He was referring to the prohibition order, and when they were dressed they made their way to the patio for the barbecue, passing a very well-stocked bar. Prohibition hadn’t, it appeared, affected the ex-world champion.
Ed was grinning like the Cheshire cat, his tete-a-tete with Tex Rickard had obviously lasted all afternoon. Dempsey made no reference to Freedom’s fights, but they had worked out hard together in the afternoon and Freedom had been aware of the close scrutiny he had been under.
Dempsey heated the coals on the open grill, and some Mexican servants brought chops, steaks and sausages, already prepared for cooking.
‘You ever eaten an American hamburger, Freedom? Hey, what kind of a hell of a name is that, Freedom?’
Tex poured drinks and said that it was a name that would look good in lights, on posters, and then Freedom knew that something must have been settled.
The whisky hit the back of the throat like a fireball, and Ed whisded. Dempsey grinned and said it was the best around these parts, he had the best contacts. The men lit cigars and watched as the food went on to the open grill, while Dempsey, in his shirtsleeves and with his cigar stuck in his mouth, wielded the fork like a fencer, jabbing and inspecting the meat. A table was set on the patio, and soon they were joined by Sir Charles and Jack Kearn. They were greeted with a bellow from Dempsey, who wanted to know where the hell they had been. Kearn poured himself a generous measure of whisky and, gesturing to Sir Charles, said that he was going to make a first-class pilot.
Suddenly there was a silence, the sort of silence they say means an angel is passing over, and Freedom knew instantly that something had definitely been decided. Rickard looked at him. ‘Right, son, if all goes to plan — as you know, there are the big three, Risco, Schmeling and Sharkey. Right now you can’t get a bout with any one of ‘em, but we want you to start ploughing your way through a few smaller bouts — get some good publicity, get your name known. Then, if all goes well … it’s Risco first, then the German, then the main contender, Sharkey. We’ve seen all their managers and it will be up to you to show us your worth … We want the Sharkey fight in Miami, that way Jack don’t have to travel too far.’ They roared with laughter, and more drinks were served. Freedom was beside himself. If they’d asked him to fight anyone then and there he would have been up on his feet.
Freedom was never to discover exactly what the financial arrangements were, he left that to Sir Charles. They were very relaxed, the conversation centred entirely on boxing, and Freedom ate like a horse while Dempsey held the floor. He was a great raconteur and made everyone roar with laughter at the stories of his days on the ‘tank town’ circuits. The subject of the forthcoming bout did not arise again and Freedom had no idea when it was to take place, but he was sure Ed would tell him everything on the journey home. In the meantime he enjoyed himself for what seemed the first time in months.
The following morning, Freedom and Ed received a visit from Sir Charles. He drove up to their villa in a car almost as long as the villa itself. The three men went into the front room and closed the door.
Ed was surprised to see Sir Charles was as hung over as himself and Freedom. His face was a greenish colour and he accepted black coffee gratefully. ‘Right, now then, it’s not quite as easy as those fellas made it out to be. They want you accepted as a real contender, so I have drawn up the eliminator bouts. If you come through, as I am sure you will, then they’ll come in with their promotion for the last three — Risco first.’
Ed was sweating. He mopped his brow. ‘Who does he take on first, sir, and where?’
Sir Charles paused a moment, then coughed. ‘It’s the Dane, Knud Hansen.’
Ed was tense, gripping his cup and saucer to stop them rattling. ‘Next, who’s after the Dane?’
‘Monty Munn … first fight takes place in Cleveland, at die St Nicholas ring.’
‘Where’s Cleveland, local is it?’
‘No, Ed, it’s in Ohio, so get packing and be prepared to leave first thing in the morning.’
Freedom was beaming from ear to ear as Ed showed Sir Charles out.
‘I don’t know what you’re so bleedin’ ‘appy about, you seen the size of this ruddy Dane? He’s over six feet four, a fuckin’ Viking.’
Freedom laughed and stood up, raising his arms. ‘So am I, so what?’
‘His bleedin’ Lordship didn’t mention yer might ‘ave ter take on the friggin’ French feller. Just two fights. Well, don’t fink they’re easy, you’re up against it, and wiwout much time in between bouts if yer do win …’
Freedom rumpled Ed’s thin, frazzled hair. ‘That’s what I like about you, mun, give me confidence, encouragement…’
Ed grinned and punched Freedom good-naturedly on the arm. ‘You’ll take ‘em easy, lad, just don’t want yer finkin’ yer don’t ‘ave ter train.’
Freedom went into the kitchen to give Evelyne and Freda the news. Left alone, Ed’s good humour dropped like a stone, and he muttered to himself, ‘Christ almighty, ‘e’s got ‘is ‘ands full.’
The following morning they were packed and ready. Ed wouldn’t even hear of Freda or Evelyne accompanying them. ‘You’ll both be there for the championship fight, but in the meantime me an’ my lad’s got our work cut out. We don’t want you two slowin’ us down.’
Evelyne was relieved. The thought of travelling all over America with little Edward, and pregnant at the same time, was daunting. Freedom was happy, confident, and couldn’t wait to get started. But when they had gone the villa felt empty without them, peaceful.
Freda carried two milk shakes on to the patio. ‘Banana, try it — have you ever had a banana?’
Evelyne shook her head and sipped the milky yellow drink, then smiled approval. Edward clambered on to her knee and grabbed the drink with both hands while Evelyne struggled to prevent him spilling it all over the table. At the same time she asked Freda what she thought about the forthcoming fights.
‘Oh, darlink, first it’s just a little one, with Knoot somebody, then a few more to get the Americans familiar with Freedom’s name. You don’t worry, Ed’s not worried, and he knows … look, Edward — see, this is a straw, and you suck up your drink like so …’
She demonstrated sucking through the straw. Edward couldn’t quite get the hang of it and blew instead. Freda turned to Evelyne with banana milk shake dripping down her face. She laughed, saying it was for her sunburn.
Ed and Freedom travelled to Ohio by train, while Sir Charles flew there in a private plane owned by Jack Kearn. He was even allowed to take over the controls, and began to think about acquiring one himself.
The gate for Freedom’s fight with Knud Hansen was only fair, about four hundred people. Ed was confident Freedom could take the Dane with ease; the man punched wildly, and used an open-armed swing. He was enormous, weighing in eight pounds heavier than Freedom.
The crowd cheered them both, and as the gong went for round one their cheers turned to loud boos. Freedom was moving around, trying to assess his man, and had hardly thrown a single punch when he caught a wild right and was knocked ‘clean out, to the fury of the crowd.
This was Freedom’s first defeat, and he was totally demoralized and dejected, stunned at his own stupidity. However, with Ed always close by and confident that it was a fluke, they arranged a second bout fast. Although the press had been there, the fight hardly caused a ripple in the papers as they were all carrying banner headlines about a brutal killing, a blood bath that had taken place in Chicago.
The headlines ran, ‘St Valentine’s Day Massacre’. Only a small article, a single paragraph in the sporting section, reported the English contender, Britain’s only hope for the Heavyweight Championship, had lost. ‘Stubbs KO’d Round One by the Great Dane.’