“Sorry about the nose,” Corey had told him.
The Gentleman’s voice was distorted from the dried blood plugging his nostrils. “These things happen,” he’d agreed, looking none too happy to be on the receiving end. “Thought I had you there. Don’t know how you did it.”
“Don’t know either,” Corey told him. “Just glad I did.”
“It happens that way every once in a while,” Tom agreed. “Well, I’d best pick myself up and see about getting home.”
Corey wouldn’t have minded going home himself — not that he, like the Gentleman, had a wife and two sons waiting for him. But Patrick needed to celebrate, and it was always best to be doing that when somebody else was buying the rounds. These winnings might have to last them awhile. Corey never knew when Patrick would be able to arrange another fight.
It took only three days, much to Corey’s surprise — three days before Patrick had arranged a bout for the biggest purse Corey had ever had a chance at. Three hundred dollars to be paid in golden double eagles, and the only catch was that the promoter insisted on having the match Friday evening — just four days away. That worried Corey a mite. The Gentleman had really given him a beating. But Patrick’s greed had been ignited, and he refused to hear any arguments to the contrary.
“I’m telling you, lad,” Patrick kept repeating, “I’ve seen this kid from Kansas City. Lighting Dan they call him, and to be fair, he’s fast, but you’ve got thirty pounds on him and a crippled boy has better footwork than this kid. You can take Lightning Dan on your worst day and still make it look easy.”
Corey had not been convinced, but Patrick would not be swayed. To say they couldn’t delay the fight because Lighting Dan was afraid of the Rock Quarry in his prime made no sense at all to Corey. If Dan was so afraid of him, why had he agreed to fight at all?
Slowly, tenaciously, Corey dragged the real reason for the hastily set date out of Patrick. Walter Steed, the eastern moneyman promoting Lightning Dan’s career, had wanted his boy to fight Gentleman Tom McGee. The fight and the purse were already set, but thanks to Rock Quarry Callahan, the Gentleman was in no shape to fight this weekend. So Steed was willing to settle for a match with the boxer who had defeated him. And Patrick, a fire with insatiable greed, was afraid that the Gentleman would recover enough to try for the purse himself if they didn’t snatch the opportunity to fight on Friday.
Corey wasn’t averse to fighting Lightning Dan, but there were two things about the setup that troubled him. First, broken nose or no, he had had no idea that he had hurt the Gentleman so badly. The idea really unsettled Corey. He liked the Gentleman and wished there were more in the business like him. Which brought Corey to his second trouble. He just didn’t think it was right to snatch this purse away without at least talking to the Gentleman and giving him the chance to throw his hat back in the ring.
Patrick wouldn’t agree of course, but Corey saw no choice but to visit the Gentleman and discuss the situation.
Mrs. McGee was not happy to see Corey. That was to be expected, of course. He had just beaten her husband and broken his nose. But the Gentleman’s wife was a lady, and much as she looked like she wanted to, she did not shut the door in Corey’s face.
“Mr. Callaghan,” she greeted him.
Corey pulled the cap off his head and held it awkwardly with two newspaper-covered packages he had brought for the Gentleman’s kids. “Ma’am.” His voice was hoarse and his mouth suddenly dry. He did not like facing the woman like this. “Is the Gentleman in?”
The two boys appeared, peering around their mother’s skirts. Corey reckoned they were six and four. He flashed a painful smile at them — painful because of the beating he had received last Friday, not because it was directed at kids.
“I’ve got something for you here,” he told them, squatting down without waiting for Mrs. McGee to answer him. He put the cap back on his head and held out one package to each boy. “You must be Little Tom and Jim.”
The boys started forward, then pulled back against their mother again. She considered Corey for another moment, then reluctantly smiled and relaxed a bit. “It’s alright, children,” she announced. “Mr. Callaghan is a friend of your father’s.” An actual twinkle entered her eye when she added, “despite what happened this weekend.”
She stepped back out of the doorway, exposing the kitchen. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Callaghan?”
Corey stood up, packages still in hand, and once again removed his cap. “Thank you kindly, ma’am. Is the Gentleman in?”
Mrs. McGee closed the door. “Of course he is. I’ll get him.”
She left the room in a swish of skirts, leaving Corey with her two children. He waited for her to depart, then got down on his knees to be closer to the children’s eye level. He offered the packages again. “I hope you’re not going to make me carry these home again,” he told them.
Little Tom came forward first and took the newspaper-wrapped bundle into his hands. His younger brother watched as Tom pulled free the paper to find a small wooden soldier concealed within. It was standing rigidly at arms, rifle over the shoulder. The detail work, while not perfect, was still remarkably fine. The younger boy, Jim, took one long look at the figure in his brother’s hands, then leapt forward to claim Corey’s other bundle.
Corey was still laughing when Mrs. McGee returned.
“My husband will join us in a moment, Mr. Callaghan. Would you like some—” She broke off when she saw the toys her sons were playing with.
“Mr. Callaghan,” she admonished him. “There was no need to buy my sons toys. Despite what I said earlier, what happened Friday night was simply part of my husband’s profession. You do not need to make amends.”
Corey was pleased that she thought the toys fine enough to be purchased. “I didn’t buy them, ma’am. I made them. And nothing makes me happier than to see children enjoying a figure I carved.”
“Really?” Mrs. McGee was visibly reappraising Corey.
“Aye, ma’am.” He shrugged. “I like to work with my hands.”
She bent down to her elder boy and took the soldier from him, examining it closely before handing it back. “You’re wasting yourself in the ring, Mr. Callaghan. Just like my husband. You should consider getting out before you ruin those hands.”
Corey shrugged again, embarrassed by the compliment and simultaneously irritated by the advice. He was saved from having to respond by the arrival of the Gentleman.
“Callaghan,” the boxer greeted him, right hand outstretched as he walked into the room.
Corey shook the offered hand, staring at the Gentleman’s face just as he was examining Corey’s. The nose had been set and plastered over, but that couldn’t conceal the morass of black and blue bruises swelling and distorting his cheeks and lips. “Yes, we did a number on each other,” the Gentleman told him.
“That we did,” Corey agreed.
“Can I offer you a drink?” The Gentleman walked to a cabinet and took out a jug and two cups.
“Just a wee nip,” Corey agreed. “I leave most of my drinking to Patrick.”
Mrs. McGee snorted but said nothing.
The Gentleman poured the clear liquid from the jug, then picked up both cups and carried one back to Corey.
“What can I do for you, Callaghan?”
“I want to talk to you about William Steed, Lightning Dan, and a fight being scheduled for Friday evening.”