Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 23, No. 12, December 1978
The Dream of Hopeless White
by William Bankier
Danny wanted only one thing — a chance to fight the champ...
Knowing it was the miserable dream happening again did not make it any less humiliating for Danny White. He had climbed into the ring and his seconds were tugging the arms of his satin robe backward off his shoulders. The arena was silent.
It was when the robe came away and he was seen to be dressed in pajamas that the crowd began to laugh. Then Danny was alone in his corner and the bell rang. His opponent was upon him before he could turn, raining blows on his shoulders and the back of his head. Danny covered up, peering past bent arms in striped flannel, and saw the referee joining in the attack, aiming punches at his ribs’ and kidneys.
It was so unfair he began to weep. Tears spattered the leather gloves as he pressed them to his face and he sank to his knees on the canvas. And now the people in the arena began their slow, echoing chant. “Hope-less White... Hope-less White...”
Danny arrived late at the breakfast table, having been called twice. He looked imposing in his dark-blue security-guard uniform. Barbara was feeding cereal into Janice, who was waving a fist from her highchair perch. Danny was carrying yesterday’s newspaper. He set it down and picked up the kettle.
“I can make you eggs in a minute,” Barbara said.
“I only want coffee.” He spooned brown powder into a mug and drowned it with water well off the boil, then sat down sideways at the end of the table and shook out the tabloid. He stared at the picture of a handsome black man in boxing gear holding his arms above his head. A shorter man with a pale face and a grey crewcut stood beside him. The heading announced, HANNEFORD HARPER LEAVES LONDON TODAY.
Barbara White glanced at her husband. “No wonder you dream, reading that stuff before you go to sleep.”
“I have to keep up with things.”
Barbara let a moment go by while she used the spoon to clear the baby’s chin. “We should all try to do that,” she said.
“What’s that mean?”
“Stuck at home,” she said with forced serenity. “Things happen and I don’t even know.”
Danny wondered how she had heard. “I wish I knew what you’re talking about.”
“I just wondered if there’s anything new in car rentals.”
Danny managed to assume a tone of injured innocence. “Monika and I had one drink. It was all aboveboard — Trevor was with us.”
“And if Trevor’s wife hadn’t mentioned it I still wouldn’t know.”
The heavyweight champion looked carefree in his photograph. But then he always did. Was Hanneford Harper besieged by trouble like ordinary people? “If this arrangement is bothering you,” Danny said, “you can always make another one.”
“You’d like that.” Barbara was carefully calm. “Me and the wee one back in Glasgow and you by yourself in London.”
“You had lots of friends there. They’d be glad to see you.”
“Yes. Young mothers with infants are greatly in demand.”
The doorbell buzzed. Danny glanced at his watch and called, “It’s open.” Trevor Malloy and his wife Carla entered the kitchen through the narrow hallway from the side door.
“Let’s move it, Battler,” Malloy said. “Traffic is bad this morning. Fog on the motorway.”
Danny stood up. He drank half of his mug of tepid coffee without tasting it. “Hello, Carla my love,” he said. “Anything to report this morning?”
She passed him off with a menacing smile and marched to the highchair. “Hello, baby. How is baby?”
Danny showed the newspaper to Trevor. “Look who’s passing through Heathrow today. Harper.”
“I saw it on the news.”
“Maybe I’ll get to meet him.”
“If you’re good, I’ll get you his autograph on a bar mat. Come on.”
The men went out and Carla said, “I don’t envy you, love.”
“I told him what you told me. He says I can leave any time I want.”
“Do it. For a while, anyway.”
Trevor Malloy drove the car through heavy traffic toward the airport. Beside him, Danny White sat erect, his arms folded across his chest. “Did you see Harper’s fight against the German?”
“No. Carla wanted to watch something on the other channel.”
“It was a lousy fight anyway.”
“I heard.”
Danny frowned. “It burns me to see him fighting these pushovers.” “You still want a taste.”
“I’ve always wanted a taste.”
“It’s your own fault you never got it. When you came out of the amateurs, you were the best in Britain. Everybody said you were better than Bugner at the same stage.”
“I’m better than Bugner the best day he ever had.”
“Well, it was your decision.” Malloy changed lanes. “I was only the trainer.”
“It’s the system that’s wrong,” said Danny, taking up his old complaint. “All those years in the amateurs, learning to be a fighter. You turn pro and what do they want? They want you to spend more years hammering a succession of nobodys. Each one of them taking something out of you.” His voice was rising. “Fight anybody, fight in an alley, they’ll pay to see it. But I only wanted one fight. A chance at the champion.”
“A lot of blokes want that chance,” Malloy said.
“I could beat him, Trev. Just me and Hanneford Harper in the right ring at the right time. I could take him. I know I could.”
“You know it, but nobody else knows it.”
“I can dream.”
Traffic was slowing under poor conditions. Trevor looked out gloomily at white fields. “That fog is getting serious.” He whistled tunelessly between his teeth, tapping his wedding ring on the steering wheel. “You buying Monika a drink this evening?”
Danny thought of the pretty girl behind the car-rental counter on the lower concourse. “Do you think it’ll be all right with Carla?”
“Sorry about that.”
“You should be.”
In a secluded corner of the airport lounge, the Heavyweight Champion of the World leaned forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees and his boyish face inches from the window. He was surrounded by his trainers, a dozen hangers-on and an attractive girl in tailored denim and a cute flat cap dead-center on her modified Afro hairdo.
“Would you look at that fog,” Hanneford Harper said. “Man, it came down out of nowhere.”
“Can we go back to the hotel?” the girl asked, expecting to be refused. “Can’t do a damn thing here.”
“You be careful, Mary-Jo,” Harper said, “or I’ll get those reporters to tell my wife on you.”
“I’ll tell her myself. I like that girl.”
“I’m gonna have the airplane make a detour over Montreal and drop you back where I found you.”
A short man with a grey crewcut approached on the trot and balanced himself in front of Harper’s chair. His dapper suit was all knife-edges. “Relax, everybody,” he said. “They say hang around. This is a freak situation and it could clear up any time.”
The group moaned. Harper said, “This is a Freak City. I’m not kidding, Axel. I got a feeling we’re never getting out of here.”
“You spook me when you start up with your premonitions,” Mary-Jo said.
“I’m only saying how I feel.”
Axel Steele pointed to the glass doors and a corridor beyond. “I made arrangements for us to eat before they open the dining room to the public.”
Harper got up in one easy movement. “They got any raw meat, Axel? For Mary-Jo here?”