A Bright Tomorrow (25 page)

Lyons was interested. “No kiddin'? Who you handlin'?”

“That young guy there, Sailor. He's pretty good, I have to tell you.”

“Who's he fought?” Lyons listened as Nick reeled off the names, but Sailor Lyons was unimpressed. “It's a go…but gimme the hundred first.”

Nick slipped the fighter some bills, then raced back to say breathlessly, “Owen, you got to put the Sailor down! He's no pushover. In fact, he's tougher than anybody you've fought so far. Will you do it?”

Owen nodded. “Do my best, Nick.”

Nick slapped him on the back, then stepped out of the ring. When the two men squared off, every man in the gym came to watch. “That kid ain't got no chanst with Sailor,” one of Rocco's hirelings grunted.

So it seemed for the first round. Lyons had almost everything—including a good left and a thunderous right hook. His footwork was not fancy, but good enough, and he had a jaw made of concrete that he kept tucked behind a massive shoulder. He manhandled Owen badly during the first round, driving him around the ring. And when the bell sounded, Nick leapt into the ring as Owen came to the corner. “You gotta do better, Owen.”

“He's strong as a bull, Nick,” Owen said, not even breathing hard. “His right is slow, though. I can try to beat him to the punch…but if I don't, I'll be the one on the floor, not him.”

“Do it!” Nick dodged out of the ring and watched as Lyons continued to throw rights at Owen. Midway through the round, it happened, and Nick saw it.

Lyons set his feet, started the right-hand attack, but Owen did not back away from it this time. Stepping forward, he beat Lyons to the punch. Owen's right jab struck Lyons, who promptly fell backward. He was not out, but the crowd yelled, for Lyons had not been decked over half a dozen times in a long career. Befuddled, he got up quickly, making the mistake of moving forward to exchange punches before his head was clear—exactly what Owen was hoping he'd do.

Nick stood gasping as Owen plowed into the big fighter, hammering him with hard lefts, and then catching him again with a right that downed Lyons again. Four times Lyons went down, and the last time he crawled to his feet, he was obviously helpless.

Owen stared at the man, his gloves up, then shook his head and walked away. “That's enough.” He stepped out of the ring, his face reddened with the blows he'd taken.

Rocco stared at Owen, an odd expression in his dark eyes, and said to Nick, “He don't take orders too good, does he?”

Nick shrugged. “He's got a mind of his own. But he put Lyons out.”

“Yeah, he did.” Rocco stood there, turning the thing over in his mind, then said abruptly, “I'm goin' to get a steak. Come on, and we'll talk about it.”

“Sure, Mr. Rocco! Lemme say a word to my boy!”

Nick rushed over to hug Owen. “What a terrific fighter you are, Kid! I mean, you're really somethin'—”

“Nick, he's trouble!” Owen interrupted. “Don't have anything to do with him.”

“Rocco?” Nick was dumbfounded. He himself had lived on the fringe of the law most of his life, and Tony Rocco was one of his heroes. “Why, he's the man we need, Owen!”

“Nick, I'll fight for you…but not for anybody else,” Owen insisted. “And when you tell Rocco that, he won't want any part of us. He has to control everything he touches, and he's rotten. I won't fight for him!”

“All right, Kid, all right, don't get excited,” Nick said soothingly. He could always handle Owen, but now was not the time. “He's a sportsman, Rocco is, and he just likes to see a good boy. He'll get us some good fights, and that's all we need.”

But when Nick broke the news to Rocco that he intended to keep all of Owen's contract, the gangster flared up, and it took all of Nick's powers to persuade Rocco that there was money to be made…and that later on Owen would catch on to how great it would be to have Tony Rocco in his corner.

Rocco finally agreed, but grudgingly. The last thing he said was, “That kid…he don't take orders too good. But he'll take 'em from me, Nick. Don' make no mistakes about that!”

R
ose and Amos Stuart entertained rarely, but the evening with Allie and Owen was a definite success. The food was delicious and Amos was elated with the rave reviews of his new book. Owen and Allie came alone, for Joey had been invited by one of his teachers to visit the science fair.

