“I'm grateful for my courage, too,” Tommy cut in. “Listen, Mr.... insurance man, can your company do me a favor, a real reward—get me a job?”
“A... what?”
The promoter said, “Cork, I'll give you a build-up! Who knows how far you can go with me?”
Tommy waved his right hand at the matchmaker; a shut-up motion. “I'll tell you who knows—me! Thanks for the offer, but you're years too late. I never want to see a glove again. Insurance man, I'll take any kind of a job—guard, messenger, porter, elevator operator. I know I look like a... thug... but, that's the reward I want, a steady job. How about it?”
Walt said softly, “Don't pass up any cash, along with the job. After all, the policy is still in force and now there's no reason to cancel it. You're a professional boxer and unless the company gives you some other means of income, you'll have to return to the ring and...”
“And I'll give him all the bouts he wants,” the promoter said.
Flatts smiled at Walt. “You a lawyer along with being a dick, Steiner? You don't have to sell me, I'll do my best. But it isn't up to me. I think some sort of small cash reward can be worked up. But I can safely say my company will certainly give you a job—that's the least they can do.”
Tommy signed. “Man, wait 'til I tell May. My Irish luck is still hitting on all cylinders. Insurance man, for me a job isn't the least. It's the most.”
The End