TOMMY
Around four in the afternoon Tommy dropped into the Between Rounds, accepted the good natured kidding of the bar regulars. He saw Alvin and Walt in a booth, talking earnestly over beers. Tommy walked over and heard Walt saying, “I don't know, always thought I'd have more remorse at killing a man... even in the line of duty, as the saving goes. But it's been business as usual with me all day long—to my amazement. Anyway, thanks for making me a detective, first grade.”
“Thank me? Congratulations, Walt, old man, you've certainly earned your promotion. And the hard way.”
Walt didn't tell Alvin how bewildered he still was by the day's happenings. He couldn't explain that when he was called down to the headquarters in the morning he had expected to be broken to a beat cop. But with full publicity he had been promoted, the Commissioner himself giving Walt his new badge. Evidently the syndicate was as anxious as the police to keep things quiet. (A new man had been assigned to Big Burt's territory twenty minutes after Burt died.)
Alvin asked, “I suppose you didn't have time to check on Jake Watson's fingerprints?”
“I did. I had most of the day off. Nothing, except I know his real name.”
Tommy sat down in the booth, all smiles, cutting in on Walt with, “Well you guys were all wrong about Arno! This morning, after I came in from the road, Arno was waiting for me. He'd read the papers. He says, 'What's the matter with you, Irish, fooling around with gangsters? Why you might have got yourself killed.' Yes sir, Arno was all concerned and upset over me. To show you what an ace he is, when I told him about May... why an hour ago he took me down to the market and paid off Shorty James. Gave him five hundred bucks just like that. Of course, I owe it to Arno, but...”
“Who's Shorty?” Alvin asked.
“Some fellow Tommy's wife owed money to,” Walt said quickly, giving Tommy a slight kick under the table.
“Yeah, May happened to bust up his car,” Tommy said. “But the main thing is, Arno volunteered to pay the debt, said he didn't want me worried. You see how wrong you were about him wanting to kill me? If that was so, Arno wouldn't have been so concerned about last night.”
“By the way,” Walt said, “Jake Watson's real name is Hal Bari. No real police record, except for some minor j.d. stuff.”
“So what?” Tommy asked. “Lots of pugs take fancy names, or they used to.”
Walt nodded. “Except they're supposed to put their right name on their license application.”
“Wait a minute.” Alvin ran a long finger down a typewritten list of names. “Had my secretary check on all ring deaths in the last five years. Yes, thought that name rang a bell. Here it is. On March 17th, 1958, a fighter named Harold Barry killed a pug named Teddy Smith in the third round of a bout in a place called Preston, Utah!”
Walt glanced at the paper. “Hal —Harold. Barry—Bari... It's too much of a coincidence.”
Tommy, who had been peering at the paper over Walt's shoulder now said triumphantly, “Naw! Not only is the name spelled wrong, but look at this—Harold Barry weighed a hundred and thirty-five pounds, a lightweight. Why Jake is a good hundred and fifty pounds!”
Walt said slowly, “But in two years, a guy would grow, put on weight. Tell you, Al, for the first time I think you may have something.”
“Exactly what I've been trying to get through to you,” Alvin boomed. “Now what do we do?”
“We could alert the D. A. I suppose, but so far we haven't any real proof. Even if Bari and Barry are the same guy, that still doesn't prove any insurance tie-up or...”
“I shall wire the Preston papers for full information at once,” Hammer announced.
“It might help. What we need most is a run-down on this Arno. He isn't listed with the Commission as Jake's manager, either. I think our best bet is for the insurance company to cancel the policy and see what Arno's reaction is. Of course, even if he dropped Tommy, it still wouldn't be proof of anything.”
Tommy, who had been trying to hold himself in, now said softly but firmly, “You guys listen to me. Walt, I'll never forget what you did for me. Same goes for you, Al. But I can't blow my last chance to get some ring money. Now wait... I sure don't plan on getting myself killed, either, but now that May is okay—I'm to call for her tonight and bring her back—well, that makes this opportunity all the more special. May and me getting together again—I got to make it this time. Like I said, you fellows have been swell to me, no doubting that, but so has Arno. But he couldn't get me to turn on you two. Hell, I'm into him for over a grand now. I'm living good. I have a fight set for next week, and Arno has real plans for me. I can't cancel the policy, do anything to make him sore. Walt's a cop and he says we don't have a thing to go on except Jake using a phony name. When I was a kid fighting bootleg bouts, I used a dozen names to keep the AAU from knowing. Another thing, Barry sounds Irish while Bari is probably Italian. What I'm trying to say, you guys are only guessing. I can't risk everything I have going—on a bum guess.”
