Little Sally pouted. "In fact, Mrs. Martell," the tired-looking fellow
told her, "it might be better if you find your seat out front now and
wait for it to get underway. You're liable to make Angel nervous in
here."
"Well, if you say so," she said doubtfully but timidly. She went to the
door.
"Wait!" I called. I was going to ask her about Xlptl.
"Wait, nothing!" the man who must have been my manager said. "Out she
goes."
The door closed behind Sally. I shuddered. I had to find out about
Xlptl before I could leave her. Which meant I had to go through with
whatever was waiting for me in the arena.
After a while my manager came over and taped my fists. So it was
boxing, I thought. That was worse even than wrestling. In wrestling
there was a script, and the participants followed it. In boxing I
could--and probably would--get my head handed to me.
We went upstairs. The manager, still looking tired, didn't say a word.
The arena was small, noisy, and smoke-filled. The ring seemed very
close. Too close. We reached it too soon. I climbed through the ropes
awkwardly, almost stumbling and falling across the ring. Someone hooted.
The other guy was already there, dancing in the resin corner. He looked
very big and menacing. He was already wearing his gloves. My gloves
were put on. There was a bell and some fighters in street clothes were
trotted out to show off their padded muscles. There was another bell. I
was sitting on a stool. A spotlight found me and my manager shoved me
to my feet. I lumbered to the center of the ring and heard a booming
voice declaim:
"In this corner, that ever-popular slugger from the Bronx, New York,
weighing two hundred and five pounds and undefeated in his last six
thrilling contests with a record of fifteen knockouts in the last two
years, Angel Martell!"
There was polite applause. I drifted back to my corner. I wondered
where Sally was sitting. If I could just ask her about Xlptl before
this thing got started.... But I couldn't see her out there any place.
The announcer continued.
"... this corner, the undefeated heavyweight from our own Philadelphia,
Pennsylvania, who has knocked out all but two of his opponents in
twenty-one stellar clashes here in this arena and elsewhere, Mickey
Magoon!"
Magoon came out looking flashy and dancing and raising one hand in the
victory sign. I looked around desperately for Sally. Maybe I'd seen
her, I thought, shuddering. Maybe I'd forgotten what she looked like.
The referee gave us our instructions. We went back to our corners.
A whistle sounded. My manager rubbed my back. A bell clanged and
something propelled me toward the charging Magoon.
I put up my hands. Magoon danced around me cautiously. He jabbed and it
didn't look like much but my head went shooting back and something made
a noise in my neck. He jabbed again. He jabbed a third time. Then the
jabs got blurry. I thought they would take my head clean off.
I clinched. The referee got us apart. Magoon came after me with that
jab. I swung my left and right, but Magoon picked them off in air. I
couldn't win and I knew it. I didn't have a chance. I wondered how long
it would take before Magoon knew that too. Magoon was a pro. Once he
learned it he wouldn't waste any time with caution. He would come in
and cut me to ribbons. I'd be all right if I could keep him cautious,
respectful, until I could find out what I had to about Sally and then
look at the next address and give Angel Martell back his body....
* * * * *
The next address!
But the list wasn't here! How could the list be in my boxer shorts? The
bathrobe? I wondered. I turned around to look at my corner.
Something clobbered my head and the next thing I knew I was on my face
on the canvas. There was a sound of thudding feet and a roar and then
someone began to count. At five I got up to one knee. Magoon was in one
corner, a neutral corner, banging his gloves together eagerly.
"Seven, eight...."
I got up. The crowd was very quiet. They sensed the kill now and were
waiting for it. The referee rubbed my resin-powdered gloves against
his shirt-front, then Magoon came tearing across the ring toward me. I
backed into my own corner, then sidestepped desperately as Magoon came
at me. He went by and whirled and we clinched and I saw my manager's
face down there behind him and I opened my mouth to say, "Where's my
bathrobe? See what you can find in the pockets, for gosh sakes!" But
it came out all mumbled. I'd forgotten I was wearing the big, clumsy
mouthpiece to protect my teeth.
Magoon swung at me. Somehow I eluded that blow. Maybe it was a reflex
action on the part of Angel Martell's trained body. Magoon swung again.
I walked into a clinch and he pounded my back and kidneys before the
referee broke us apart. Magoon gave me a peculiar look then. I didn't
understand the look. But I would soon.
He hit me in the chest. It wasn't much of a blow, and I countered with
a flurry of lefts and rights. Magoon retreated. This surprised the hell
out of me. I hooked my left and crossed my right and Magoon's knees
wobbled. I hit him again and he bounced against the ropes. He came
off them with a look of hate and rage in his eyes. He swung wildly
three times with his right. The third one caught me flush in the mouth
and I fell down, sprawling toward my own corner. I spit out the damn
mouthpiece. The referee began to count.
"My robe!" I hollered to the manager. "Look in the pockets."
"You bum," he said.
"Huh?"
"You bum."
"Six, seven, eight, nine...."
* * * * *
I got to my feet. The bell rang before me and Magoon could get together
again. I went to my corner. Suddenly behind my manager I saw Sally's
worried face.
"You all right, honey?" she asked as I sat down. Someone squeezed a
sponge of ice-cold water over my head. It made me shiver. Something was
passed under my nose with a strong smell. I gagged.
"You rat," said the manager. "You want to get us all killed?"
"What the devil's eating you?" I asked. I was taking the punishment out
there, not him.
"Ha, ha, ha," he said.
"No. Tell me."
