12 Sports Aces, May 1943 — page 90: what you’re looking at

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

38 written the past year, why he had been sending no more money. He had pride. He’d perhaps been ashamed to admit his poverty. But why? He could have written, asked how Ma was, told her about the twins. Buddy got Jimmy aside. “What is this?” he pleaded. “What happened? What happened to all the dough you had?” “Well, there was a restaurant, a pool hall—one thing and another. But this isn’t bad here.” Jimmy tried to laugh it off. ‘It’s all right.” “You look kind of light, Jim.” Buddy studied Jimmy’s spare build with eyes that made Jimmy move uncomfortably. “Yeah. 133-135. Not bad. I’m in good shape. I’ll win my money back. |’m com- mg along. You wait and see!” Buddy kept silent. He thought, Jimmy looks like hell. What’s happened to him? But he kert it to himself. Still, it was on his mind all through the dinner Jimmy’s wife, Ruth Ann, served to him. And he thought of it as he lay awake, later, in bed. Buddy got up early in the morning. He lost no time. He found a spot down | near the river and put in some road work, all bundied up in sweatshirt and cap, with a towel around his neck. He weighed about 140 now. It would be a breeze for him to make 138 for his Coney Island go with Wyatt. But he wanted to be strong for it. Three strange men were in the house when Buddy returned. Buddy stepped in the kitchen door and they shut up like freshly frozen clams. They had tooth- picks between their teeth and their pants were tailored so high their neckties end- ed in their waistbands. They draped around the stove, the sink, the icebox. Jimmy took Buddy into the next room, shut the door. It struck Buddy queer. He said, “Jimmy, who are these vanilla- flavored monkeys? I don’t like their Jocks. I don't like the way they decorate the kitchen.” : “It’s nothing. It’s just an old business deal I gotta straighten out. Act nice. Take your shower.” Jimmy patted Buddy on the shoulder 12 SPORTS ACES) | 0 ON Ors ts Sri Bee) 1s Oe Et Brees! DOS rebeH G+ Ber Oo7 +s Doe Bre ree Hee Gere FeO See DiS 11 Gree les Ore Bee eee Bre Oee Gee GOB Ho 1s Fee Gerth Orie ee and went back through the door and closed it again. Buddy sat down on the bed, letting sweat from his run ooze through his clothes, He heard Jimmy’s kids stirring in the next bedroom. But he didn’t hear any talk from the kitchen. Jimmy was intentionally soft-pedaling the men. Buddy got up. He went in the bathe room. He turned on the cold water in the shower. It made a loud beat in the tub. Jimmy would think he was showere ing. Buddy walked back to his own bede room near the kitchen. He tiptoed near the door, stood there. “The fourth or fifth round,” said one of the men in the kitchen, his voice back to normal pitch. “Anywhere along in there. Just so it looks good.” “Sure, anywhere along in there,” said another. “Just so it looks good. We don’t want no beef.” “T’ll make it look good all right,” said Jimmy. “T’ll make it look good.” UDDY felt the hot sweat on him turn cold. His face and arms and legs were suddenly drained of blood. He slumped down on his bed thinking crazy thoughts. In a little while he heard the kitchen door open, then close, as the men left. Buddy got up, shoved open the kitchen door. Jimmy jumped. “I thought you were taking your shower?” “What in hell is this? What kind of a business deal? Jimmy, are you crazy?” Jimmy turned away. Buddy clutched his arm. Jimmy jerked it away. Buddy stared. “But Jimmy. You can’t go in the tank for Slatterty! Think what it means! There’s a Garden bid on this, You win and you’re in line for a grab at the crown. What’s nappened? You—” “There is no bid.” Jimmy’s voice was tight. “That elimination tourney is off. This is my last fight. I’ll get five hundred bucks from these fellows, outside my purse, and that will make a nice little nest-egg for Ruth Ann.” “You mean you’re gonna quit. You’re gonna quit fighting?” Buddy blinked, in- credulous. It was like seeing the sun drop cut of the sky. ‘ | comichbook (E(0)