A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (17 page)

I
CAME
back to my corner moving stiffly, my back and sides a red, welted sheet of pain. Slowly I slumped back on the stool. I leaned forward, my mouth open, taking great gulps of air.

Zep was on his knees in front of me, pressing a damp towel to my forehead. Mr. Spritzer was massaging my side, his hands moving in a slow, circular motion.

Zep peered into my face. “Yuh all right, Danny?”

I nodded painfully. I didn’t want to speak, I had to save my breath. Something had gone wrong. This was supposed to be a cinch for me. I couldn’t understand it. According to the papers, I should have taken him by the second round, but here it was going into the third and I hadn’t been able to land one solid punch.

“He okay, Mr. Spritzer?” Zep’s voice was anxious.

Spritzer’s voice was dry. It cut through the fog that was beginning to gather in my head. “He’s okay. He’s been reading the papers too much, that’s all.”

My head snapped up. I knew what he meant. He was right, too; I had been too sure of myself. I had begun to believe everything I had read about myself. Across the ring, Passo was sitting in his corner, breathing easily and confidently, the lights shining brightly on his ebony skin.

The bell sounded and I sprang to my feet, moving toward the centre of the ring. Passo was coming toward me confidently, a sort of smile on his face. I knew the look. I had worn it many times when I knew I had the fight won. Seething anger began to surge through me. The wrong face was wearing that look tonight. I shot my right viciously.

A fountain of pain geysered through my side. I had missed and Passo caught me with a left to the kidneys. I dropped my hands to cover my side. A flashbulb exploded in my face.

I shook my head to clear it. There was blackness in front of my eyes as if I had just come from staring at the sun. A hollow sound came floating toward me. “Five!” I turned my head and looked in the direction of the sound.

The referee’s arm was going up again, his mouth shaping another word. I looked down and a dull surprise came through me. What was I doing on my hands and knees? I hadn’t fallen. I stared at the gleaming white canvas.

“Six!” A shock tore through me. He was counting me out! He couldn’t do that. I scrambled to my feet awkwardly.

The referee seized my hands and wiped my gloves off on his shirt. I could hear the crowd roaring as he stepped back. It sounded different, somehow. Tonight they weren’t yelling for me; they were yelling for Passo. They were yelling for him to finish me off.

I fell into a clinch. Passo’s body was wet with perspiration. I gasped gratefully for the moment’s respite. The referee pushed us apart.

Again a pain shot through my side, then on the other side. Passo’s dark face was dancing in front of my eyes. He was smiling. He was coming toward me. His gloves were flashing at me, tearing at me. I had to get away from them, they were cutting me into ribbons. I looked desperately toward my corner.

Zep’s eyes, wide and frightened, stared at me. I turned my head quickly back to Passo. He was swinging. The punch was coming at me, the kayo punch, I could see it. It was coming with a tantalizing slowness. A crazy fear tore through me. I had to stop it. I swung wildly, desperately at his uncovered jaw.

Suddenly Passo was falling. I stumbled toward him. The referee turned me around and pushed me toward my corner. Tears of pain were streaming down my face. I had to get out of there; I couldn’t stand any more.

Zep was coming through the ropes, grinning. I looked bewilderedly at him. What was he grinning about? It was over and I had lost. Relief came over me, I was glad it was finished. Nothing else mattered.

I lay on the dressing-table, my head cradled in my arms, feeling Spritzer’s hands moving soothingly on my back. I could feel the pain subsiding slowly and a sense of comfort coming over me. I was tired. I closed my eyes.

I heard Zep put down the bottle of rubbing alcohol, and his voice drifted toward me. “He gonna be all right. Mr. Spritzer?”

Spritzer’s hands were still kneading my back. “He’ll be okay. He’s tough an’ young an’ he’s got guts.”

I didn’t move. At least he wasn’t sore because I’d lost. There was a knock on the door and Zep opened it. I heard a heavy footstep in the room.

“Is he okay?” Sam’s voice was worried.

The trainer’s voice was flat. “He’s okay, Sam. Nothing to worry about.”

“So what happened, then?” Sam’s voice was harsh with anger. “He looked lousy out there tonight. He took a hell of a beating.”

Spritzer’s voice was patient. “Take it easy, Sam. The kid was just beginning to believe his own clippings, that’s all. He went out there thinkin’ all he had to do was look at Passo an’ it was all over.”

