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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a1efab8 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60024 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60024) diff --git a/old/60024-h.zip b/old/60024-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a82e27e..0000000 --- a/old/60024-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60024-h/60024-h.htm b/old/60024-h/60024-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 0db9f63..0000000 --- a/old/60024-h/60024-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2231 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Jingle in the Jungle, by Aldo Giunta. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Jingle in the Jungle, by Aldo Giunta - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Jingle in the Jungle - -Author: Aldo Giunta - -Release Date: July 31, 2019 [EBook #60024] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JINGLE IN THE JUNGLE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="359" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1>jingle in the jungle</h1> - -<h2>BY ALDO GIUNTA</h2> - -<p class="ph1"><i>When even the Fight Commission is in<br /> -on the plot, and everyone knows that the<br /> -"fix" is on, when no one will help him,<br /> -what can a man do—except help himself?</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Worlds of If Science Fiction, June 1957.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Charlie Jingle walked into the long room with the long table and long -Commissioners' faces in it. He went to a chair at the head of the -table, and sat down, a small man in loose, seedy clothing looking -rather lost in a high-backed chair with a regal crest carved in the -wood.</p> - -<p>"You," asked one of the Commissioners, "are Charles Jingle?"</p> - -<p>Charlie nodded his head, a small nod from a small man sitting in a big -man's chair.</p> - -<p>"You are aware of course ..." began the Commissioner, but Charlie -Jingle waved his fingers and cut him off.</p> - -<p>"Sure, sure, let's can the bunko and get down to cases."</p> - -<p>"You have been summoned here ..." began the same Commissioner, and -Charlie Jingle waved his fingers again.</p> - -<p>"But I ain't gonna anyway," said Charlie Jingle. The Commissioners -stirred, cleared their throats, slid their bottoms with unease on their -chairs.</p> - -<p>"You understand," said the Commissioner, "that your license may be -revoked if you insist on being uncooperative?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," said Charlie Jingle. "I understand."</p> - -<p>A bulky man, who had been standing at a window with his back to the -seated members of the Commission while they talked with Charlie, turned -to face them. A man with a heavy, grey face that had no humor in it. -Charlie Jingle watched him slowly cross to the table and recognized him -as Commissioner Jergen, head of the Fight Commission.</p> - -<p>"Jingle," said the man in a dry voice, "I'm going to make an example -of you if you don't come across. I'm going to smear your name from -coast to coast. I'm going to blackball you so hard you won't get a job -anyplace, at anything! Get the message?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle got up from his chair and walked to the door. "This the -way out?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Hold on!" roared Commissioner Jergen, and Charlie Jingle stopped with -his hand on the knob, looking back with polite inquisitiveness at him.</p> - -<p>"You goddam people think you can pull quick deals on the Public and on -the Fight Commission. I'm here to prove you can't!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle laughed.</p> - -<p>"You're here to make a big noise, and scare all the scrawny citizens -into a confession, Jergen. Don't kid me!"</p> - -<p>"I suppose you've got too many contacts to be frightened?"</p> - -<p>"Contacts? No, I don't have a single damn contact. All I got is my two -hands, and you already told me I ain't gonna be able to make a livin' -with them, so why should I stick around here anymore?"</p> - -<p>Commissioner Jergen pulled a chair forward.</p> - -<p>"Siddown, Charlie. Let's talk like reasonable men," he said. Charlie -Jingle searched his face for a lie or a trick. Finding none, he went -back to the table and sat down.</p> - -<p>The Commissioner waited a moment, and then said earnestly:</p> - -<p>"Listen, Jingle. Seventy years ago this country outlawed -prize-fighting. It was barbarous, they said. Men shouldn't fight men. -Men shouldn't capitalize on other men as if they were animals. Okay. -They changed it. Now we got the Pug-Factories. But we also have the -same thing that went on before. We have the grifters and the shysters -and the fixers operating at full tilt all over the place. There's a few -honest guys in the game. I hear you're one of them. All we want is to -nail the crooks! We want to bust the Fix Syndicate wide open, get me? -Now, if you love the game the way I hear you do—not for the money, but -for the smell and the excitement—why won't you help us bust them wide?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle shook his head.</p> - -<p>"You got it wrong, Jergen. I know about the fixers. But I never -consorted with them. If I did, I could've retired a rich man a long -time ago."</p> - -<p>"Then how about that Saturday night fiasco at the Golum Auditorium? You -call that a straight fight?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle shrugged his shoulders.</p> - -<p>"All I know is I sent my boy in there. He's a Tank, okay. He's up -against the newest fighting machine invented. Okay. He drops him. -I'm as much surprised as you. All the odds read against me. I got a -rebuilt Tank in the ring. But he flattens one of the flashiest pugs -in the business. Sure, I admit, it looks suspicious. Fifteen minutes -after the upset, one of the biggest fixers in the game walks into my -boy's dressing-room ... But don't forget, I'm the best trainer in the -business. I take a chunk of worn out fighting machine and make it over -into something that buys me bread and coffee. So maybe I create a -freak. How do I know? Maybe I twisted a wire wrong, and my Tank's the -toughest thing punching."</p> - -<p>"You're trying to tell me that fight was on the level, is that it?"</p> - -<p>"So far as I'm concerned, it's level. So far as you're concerned...." -Charlie Jingle shrugged.</p> - -<p>"How is it you happened to have your boy handy when the other fighter -couldn't go on?" asked the Commissioner.</p> - -<p>"I got my stable a block away from the arena. When I heard about Kid -Congo getting smashed up in an auto accident, I called the arena. -Before the fight, I had twelve cents in my pocket, a dime of which -I used to call the arena. They told me 'Sure, bring him down quick, -Charlie'. So there I was...."</p> - -<p>"So they put your Tank in against the Contender. Just like that?"</p> - -<p>Jingle snapped his fingers.</p> - -<p>"Like that."</p> - -<p>"And Harry Belok had nothing to do with the upset?"</p> - -<p>"Ask Harry Belok."</p> - -<p>"Why did he come to see you when the fight was over?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle laughed.</p> - -<p>"He come to pay me off...."</p> - -<p>The Commissioner looked at a sheet of paper on the table in front of -him.</p> - -<p>"Nineteen thousand seven hundred and thirty two dollars worth of -pay-off?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle nodded.