The Black Lizard Big Book of Black Mask Stories

Chapter I

Gus Monkly watched Pardo crowd the blond slugger into a neutral corner, work his huge arms like battering rams. The Garden crowd was on its feet — the arena was shrill with sound. Across the ring Gus saw Eddie Feese, his white face twisted as he shouted at his blond fighter. There was a sudden silence from the crowd — Gus got his eyes on Pardo again. The seven-foot giant was stepping back. He was grinning. Mike Connell sagged forward as Pardo backed away. He went to his knees.

The crowd roared again. Pardo lowered his guard and glanced towards Gus. The manager’s face twisted with fear. Connell pitched upward and forward. The referee had his back turned to the blond fighter; he was waving Pardo to a neutral corner.

Connell ripped up a short right arm, and then the referee was between the two men. Pardo muttered something as the referee stepped away. The dark-haired fighter shoved a huge right glove in Connell’s face, stepped around to the right. Connell was trying to weave, but he was groggy. He led with a left that was short, threw over a hard right. The right glanced off Pardo’s left shoulder. The giant shot his own right, straight for the chin.

It landed with a sound that could be heard all over the Garden. Connell went down like a slaughtered steer. Resin dust rose from the canvas. The referee waved Pardo back. Once again the big, black-haired fighter glanced towards Gus Monkly. The manager swore at him, but his curses were lost in the roar of the crowd.

Pardo backed into the wrong corner, and the referee pointed to a neutral one. Pardo stared stupidly at the man in white. Then he went across the ring to the neutral corner. The referee stood beside Connell, picked up the pounded count from Snyder. At “ten” he straightened, raised his arms high, pointed towards Pardo. The crowd yelled wildly.

Gus Monkly stood up and frowned at Jerry Gold. Gold grinned and said in a husky voice:

“He’s put you in line, Gus — the next shot will do the trick. Good for — a half million if he gets by Bolley.”

Gus kept on frowning towards the winner of the final go. Pardo stood in the center of the ring, grinned sheepishly, and tapped his gloves together, above his head. The crowd cheered and jeered. Seconds dragged the unconscious figure of Mike Connell from the resin, towards his corner. The radio announcer stood at the edge of the ring and shouted at Pardo.

Gus muttered grimly: “What the hell — that palooka’s too dumb to talk at a mike! Hey, Berry!”

Lou Berryman stood inside the ropes and grinned at Pardo’s manager. Gus kept on frowning.

“Get him out of there!” he shouted at Berryman. “Get him downstairs, Berry. Stay along with him — get him out of there!”

Berryman nodded and went over near the towering Pardo. He grabbed him by a wrist and pointed towards the exit corner of the ring. The radio announcer started to rave at Berryman. Gus Monkly fought his way to a spot close to the mike. He leaned down, and the announcer grinned at him. He lifted the mike high.

Gus breathed heavily through his nose. “This is Giant Pardo—” he announced thickly. “I just — wanna say — he give me — a sweet scrap, he did! Mike’s a good boy — but I guess I was — better! I’m gonna be — fightin’ the champ yet — s’long folks!”

Gus stepped away from the microphone. The announcer glared at him.

“What the hell’s the idea?” he muttered. “You can’t get away with that stuff!”

Monkly narrowed his beady little eyes. “No?” he questioned. “Lay off, boy. Didn’t you get what you wanted? They won’t know the difference. Pardo — he can’t talk. He’s a scrapper.”

He turned away, with the announcer muttering at him. A short, red-faced individual gripped him by the arm.

“What do you mean — that bum’s a scrapper?” he asked. “Better take him out in the sticks for a while, Gus. It’ll be healthier.”

Gus grinned at the short one. “Want a piece of him?” he asked. “Like hell you don’t. I’ll cut you forty percent of him — for fifty grand.”

Charlie Russel threw back his red face and laughed. Then suddenly he stopped laughing.

“If he gets by Bolley — come and see me, Gus.”

The manager swore. “Do I look that way?” he snapped. “If he gets by Bolley come and try to see me. The line forms on the right.”

He fought his way towards the aisle that led to the dressing rooms. The Garden crowd was using the exits. Mike Connell was being carried through the ropes. Eddie Feese caught Gus’s eye and called over to him.

“It was — just a lucky one.”

Gus Monkly chuckled hoarsely. “Sure,” he yelled back. “Lucky Pardo didn’t hit him real hard!”

He went along the aisle, grinned at the big Garden copper who kept the crowd moving in another direction. As he went past the officer, Riley said:

“You got a money fighter, Gus. All yours?”

Gus nodded. “All mine, Irish,” he replied. “I’m going to clean up on him.”

The copper grunted. “If he gets by Bolley,” he corrected.

The manager chuckled again. “They can’t stop that right, Irish,” he stated hoarsely. “It’s worse than that dynamite Cotti serves over the bar. They can’t stop him, Irish.”

The Garden copper shrugged. “I’ve seen a lot of ’em stopped in here, Gus,” he said. “But I hope you’re right. It’s a sweet spot for a clean-up.”

Gus Monkly went along the corridor that led to the dressing rooms. Humans spoke to him, patted him, grinned at him. Gus grinned back. He used words in reply. But he wasn’t caring much. He was thinking about Pardo. A palooka with a punch. A big guy he’d grabbed at the right time. He tapped on the door of Pardo’s dressing room — Berryman opened it. Gus went inside and Berryman slammed the door in the faces of the three or four guys.

Pardo sat on the edge of the training table and grinned at the manager.

“Not so rotten, eh?” he said in a voice that was husky and flat. “He ain’t dead?”

Gus Monkly frowned at his fighter. “He damn’ near finished you,” he snapped. “You got to cut out looking at me every time you knock a guy off his feet, see?”

Pardo looked hurt. He held huge, taped hands close together and looked down stupidly at them. He weighed two hundred and sixty-four — and towered above the handlers crowded into the dressing room. He had thick lips and dumb, dark eyes.

Gus looked at Berryman and said: “Get him fixed up right — and let him feed the way he likes. There’ll be a crowd hanging around the lobby to see him come out. Go out that way and stroll around a little. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten, at the hotel.”

He turned his back on the men in the room, moved towards the door. Before he reached it he faced Pardo and grinned at the fighter.

“That wasn’t so rotten, Big Boy,” he said. “But remember — Bolley won’t let you get him on the ropes like Mike did.”

Pardo made a hoarse sound with his lips. He swung the upper part of his huge body from side to side, showed broken teeth, grinned. He flicked his broken nose with the back of a huge hand.

“I’ll make a bum outa Bolley,” he muttered.

Gus said: “Yeah? Well, ain’t that nice! We ain’t got him yet, Big Boy.”