10 Short Novels Magazine — page 138: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

= 365 wt * Ten § Short Novels iia McCafferty swaggered into the dress- ing room the night Fletch fought another semiwindup at the Garden. Steamboat Travis had stepped out, and the chiseler - was free with his tongue. “Work hard an’ pay for a smart guy’s limousine,’ McCafferty sneered. “After either this hamdonie or Packy wins the title, I’m buyin’ a villa on the Riviera. Always wanted to join the high-noses.” “You’re not collecting,” said Pop. McCafferty’s lips curled. “Yeah?- Is that so? Don’t quote me, boys, but I collect either way—an’ you hooligans know it.” Fletch shook his head. “You’re not cutting in on a champ’s wages, because neither Packy nor me get into the tourna- ment unless we fight each other, and we’re not fighting!” McCafferty answered with a _ sneer. Then he saw the determination in Fletch’s eyes, and he began to cajole and - whine. “T’ll make a proposition,” said Fletch. “ll go through with the fight if you'll bet on Gahagan. Put my contract on Gahagan’s chances, and I’ll lay one lone dollar against it. If I win, I’ll be shed of you.” The chiseler let out a yelp of indigna- tion. Steamboat Travis came in, and the fighters got ready to spar. McCafferty said nothing. He sat on the rubbing table while Fletch and Travis swapped leather. The crook’s eyes smoldered, then nar- rowed, and when Fletch got the ring call, they were gleaming with craft. “T’ll take that bet,” he said softly. “If you want to raise the ante. It’s the con- tract against a buck, plus another bet of five grand.” Fletch looked at Pop Skeggs, and their eyes locked. The old manager nodded. “You’ve skinned me out of eighty-five hundred,” said Fletch. “If you can cover that, it’s a deal.” A sardonic smile played ‘on: McCaf- ferty’s mouth. He said: “Sure!” HE lightweight won his Garden mill, and the match was made for the Gahagan go. National Auditorium got the bout, and the fight night fifteen thou- sand rabid fans packed the arena. “Ym so happy, Fletch,” Trina said be- fore the fighter left for the dressing room. ‘Dreams have a habit of becoming forlorn hopes, but the one you’ve had since childhood isn’t failing you. And = that’s to—” | “Change your name to Mrs. Brandell,” supplied Fletch. Her color heightened and a soft glow — added luster to her glistening eyes. Some one was coming down the winding cor- ridor. crushed against his. He held her close, thrilling to her loveliness. Yet even in the ecstasy of the embrace, he visioned a nightmarish picture of the past—a _ glove-broken tramp shuffling into oblivion. He had been that tramp. And now another figure crossed his mind —the world’s champion, eager-eyed and zestful, with a beautiful girl at his side. He had been the one; he would become the other. Fletch went to his dressing room, drunken with happiness. McCafferty was there, but Fletch ignored him. There was no need for hos- tility. The contract and the money were in the hands of a reputable betting com- missioner. Sardonic and_ suspiciously boelinnee the crook hung around the dressing room. Not once did Pop turn his back. There was too much chance of a quick maneu- ver. A doped water bottle, a tack in the fighter’s shoe, a sprinkling of lye in the gloves, and it’d be a suitcase bout for Gahagan. In the bag. McCafferty stayed there during the preliminaries. Fletch and Steamboat went through their sparring ritual. The. lightweight was neat, cute, with the re- flexes of a cat and the venom of a cobra’s bite in each mitt. Suddenly a madhouse din in the arena announced a knockout in the semi-wind-up. An attendant gave Fletch the shout. The kid wrapped his perspiring body in a thick robe and start- ed out. Pop Skeggs blocked his way. “Easy, son,” the old manager cau- tioned. “This McCafferty gil acts like he knows something. Let’s wait until Gaha-— gan gets started. But don’t lose your swea >? McCafferty indulged in a mocking laugh and sauntered out. He was back shortly. “Get goin’,” he growled. “The customers are beginnin’ to foam over the delay. Packy’s halfway to the ring.” Pop checked on that. The kid’s eyes gleamed. Jabbing short punches at space, he quick-stepped into the arena. His foe, (Continued on page 138) Fletch had to hurry. He drew Trina to him, and then her lips were , } ‘J mS ty + “4 , : A Ae : . % iy ria! x . ‘ wa ¥ x “uy 134) 9 BAD BAY MANY GV) FOL ARYA sanacs ') Ne t fl 2 s Dy) WatY aus a j AR A Or OAT ba "J oad Us bvat t pe AAG hae bat Lee + pt» f /* Vy Ra SORT i) Re * ti v © , Bi ie J Wok aA NS a, Mop NN Abn! STN io A VOB ego ta *- x iY pe