Alvin looked at Walt, who asked, “What did Arno tell you when you told him you had a fight set for next week?”
“He said fine, for me to train and to be sure and stay in shape, keep off the bottle,” Tommy said, thinking of the fine Irish whiskey he'd been nibbling on. “Of course, I'm doing that anyway.”
Alvin told them, “I wish I could get a look at this Arno and especially at Jake. I've seen a great many fighters in my time, and managers. Perhaps I'd remember them. Has Arno said anything more about you fighting Jake?”
Tommy gave him a pained look. “Al, for the love of Mike, keep your voice down, you ain't broadcasting. I keep telling you that's a big secret. No, he hasn't said anything. I'm telling you, Arno is a sweet guy, leaves me alone, doesn't rush me or nothing.”
“We have to play it careful and slow—policy won't go into effect for at least another week,” Walt said. “But it also won't hurt to get a look at these two. I'd like to see Arno, then check our rogues gallery. Tommy, your hotel is only a couple blocks from here. Suppose you call and tell them you left your money in your room, or lost your wallet—no, you left it in the gym—and you need a few bucks. They'll bring it over and Al and I will be in this booth, while you wait at the bar.”
“I'd be an awful jerk doing a thing like that after Arno just went for a bundle on me,” Tommy said.
Walt didn't say it, but the expression on his hard face said he had looked like a jerk last night, for Tommy's sake. Alvin merely looked sad. Tommy shrugged and got up. He kept the door of the phone booth open, but held the receiver hook down as he went through the motions of dialing and talking. Then he returned to the booth, said, “They were out. Look, May's waiting for me.”
“Has she got a room?”
“Won't be no trouble getting one—now. But not in the market section. And May'll be able to pick up a waitress job.”
Walt nodded, “Keep in touch, Tommy. Be sure and phone me if Arno mentions anything about you fighting Jake. In fact, let me know if Jake fights anybody. In general, watch yourself—keep out of their car, be careful what you eat.”
“Thanks for cheering me up!” Tommy said, winking. “Sure, I'll see you fellows around. Don't worry about me— and my Irish luck.”
When he left, Walt told Alvin, “Perhaps we are rushing. It is fantastic to plan on killing a guy in the ring. Even a shell like Tommy.”
Alvin patted the paper with the list of ring deaths. “I don't see why you're so cautious, Walt. These say it isn't fantastic at all.”
Walt glanced at his watch and stood up. “Having supper with my wife. You see, Al, assuming Arno is a real clever crook, there's too many loose factors to be certain of a ring death. The ref could stop the fight—we could—and a hundred other things could happen. Running him over with a car would be far more certain. The main doubt in my mind comes from what Tommy's told us about Jake. With a fighter that good, no matter how he'd be pieced up by the mob, Arno and Jake could make much more than fifty grand in the long run. And with no risk. I can't understand keeping a pug that good under wraps.”
“A gun is kept under wraps until it's used,” Alvin said. “I'll check on that Utah bit, let you know.”
“I'm going to do some checking myself,” Walt said, buttoning his overcoat. “I want to get ahold of this Arno's prints, see what they reveal in the FBI's crystal ball. And I'll keep an eye on Tommy.”
“So will I,” Alvin said.
The moment he left the Between Rounds, Tommy ducked into the nearest bar for a fast belt. Over his second drink he thought, Lord, that was close! All I needed was to have Arno and Jake in the Between Rounds with all the fight boys there. I wish Walt and Al would leave me alone. They mean well but don't know what they're doing. An ex-amateur and a fight buff. What was it Bobby told me about the advice of the fans when I was starting as a pro? Yeah, yeah, fan is short for fanatic! Walt and Al, a couple of dumb fanatics! Well, I'll have to play it cool and keep an eye on those poor dopes.”
