just the same. I knew I shouldn’t make much of a showing in Miami in the clothes I had on,
and this had been worrying me. A tropical suit, five hundred bucks and a car sounded about
right to me.
“Go on talking,” I said. “It won’t hurt me to listen.”
“That’s a fact,” he said, and grinned, showing six gold-capped teeth. “That’s my
proposition. Deputize for MacCready, and that’s what you’ll get. How does it strike you?”
“Not bad. What makes you think I rate that high?”
“I don’t know you do. If you’ve got anything beside that hook, then you can’t be so bad.
Suppose you come down to the gym and show me just what you can do?”
I hesitated. In a couple of hours Josh Bates would be pulling out of Pelotta for Miami. I
could either go with him and travel as a bum or stick around here for four more days and then
travel in my own car with money in my pocket. But before I got the car and the money I had
to fight a heavyweight I’d never seen or heard of, and I wasn’t in anything like strict training.
I might even land up with a broken jaw myself.
“Just how useful is this guy you want me to fight?”
“Not bad,” Brant said. “He’s fast and pins his faith on a right cross.” He stood up. “But you
don’t have to worry about him. I don’t expect you to beat him. All I want you to do is to stay
with him for a few rounds and make a show. The dough’s all on him. But if he gets too hot
for you you can always do an el foldo”
“That’s something I’ve never done, and don’t intend to do.”
“Just a suggestion,” he said blandly. “Suppose we go over to the gym. We can talk better
after I’ve seen the way you shape.”
We went over to the gym. It lay at the end of a dark, evil-smelling alley off Pelotta’s main
15
street. It wasn’t much of a place: one big room, equipped with two training rings, punching
bags, some dirty mats scattered over the floor, a row of changing booths and a few shower
cabinets, most of which didn’t work.
The place was deserted when we got there.
“Waller, Joe’s sparring partner, will be along any minute now,” Brant said. “He’s a good
trial horse and you can hit him as hard as you like. If you don’t he’ll hit you. Let’s have three
rounds with all the action you can cram into them.”
He went over to a locker and handed out some kit. While I was changing Waller came in.
He was a big, battered Negro with sullen, bloodshot eyes. He nodded briefly to Brant, gave
me an indifferent glance and went into one of the booths to change.
When I had stripped off. Brant looked me over critically, and whistled.
“Well, you ain’t carrying any fat. You look in pretty good shape to me.”
“I’m all right,” I said, and ducked under the ropes. “But if I’d known this was going to
happen I’d have laid off smoking. It’s my wind I’ve got to watch.”
Waller climbed into the ring. He was built like a gorilla, but in spite of his size I noticed he
was eyeing me thoughtfully.
“Listen, Henry,” Brant said to him, “let’s have a fight. I want to see how good this guy is.
Don’t pull your punches and keep after him.”
The Negro grunted.
“And that goes for you, too, Farrar,” Brant went on. “Well, if you’re ready. Okay? Then
come out fighting and make a meal of it.” He touched the bell.
Waller came forward like a gigantic crab, his head hunched down into his heavy shoulders.
We moved around the ring, feeling each other out. I got in a couple of quick jabs and swayed
away from a vicious looping right he threw at me. I managed to pin him with another left.
None of my punches had any steam in them. I wanted to test my timing. I knew it wasn’t