</p> - -<p>"And thirteen cents. You got the thirteen cents down?"</p> - -<p>"I've got the thirteen cents down. But how come he pays off so much -money to somebody's completely broke, Charlie-boy?"</p> - -<p>"Easy," said Charlie Jingle. "The Tank's end of the purse is four -hundred bucks, win or lose. Before the fight, I bet the Tank's end -against Harry, at house odds. You figure it up, and see if it don't -figure out to the penny."</p> - -<p>Charlie watched one of the Commissioners scribble quick numbers on a -piece of blank paper. In a moment the man looked up, and handed the -sheet across to Commissioner Jergen. Jergen looked at it quickly and -grunted.</p> - -<p>"Okay?" asked Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"Okay," growled Jergen.</p> - -<p>"When we fight the Champ, I'll send a couple tickets around free. See -ya'...." Charlie Jingle went out.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Charlie Jingle came out of the underground tubes and walked down -a block of chipped brick and colored plastic buildings, past -picket fences and an empty street. He looked at the street, the -pavement—dark, quiet, uncluttered by garbage, devoid of kids. On the -roofs of the buildings was a jungle of neatly bent, squarely twisted, -staunchly mounted aerials. The kids were under them, behind the picket -fences, watching five-foot-square screens that flashed stories and news -and the life histories of ring heroes like himself. A nice, clean-cut, -handsome actor would act the part of Charlie Jingle, his fights, loves -and disappointments, all ending up in one glorious, stirring message. -Charlie Jingle made it. From rags to riches in a single swipe.... So -can <i>you</i>.</p> - -<p>He stopped in front of Hannigan's Gym, looked up and down the street, -and cautiously spat into the gutter. Then he went past the swinging -doors into the building's interior.</p> - -<p>Inside the door, he breathed deep the stale smell of oil and leather -that permeated the atmosphere. Opening his eyes, he looked into the -flat, grinning face of Emil McPhay. McPhay had been chalking schedules -on a blackboard when he spotted the rapt expression of Charlie Jingle's -face.</p> - -<p>"As I live and panhandle!" exclaimed McPhay, his eyes rolling in their -fat sockets.</p> - -<p>"Anybody to see me, Emil?"</p> - -<p>"Well you know as well as me somebody is, Charlie. The lovin' -picture-makin' people 're here. Got a whole staff wit 'em." He leaned -close, rolling his eyes shyly. "You gonna give 'em the story of yer -bloody life, Charlie?"</p> - -<p>Charlie strode toward his shop at the back of the gym.</p> - -<p>"Not unless they make me lead man. And <i>you</i> the leading lady!"</p> - -<p>He went past a row of smoked-glass doors to the last one with C. -JINGLE, TRAINER printed on it, opened it, and went in. As Emil McPhay -had said, the room was mobbed with smoking, suntanned Californians. An -elegant-looking man rushed forward and jerked his hand up and down.</p> - -<p>"Glad ... so glad.... Pictures.... Hope.... Contract.... Of course. -Your boy.... Mister Jingle.... Famous...."</p> - -<p>Nobody had called Charlie Jingle mister for ten years. In one night, -he'd graduated from flop to mister. He rubbed his fingers together, -feeling the sweat on them. His eyes took in the walls painted their -flat, drying green, the racks of tools on them, the pictures of -great fighting machines all over them, the electrical diagrams, the -Reflex-Analyses Patterns mapped out next to each one. Then he lowered -his eyes to take in the grinning, smooth-faced men around him, doing -nervous things with their faces and hands. He looked at the man in -front of him, his mouth flapping open and closed, contorting this way -and that, and suddenly Charlie shut his eyes tight, drew in a blast of -air, screwed his mouth open, and yelled "Shaddap!" good and loud.</p> - -<p>There was stunned silence. Charlie looked around at them, at their -poised, waiting faces.</p> - -<p>"Scram!" he yelled, and jerked his finger to the door.</p> - -<p>Slowly, the suntanned Californians drifted out of the room, watching -him closely lest he maul them or loose another violation of the success -story at them. One man broke the spell.</p> - -<p>"Of course, Mister Jingle, one's life history is certainly something -to be treasured. Not to be treated lightly. But I assure you we—my -company, that is—we will make certain that we adhere to the facts, in -our fashion. There will be no unnec—"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle grabbed the man's jacket-front with his left hand, his -trouser-seat with the other, and, taking advantage of the man's total -unpreparedness, threw him bodily out of the room, in the same motion -kicking the door shut so hard, the glass cracked and a piece jumped out -of the upper left hand corner.</p> - -<p>Then Charlie Jingle stormed into his shop, where Tanker Bell awaited -him.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When Tanker saw Charlie come into the room fuming mad, he shut off the -reflex-machine and turned to watch him. Charlie Jingle paced back and -forth in the room, in the small space between work-bench and wall. -Suddenly he stopped, spun savagely to face Tanker. "Well? What the hell -you lookin' at?"</p> - -<p>Tanker Bell grinned. "You, Charlie. I like to watch you when you're -mad."</p> - -<p>"You do, eh?"</p> - -<p>Tanker watched the rage build up to a good healthy flush on Charlie's -skin.</p> - -<p>"Jeez," Tanker jibed, "you look as red as those beets they sell over in -the Old-Methods Market."</p> - -<p>"Listen you! Just because you dropped that flashy character last night. -Don't let it go to your head! You get me sore, by God, I'll have you -piled up in the yard along with yesterday's rusty pugs!"</p> - -<p>Tanker laughed.</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle glared at the Tanker a moment, drew a deep breath, -snorted it out, and paced twice. Then he faced the Tanker again.</p> - -<p>"Sorry, kid. They got me goin' today. First the fight commission. Then -these soap-peddlers from Hollywood. Sorry I blew off."</p> - -<p>"How'd it go with the Commission?"</p> - -<p>"Okay, okay. Jergen knows about me. He's just hungry for a bust, you -know? Wants to nail the Fixers."</p> - -<p>The Tanker took a step toward Charlie.</p> - -<p>"The Champ call?" he asked, voice trembling. Charlie shook his head in -the negative.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you sucker him, Charlie? Force his hand!"</p> - -<p>"You want a bout with the Champ?"</p> - -<p>"Sure! Don't you?"</p> - -<p>Charlie sat down on the work-bench and pulled the Tanker down next to -him.</p> - -<p>"Listen, Tank. Last night was a freak, you understand? Something -happened last night, I don't know what. But you ain't the boy to fight -the Champ—My God, boy, you're older than me!"</p> - -<p>Tanker Bell looked at Charlie, his face puckering like a child's.</p> - -<p>"No, now wait. Lemme make it clear, Tank," said Charlie Jingle softly. -"You'n me been together fourteen years. We've fought in some pretty -ancient Tank-towns. We've fought young and old alike, and you know as -well as me that it was always an even toss whether or not you would get -knocked cold. We're mediocrities, Kid. When I bought you, you'd already -seen your best days. Am I right?" Tanker Bell nodded, his head down on -his chest.</p> - -<p>"Look, Tanker, I ain't tryin' to hurt you. I just don't wanna see you -get killed!"