Fatherhood by Thomas H. Cook Page B

it being a … I mean, if it wasn’t … real.”
    Vinnie shook his head. “Weiss set it up,” he said. “Not Mr. Melinas.”
    â€œOh, Salmon Weiss,” I said. “So it was Weiss that put together the fight you had with Douggie?”
    Vinnie nodded.
    I pretended that the infamous stage play that had resulted from Weiss’s deal had been little more than a tactical error on Vinnie’s part and not the, shall we say, flawed thespian performance that had ended his career.
    â€œWell, I sure hope Weiss made you a good offer for that fight, because no way could it have helped you in the rankings.” I laughed. “Jesus, you could have duked it out with Sister Evangeline from Our Lady of the Lepers and come up more.”
    No smile broke the melancholy mask of Irish Vinnie Teague.
    I shook my head at the mystery of things. “And a fix to boot,” I added softly.
    Vinnie’s gaze cut over to me. “It wasn’t no fix,” he said. His eyes narrowed menacingly. “I didn’t take no dive for Douggie Burns.”
    I saw it all again in the sudden flash of light, Douggie’s glove float through the air, lightly graze the side of Vinnie’s face, then glide away as the Shameful Shamrock crumpled to the mat. If that had not been a dive, then there’d never been one in the history of the ring.
    But what can you say to a man who lies to your face, claims he lost the money or that it wasn’t really sex?
    I shrugged. “Hey, look, it was a long time ago, right?”
    Vinnie’s red-rimmed eyes peered at me intently. “I was never supposed to take a dive,” he said.
    â€œYou weren’t supposed to take a dive?” I asked, playing along now, hoping that the bus would get moving, ready to get off, be done with Vinnie Teague. “You weren’t supposed to drop for Douggie Burns?”
    Vinnie shook his head. “No. I was supposed to win that fight. It wasn’t no fix.”
    â€œNot a fix?” I asked. “What was it then?”
    He looked at me knowingly. “Weiss said I had to make Douggie Burns go down.”
    â€œYou had to make Douggie go down?”
    â€œTeach him a lesson. Him and the others.”
    â€œOthers?”
    â€œThe ones Weiss managed,” Vinnie said. “His other fighters. He wanted to teach them a lesson so they’d …”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œStay in line. Do what he told them.”
    â€œAnd you were supposed to administer that lesson by way of Douggie Burns?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œWhat’d Weiss have against Douggie?”
    â€œHe had plenty,” Vinnie said. “’Cause Douggie wouldn’t do it. He was a stand-up guy, and he wouldn’t do it.”
    â€œWouldn’t do what?”
    â€œDrop for Chester Link,” Vinnie answered. “Douggie was supposed to go down in five. But he wouldn’t do it. So Weiss came up with this match. Between me and Douggie. Said I had to teach Douggie a lesson. Said if I didn’t …” He glanced down at his hands. “… I wouldn’t fight no more.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I wasn’t supposed to lose that fight with Douggie. I was supposed to win it. Win it good. Make Douggie go down hard.” He hesitated a moment, every dark thing in him darkening a shade. “Permanent.”
    I felt a chill. “Permanent,” I repeated.
    â€œSo Weiss’s fighters could see what would happen to them if he told them to take a dive and they didn’t.”
    â€œSo it wasn’t a fix,” I said, getting it now. “That fight between you and Douggie. It was never a fix.”
    Vinnie shook his head.
    The last words dropped from my mouth like a bloody mouthpiece. “It was a hit.”
    Vinnie nodded softly. “I couldn’t do it, though,” he said. “You don’t kill a guy for doing the right thing.”
    I saw Douggie