“But you’re supposed to keep him on edge.” Sam’s voice was still harsh.

“There’s some things even I can’t do,” Spritzer answered. “I been expectin’ this before, but from now on he’ll be all right. He learned his lesson.”

I heard Sam’s footsteps coming over to me and felt his hand rest lightly on my hand. He ruffled my hair gently. I kept my eyes closed. I began to feel good; he wasn’t angry with me.

The last trace of harshness disappeared from his voice; there was a note of pride in it now. “You see that last wallop he hit the boy? It was murder!”

“It almost was,” Spritzer replied soberly. “That boy’s jaw is broke in two places.”

I spun around on the table and sat up. They were all staring at me. “That true?” I asked.

Zep nodded his head. “I just got the word a few minutes ago, Danny.”

“Then I—I won?” I still couldn’t believe it.

Sam smiled. “Yeah, kid, you won.”

I sank slowly back on the table, but there was no triumph in me. All I could think about was what my father had said: “Go on, Killer, for a dollar you can murder all your friends.”

We stood on the corner of Delancey and Clinton Streets. It was a few minutes after midnight. The lights still shone brightly in the store windows and people still thronged the sidewalks.

“Kin yuh get home okay, Danny?” Zep asked.

“Sure I can,” I laughed. Most of the pain had gone, leaving just an aching soreness in my back and sides. “Don’t be an old woman.”

I left him on the corner and walked down Clinton Street, heading for home. I took a deep breath. It had been a close one. Mr. Spritzer had been right, though. I had been reading the papers too much. I wouldn’t after this. I turned my corner and walked toward home.

A figure came out of the shadows next to my door. “Danny!” Spit was standing there.

“What d’yuh want?” I asked impatiently. I wanted to get to bed.

“Mr. Fields wants to see yuh,” he answered.

“Tell him I can’t,” I said quickly, pushing past him. “I’ll see him some other time.”

Spit’s hand caught at my arm. “Yuh better come, Danny,” he said. “Fields is no guy to give the brush. He might take a notion to make it tough for yuh.” Spit’s eyes were blinking rapidly, as they always did when he was excited. “You’d better come,’ he repeated.

I thought for a moment. Spit was right. You didn’t stall when Maxie Fields sent for you. I had to go, but I would only spend a few minutes and then get out. “Okay,” I said gruffly.

I followed Spit back around the corner. At the doorway next to Fields’s store Spit took a key out of his pocket and opened the door. I followed him into the hallway.

He turned to me and held out the key. “Go on upstairs,” he said. “You know the door.”

I looked at the key, then at him. “Ain’t yuh comin’ along?”

He shook his head. “No. He said he wanted to see yuh alone. Don’t ring; the key’ll let yuh in.” He pressed the key quickly into my hand and vanished out into the street.

I stared after him and then looked down at the key in my hand. It twinkled brightly in the hall light. I took a deep breath and slowly began to climb the stairs.

The key worked smoothly in the lock and the door swung open with hardly a sound. I stood in the doorway looking into the room. It was empty.

I stepped in leaving the door open behind me. “Mr. Fields!” I called. “I’m here, Danny Fisher. You wanted to see me?”

The door on the other side of the room opened and the girl I had seen earlier in the day came out. “Close the door, Danny,” she said quietly. “You’ll wake the neighbours.”

Automatically I shut the door. “Where’s Mr. Fields?” I asked. “Spit said he wanted to see me.”

There was a doubting look in her eyes. “Is that why you came?” she asked, her disbelief echoing in her voice.

I stared back at her. Then my face flushed as I remembered Fields’s invitation. “That’s why,” I answered gruffly. “Where is he? I want to see him and get home to bed. I’m dead tired.”

A quick smile came over her face. “You sound like you mean it.”

“Of course I mean it,” I said coldly. “Now take me to him. I want to get this over with.”

“All right,” she said. “Follow me.”

She led me through a small kitchen, past an open bathroom door and into a bedroom. She flicked on a light and gestured toward a bed. “There he is—the great Maxie Fields in all his glory!” There was a raw grating hatred in her voice.

I stared down at the bed. Fields was stretched across it, fast asleep. His shirt was open to the waist exposing the heavy mass of black hair on his chest. He was breathing heavily, one arm thrown across his face. There was strong reek of liquor in the room.

I looked at the girl. “He’s out?” I asked questioningly.