</p> - -<p>"Well who said anything about gettin' killed, for God's sake!" bawled -the Tanker.</p> - -<p>"Look at it this way. You've been knocked to pieces a dozen times, and -I've gone to work and put you back together a dozen times. I've twisted -your wires, re-shaped your reflex plan, doubled your flexibility and -your punch-power, co-ordinated and re-co-ordinated you and re-analyzed -your nervous-pattern until I've exhausted every possible combination. -You're a fighting machine, and a good one, kid. But machines grow old. -They get outdated, like me. I'm a Mechanical Engineer. Okay! There's -lots of new stuff I don't know that these college kids know. What -happens to them? They go to work for Pugilists Inc., inventing new -machines with new systems. They got systems that I never dreamed of. Do -you know that?"</p> - -<p>"Well what's that got to do with me fightin' the Champ, for God's sake?"</p> - -<p>"Everything! They put machines in the ring now that are worth Five -Hundred Thousand dollars! They're almost indestructible!"</p> - -<p>"How come that punk I fought last night wasn't so indestructible, then? -How come about that, Charlie?"</p> - -<p>"I dunno, I dunno. Somethin' musta gone wrong. Maybe he shorted out."</p> - -<p>"Or <i>maybe</i> for once you hit the <i>right</i> combination, how about that, -Charlie? Maybe I'm real ripe, now, after all these years of tankin' -around!"</p> - -<p>"But Tanker! Use your head! The Champ's brand new, spankin' young. He's -the newest-styled fighting machine in existence. What chance you think -we stand against that?"</p> - -<p>"Listen. I fought that bum last night with ease, you know that? There I -was, just glidin' around him, punchin' him at will—"</p> - -<p>"Maybe it was an accident! Maybe somethin' went wrong with his system -last night...."</p> - -<p>"And maybe I dropped him on the square, too...."</p> - -<p>"OKAY!" shouted Charlie Jingle in desperation. "Maybe you did. And -maybe, if you go in against the Champ, maybe he'll kill you! Maybe -he'll smash you so hard I won't be able to put you together again. You -wanna take that chance? Or you wanna settle down nice and quiet in some -Pug factory, supervisin' young fighters?"</p> - -<p>"Naw!" yelled the Tanker. "I wanna take that chance! I want you to get -me a fight with the Champ!"</p> - -<p>"Are you dumb, or what? Don't you know they never come back?"</p> - -<p>"All I know is this," began the Tanker. "Fourteen years we bin -together. Fourteen years you stuck it out and starved it out, workin' -with scraps from a junk-heap, with stumble-bums like me who've seen -their day. There was times when you went hungry because the junk-heap -needed oil, or wiring, or a pattern-analysis, or parts. Now you got -something! Now you can be on top! You know damn well you don't want -any part of that Hollywood fiasco. You got a crack at <i>big</i> money. You -gonna let it go by-the-by because you're afraid a pile of wires might -get killed? Naw! We fight, and that's the way it stacks!"</p> - -<p>"You mean it, don't you, Tanker?"</p> - -<p>The Tanker said nothing.</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle slowly rose, tired in his bones, tired in his joints. -"Okay. I'll arrange it. But don't blame me if—"</p> - -<p>"I won't," said Tanker Bell tightly, and Charlie went out. In the hall, -the Hollywood people were still waiting for him. Charlie shouldered -past them with a half-spring to his step.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He sat in the waiting-room of the offices of Pugilists, Inc., on a -plush powder-blue lounge chair chewing gum languidly. From time to time -he shot a glance at the secretary sitting inside a totally enclosed -desk, operating a Mento-Writer Machine, the electrical contact-buttons -fixed to her temples. He watched in sleepy fascination as, every so -often, she leaned over and pushed the button marked <i>corrector</i>, and -there would follow an electrical hiss as the tape on the machine slid -back, eliminating wrongly-formed thoughts.</p> - -<p>Charlie knew that somewhere in the room there was machinery observing -him, measuring his pulse, emotional balance, probable intelligence, -habits, and massing and digesting the general information so that -Pugilists, Inc., would know what kind of man they were dealing with, -and what approach would be best.</p> - -<p>Somewhere in this building another machine was probably purring, -feeding information from memory-banks, relating all known facts and -incidents regarding Charlie Jingle, his birth, environment, social -and political connections, moral status, business ethics, and bank -account.... Not that Charlie Jingle was so important to them, this he -knew. But Pugilists, Inc., kept records and histories of every and any -individual having even the remotest connection with the fight game.</p> - -<p>As Charlie Jingle sat there a smile twitched across his face. Let them -figure <i>that</i> out, he thought, and then sank into a reverie. Over in -the other part of the room, across the prairie of rug, the secretary -Mento wrote efficiently, the machine going ZZZ CLK SSHHHH CLK CLK ZZZZ, -hypnotic in it's well-oiled quietness.</p> - -<p>"Jingle?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle looked across the room to the secretary. "What?" he -asked.</p> - -<p>"Would you go in please, Mister Jingle?"</p> - -<p>Charlie followed the direction of the girl's gesture to a panel in -the wall. He got up and started to cross suspiciously toward it. As -he slowed down, nearing it, he looked back at her, and she smiled and -encouraged him on sympathetically toward the doorless wall. Just as -Charlie thought <i>It'd be funny if I break my nose on that goddam -wall</i> ... the panel swung in quietly.</p> - -<p>Charlie walked through it into a room. In it there was another veldt of -rug, at the far end of which was a bar, a lounge chair, a tremendous -sofa, and a low, knee-high table. The walls were decorated with modern -paintings in a colorful, tasteful, executive way. Standing near the -knee-high table were three men, one distinguished looking, the other -two looking as if they'd stepped out of a Young Collegiate Magazine ad.</p> - -<p>The elegant one crossed to Charlie, his face a big, pleasant, -well-groomed smile, hand extended.</p> - -<p>"Allow me, Mister Jingle. I'm Kort Gassel. These two gentlemen are -Jerome Rupp and Eugene White. Would you like a drink, Mister Jingle?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle shook their hands and sat down, crossing his legs -comfortably.</p> - -<p>"You got gin, Mister ahhh—"</p> - -<p>"Gassel," said Kort Gassel, and crossed the three feet to the bar. -"Soda?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Straight," said Charlie Jingle, and watched the other two sit down -slowly as Gassel came back with his drink.</p> - -<p>"That's quite a drink. I know few men who enjoy straight gin, Mister -Jingle. It always comes as a surprise when I—"</p> - -<p>"You gonna give us the fight, Mister Gassel?" interrupted Charlie.</p> - -<p>"The fight? You mean with Iron-Man Pugg?"</p> - -<p>"That's right, with Iron-Man Pugg."</p> - -<p>"Well Mister Jingle. Since you put the matter so straightforwardly. -Pugilists Incorporated only owns a small block of stock in Iron-Man -Pugg, as you know. Mister Rupp and Mister White here represent the -other interests involved. As you must know, Pugilists Incorporated is a -large-scale business, designed to function on a large-scale basis. Now, -we, the stockholders in Iron-Man Pugg, have thought this thing out. -We've come to the conclusion that it would rather—well, embarrass the -Company to agree to such a match as you propose."