Ed Lacy: The Big Fix

“What?” Arno mumbled, watching him through half-closed eyes.

Jake waved the pictures at him. “You're beat, huh? I bet!”

“Come on, we're on the last lap now,” Arno said, turning his back, but watching Jake in the dressing mirror, “so stop being a dummy. Those photos are a little insurance, in case anything goes wrong, just in case, they're proof of what great pals Tommy and I were. Get going!”

TOMMY

Tommy was sprawled across the bed, still wearing his clothes, including his overcoat and shoes. When Jake shook him Tommy moaned, “Go way.”

“Wake up, Pops.” Jake slapped his face.

Tommy sat up slowly, rubbing his cheek, blinking and trying to swallow the thick taste in his mouth.

Jake was dressed for the road and said, “Come on to the park with me. I don't like to run alone.”

“Not this morning.”

Jake laughed. “Your room smells like an old bottle. Look at you, didn't even undress. I see you're training to be a champ—a champ rummy. I warned Arno you'd never snap out of the bottle. Go back to sleeping it off, old man.” Jake started for the door.

Tommy struggled out of bed. “I'll meet you in the lobby in ten minutes.” Tommy rushed to the bathroom and before he left his room, took a nip to “quiet” his stomach.

They took a long run, Jake full of pep and sarcasm. Tommy kept up with him, his head hurting. He felt exhausted. When they returned to the hotel Tommy breakfasted on a pint of milk and went right to bed. A few minutes later Arno came into his room and asked, “How do you feel after last night?”

“Okay.” Tommy wondered how long he'd slept, didn't know it had been only a few minutes.

“How about sparring a few rounds with Jake? I know you want to take the day off, but just a few rounds. I can't use any other sparring partners—you know.”

“My stomach is kind of upset. I was on the road this morning and...”

Arno's round face showed mild horror. “After last night? What did you run for?”

“I don't know,” Tommy said, trying to collect his thoughts. “Jake asked me to and I did.”

“I want to keep Jake sharp, but we'll skip the sparring. You get your rest.”

“No, no, I'm okay,” Tommy said. “I'll get my things from the gym and meet you guys uptown.”

“Well, if you think you're up to it....”

Tommy grinned. “I'm fine. How soon you want me up there?”

“At noon. And remember, not a word—you know.”

He and Jake went six fast rounds. Tommy was sober and the exercise seemed to give him pep. He jabbed and out-boxed Jake in the early rounds, but began to tire fast after the third round. Arno called out, “Take it easy, Jake,” and Jake never tried to hit Tommy's face, but gave him a hard body pounding. After the fourth round Arno told Tommy, “You'd better knock off for the day. I'll have Jake shadow-box the next couple of rounds.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm feeling fine,” Tommy said, not wanting to admit he was bushed. “I'll go another two rounds.”

After the workout, his body sore, he nearly went to sleep on the rubbing table. Arno asked if his stomach was still acting up and took him to a bar for blackberry brandy and a few drinks.

May was off at six that night and when they met in the cafeteria she sniffed after his kiss, said, “You've been boozing again.”

“Arno took me on the town last night. I told you he's a pal. I bet he spent at least fifty bucks and...”

“I don't care what he spent. Look at you, all pale. You need a good bowl of soup.”

“I don't want any food,” Tommy said, nearly throwing up at the thought. “And stop lecturing me. I've been training so hard I'm stale, needed a few shots. Get a good night's sleep and I'll be tip-top.”

But May kept nagging him about drinking and when was he going to quit Arno. And Tommy was relieved when she said she had a date with Ruth that night. Something about a story Ruth was doing. May was to talk into a tape recorder, or something. May wasn't sure what it was all about. She wanted Tommy to come along, since Ruth wanted to have May talk about the “old days,” but he begged off. After he promised to eat a “decent” meal before going to sleep, she left him.

Tommy stopped for a few beers, still feeling giddy with tiredness, and when he got to his room and undressed, Arno came in with a bottle and they had a few drinks. Arno told Tommy to get some sleep and he'd leave the bottle on the bed table.

Tommy was so overtired he took a few big belts and finished the bottle. The next thing he knew it was noon and the sun streaming through the window was sickly hot on his face. Arno was grinning down at him, fully dressed. Jake was leaning against the door. Arno said, “Get your things on, Tommy. We're leaving town.”

“W-what for?” Tommy's head was full of sickly cobwebs and he kept his hands under the covers because he knew he had the shakes.

“I got a phone call this morning. We got us a fight for tomorrow.”

“Us...me?”

Arno nodded.

“Where?”

“Out of town. Don't worry about the details.”

Tommy tried hard to gather his drunken thoughts.

“I'm not in...”

“You'll be fine by tomorrow. And you don't have to be in shape for this one.” Arno winked at Tommy and put a finger across his lips as he motioned with his head toward the door and Jake.

“Okay... but...”

“But what?” Arno asked abruptly.

“I thought we'd wait for a main event?”

In what was either a whisper or merely keeping his voice low, Arno bent over and told Tommy, “This matchmaker is very hot for Jake, so I figure at this stage, why risk anything going wrong? What if they throw Jake in with a guy who holds all night, and the fight is a stinker? The promoter won't be keen to have Jake back again. We clinch it by you taking a dive—make it look like a fast, clean kayo, in the first round. Then you can claim you never had a chance to get started, ask for a return bout. Perhaps you'll floor Jake first, then he gets up and you dive—slambang stuff. Make the return go a main event. We have a long drive ahead of us.-We'll iron out the details.”

Tommy took a quick cold shower, tried to think straight— with his mind still clogged with drunken slush. “Why the whispering act?” he asked himself. “Jake has to be in on this. Or was Arno whispering? Maybe my ears are foggy. “I'll be seeing pink leprechauns next. And maybe this is it, like Walt warned me? Now why think like that? Doesn't it also show Arno really had a plan all the time, like he said? Sure, after feeling so low, resting my luck, now it's working for me again. Damn, cold water feels good, stopped the shakes.”

He dressed and as he was packing his bag he said, “I'll have to go by the gym and get my ring stuff.”

“You have your shoes and protector from sparring with Jake yesterday. I've bought you a set of new trunks. No time to waste, have to be up there to close the deal.”

Tommy nodded, suspicion flooding his hazy mind. Still, trunks were only a few bucks and if they really were in a hurry.... The rough knot of tension inside him began to slowly uncoil. Closing his bag, he asked, “Have we time to grab a bite?”

“We'll stop on the road for chow, Pops,” Jake said.

Tommy tried again to clear his mind of sudden doubt. Was it his imagination or was Jake really nervous? Why be on edge for a fight which was in the bag? And why hadn't Arno closed the deal over the phone? This wasn't any last minute substitution, why all the big hurry? But then, some things couldn't be said over the phone.

Now I'm in a fine spot, Tommy thought. If I don't call them—when they learn I've battled Jake—Walt and Al will be sore as boils. At the same time, I don't want them spoiling this payday for me. Hell, they have been good friends. What harm can phoning them do? I'll be in a big rush and they'll sputter, over the phone, and I'll have kept my end. What the devil was Walt's number? I can phone May. No, she won't be on the job yet. And I don't want to hear her crying. Hell with it.