Ed Lacy - The Big Fix
“He was trying to reach you to give you a fast sales talk, the cover-up,” Walt told him. “We would have got here sooner but the plane connections were bad and... Look, this is Detective Chandler of the local force, and this is Frank Flatts, an investigator for the insurance company. Frank, shouldn't...?”
A loud voice was arguing with the cop outside the dressing room door and then the promoter came busting in. “Cork! The second your arm is okay, you got yourself a main go here, and as many as you keep winning! This was the most sensational fight I've ever had and with all the publicity!”
“Take it easy, mister,” Walt said coldly—it had taken him time to be convinced the promoter hadn't been in on the deal. Walt turned to Flatts. “Frank, in view of everything I've told you, shouldn't there be a reward of some kind for Tommy? He saved your company a big bundle, by saving his own life.”
Flatts said, “That isn't up to me to decide. Something probably will be worked out. Mr. Cork, my company is grateful for your courage and...”
“I'm grateful for my courage, too,” Tommy cut in. “Listen, Mr.... insurance man, can your company do me a favor, a real reward—get me a job?”
“A... what?”
The promoter said, “Cork, I'll give you a build-up! Who knows how far you can go with me?”
Tommy waved his right hand at the matchmaker; a shut-up motion. “I'll tell you who knows—me! Thanks for the offer, but you're years too late. I never want to see a glove again. Insurance man, I'll take any kind of a job—guard, messenger, porter, elevator operator. I know I look like a... thug... but, that's the reward I want, a steady job. How about it?”
Walt said softly, “Don't pass up any cash, along with the job. After all, the policy is still in force and now there's no reason to cancel it. You're a professional boxer and unless the company gives you some other means of income, you'll have to return to the ring and...”
“And I'll give him all the bouts he wants,” the promoter said.
Flatts smiled at Walt. “You a lawyer along with being a dick, Steiner? You don't have to sell me, I'll do my best. But it isn't up to me. I think some sort of small cash reward can be worked up. But I can safely say my company will certainly give you a job—that's the least they can do.”
Tommy signed. “Man, wait 'til I tell May. My Irish luck is still hitting on all cylinders. Insurance man, for me a job isn't the least. It's the most.”
The End