</p> - -<p>"So you won't fight?"</p> - -<p>"No, no, Mister Jingle, don't jump to hasty conclusions. I'm trying -to explain something to you. It's not simply a matter of matching -your—ah—boy against ours. But we <i>are</i> concerned with the overall -effect of such a bout. Frankly, our reputation as a manufacturing -concern is more important to us than the outcome of any single bout—"</p> - -<p>"Whadda you say you get to the point?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Tanker Bell, as we understand it, has a fighting history -of forty-seven years. Now, I'm afraid we'd be made a laughing-stock if -Tanker Bell were set into motion against one of our products."</p> - -<p>"Especially if he won, is that it?"</p> - -<p>"Particularly then. But we rest secure in the fact that that outcome is -highly improbable, not to state impossible."</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle sipped his gin, looking from one face to the other.</p> - -<p>"So?" he asked, anticipating what was about to come.</p> - -<p>"Suppose, Mister Jingle, you were offered a price for Tanker Bell, -price far in excess of his actual worth. A price big enough to even -make it possible for you to perhaps buy a second-rate fighter in good -second-class condition."</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle closed his eyes and tapped his foot with horny, -grease-monkey fingers. In a moment he opened them and slowly took in -the three representatives of the champ, Iron-Man Pugg.</p> - -<p>"Lemme get this straight. You want me to sell Tanker for much more than -he's worth because you'd be humiliated at having to put one of your -products in the same ring with him?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly," said Kort Gassel.</p> - -<p>"But you're sure your boy'd whip him in the ring?"</p> - -<p>"Well obviously we all know the knockout victory he scored over the -Contender was an accident."</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle nodded.</p> - -<p>"<i>We</i> all know it. But there's one guy in the world who don't. You know -who? Tanker Bell himself."</p> - -<p>Kort Gassel laughed.</p> - -<p>"A robot, Mister Jingle? Surely you must be—"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Can't do it, boys. I gotta consider the Tanker. You see, Mister -Gassel, Tanker thinks he could take your boy. And not only does he -wanna take him, but he won't take no for an answer!"</p> - -<p>"Listen, Jingle, is this some kind of joke? What are you holding out -for? A price? When I said I'd make it worth your—"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle shook his head, stubbornly and firmly.</p> - -<p>"No price, Gassel. Just an agreement-contract."</p> - -<p>"Listen, you fool, don't you realize what's at stake here? We're big -business! We can't afford to play around with lucky independents like -you!"</p> - -<p>"Can't take any chances, huh?"</p> - -<p>"Exactly that! Can't, and won't!"</p> - -<p>"Wanna bet?"</p> - -<p>"If you try to—"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle got up from his seat.</p> - -<p>"Gassel ... I've been in this racket so long I've got oil in my veins -instead of blood, and a Reflex-Pattern Analysis for a brain. I know -every angle there is to know. If I want a fight, I'll get one. So -don't go try putting your big business pressure on me. I'm too old for -college-boy antics."</p> - -<p>Kort Gassel stared at him for a long, hostile moment. Then his face -broke into a smile.</p> - -<p>"My friend, do you know what you're bucking? These are the offices of -Pugilists Incorporated you're in. Don't you realize what that means?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," said Charlie Jingle. "It means that if Tanker Bell whips -Iron-Man Pugg, Charlie Jingle will one day have as big a factory and as -many orders for Fighting-Machines as Pug, Inc...."</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle crossed the desert of rug toward the exit-panel.</p> - -<p>"See you at Ring-side, Kids." And he went out.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mischa Hannigan, owner and proprietor of Hannigan's Jungle, watched -from his tiered office as Hammerhead Johnny put Tanker Bell through his -paces in the ring. His eyes travelled from the laboring fighters in the -ring to the crowd of spectators standing and sitting around, watching -the Tank work. He was smooth and fast, without a kink, stabbing light -quick jabs and those murderous body-rights that had stopped the -Contender, breaking, the press had said after the fight, the metal -rib-cage inside the Contender's body. Mischa Hannigan was happy.</p> - -<p>After fifteen years of obscurity, his gym was fast-becoming popular -again. He had begun to charge admissions again to fans and promoters -who were eager to see the Tank at work. Once again during the afternoon -workouts there was the hum and roar of spectators, the slap-slur of -springing feet on the canvas followed by the booming of fists echoing -from rib-cage and jaw-bone structure. There was the smell of money in -his gym now, along with the smells of leather and oil.</p> - -<p>The door behind him opened and Hannigan turned to Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"'Lo, Charlie."</p> - -<p>"'Lo, Mish.... How's he look?"</p> - -<p>"Terrific! If I didn't know him for twenty years, I'd swear he was -brand, spankin' new!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle grunted quietly and walked to the plate-glass window. He -looked down at them there in the white-roped square, watched the Tanker -attack with a quick-reflex attack, block a flurry of counter-blows, -weave under a right-hand smash to the head, and rock Hammerhead -Johnny to the ropes with a combination of shoulder-straight jabs to -the stomach and a cross-hand right to the chest. A hum of approval and -amazement went up from the spectators.</p> - -<p>"Charlie!" shrieked Mischa Hannigan. "Charlie, did you see that? And -that Hammerhead Johnny is supposed to be the most stable Pug in the -business. They say he's got magnets in his feet, can't nobody break the -contact of—"</p> - -<p>"Calm down, calm down, it's only practice."</p> - -<p>"Practice he calls it! If Hammerhead could bust up the Tank, don't you -think he would?"</p> - -<p>"Hammerhead's an old junkpot, Mich, and you know it!"</p> - -<p>"Old he may be, Charlie, but junkpot he's not. Crafty as a damn -president of Pugs, Inc., he is, and everybody in the business knows it. -He ranks with the best sparrin' partners in the world, he does."</p> - -<p>In the ring below something happened that drew a roar of uncontrollable -excitement from the crowd. It was over in a flash and nobody saw quite -how it happened. Hammerhead Johnny's body described a rigid, dark arc -in the air, hovered suspended a second in a completely horizontal -position, and then crashed with a hollow boom to the deck. The -Hammerhead did not move.</p> - -<p>"BEGREE!" howled the delighted Mischa Hannigan. "BEGREE, he's knocked -him cold!" He began to dance around the room in a jig that shook his -frame with every jolt and pirouette. Charlie Jingle laughed.</p> - -<p>"I'll be dammed! The Tank's really got it! He really has got it!