The four of them were sitting in the parlor when Amos said suddenly, “Owen, I've heard something rather alarming about your fight with Spears next week.”

“What's that, Amos?” Owen had been offered a shot at Jimmy Spears, one of the top contenders for the heavyweight championship. And though Nick hadn't mentioned it, Owen was fairly certain that Tony Rocco had been influential in getting the fight for him. It was the biggest break Owen had had, and he smiled at Amos, warning lightly, “Don't bet against me, Amos. I'm going to win.”

Amos was very serious. He'd been in the newspaper business long enough to have many reliable sources. “The odds have gone up against Spears…which doesn't make any sense. Nobody understands it, but an informant told me day before yesterday that the big gambling figures are pumping the odds up for you to win. Then they'll bet against you…and you'll lose.”

Owen frowned. “You always hear talk like that before a big fight. Nothing to it. Insiders know I can beat Jimmy Spears. He's a good fighter, but Jack's got him down pat. He's showed me everything Spears can pull, and he's taught me what to do about it.”

Rose leaned forward. “It's more than just this one fight, Owen—” She hesitated, then went on urgently, “You've been drawn into the wrong kind of life. Believe me, there's no happiness in it for you. The only real joy in this world comes from Jesus.”

Owen looked at Rose, a woman he admired greatly. “Time for the sermon, isn't it, Rose?”

“Don't make fun, Owen,” Allie broke in, putting her hand on his arm. “I think both of us need help.”

Owen stared at Allie, admiring her new blue dress and the sweep of her hairdo. But he was annoyed with her for taking Rose's side. “I'm doing all right. All I have to do is keep on winning fights, and one day I'll be champion of the world. How could anybody do better than that?”

“Owen, it's not that way.” Amos shook his head, wondering how to reach this brother he loved so much. He and Rose and Allie had seen Owen change in the last few months. His younger brother had been an easygoing fellow before that, seeming to want little. But Nick had managed to change Owen—for the worse. Amos said as much, but at that, Owen flared up.

“Nick's all right, Amos!”

“He's thick with Rocco, and
that's
not all right,” Amos said, then knew at once that such tactics would get him nowhere. He softened his tone. “Rose and I are worried about you, Owen. The best man in the world is in danger when he's offered a pile of money. He goes deaf and blind to the real things, the important things.”

“Amos, I'm not going to go crazy,” Owen argued. He got to his feet, feeling the need to get away. “Look, it's been a great evening—just great. And I'm not saying you're all wrong. But it's my big chance, and I've just got to take it, that's all.”

After Owen and Allie left, Rose said unhappily, “I made a mess out of that, Amos.”

“No, sweetheart!” Amos folded her in his arms and kissed her cheek. “I don't think the finest preacher in the world could have done any better. Owen's just not ready. He's running from God…and I don't think he'll stop until he runs into something that's too big for him to handle.”

“What might that be?”

Amos shook his head. “I don't know…but it'll have to be a pretty thick wall. Owen's a tough one, and it'll take something worse than he's ever faced to make him realize that some things are just too big for him. And when that happens…he'll look to God.”

“That's right, isn't it?” Rose whispered, thinking of the past. “People only seek God out of desperation. When you're flat on your back, there's no way to look but up, is there, Amos?”

Nick stared across the table, incredulity spreading across his face. He'd come into the private dining room at a summons from Tony Rocco, excited and confident.
I've made it!
was his first thought when Sonny Costello, Rocco's right-hand man had stopped by his hotel room with the word that Mr. Rocco wanted to see him—“on the double.”

Nick had dressed hurriedly, putting on his classiest suit, and had rushed over to the Astor, going at once to the private dining room. He'd found Rocco eating a plate full of raw oysters.

“Hello, Nick. Want some oysters?” Rocco had asked, then continued eating steadily.

Nick sat down and waited, trying not to watch Rocco, for there was something almost obscene about the way the swarthy gangster devoured the slimy mollusks. Nick hated oysters himself, and something about the way Rocco dropped the limp morsels into his mouth—tilting his head back and rolling them around on his tongue—was slightly sickening, though Nick had better judgment than to show his disgust.

