"You don't have to worry about Petelli. Solly Brant will tell him what happened. Besides, the Miami Kid is getting Petelli's backing. If it had been the Kid you hit, then you would have had to get out fast, but Petelli hasn't any time for MacCready."
"This Solly Brant you just mentioned. Is he the fat guy with MacCready?"
"That's right. He owns MacCready, and I bet he wishes he didn't. He's not a bad fella, but what can you do with a bum like MacCready?"
Alice returned with two pints of beer.
Roche had insisted that I should stay the night at the cafe, and I welcomed the suggestion. For the past three weeks I had been sleeping rough, and the thought of a night in a bed was tempting.
After we had talked a while, I pushed back my chair.
"If it's okay with you I'd like to turn in now. I've been truck riding for eight h6urs, and I'm about asleep on my feet."
"Go ahead. Alice'll show you the room," Roche said, and stood up. He offered his hand. "And thanks again for what you did."
"Forget it," I said, shaking hands. "Thanks for the meal. It was great."
Alice took me upstairs to a small room that looked on to the water-front.
"If there's anything you want . . ."
"Not a thing. That bed sure looks good."
"You can take a bath if you want to. It's right next door."
"I'll do that. You know this is pretty nice of you."
"We're very grateful for what you did, Johnny. That brute might have hurt Tom badly. He's not very strong."
"But he's got a lot of guts. I guess you're pretty proud of him."
"Oh, I am." She put her hand on my arm, and her eyes were shining. "He's been through some bad times, but he's always been good to me. But if you hadn't come in when you did ..."
"Forget it. I was glad I was around."
"I just want you to know I think you're splendid," she said, and went away, leaving me a little hot and flustered.
I took a bath, lying in the hot water for half an hour or so. I could hear them talking downstairs, and when I got into bed, Roche came up and put his head round the door.
"All set?" he asked, edged his way in and stood at the foot of the bed looking at me.
I grinned at him.
"You bet."
He shifted from one foot to the other, rubbed the end of his nose with the back of his hand while he stared seriously at me.
"Anything on your mind?" I asked, seeing he wanted to say something but seemed at a loss for words.
"I guess so. Me and Alice have been talking about you. I have a proposition to make you. How would you like to come in with us? We're doing pretty well, but we could do better. With you to help us, we could expand. I don't say there's a fortune to be picked up, but if it interests you I can show you the figures. I don't mean I'm offering you a job. I'm offering you a third share in the business. It could be a nice living. What do you say? Alice and me would like to have you."
I stared at him, scarcely believing I had heard aright.
"Why, you're crazy!" I exclaimed, sitting up. "You don't know a thing about me. You can't go offering me a third of your business just because I punched a fella in the jaw. What's the matter with you?"
Roche sat on the edge of the bed.
"We need help, Johnny. We need a guy like you. You know the trade, for one thing. Then you're big and can scrap -I can't. We get some tough characters in here, and there's not a lot I can do about it. We like you. We reckon you'd be worth every nickel you take out of the business."
He was probably right, but the job was no good to me. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I had to tell him.
"Look, Tom, let's get this straightened out," I said. "Don't think I'm not grateful for the offer. I am, but it can't be done. Don't get me wrong about this, but frankly I've been in smalltime too long. All my life I've wanted money: not a few paltry dollars - my old man had that and they got him nowhere - but a roll of money you could choke a horse with. Maybe it's because my old man kept me so short when I was a kid. The only thing he ever paid for was my food. My clothes, movies, candy and all the other things kids spend dimes on I had to earn, and it meant earning them the hard way: working after school, running errands, delivering newspapers, cleaning windows, and never having any time to play. My old man reckoned it would make me value money, but he was wrong. It made me determined to get a pile somehow and have a glorious blow with it. I've got to make money. It's become a thing with me, and when I've got it I'm going on the biggest bender ever. I thought my chance had come when my old man died. I figured I'd be able to sell the caf6 and go a bust on the proceeds, but there were debts and there weren't any proceeds. Right now all I've got are the clothes I stand up in and forty dollars from my army gratuity. So I'm going to Miami where the dough is, and some of it's going to stick to me. Big dough, Tom, not little stuff. I have a feeling in my bones if I can get to Miami I'll hit the jackpot."
