snapped.

Yoh-Agparth waved a hand, and the bonds fell from Sari’s wrists and ankles. She sat up slowly, her eyes round as saucers.

“Reggie, who is he?”

“Well, I’ll be blasted if I know,” Reggie said. He studied the man for a moment, then light broke into the dark areas of his memory. “Oh, I say! It’s the fellow who sold me the paper.” Reggie wagged at a finger at Yoh-Agparth. “I’ll just take that nickel, old man.”

“You desire a nickel?”

“I should say I do,” Reggie said indignantly.

Something cold and shining appeared in his palm. It was a nickel. He bit it cautiously, then slipped it into his damp pocket. “Well, that’s better.” He scratched his head, suddenly recalling the words he had read in the issue of True Astrology that he picked from the newsdealer’s lap that night. Of course! It was all very clear now. He had decided that if he ever had an anchor around his neck and were about to do a bit of high diving — well, there it was! Pip! Pip! Here came this chap to help him out.

“Is there anything else, master?” Yoh-Agparth said. “If my mission is completed, I shall return to my eternal solitude.” There was more than a touch of hope in his voice.

Nolan had got to his feet. Some of his poise had returned. One of his men said, “Who is this character, boss? He’s upset our plans, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Nolan said.

“Shall we take care of him?”

Reggie put a hand on Yoh-Agparth’s massive shoulders. “There’s just one little thing you might do, old chap.”

“Command, master,” Yoh-Agparth said disconsolately.

“These chaps here take care of them,” Reggie said, folding his arms and smiling genially at Nolan and his two hulking henchmen.

“Take care of them? In what manner, master?”

“Well, let me see,” Reggie mused. “Tell you what. They’re crazy about fighting. It’s on their mind all the time. Supposing you just fight with them a little bit.”

“I cannot fight ‘a little bit’, master.”