Jug walked back to the corner and said, to the world in general, “Game kid.” His lips and his eyes were puffed and the cut on his cheek was widened. It didn’t look as though he’d be in shape to fight.
He was gone by the time Joe came around. He yanked himself away from Stan and myself and walked unsteadily toward the camp.
Jug was pretty quiet about the whole thing. He took a long cold shower and we fixed him up as best we could, but it was a cinch that he had taken a terrible smashing around the face.
We started lunch, Jug eating quietly, and we didn’t expect to see Joe at the table. It seemed likely that he’d come down when we were taking a nap and get something to eat. The door to his room was shut.
But, halfway through the meal, we heard his steps on the stairs and he walked in. He scowled at all of us and slid into his chair. He banged on the table with a fork to get some service. He wasn’t marked up as badly as Jug was.
Nobody said a word. Tooker hurried in with a plate and set it in front of Joe and hurried back into the kitchen.
Even though he had started late, Joe finished before the rest of us did. He shoved his plate away and looked across the table at Jug. He said, “Okay, Golden Boy, so you can lick me. So what? When I’ve been at this as long as you have, I’ll be the champ, not a third rate bum.”
It was as violent as a slap in the face. Jug looked over at him blankly. He shook his head, as though to clear it. Then he smiled broadly and said, “Champ! Johnny told me I’d be the champ if I licked the guy. I’m the champ, aren’t I, Barney?” He grabbed Barney’s arm. Jug grinned across at Johnny and said, “Thanks for telling me, kid. I forgot all about the fight. That’s funny, ain’t it? I forgot I’m the champ. Tell me that it’s funny, guys. Who ever heard of a guy forgetting he was the champ? I did win, didn’t I Barney?”
Nobody said a word. There was a sadness in Barney’s eyes. He said gently, “Sure, kid. You’re the champ Go on upstairs and go to bed.”
Jug got up and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned and said to all of us, “Imagine me forgetting a thing like that!” He went up the stairs.
Joe looked at Barney and for once the scowl was gone from his face. He said, “What’s the matter with him!”
Harry and Stan pushed their chairs away from the table and walked out. There were tears on Fat Stan’s cheeks. Barney said, “Joe, maybe you never saw a guy go off the end before. You see, Jug’s been fighting a long time. Every time he got slammed around the head, it give him what they call a pin point concussion. Each concussion left a little scar tissue on the surface of his brain. Some guys are more susceptible than others. We thought Jug was okay until three minutes ago. But you gave him the finishing touches — gave him just enough more of those pin point concussions so that suddenly he cracks. Now he’s punchy, kid, and he’s worse off than the ones that build up to it gradual.”
Joe said, “But can’t he take a rest?”
“That stuff doesn’t wear off kid. He won’t be the same guy again. He’s taken it for too long. He may get the title, but before the year is over he’ll be sticking his face out for guys to hit him just so he can show them that it doesn’t hurt. In a couple of years you can maybe find him hanging around some arena in Jersey trying to beg a ten dollar opening bout for whiskey money, trying to give some cheap promoter a snow job on how the great Jug Hoffman is as good as he ever was.”
Joe looked pale. He said loudly, “It isn’t my fault. It’s the way he’s been fighting for years. Look at his face.”
Barney said gently, “That’s right, kid. It isn’t your fault.” But there was a curl to his lip that said something else entirely.
Joe looked at him and I could see, in Joe’s face, the shadow of what he had been once, and what he could have become if he hadn’t turned into a fighting animal. Way down in him was a mess that hadn’t quite burned out
I said, “Joey, that’s the way it is for us guys. That’s the end of the road.”
He turned on me. “You’re nuts, Washburn. I’ll never let myself get pasted around that way.”
I smiled and said, “You got a good start today, Joey.”
He flushed and bit his lip. He said, “I’m learning. Nobody is going to do that to me in a little while.”
I put a superior grin on my face and said, “Kid, you fight with your glands and not with your head. Maybe you can start out every fight thinking you’re going to be cool and protect yourself but you’ll end up every fight wide open — too anxious to land punches to give a damn about how many you take. You’re a perfect fit for a straitjacket at the end of the road. Why I could go right out now and do the same thing to you that old Jug did. Only quicker.”
He went out of the chair so fast he turned it over. He leaned close to me and yelled, “All you guys hate me because I got more stuff than you ever had. You’re a has been, Washburn. Come out now and I’ll knock you cold before you lay a glove on me. Come on!”
I yawned and said, “I’m coming. Go on out there and wait for me. Or will it make you too nervous, junior?”
He ran out and Barney looked at me, his eyes bugging out. “What the hell’s got into you, Wash?”
“Just don’t try to stop me, Barney. I’m doing this little job for Johnny. If I do it right, you’re going to have a good son-in-law and maybe Johnny’ll have himself a good son instead of a mean tempered meat ball.”
It was the same deal all over again, except that I stood up in the corner and said, “I don’t need nobody to handle me in this corner, junior. And let’s forget this foolishment about rounds. We’ll just stay out there for the sixty seconds Ill need to chill you.” He agreed. I acted cool on the outside, but on the inside I was praying. If my slow muscles didn’t do what I told them to do, I’d do more harm than good to the kid.
I broke the padding of the gloves over my knuckles, Stan clanged the bell and we went out. I had to make him mad and open him up fast. I know the tricks but I’ve never used them before or since like I used them at that moment. When he stuck his hands out to touch gloves, I made like I was going to touch, and then threw a left in his nose. He roared and charged me. I slipped under his left and clinched. In the clinch I kneed him, slammed my head against his cheek, rubbed the laces across his nose, thumbed him in the eye and pushed him away.
It had the effect that I wanted. He charged at me wide open. I stepped aside and brought my left up through with every ounce of power. He started to drop onto his face, so I clinched with him to hold him up, and danced him over to the ropes. When I had him balanced nice, I stepped back and gave him a left, a right and a left. The blows smacked across, ringing in the open air.
I didn’t watch him fall. I walked away, feeling the tremor of the boards in the floor as he went down.
I climbed down out of the ring and as soon as I was on the ground, a hand grabbed me by the arm and spun me around. I looked down into the furious face of Johnny. His eyes had paled to the shade of his cigarette smoke. He called me a foul name and hit me in the face with a full arm swing. He hit me a second time.
He said, “I saw that stunt, Washburn. I take you out of the gutter and you have to show off by using every dirty trick you know on Joe. I’ll give you five minutes to get off the place. And don’t come back.”
I didn’t say a word. When I looked back from the porch of the camp, he and Barney were kneeling beside Joe. Barney was rubbing his wrists and Johnny was slapping his face lightly.