“He’s out,” she confirmed bitterly. “The fat pig!”

I stepped back out of the bedroom and held the key toward her. “Give him this and tell him I couldn’t wait. I’ll see him some other time.”

As I started back through the apartment, she called me. “Wait a minute,” she said quickly. “Don’t go. He said for me to keep you here until he wakes up.”

“Christ!” I exploded. “He’s out for the night! I can’t wait.”

She nodded. “I know, but wait a little while anyway to make it look good. If you go right now, he’ll know I didn’t keep you and he’ll be angry.”

“How’ll he know?” I asked. “He’s dead to the world.”

“He’ll know,” she said quietly. She walked over to a window and lifted a slat of the venetian blind. “C’mere, look.”

I looked out of the window but I didn’t see anything. “Over there,” she said, “in the doorway of the store across the street.”

There was a faint shadow there and a cigarette was glowing. Just then an automobile turned the corner, its headlights piercing the darkness of the doorway, and I saw Spit standing there.

I dropped the blind and turned to her. “So he’s watchin’,” I said. “So what?”

“He’ll tell Fields how long you stayed.”

“What if he does?” I asked impatiently. “He’s out anyway. I can’t stay until he wakes up.” I started for the door again.

She caught my arm, a sudden fear painted on her face. “Kid, give me a break,” she pleaded, a note of desperation in her voice. “Stick around a little while. Make it look good. You don’t know that guy inside. He’ll make it rough for me if he finds out I didn’t keep you at least for a little while.”

Her eyes were wide and frightened and her hand was trembling on my arm. I remembered how sorry I had been for her when I had seen her last. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll stay.”

Her hand dropped quickly from my arm. “Thanks, Danny,” she said with relief.

I sat down on the couch and leaned back against the cushions wearily. A throbbing ache came back into my body. “Christ, I’m tired,” I said.

She came to the couch and looked down at me sympathetically. “I know, Danny,” she said softly. “I saw the fight. Maybe I could get you some coffee?”

I looked up at her curiously. “No, thanks,” I said. “You saw it?”

She nodded. “Maxie took me out there.”

There was a twinge of pain in my back and I shifted uncomfortably. “What’s his angle?” I asked wearily.

She didn’t answer my question. “You’re tired,” she said. “Why don’t you stretch out and make yourself comfortable?”

It was a good idea. My body sank into the soft down cushions and I closed my eyes for a moment. This was even softer than my bed. Living was good when you had the dough. I heard the light-switch click and opened my eyes. She had turned off the ceiling light; now only a corner lamp was glowing. She was just sitting down in a chair opposite me, holding a drink in her hand.

“You didn’t answer my question,” I asked.

She lifted her glass and drank. “I can’t,” she replied. “I don’t know.”

“He must have said somethin’,” I insisted. I raised myself on one elbow. My back suddenly twinged and a groan escaped my lips.

She was on her knees beside the couch, her arm around my shoulder. “You poor kid,” she said softly. “You’re hurt.”

I sat up, moving away from her arm. “My back is sore,” I admitted, trying to smile. “I caught a lot of punches.”

Her hand slipped down to my back, rubbing it gently. She looked at her watch. “Lie down again,” she said gently. “It’s half past twelve; another half-hour and you can go. I’ll rub your back.”

I stretched out, feeling her hands moving on me. Their touch was light and soothing. “Thanks,” I said. “That feels good.”

She was still on her knees, her face close to mine. She smiled
suddenly. “I’m glad,” she answered. She leaned forward quickly and kissed me.

I was surprised, and stiffened awkwardly. She withdrew her lips at once. “That’s my way of saying thanks,” she explained. “You’re a good kid, Danny.”

I stared at her. I was all mixed up. “Yuh shouldn’ a done that,” I said. “I got a girl. Besides, it’s what he wants me to do an’ I don’t like doin’ anythin’ unless I want to.”

“You don’t want to?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said stubbornly. “I only said it’s what he wants and I don’t know the angle.”

Her eyes were wide. “What if I say this is between us? That he’ll never know.”

I searched her eyes. “I wouldn’t believe yuh.”

Her voice was level. “Would you believe me if I told you I hated his guts?”

“He’s payin’ for your time,” I said flatly. “For that kind of dough I don’t believe nothin’.”

She was silent for a moment, then she looked at the floor. “Would you believe me if I told you what he wants from you?”