Roche sat listening, his face expressionless.
"Why Miami, Johnny? Why not New York or any big city?"
"Something I heard," I said. "I know it sounds cockeyed, but I met a guy who's been to Miami. He reckoned there was no place like it on earth. He said there were more millionaires to the square inch out there than any other place in the world, and they go there for a vacation, and they throw their money around like drunken sailors. If you're smart you can catch some of it. But don't get me wrong. I don't intend to work any racket or get into trouble. I'm going to collect this pile legitimate. There're all kinds of jobs going in Miami where you can pick up big dough. Know what this guy told me? He said lifeguards make up to two hundred bucks a week. He knew one of them who saved the life of a movie star, and they gave him a thousand bucks and a job in Hollywood. This guy himself was a chauffeur, and his boss kicked off and left him five grand. He'd only worked for him for three years. Think of that! I don't see why I shouldn't muscle in on that kind of luck. That's all it is. The money's there. It's just a matter of being on the spot when these guys throw it around."
Roche rubbed his knee while he looked thoughtfully at me.
"Your pal didn't tell you about the con men, the gamblers, the grafters, the whores and the mobsters who are all in there like a wolf-pack trying to separate your millionaires from their rolls, did he?" he asked quietly. "He didn't mention the cops who hound a guy unless he's well dressed and keep him on the move? I've been to Miami, Johnny. Before I bust my leg I used to drive a truck from Pelotta to Miami every week. It's a fine town for millionaires, but if you're short of dough, it's tougher than a jungle full of wild animals. Take my tip and forget Miami. You're living in a pipe-dream. Stay with us and you have a chance to make a reasonable living and you'll keep out of trouble. When a guy goes after the kind of dough you're talking about, sooner or later he's going to get into trouble. Use your head, Johnny. The only way you could break into big money is by fighting. I don't know how good you are, but if that punch is a sample, then I'd say ..."
"Don't say it," I broke in. "I've quit fighting. I'm not finishing up half blind and my brains leaking blood. That's out. You say Miami is tough. This guy says it's a soft touch. I guess I'll go and find out for myself. Maybe I'm crazy, but I'm going. Sorry, Tom, but that's the way it is. And don't think I'm ungrateful." Roche lifted his thin shoulders.
"Okay, if that's how you feel about it, then go to Miami. Have a look around. Then come back here. I can do with you. I'll give you three months before I look for someone else. Think about it, Johnny. A third share and a free hand, and only Alice and me to bother you. Think about it."
I didn't have to think about it.
"Don't wait for me, Tom," I said. "You fix yourself up. I won't be coming back."
III
I had just finished breakfast when Roche put his head round the door.
"Solly Brant's outside. He's asking for you. Want to see him?"
"Why not, or shouldn't I?"
Roche shrugged.
"Please yourself. He wouldn't say what he wants."
"Well, shoot him in."
I pushed back my plate, and, as I reached for a cigarette, Brant came in. His panama hat was pushed to the back of his head. There were dark rings under his eyes, and he looked as if he hadn't slept for days.
"I'm sorry your boy can't fight," I said before he could open his mouth, "but he got what he deserved. It's no use coming moaning to me. It's something I can't do anything about."
"Yeah, don't tell me, I know," Brant said, and pulled up a chair. He sat down. "He's a bum, always was; always will be." He rubbed his face with his hand and groaned. "That punk's put years on my life. The trouble I've had with him." He leaned forward and poked a fat ringer at me. "Where did you learn to punch like that?"
"I've done a little fighting. If I'd known he had a glass jaw I'd have hit him some other place."