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, we're rich, we're rich, we're rich!" chanted the hysterical -Hannigan, dancing his macabre dance of the human puff-ball. There was -a knock at the door and Hannigan, still chanting, danced to the door -and opened it. The relaxed puffy flesh drew tight, his back stiffened. -Charlie Jingle peered around his girth to see who stood there.</p> - -<p>Harry Belok, in a black Homburg and a blue pin-stripe suit, stepped -smiling into the room, twirling an ebony cane. He doffed his hat, -bowing slightly. Behind him a small man slid in next to the wall, his -whole body screwed up tightly into his neck. Hannigan, with a pale, -sickly smile, shut the door.</p> - -<p>"If it ain't Harry Belok! Hello, Harry."</p> - -<p>Harry Belok, smiling, looked straight at Charlie Jingle. "Whadayasay, -Hannigan! How's things, Charlie? Long time no see, hah?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle, with a tightness in his throat, mirrored the sick -expression of Mischa Hannigan. He smiled a smile so forced his flesh -stretched like a rubber mask out of control.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Harry. What can I do for you?"</p> - -<p>"'S this way, Charlie-mo. I just seen your boy work out. I just seen -him club the Hammerhead to the deck with the weirdest combination I -ever seen. It's somethin' new, he's got. Somethin' original! Know what -I mean?" Harry Belok stopped pacing, stopped twirling, to look at -Charlie Jingle. Charlie Jingle waited.</p> - -<p>"Well—I hear around the grapevine that Pugs, Inc., don't relish -the thought of givin' your boy a crack at Iron-Man. Is that true, -Charlie-mo?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle shrugged.</p> - -<p>"It don't mean a thing, Harry. You know that as well as anybody."</p> - -<p>"Yeah, Charlie-mo. But you know as well as anybody that the Fight -Commission has got a rules book as thick as this room. If Pugs, Inc., -really wants to, they'll find some kinda statute that disqualifies your -boy for the championship. Now, you don't want <i>that</i> to happen, do you?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle began to feel the heat flushing up behind his eyeballs. -"What's the pitch, Harry?"</p> - -<p>"I think maybe what you ought to do, Charlie-mo, is lemme buy a chunk -out of your boy. Then I guarantee you get the match."</p> - -<p>"What makes you think I don't get the match anyway, Harry?"</p> - -<p>Harry Belok turned, pointing his stick through the glass to the gym.</p> - -<p>"Look down there. You see any reporters there? You see any cameras -shootin'?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle did not move, keeping his eyes unblinking on Belok.</p> - -<p>"Okay. There's no reporters. No press build-up. Pugs, Inc., has put the -freeze on. So? What's the point?"</p> - -<p>"The point," said Harry Belok, tapping Charlie Jingle's chest with the -white-tipped stick, "the point, is that you don't get no match from -Iron-Man unless you play ball with me!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle squinted at him through a cloud of brown-blue smoke. -"Can't do it, Harry-mo," he said quietly.</p> - -<p>"You serious?"</p> - -<p>"Dead serious," said Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"You get too serious, that's the way you liable to wind up," said Harry -Belok through his teeth. He turned and stomped toward the door and went -out. The little man against the wall slid out after him.</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle walked nonchalantly to the door, hooked his foot behind -it, and kicked it shut with a loud slam. Mischa Hannigan took a -handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his brow.</p> - -<p>"You've gone crazy, Charlie. You've gone stark ravin' mad!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle whirled.</p> - -<p>"All these years, Mish, I starved and sweated in tank-joints. All these -years I broke my back, and nobody lifted a finger except a choice one -or two. Now I've got a crack at somethin' good and everybody wants in. -Well I don't want them in! I want them to stay clear, and lemme go my -own way! Is that crazy?"</p> - -<p>"But Charlie," moaned Mischa Hannigan. "You can't go laughin' at the -Fixer like that! Don't you have enough worries without gettin' killed?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle looked at him a blank moment and then laughed. He -turned, looking toward the ring below. The Tanker was on the Gym -floor, looking up. He waved. Charlie turned to Hannigan.</p> - -<p>"Can you get me the Jawbreaker to spar with Tanker, Mish?"</p> - -<p>Hannigan sank slowly into his leather chair behind the beat-up, rusting -metal desk. He rubbed a patch of rust with his thumb.</p> - -<p>"Sure. Sure I can get the Jawbreaker. Can you get the match?"</p> - -<p>"You just watch my dust," said Charlie, and went out.</p> - -<p>Mischa Hannigan crinkled his nose. He began to feel his asthma coming -on.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Are you crazy, Jingle?" roared the apoplectic Commissioner Jergen. "I -can't get myself wrapped up in ring politics! I'm a fight commissioner, -not a goddam promoter!"</p> - -<p>Charlie took a few steps toward the Commissioner, leveling a finger at -him in indictment.</p> - -<p>"Now you lemme tell you somethin'. You run the fight game, but the only -thing you're interested in is your own goddam reputation. The only time -you ever get up off your fat keister is when somebody publicly pulls a -quick deal that looks phony. Then you roar up from the saddle and start -screaming 'foul'—<i>only</i> because it makes you look bad if you don't!"</p> - -<p>"I can have you cited for contempt—"</p> - -<p>"I don't give one damn in hell what you can have me cited for! I -thought you were one square guy. But all you are is a bloody politician -like all the others! You're here to make sure the fight racket gets a -fair-deal. Well I'm getting the old freeze-away, and you still sit on -your keister and don't do a damned thing!"</p> - -<p>"You damn midget!" croaked the Commissioner, and Charlie Jingle -whirled, fists cocked, his face working up a nice purple color. "What'd -you call me, Fatso?"</p> - -<p>"I called you a damn midget, and if you don't like it, I dare you take -a poke at me!" said the Commissioner, and coming around his desk he -thrust his jaw out toward Charlie Jingle's cocked fists.</p> - -<p>Jingle drew his fist back and stopped. Slowly he dropped the cocked -hand by his side.</p> - -<p>"Oh, no! Oh, no you don't! You'd just love me to do it, wouldn't you? -A half-hour later I'd lose my license for conduct unbecoming a fight -trainer."</p> - -<p>The Commissioner straightened up slowly, glaring out from under thick -grey eyebrows at Charlie Jingle's face.</p> - -<p>"You think I'd pull <i>that</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Goddam right you'd pull it! For all I know, you may even be working -for Pugs, Inc."</p> - -<p>Fight Commissioner Jergen rocked back on his heels as if he had just -taken a blow between the eyes. He sank slowly into his chair, staring -in stillborn amazement at Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute, Charlie. You mean to say—Listen, boy, what's happening -to you? You know better than to say something like that to me!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle suddenly felt a hollowness in his stomach.