Ed Lacy - The Big Fix

“Walt,” Alvin said, “explain to Tommy about canceling the policy.”

“What?” Tommy cut in. “You guys are talking like you got paper brains. If I cancel the policy, Arno will get sore, wash his hands of me. Why if I even hinted about this crazy notion Al has, he'd be insulted. No!”

Walt said, “Tommy, you don't have to do anything, if you want it that way. I can... suggest what Alvin thinks to the insurance company and they will cancel before the policy goes into effect. If that happened, and you'd be in the clear, and Arno gave you the brush, wouldn't that prove Alvin is right? If Arno still backed you, it would show we're wrong.”

“No, it wouldn't show anything except I ought to have my head examined. This is my break, my Irish luck, and you guys want me to louse it up because Al has a wild hair tickling his mind. Lay off me. What if Arno is so rich he took out a twenty-five grand policy on me? Could be that's what he told me, and I didn't hear right, thought he said twenty* five hundred. What's the big diff if he took out a million dollar policy? It's his dough. Look, Walt, I appreciate you and Al thinking you're doing this to protect me, but you don't understand the deal. The day before my last bout I was so hungry I sold a pint of blood to eat. Now sixteen days...”

“You sold your blood before that fight?” Alvin asked shocked, his face actually going pale.

“Now, sixteen days later, I'm eating three times a day, living in a fine hotel. I have pocket money and fit into a rich cat's plans. I'm a guy with a future, suddenly. I can't risk all that. Sure, if Arno asked me to do something unreasonable, I could buck it. But when a guy is breaking his hump to help me, how would I sound saying I don't like this and that?”

“Your life may be at stake!” Alvin thundered.

An annoyed look crossed Tommy's small face. “Easy, AL you ain't on the air. Keep your pear-shaped tone down. Nobody says I'm in danger but you. Hell, before I was more in danger—of not eating! You think guys are falling over themselves, standing in line waiting to manage me?”

Al said, “Can't you see?”

“Tommy's right,” Walt cut in, wondering if he would have ended up like this if he'd turned pro. “We don't have any stand-up proof to go with, as of now. Let me nose around. Tommy, you keep your ears open, try to find out more about them. Like who Jake has battled and where. How Arno made his bankroll. Be careful, don't be obvious about things. I think we have time on this. If we come up with something, we'll act. If we draw blanks we won't have spoiled Tommy's soft touch.”

“That talk I'll buy,” Tommy said, finishing his ice cream. Alvin stirred his coffee, as if whipping it. “You still spar every day with Jake?”

“Most days. Beginning tomorrow I'm going to start working out by myself at the Crosstown Gym, start getting some bouts. I'm feeling great and don't have “to worry about taking quickie bouts.”

“Does Jake bang away at you?” Walt asked. “Has he ever flattened you again?”

“Naw. Like I told Al, that first time he belted me he was lucky. I was hungover and showing off, coming in southpaw. Sure he hits like a hammer, tries to clout me, but I'm not a slob when it comes to defense. The 'Bobbing Cork' they used to call me. I don't let Jake get lucky no more.”

“You have my phone number. If anything unusual comes up, or if you learn anything about either of them, call me. At the precinct or home,” Walt said.

“Sure. Listen, if I thought there was anything phony, I'd be the first to blow the whistle. I don't aim to get myself killed.”

“Be careful,” Walt said. “Stay out of their car. Don't eat nothing you're doubtful about.”

“You trying to give me a nervous breakdown?” Tommy asked, with a tight smile. “Arno lets me use his car any time I want, and he's always taking me to dizzy restaurants. Hey, you guys ever eat raw fish? Or rattlesnake meat? Don't make a face, I was surprised too. Never know what you're eating— if nobody told you.”

There was a moment of silence. The waiter left the check and Alvin didn't have any trouble taking it. Walt was busy thinking if he should chance going to Ruth's office—or would that end in a showdown? Beside, she said she was at the printer's, wherever that was. Tommy didn't expect to pay, of course.

Outside, they stood around awkwardly for a moment. Alvin had a premiere of a new TV quiz show one of his sponsors was starting. Did they want to tag along?

Tommy said he'd like to but wanted to see his wife, hadn't had a chance to tell her of his good luck since he'd come back from the country.

Walt didn't know what he wanted to do, although he didn't feel like sitting around the empty apartment. As Tommy waved, walking down the block, limping slightly but a swagger to his walk, Alvin told Walt, “He's not punchy, the limp comes from an old broken toe. It galls me, a sweet guy like Tommy having to sell blood. What a fighting heart! They don't make them from his mold any more. Think of it, he's answered the bell over a hundred times, a hundred tests of pure courage and...”

“Well, I have to be on my horse,” Walt cut in, knowing he wasn't in the mood for any hot air either. He had few illusions about the fight racket. He knew it was a lousy and brutal buck. But still, if a fellow got the breaks and could get in and out fast, there was big money. The cut from a decent bout would keep him and Ruth in Paris for years.

Alvin said, “I'll keep in touch, Walt. Look, any time you want rickets for the fights, or TV shows, let me know.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

They parted at the corner. Walt walked around the block, restlessly reading the movie marquees. Finally, he bought a paper and headed for the apartment.

Passing a bar, he saw Tommy inside, having a few quick shots.

ARNO

After they ate in a Syrian restaurant Arno had found, he suggested they take in a movie. But Jake shook his head, said he was too tired and wanted to hit the sack. He returned to the hotel.

Arno was going to the movie alone, but on the spur of nothing decided to get some sleep himself. Buying the evening paper and a jar of pickled black walnuts, he went up to their room. Jake wasn't there, but his overcoat and hat were hanging in the closet. Arno rang for a bellhop. Giving him a buck he asked, “Where's your girls, son?”

“Sir, the Southside doesn't allow that sort of...”

“Cut the gas, boy,” Arno said, slipping him another buck.

The bellhop was a stocky youngster with a sharp face, baby-scrubbed skin, and very wise eyes. Winking, he told Arno, “I know you're an all right guy, mister. Tell ya, there is one gal doing business. Real cute babe. But she's working now and you'll have to wait....”

“I know who she's working on, too. What's the room number?”

The bellhop hesitated. Arno went over to the bedside phone, put a fat hand on it. “Rather I ask the manager, son?”

“Aw now, mister, that's no way to act. Your buddy just went...”

“I know all about it. What's the room number?”

“One-fourteen.”

“Forget I asked, and don't try racing me to the room. What do they call you, kid?”

“Billy.”

“Okay, Billy-boy, beat it. You look like a hard-working, ambitious youngster. Maybe you'll work your way up to being a big-time pimp.”

On the way down to Room one-fourteen Arno tried one of the black walnuts. It was far too sweet and he tossed the rest of the jar into a sand-filled ash tray outside the elevator door.

Listening for a moment at the door of one-fourteen, Arno grinned as he heard muffled talk. Knocking gently, he heard the small sounds of bare feet crossing a carpet, then a woman's “Yes?”

“Billy. Open up,” Arno said, talking into the lapel of his coat to muffle the sound.