"He ain't got a glass jaw. Guys have been hanging punches on his jaw for years, and up to now he's liked it. I've never seen a punch like that. It would have dented a tank." He absently picked up a piece of toast and began to nibble at it. "But never mind him. If I'd some other boy to fight the Kid I'd be waving flags to be rid of him. But I haven't another boy, and this is the first major fight I've collared in years. The take's seven-fifty, and that's a lot of beer to a guy like me." He gnawed at the toast, then asked, "Who have you fought?"
"Oh, no, not me," I said. "Never mind who I've fought. You're not getting me to fight for you. I quit the game years ago, and I'm not going back to it."
The small brown eyes roved hungrily over me.
"With that build and that hook you're a natural. How long have you been out of the game?"
"Too long. I'm not interested. If that's all you've got to talk about let's part while we're still friends."
"Now wait a minute. Roche tells me you put Weiner away in the second. Is that right?"
"It's no dollars in your pocket if I did."
"Heading for Miami, aren't you?" He put down the toast and hitched forward his chair. "Now, listen, soon as I saw you I knew you were a killer. Use your head, Farrar. What do you think you're going to do in Miami dressed like that? How far do you think you'll get before some bull tosses you in the can? Even if you keep to the back streets you won't last ten minutes. If you haven't a good front, you're out in Miami."
"That's my funeral: not yours."
"I know." He took off his hat and peered inside it as if looking for something he had lost. "But I'm not talking because I like the sound of my voice. How would you like to arrive in Miami in a tropical suit and all the trimmings and driving your own car? Okay, it's not much of a car, but it goes. And how would you like to have five hundred bucks in your pocket to give you a start?"
He was dangling a nice fat worm on a sharp hook before me, and I knew it, but I listened just the same. I knew I shouldn't make much of a showing in Miami in the clothes I had on, and this had been worrying me. A tropical suit, five hundred bucks and a car sounded about right to me.
"Go on talking," I said. "It won't hurt me to listen."
"That's a fact," he said, and grinned, showing six gold-capped teeth. "That's my proposition. Deputize for MacCready, and that's what you'll get. How does it strike you?"
"Not bad. What makes you think I rate that high?"
"I don't know you do. If you've got anything beside that hook, then you can't be so bad. Suppose you come down to the gym and show me just what you can do?"
I hesitated. In a couple of hours Josh Bates would be pulling out of Pelotta for Miami. I could either go with him and travel as a bum or stick around here for four more days and then travel in my own car with money in my pocket. But before I got the car and the money I had to fight a heavyweight I'd never seen or heard of, and I wasn't in anything like strict training. I might even land up with a broken jaw myself.
"Just how useful is this guy you want me to fight?"
"Not bad," Brant said. "He's fast and pins his faith on a right cross." He stood up. "But you don't have to worry about him. I don't expect you to beat him. All I want you to do is to stay with him for a few rounds and make a show. The dough's all on him. But if he gets too hot for you you can always do an el fold
o"
"That's something I've never done, and don't intend to do."
"Just a suggestion," he said blandly. "Suppose we go over to the gym. We can talk better after I've seen the way you shape."
We went over to the gym. It lay at the end of a dark, evil-smelling alley off Pelotta's main street. It wasn't much of a place: one big room, equipped with two training rings, punching bags, some dirty mats scattered over the floor, a row of changing booths and a few shower cabinets, most of which didn't work.
The place was deserted when we got there.
"Waller, Joe's sparring partner, will be along any minute now," Brant said. "He's a good trial horse and you can hit him as hard as you like. If you don't he'll hit you. Let's have three rounds with all the action you can cram into them."
He went over to a locker and handed out some kit. While I was changing Waller came in. He was a big, battered Negro with sullen, bloodshot eyes. He nodded briefly to Brant, gave me an indifferent glance and went into one of the booths to change.
When I had stripped off. Brant looked me over critically, and whistled.
"Well, you ain't carrying any fat. You look in pretty good shape to me."
"I'm all right," I said, and ducked under the ropes. "But if I'd known this was going to happen I'd have laid off smoking. It's my wind I've got to watch."
Waller climbed into the ring. He was built like a gorilla, but in spite of his size I noticed he was eyeing me thoughtfully.