Finally Rocco finished, drank thirstily from a glass of red wine, then turned his eyes on his guest. “Nick, you're gonna make a bundle.”

“Sure, Mr. Rocco,” Nick nodded. “It's a sure thing. Why, Owen will take Spears easy! Then in a year or so, it's a title shot!”

Rocco smiled, at least with his thick lips. He had a way of simultaneously lowering his heavy eyelids and his voice when he said something important, and he did so now. “We're gonna be smart, Nick,” he said softly as he winked at his listener. “That boy you got…he could maybe be champion in a couple of years. The public don't like that black guy.” By “that black guy,” Nick knew Rocco was referring to Jack Johnson, who'd beaten Tommy Burns the previous year to win the heavyweight title. “They're already talking about a ‘white hope' to dump him. And your boy might do it when he's got some more experience…but he ain't gonna be ready for that for a while.”

“But after he takes Jimmy Spears—”

“He ain't
gonna
take Spears,” Rocco whispered. “That's what I got you here for, Nick. Little change of plans.”

Suddenly Nick saw it all. “You ran the odds up on Owen, didn't you?”

“Sure I did.” Rocco grinned. “They'll be even higher by fight time tomorrow night. Everybody's sayin' there's gonna be an upset, that Stuart can take Spears. We can get good odds…and when Spears wins, we'll be in the long green.”

Nick Castellano's quick wit was silenced. He stared at Rocco for a moment, knowing that the ground had just been cut from under him, but he tried. “Mr. Rocco, it won't do. My boy Owen…he ain't smart. He's some kind of a Boy Scout. He's got some kind of notions I can't get around. You saw how he was that first day in the gym,” he went on desperately. “He wouldn't beat up on Sailor…not even when I told him how important it was.”

“Yeah, sure, Nick, but this time he ain't got no choice. We're gonna go for the price on Spears. Besides, the kid don't have to hurt nobody, just take it easy, that's all.” Rocco shrugged his beefy shoulders. “I don't think he can beat Spears at all…but you gotta' make it plain, Nick. He takes a dive—or things could be kind of unpleasant, for both of you.”

Nick was a tough fellow, but he knew enough about the activities of Tony Rocco to feel a chill at the implied threat. Rocco had had men killed for less, and Nick knew it. He got to his feet, feeling sick. “All right, I'll talk to him.”

“Sure, you talk to him…but don't make no mistakes on this one, Nick. Hate to have to send Sonny here to pay you and the kid a visit.”

Nick looked into the reptilian eyes of Sonny Costello, a razor-thin Sicilian, and suppressed a shudder. “He'll be all right when I explain it to him, Mr. Rocco. After all, we can get a bet down and make a bundle, like you say.” But as he left the room, Nick was already dreading his interview with Owen.

Rocco watched him go and sat there staring at the table for a time. Then he said, “Sonny, we need some insurance on this.”

Costello leaned forward, listening intently as his boss spoke rapidly. “I'll take care of it, Mr. Rocco. No problem.”

Owen stared at Nick for a long moment, then shook his head. “No, I won't do it, Nick.”

At that moment, Nick knew he was in for a bad time. He was aware that Owen knew something about Tony Rocco, as everyone did—the result of stories in the papers about the gangster. But Owen had no idea how vicious and deadly Rocco really was, for the worst of the stories never made the newspapers.
He don't have no idea what we're up against,
Nick thought as he fought down the panic that had been rising in him all day.
Owen's still got some idea about playin' fair and stuff like that!

It was a side of Owen Stuart and Amos, as well, that Nick had never been able to grasp. His own life had been shaped in the gutters of New York, and he'd survived only because he practiced the same sort of fierce and deadly methods used by others. He had, in fact, gotten better at it than most, but now he knew that Tony Rocco's power was too strong for their combined efforts.