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry, Jergen. I don't know what's the matter with me. This -thing's got me sore. They got me goin', and there's nothin' I can do -about it. I called the press. I told them that Pugs, Inc. and Tanker -Bell had come to an agreement. I even quoted a fight date. I look in -the papers the next day. Nothing! They got me sewed up tight. I come -here as a last resort.... I'm sorry I shot off my mouth!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle turned and started out.</p> - -<p>"Now wait a minute, Charlie...." Charlie Jingle turned. "You see, I -know all about these kinds of deals in the game. Have known about them -for years. But they keep me shut out because I can't prove anything. -If you go to court as a witness, Pugs, Inc. will have fifteen other -witnesses. They'll even have a taped recording of your conversation -with them, which they juggle and splice to fit their purposes. You'll -hear things coming off a tape which you damn well know you didn't say -or mean. But you'll have to admit it's your voice; you were there, the -other guys in the room were there—and they got you nailed. See what I -mean? They're big business. They got it sewed."</p> - -<p>"You mean there's nothing to do?"</p> - -<p>"I mean there are ways. All you've got to do is sneak yourself into the -public eye. Once that happens, the public asks questions. What happened -to Tanker Bell? Why isn't he fighting the Champ? Know what I mean?"</p> - -<p>"Don't you think they're askin' questions now?"</p> - -<p>"Sure. But they ain't doin' it en masse. See?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," said Charlie Jingle softly. "Yeah. What I gotta do is hit Pugs, -Inc. where they ain't got control of the situation. Where they don't -have their stooges workin' to keep things quiet."</p> - -<p>"Now you've got it," said the Commissioner, grinning.</p> - -<p>"Okay. See you around," said Charlie, and started out.</p> - -<p>"Take care," warned the Commissioner. But by that time Charlie Jingle -was on his way.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At one o'clock of that afternoon, Charlie Jingle boarded a -coast-to-coast rocket. Fifty-five minutes later, at ten fifty-five -A.M. West Coast Time, Charlie Jingle set foot on the pavement of Los -Angeles' Municipal Rocket-Port, hopped a cab, and got out on the lot of -Galaxy Films. His business there took him two hours and twelve minutes, -by which time he hopped another cab, was born back to the Rocket-Port, -and bought a return ticket on the eastbound Rocket, scheduled for -takeoff at five P.M.</p> - -<p>Charlie found a few hours on his hands. He chose to divert himself -at the Jet-Car Races in Culver City. He dropped forty dollars on -the first two races, and had just bought another ticket when, as he -walked away from the betting window, he saw a familiar profile marking -possibilities on a racing sheet with a well-chewed pencil. He nudged up -to Rabbit Markey, and in a half-whisper, asked:</p> - -<p>"Got anything hot today, Jack?"</p> - -<p>Rabbit Markey looked up with an annoyed frown, blinked, and when -Charlie Jingle's face registered, laughed.</p> - -<p>"'Lo, Charlie? How's things out on the Coast?"</p> - -<p>"Things," said Charlie, shaking his hand, "are lousy. But they'll get -better real fast. How about you, Rabbit? Out of the fights for good?"</p> - -<p>Rabbit Markey sighed slow and long, nodding his head.</p> - -<p>"I dumped my whole stable, Charlie, and when I come out here, I figured -Jet-Car racing was a clean way to make a buck. So I bought me a Jet -outfit. But it's the same tie-up as the fights was."</p> - -<p>"I can imagine," said Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"No you can't, neither. For instance, you know who Jet-Cars -Incorporated happens to be an affiliate of?"</p> - -<p>"Wait! Don't tell me. Lemme guess." Charlie shut his eyes. "Pugs, Inc.?"</p> - -<p>"Bingo," said Rabbit Markey dispiritedly. "You know who makes the -drivers for the Jet-Cars?"</p> - -<p>"Wait! Don't tell me!... Pugs, Inc.?"</p> - -<p>"Bingo," said Rabbit Markey sadly, and Charlie laughed.</p> - -<p>"That's the way the bugle blows, eh, Rabbit?"</p> - -<p>"You know who's got the Commissioner of Jet-Car Races bought out?" went -on Rabbit Markey.</p> - -<p>"Wait! Don't tell—How do you know that, Rabbit?"</p> - -<p>"Whatsa difference. I know. For sure! I happened to find out. Just like -the old Fights Racket, eh, Charlie?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," said Charlie Jingle nervously. "Except that nobody's got Jergen -bought out."</p> - -<p>"Hunh?" exclaimed Rabbit Markey.</p> - -<p>"What I said—nobody's got—"</p> - -<p>"I heard ya, Charlie. I heard ya the first time. You mean you never -heard about Jergen?"</p> - -<p>"Heard? Heard what?"</p> - -<p>"Boyo boyo boy! Buddy, you are in the middle of the neatest fix in -history. You mean to say you don't know what's happening?"</p> - -<p>"Fix? What kinda fix, Rabbit?... Are you kidding? I can't even get my -boy a fight, and you're talking fix!"</p> - -<p>"Aw Boyy! Awww Boyyyy are you a dummy! Lissen! Whatta you doin' out -here onna Coast?"</p> - -<p>"Doin'? I'm tryin' to set it up so I can get Tanker a fight, that's -what I'm doin'!"</p> - -<p>"You worked out a deal with some film company, huh?"</p> - -<p>"That's right. Why?"</p> - -<p>Rabbit Markey shot a glance to the right of him and one to the left, -hunched his shoulders, pulled his trousers up, took Charlie by the -lapel, and drew him close to a post. The buzzer sounded outside to -announce that the race was within one minute of starting time.</p> - -<p>"Charlie, you're about to be had. Now you're playin' it the way you was -supposed to in the beginning. You was supposed to play ball with the -Hollywood boys to begin with. Now you done it. Now the fix is in!"</p> - -<p>"How the the hell can there be a goddam FIX?" screeched Charlie -Jingle. "Tanker's level. Are you kiddin'?"</p> - -<p>"Sure! Tanker's level! But how about the Contender? How about -Hammerhead Johnny? How about Steamroller Jones?"</p> - -<p>"You're crazy!" shouted Charlie Jingle. "It can't be! How the hell -would <i>you</i> know?"</p> - -<p>"You wanna know how I know? My daughter Marie—you remember her, she -was a kid when you seen her—she's a secretary to Mike Bretz, the East -Coast Assistant Vice of Pugs, Inc.... She's got the whole map out, -from the word go. Pugs, Inc. is puttin' things in your way so that -everybody thinks you got a real thing in the Tank. They're helpin' you -get a build-up, you see, as if they wanted to freeze you out. When you -finally break through the freeze-out one way or the other, they're -gonna have one hellofa drawing-card! Get it now, Charlie?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle walked away from Rabbit Markey, went some twenty paces, -kicked a dent in a refuse-chute, and walked back.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe it!" whispered Charlie Jingle hoarsely. "I don't -believe it!"</p> - -<p>The bugle blew outside. Rabbit Markey looked at Charlie, looked at his -ticket, and started toward the race-track.</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle caught his arm.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute, Rabbit."</p> - -<p>Rabbit Markey shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I already said enough to float me in blood, Charlie. Now lemme go and -watch the bloody no-good fixed races."</p> - -<p>"No, Rabbit. Tell me more. Tell me who else is swingin' this deal?"</p> - -<p>"Don't you know?"</p> - -<p>"Harry Belok?"</p> - -<p>Rabbit Markey nodded.</p> - -<p>"Jergen?" asked Charlie Jingle with bated breath.