"Tell you. You know damn well you was supposed to go into the tank, to
take a dive in the very first round. We got paid for it. We're gonna
get paid a different way now, boy."
"Are you all right?" Sally asked.
"Mrs. Xlptl," I said in a low voice. I never thought it would be Sally.
But she whimpered: "Oh, you found me! You found me...." She sounded at
once excited and disappointed.
"I'm not your husband," I said. "But I'm taking you back to him."
"I don't want to go back."
"Think about it. You ought to go back. He wants you back."
"What are you two talking about?" the manager shouted.
* * * * *
"I don't know what to say," Mrs. Xlptl told me.
"It's happened before, hasn't it? But you always went back."
"That's true. I--I--well, I guess you're right."
Just then the warning whistle sounded. I looked across the ring at
Magoon. The manager said: "At least dive in this round, you louse.
Maybe they'll only let us off with a warning."
I didn't say anything. A fixed fight, I thought. I felt pretty good
now, as if the tricks learned by Martell had gone into the storehouse
of his muscular knowledge, along with walking and running and talking
and how to hold a spoon, and were coming out now for my own use.
"Don't forget," the manager pleaded. "You promised before the fight.
Gee, this wouldn't be the first one you dumped for money."
Martell, I thought. You're some athlete. Suddenly I didn't like the
body I was occupying. But I liked the man across the ring even less.
It was a fast and furious round. Magoon came out swinging from the
bell. I felt my legs go wobbly. I was driven back into the ropes. I
took a lot of punishment around the head and upper body. Then Magoon
shifted his attack to the waist. I came in over it with a flurry of my
own at his face. He backed up. I followed him. He caught me with a
looping right coming in and I went down to one knee. I rested there,
taking a count of nine. I felt almost like a pro now. And if this
Magoon had an unblemished record, I found myself thinking quite calmly,
it was because other guys had gone into the tank for him. Oh, he was
competent enough, but he wasn't another Marciano. Or even close.
I got up at nine. Magoon thought he had me. He came in with his hands
low, ready to bring them up from his belt and finish me. The crowd was
silent, waiting. I blocked a vicious right cross with my left glove. I
swung my own right and it hit Magoon below the ear. I hooked my left
at his other cheek. I brought the left down low, striking just under
Magoon's heart. He spit his mouthpiece out. I hooked my left again and
crossed my right. He swung back at me feebly. The crowd was roaring. I
brought my right uppercutting at his jaw. His feet left the canvas and
his whole body sank down on it, not falling, but slowly as if it were
being lowered on strings.
* * * * *
He was counted out. The crowd screamed. The tired-looking manager held
up my hand. He said nothing. We went back to the dressing room through
throngs of well-wishers. They let little Sally come with us.
The door of the dressing room closed behind us. Two grim-looking
characters were in there. They jerked their thumbs toward the door as
if they were a team. The manager gulped and got out. I looked at Sally.
Sally looked at me.
"You crossed us, Angel," one of the men said.
Martell had crossed them, all right. I could get out of this and leave
Martell to take his medicine. But they'd beat him to a pulp before he
knew what was happening. He was a rat, I thought, and he deserved what
he got, but the least I could do was give him a little head start. Then
he could take it from there.
They came at me with blackjacks. Sally screamed. I brought up my
forearm and one of the blackjacks blurred down toward it. My arm went
numb. There was no pain. It just went suddenly dead.
The second blackjack numbed my other arm. They were very good at it,
all right. They knew where to strike. I was a boxer without any arms to
use....
A blackjack came down. I bobbed out of the way. The other guy
was behind me, raising his own blackjack. The first one hit him
accidentally, crushing his shoulder. He screamed. I butted my head at
the guy in front of me. It took the wind out of him. As he slumped I
leaned over him and brought up my knee and it made a loud clicking
sound as it struck his jaw and drove his teeth together. He fell down
and he lay there.
The second guy was better now. He came at me with the blackjack. I
backed off toward the rubdown table. My arms were beginning to tingle.
I thought I might be able to use them if I had to. I leaned back on
the rubdown table getting set to meet the blow. He lunged at me and I
brought up my foot, smashing it against his chest. He staggered back.
Sally stood to one side, her face white, her hand at her throat.
I followed the guy with the blackjack. He swung at me. He looked scared
now. I ducked inside the blow and brought up my tingling right fist
in a short, chopping blow. It threw his head back. He turned with a
little whimper and got the hell out of there. His friend was still
unconscious.
"Well, Mrs. Xlptl," I said, "shall we go?"
"I--I guess so. You were so strong! Even stronger than the real
Martell. You were wonderful, really you were." She was small but very
pretty. She had a funny look in her eyes. "That's what I like about
Earthmen," she said. "They're so strong. They're so virile...."
She took my hand. We concentrated on getting out of there.
* * * * *
When I saw Mrs. Xlptl again, she wasn't little Sally. She was a
shoulderless almost-human, penguin-like creature from somewhere. "So
strong, so virile ..." she said again. That look was in her new eyes.
It was a living room. I wished to hell Xlptl would come. I didn't
like that look. I knew what she wanted. I wasn't buying now. I'd had
enough for one day with almost scrubbing beautiful backs and watching
strippers perform and almost getting clobbered and then having Mrs.
Xlptl look at me that way, her eyes saying she wanted one final fling
on Earth, in the person of a private eye named Brody.
And she wasn't going to give up easily. She moved toward me, then
stopped and looked down at herself. "It wouldn't be much fun with
this--me--" She made a hopeless gesture.