He sat gingerly on the porch railing. It creaked under his weight. “Rough estimate, half as good as I was five years ago.”
“Will you make it a fight?”
“It won’t be orthodox, if that’s what you mean. I can’t outbox him and I can’t outslug him. The only thing left is to out-think him. And he is a bright boy.”
“Are you scared, Lew?”
He looked at her soberly. “Every time I think about tomorrow night I get knots in my belly; my throat dries up; I sweat; my hands shake. I guess I’m scared.”
“But he’ll have to work for it?”
“He’ll have to work for it, Ivy.”
She smiled and some of the tension went out of her. “I don’t know why I should be glad to hear that. It would be safer for you if I believed Jack. Something primitive in me, I guess. I didn’t like the taste in my mouth when he said you’d lie down. Yet half of me wishes you would.”
“How is Jack?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
He stared at her. “What does that mean?”
She looked away, flushing. “It got a bit impossible — it isn’t important.”
“You know how important it is.”
“After he was out here a few weeks ago, he started drinking heavier than ever. He brought some very unsavory people out to the house. There was a man named Sheniver, and some prime juvenile delinquents. Jack brought them in one day during Chris’ nap. They were making too much noise. I tried to quiet them down. Jack hit me and tore my dress. I told him, when he was sober, that he’d better move out until the fight was over. He made an issue of it, but he moved out.”
“You’ll take that?”
She lifted her chin. “No. Sometimes you come to the end of an obligation. You don’t owe anything any more. I’ve got a little money. My mother will take Chris while I get the divorce. I’m leaving the day after tomorrow, Lew.”
“I’ll follow along.”
She shook her head. “No, Lew. It’s like a book. You’re in it, and Jack is in it, and Jud, and the crazy years. I’m closing the book. For good.”
“You can’t make it work.”
She stood up. “I came out to wish you luck. Like the old days, Lew — that’s all. You put me out of your life; I’m strong enough to do the same thing.”
“Will you see the fight?”
“Yes.”
“You never saw one in the old days. You said you couldn’t.”
“I’m seeing it to prove something to myself, Lew.”
“Thank you for wishing me luck.”
“You’re very welcome.” She turned on her heel. She did not say good-by. He did not walk to the car. He heard it leave. After a long time he picked up his book again. He could no longer follow the story.
After the weighing-in, Lew went back to the hotel and astonished himself by falling dead asleep. It was a sultry afternoon; the hotel draperies hung limp by the open windows. A pounding on the door woke him. He felt drugged by sleep; it took him a moment to remember where he was, remember what he faced at nine o’clock. There was a sour taste in his mouth, and the sky outside looked like brass. He opened the door. The man was lean and florid and overdressed, and he had a false air of joviality.
“Just checking, Lew. Just checking?”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Why, I’m Clyde Sheniver! I got a nice option on Hode. We can give that boy a great future. Too bad that dinky stadium only holds seventeen thousand. It’s a sell-out. They’re scalping tickets in the street. Hope the rain holds off.”
Sheniver had slid inconspicuously into the room. He fanned himself with a cocoa straw hat.
“Is there something special on your mind?”
“Lew, I don’t agree with the newspaper punks. I like the look of experience. It tells every time. You got a couple of damn’ good fights left in you. Damn’ good fights!”
“What’s the pitch?”
“Lew, you’ve got a hell of a reputation for honesty. I don’t want to see you lose that.”
“Am I going to lose it?”
“It is awful tough to dive with experts watching you. It will make a stink. The kid thinks he can lick you. I do too. But in a square fight, I don’t think the kid can knock you out in the fourth.”
Lew began to sense what was coming. He decided to play along, to test his guess. “You think I can do better?”
“A good scrap makes the money roll in. Two good scraps make it roll in faster. I sounded the kid out. He’s got a wholesome respect for money, just like we have. A good smart kid. Now Terrance has some money riding on a knockout. In fact, the kid has to get a knockout, or we get him cheap from Terrance. That’s in the option. I’ve got a hunch Terrance is wrong. You know how the kid and me see it?”
“How?”
“A nice long fight here, to a decision or a TKO. No knockout. And then a nice fat rematch back East where the big money is. Look how it shapes. I pick up the kid for peanuts — in fact I get a nice bundle back from Terrance, and I know how to take care of people who do me a favor. You get your end out of this, plus a bonus. Then in the big deal back East you get a lot more. You, me, the kid — we all make out. And the public gets two nice bouts.”
“And Terrance gets cleaned?”
“Not at all. He makes a profit on the kid. He isn’t hurt. Maybe he loses a couple bets. But he still owns a small piece of the kid, so he makes all of it back on the New York fight.”
“How does Hode stand on it?”
“You know how the green kids are. I put a little doubt in his mind. I told him Terrance wasn’t smart if he asks for a knockout. I told him you’re still dangerous. It’s a better deal for him to outpoint you, and let the bout go the limit and get the decision. I get your okay and I’ll make the talk stronger yet.”
Lew looked at the man cautiously. “Nobody likes getting knocked out.”
“A deal?”
“I’ll put up a good fight. I’ve said that right along.”
“That’s good enough for me. Here. Take this.”
“Hold onto it. Give me a present later if you feel like it.”
“Sure thing.” Sheniver eased toward the door. “One thing though, Lew. You still got one hell of a right hand, Riker tells me. Suppose you tag the kid. By accident, maybe. Don’t push it. Don’t get ideas. We’ll have all the ideas, and we got plenty of ideas for the kid’s future.”
“Now I’m supposed to look scared?”
Sheniver showed a mouth full of oversized teeth. “That’s isn’t a bad idea, Lew. Not only do you maybe get worked over, but you never get another bout anywhere.”
“That would be bad,” Lew said, unsmiling.
Sheniver left. Lew took a shower. He ordered a small rare tenderloin, toast and tea. He was eating when the seconds Jud had recommended arrived. It was just five-thirty...
He went through the long concrete tunnel and dressed for the bout — shoes light and tight, black trunks fitting snugly, hands in binding white tape. He sat on the table, his legs swinging. Over the table was a green shade, a bright bulb. The reporters had left. He tried the mouthpiece, bit hard on it, then dried it off and handed it to his second. The man tucked it in the pocket of his white shirt. Lew wiped his face on the towel that hung around his neck. Once he thought he had heard more thunder. It had rumbled almost constantly just below the horizon ever since eight o’clock. But thunder was lost in the surf-sound of the crowd as they cheered the preliminary bouts. There was a calendar taped to the concrete wall. It was a picture of a pretty girl climbing over a fence; her skirt had caught on the fence, exposing an improbable area of pink, curving thigh. He looked at the girl on the calendar and tried to think of something besides the fight now at hand.
Jud Brock came in with an official to inspect the tape job on his hands. Jud winked dourly at Lew, gave his bare shoulder a quick shy pat.