</p> - -<p>Rabbit Markey nodded his head.</p> - -<p>"How they do it? Tinker with the Fighters?"</p> - -<p>"You ever see Hammerhead get knocked off his feet?"</p> - -<p>"I don't get it—they lemme buy my own way into the news, is that it? -I think I'm perfectly legitimate. So does everybody else in the game. -What then?"</p> - -<p>"Then a story breaks someplace about the way Pugs, Inc. tried not to -give you a fight. Everything looks like Pugs, Inc. is scared stiff of -you because you can ruin them. Big build-up. Even Jergen goes to bat, -confesses he tried to help you get the fight. Everybody's sore as hell -at Pugs, Inc. They force a fight, Tanker goes in—and gets slaughtered. -See?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle felt his guts deflate in a rush.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," he said, dead-toned. "I see."</p> - -<p>"What you gonna do?"</p> - -<p>"I dunno. I got it set up with Galaxy Films to be waitin' in New York -Rocket-Port with cameras. Couple of friends of mine are gonna fake a -shootin' with me when I get there. Guess I've got no choice. I'll have -to go through with it now."</p> - -<p>"Okay now," said Rabbit Markey. "Now lemme go and get ulcers over the -cars." He gave Charlie his hand and they shook slowly.</p> - -<p>"Take care, kid—and thanks."</p> - -<p>"Nahhh! Forget it! Forget you even saw me here! But don't forget what -I told you. Harry Belok's got friends in LA, too. I got racing-ulcers, -but I don't mind bein' alive with them. You get me?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle nodded again, and Rabbit Markey walked out into the roar -of the Jet-Races. Charlie Jingle looked down at the ticket in his hand, -ripped it in two, and let the pieces flutter to the floor.</p> - -<p>Outside, he hailed a cab.</p> - -<p>To board the Eastbound Rocket would have been to play into the very -hands of his enemies. And he needed time to think—to figure his way -out of the fix that had been planned for him. Perhaps by avoiding the -Rocket trip, he would avoid the pre-planned shooting, the filming of -which was also pre-set, and so avoid the press, and whatever consequent -notoriety would follow the whole affair at the Rocket-Port.</p> - -<p>So he hired a car and started to drive East.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There arose a great hue and cry at the disappearance of Charles Jingle, -who had been a registered, scheduled passenger on the Eastbound Rocket. -What had happened to him? What mystery cloaked his disappearance? -Galaxy Films made it known that Charles Jingle suspected an attempt on -his life. Why? asked a conscientious columnist. Who might have reason -enough to threaten the life of a Robot-Trainer? Mischa Hannigan, -innocently and in a moment of anger at what he thought must be vengeful -murder, stated that attempts had been made to intimidate Charles Jingle -into selling out Tanker Bell. Who had done so? Mischa Hannigan would -not say, though hinting darkly that a "well-known fixer" was at the -bottom of it.</p> - -<p>The Press probed deeper into the mystery. What about Charles Jingle's -property, Tanker Bell? Was it so valuable that the proprietor should -be murdered for not parting with it? If it was, why had there been no -offer of a match from the Champion?</p> - -<p>It was then that some bright reporter conceived the idea of questioning -the Fight Commission as to its views on the shamefully clandestine -affair. What had it to say? Nothing, was the reply. The bright reporter -launched an attack on the Commission. The fight public wanted to know -what the Fight Commission thought its function was, if not to expose -underground tactics in the game?</p> - -<p>Commissioner Jergen addressed the citizenry via television. He admitted -that Charles Jingle had been to see him. He admitted he was unable to -move due to a lack of tangible evidence. He would not name the parties -accused by Charles Jingle because there was no real evidence at this -date. He would further investigate the situation, using every resource -at his command.</p> - -<p>When Charlie Jingle arrived in New York two days later the lid was off -the town. Everyone was fuming at what had been perpetrated against -him. Everyone understood why he had come into town unobtrusively.</p> - -<p>What Charlie Jingle had sought to avoid had happened anyway. The play -was in motion. There was no stopping it.</p> - -<p>He watched the day-to-day developments in a state of paralyzed horror. -It was a nightmare in which he was the principal, and yet, the -bystander, the spectator. He had no choice but to follow. Rabbit Markey -had shown him the truth, so that all things now had a double meaning, a -reality and an unreality, another dimension, another depth.</p> - -<p>When the press came to question him, Charlie fought the only way -he knew. He denounced Pugs, Inc. as cheats, liars, and fixers. He -denounced Commissioner Jergen, Harry Belok, the press, the Hollywood -people, the prize-fight game, and the public in an attempt to break the -whole business wide open.</p> - -<p>But everyone understood.</p> - -<p>"Mister Jingle is justified in his bitterness," said a reporter.</p> - -<p>"Of course Charlie's sore. He's got a right to be sore!" said -Commissioner Jergen.</p> - -<p>"A horrible injustice. We were concerned over our reputation," said -Kort Gassel of Pugs, Inc.</p> - -<p>"The guy deserves a break!" said the fight public.</p> - -<p>And Hollywood said, "We don't understand what prompted this unwarranted -attack."</p> - -<p>So there it was. Charlie Jingle spoke the truth, but nobody believed -him. Tanker Bell was granted a match. The fix was in.</p> - -<p>As a last resort, Charlie Jingle refused to let the Tanker fight. An -uproar went up from the public. It was a matter of ethics. Tanker Bell -was now their champion. He was the embodiment of everyman against the -Organization, against injustice. Tanker Bell <i>must</i> fight!</p> - -<p>It was then that Charlie Jingle understood. This was not simply a -fight. This was part of a long-range plan to bring the public man -to heel. This was part of a scheme to break the mass-individual -spirit, because if Everyman stood with Tanker Bell as the champion -of independant justice, and Tanker Bell were beaten—so would the -public-independent spirit be.</p> - -<p>But Charlie Jingle had his hands tied.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On the day of the fight, Charlie Jingle corralled the Tanker in the -workshop and ordered the amazed Tanker to lie down on the work-bench -for a "tune up". The Tanker protested.</p> - -<p>"You crazy, Charlie? Whuffor? I never felt so good in my life!"</p> - -<p>"Don't gimme any arguments, Tank. Stretch out and shuddup."</p> - -<p>"But Charlie...."</p> - -<p>"Stretch out, for God's sake!"</p> - -<p>"What you gonna do?"</p> - -<p>"Re-vamp you. I'm gonna run the tapes on the bout with the Contender, -and stuff your memory banks with tapes on every fight was ever had with -a Pugs, Inc. product. Then I'm gonna run tapes on Hammerhead Johnny. -I'm gonna key up your reflex-pattern to the point where you'll be -operating so fast your joints are liable to break down in the ring."</p> - -<p>Tanker stared at him, open-mouthed. "What for? Will you please tell me -that? <i>What for?</i>"</p> - -<p>"After I've fed you the tapes on the Contender and Hammerhead, you'll -know, if those goddam memory-computers of yours ain't so rusty they can -still work."