and to judge from her long, slim legs, she would be above the average height when she stood
up. Under that smart, cool and provocative outfit was a shape that drove the fight, Petelli and
the rest of the set-up clean out of my mind.
She was looking up at me, her eyes wide and excited, and we exchanged glances. The look
she gave me turned my mouth dry and sent my pulse racing. Even a Trappist monk would
have known what that look was saying, and I wasn’t a Trappist monk.
“What’s the matter with you?” Waller mumbled as he laced my gloves. “You look like
someone’s already socked you.”
“Could have,” I said, and smiled at her, and she smiled back: an intimate, we-could-have-fun-together kind of smile that hit me where I lived.
I turned to see who she was with: an expensive-looking item in a fawn seersucker suit. He
was handsome enough with his dark, wavy hair, his olive complexion and his regular
features, but his good looks were marred by his thin, hard mouth and the viciously angry
expression in his eyes as he returned my curious stare.
“Get out there,” Waller said, and shoved me to my feet. “The ref’s waiting. What’s the
matter with you?”
And the referee was waiting, and the Kid was waiting too. I joined them in the middle of
the ring.
“It’s all right, chummy,” the Kid sneered. “You don’t have to hue your corner that long. I
ain’t going to hit you just yet.”
“All right, boys,” the referee said sharply, “let’s cut out the funny stuff and get down to
business. Now, listen to me …”
He started on the old routine I had heard so often before. While he was talking, I asked
myself why she had looked at me like that. I don’t claim to know much about women, but I
knew that smile was an open invitation.
“Okay, boys,” the referee said when he was through with the routine stuff, “back to your
corners, and come out fighting.”
“And, chummy, you’ll know you’ve been in a fight when you leave feet first,” the Kid said,
32
slapping me on the back.
And so would he, I thought, as I returned to my corner.
Waller took off my dressing-gown and I turned to get a last look at her.
She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling.
“Knock that smug smile off his face, handsome,” she called. “It’s time someone did.”
Her escort put his hand on her arm, scowling, but she shook it off impatiently.
“And good luck …”
“Thanks,” I said.
Outraged, Waller got between her and me.
“Keep your mind on this fight,” he said as the bell went.
The Kid came out fast, his chin tucked down into his left shoulder, a cocky grin on his face.
He led with a left that was a foot short, weaved away and tossed over a right. That was short
too. I moved around him looking for an opening. I wanted to land one hard jolt that would
slow him down. I could see he was a lot faster on his feet than I was.
He caught me with a left to the face: not a hard punch. I countered with a left and right to
the body. His left jumped into my face again, and he tried a right cross, but I ducked under it
and socked him in the body. He got in close and began hammering away at my ribs, but I tied
him up, and the referee had to pull us apart. I got in a good left jab to his face as we broke,
and he didn’t like it. He moved away fast, snorting, then came in again, throwing rights and
lefts. I smothered everything he handed out, stepped in and nailed him with a block-buster
that sent him down on his hands and knees.