“Look, Owen,” he argued nervously, “I wish I hadn't gotten mixed up with Rocco, but that ain't the question. You don't know what he's like, but I do. He got where he is by puttin' anybody down who got in his way. Guys who crossed him…they just disappeared. Sometimes a fisherman will find a skeleton in the Hudson River, feet in cement. That's what'll happen to us if you don't lay down for Spears tomorrow.”

Owen listened, but was not impressed. “We'll go to the police, Nick.”

Nick was so shocked his jaw dropped. “Go to the cops!” he exclaimed. Such a thing violated the “code” he'd lived by for years. The police were the enemy, and any of his crowd that gave them anything was out of business. But he said nothing about this to Owen. “And what good would that do us? You think they're going to give us a bodyguard for the rest of our lives? I'm telling you, Owen, Rocco don't never give up…never! He might wait five years, but he'd rub us out if we crossed him.”

The argument went on for a long time, and Owen finally said, “Look, Nick, it may not even be a problem. We've been talking big about how I'm going to take Spears, but we both know it's not that close. He's beaten some of the best fighters around, and no matter what the odds are, we both know I'd have to be lucky to get by him.”

“That ain't good enough, Owen,” Nick answered wearily. “It's got to be a sure thing. Rocco and his crowd will have a hundred thousand or more riding on this fight, and they don't want any doubts. I've got to go back and tell Rocco you've agreed to pull your punches.”

Owen shook his head. “I won't do it, Nick. You should have told him from the beginning.”

Nick got to his feet slowly, knowing further argument was useless. “I'll go try to have Rocco hedge his bets,” he said. “It's not too late…maybe he'll do it.”

Owen watched him go, then, feeling completely depressed, left his apartment and went to Coney Island. He got there at dusk, just when Allie was packing her parachute for her jump later. “Need any help?”

Allie looked up with a quick smile. “Hello, Owen. Let me finish this and we'll go for a walk.” He watched as she finished packing the chute and tossed it into the wicker basket. “Now, how about a hot dog?”

“Not hungry. Let's walk for a while.”

Allie led the way past the rides, and they began to stroll along the beach. It was cold, and the stretch of sand was occupied by only a few hardy souls, bundled in heavy coats. Allie saw at once that Owen was disturbed. “Worried about the fight?”

“No.” A flock of birds high in the sky caught his eye, and Owen watched them as they soared and wheeled. Feeling the sharp bite of the wind, he thought suddenly of home. “If I were back home in the hills, I'd be hunting ducks,” he said. “Nothing like wild duck and rice this time of the year.” He rambled on, speaking of his boyhood days, and Allie listened quietly.

She was a good listener, having learned a great deal about Owen from soliloquies he sometimes delivered. She knew how close he was to Amos and Lylah, and how grieved he was over his father's weaknesses. Now as they moved along the gray sand, he began to reminisce about his mother. He often did, Allie knew, for Marian Stuart had been a powerful force in molding his character.

“Amos is a lot like Ma,” he said slowly. “She loved two things more than everything else—her family and God. That's the way Amos is.” He took half a dozen paces, then said, “Wonder why Lylah and me aren't like that.”

“You may be more like your mother than you think,” Allie answered. “You admire her more than anyone…and that means you've got some of her in you, just like Amos has.”

Her comment drew his attention, and he stopped short, turning to face her. “You're pretty sharp, Allie. Do you really believe that?”

His face, for all its toughness, had a wistful air. Allie knew him so well, and now she wanted to comfort him. “I never met her, but you've talked about her so much I feel like I knew her. You say Amos is like her…well, you don't know it, but you're like
him
.”

The darkness was closing in and the air was growing colder, but neither of them was aware of it. Allie spoke quietly but passionately, yearning to give some assurance to this big man she loved so much. Perhaps it was out of compassion that she reached up and cupped his face in her soft hands. “Oh, Owen! I wish I could make you see what goodness is in you!”

At her touch, Owen felt a strange sensation. He bent forward so he could see her face in the gathering darkness “You're…a sweet girl, Allie,” he whispered, and then it seemed natural to lower his head and kiss her on the lips.