</p> - -<p>"You tryin' to teach me somethin' I don't know?"</p> - -<p>"That's right."</p> - -<p>"Why can't you just tell me?"</p> - -<p>"If you figure it out yourself, you won't like it any more than if I -told you; but you'll know it the hard way."</p> - -<p>"What a hellofa way to teach me somethin'! Jazzin' me up! My -co-ordination is perfect, analysis-system is workin' like a voodoo -charm, and you wanna jazz me up! It's like committin' suicide!"</p> - -<p>Something in the Tanker's face changed, quickly and suddenly, as if a -diamond-bright idea exploded inside his steel-plated head.</p> - -<p>"Charlie?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle looked up from his assortment of tools. "What?"</p> - -<p>"Is this a fix?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle looked at him, the flush of anger brightening his eyes. -"Is that a joke, Tanker?"</p> - -<p>"No, Charlie. A question."</p> - -<p>"Stretch out," said Charlie Jingle gruffly.</p> - -<p>"Answer me first, Charlie. Is it?"</p> - -<p>"Whatta you think?"</p> - -<p>"I dunno," said the Tanker, stretching out slowly.</p> - -<p>"You really wanna win that fight, kid?" asked Charlie Jingle, sad and -tender.</p> - -<p>"You know I do!"</p> - -<p>"Trust me then, hah?"</p> - -<p>The Tanker laughed, stretching out on the bench.</p> - -<p>The light glittered cold on the smooth worn steel of the tools in -Charlie Jingle's hands.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When the first Mechanical Pugilist was made, the Fight Commission made -a number of demands. First, through each robot's sight-mechanism, it -was established that each machine should be equipped with cameras by -which they would record the activity of their opponent in the ring. -If a foul was committed which had escaped the judges, the proof -would thereby be recorded on the camera-tapes, which could easily be -confiscated by the Fight Commission.</p> - -<p>Secondly, there was a co-ordination system in each machine which could -not be slackened without a noticeable difference in the conduct of -the fighter, thus acting as a safeguard against the Trainer-Owner's -voluntarily slowing their fighters down for illegal purposes. However, -there were ways to slow a pug down. There were circuit-shorting -devices, reflex-sabotaging devices, analysis-pattern disturbances, -muscle-flexibility tensions—all of which cut down the fighter's -efficiency to some degree. The trick, of course, was to do so without -exposure, since all fighters were examined moments before they entered -the ring, and were subject to further investigation if the Judges -deemed a fight suspiciously under expectation-level.</p> - -<p>The machines then were constructed, so that, in essence, they were -totally 'honest', and every part in them was recorded in a master -plan, filed with the Fight Commission, so that nothing could be added, -and certainly, nothing be subtracted from them, since their balance -depended completely on very essential parts.</p> - -<p>They were also constructed so that they had their weakness-points in -exactly the same places men had theirs. If a machine struck hard enough -and exactly enough on the point of its opponent's jaw, it would jar -wires and electrical contacts badly enough to stop its operational -function—thus the "knockout".</p> - -<p>To all intents and purposes the fighting machine was constructed -as much along human lines as was possible, even to the point of -corruptibility. They all had a desire to be great fighting machines, -and to go down in the annals of fight history. They were, each and -every one, made for the purpose of practicing a deadly, brutal art by -which men could sublimate the brutality that nested like a sleeping -tiger in their own persons. Provision had even been made for the sight -of flowing blood. The tough rubber skin that made the robots appear -human contained the red oil that lubricated the steel "innards", and if -the rubber skin split the more the bloodthirsty members of the audience -were satisfied.</p> - -<p>What Charlie Jingle did, when he operated on the Tanker, was what -might be called, in human terms, "over-conditioning" him. He tightened -and sped his reflexes, shortened the length of his wires so that -electrical responses had shorter distances to travel, sped up his -Analysis-Pattern, hyper-toned his muscle-flexibility, and generally -made him a nervous wreck.</p> - -<p>Then, as a final touch, he ran the tapes he had promised to run, -striving to bring the truth to the Tanker.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"How do you feel?" asked Charlie as he watched Tanker Bell sit up, his -face twitching.</p> - -<p>"Like a damn screwball!" said the Tanker.</p> - -<p>"Did you get the message?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah. Hammerhead never fought like the way he fought me in his life! -Wha'd they do to him?"</p> - -<p>"Fixed him," said Charlie Jingle soberly.</p> - -<p>"The Contender too?"</p> - -<p>"Well you saw the tapes. They're all stuck away in that memory bank of -yours. Whatta you think?"</p> - -<p>Tanker nodded, his head jerking up and down uncontrollably.</p> - -<p>"Fixed him too. But I don't get the picture yet. Do you, Charlie?"</p> - -<p>"Sure, I get it. The night I called the Arena to match you against -the Contender because Kid Congo got squashed in that accident, they -had a fix workin' between them. Kid Congo was supposed to upset the -Contender, see? But they must've both been fixed a little to fool the -Judges. So there's this accident, see? This throws the whole plan into -a panic—Congo's out, it's too late to un-fix the Contender. If the -Auditorium puts in a fighter who's strictly legitimate, everybody will -know it was a fixed. I call. They figured I had a Tank, maybe you'd -look pretty bad in there, and nobody would know the difference. Okay, -what happens? You nail the Contender, because, after all, you ain't -that bad—does it figure?"</p> - -<p>"Boy! Does it!" said the Tanker, his head jerking. "Why can't you go to -the authorities, Charlie?"</p> - -<p>"Because this fix is piled a mile high, Tanker, in all directions."</p> - -<p>"Whadda you mean?"</p> - -<p>"I mean I can't go to the Commission."</p> - -<p>"What we gonna do? Just get belted around?"</p> - -<p>"We got no choice," said Charlie Jingle with a shrug.</p> - -<p>"The hell we ain't! If you think I'm gonna go into a ring and get -mauled, you're off your rocker!"</p> - -<p>"We can't call the bout off," said Charlie Jingle dejectedly.</p> - -<p>"Well who said anything about callin' it off?" shouted Tanker.</p> - -<p>"I did the best I could! I tuned you up. I timed you. I jazzed you up -good—"</p> - -<p>"But you <i>still</i> don't think we can beat that Iron-Man Pugg!"</p> - -<p>"That's right."</p> - -<p>"So whattam I supposed to do when I go inter the ring tonight? Throw -down my hands and give it up?"</p> - -<p>"You do what I did. Do your best."</p> - -<p>"Alla while knowin' I don't stand a chance?"</p> - -<p>"If I did it, you can do it."</p> - -<p>"You know what you don't have, Charlie? You don't have faith!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle snorted in disgust.</p> - -<p>"Who hatched you? Some preacher?"</p> - -<p>"No, no, that's the truth, and you know it!"</p> - -<p>"The truth," roared Charlie Jingle in a white rage, "The truth is that -everything's a lie! The truth is that everything's fixed from the word -go, from the bottom up and the top down. That's the goddam truth for -you!"</p> - -<p>Tanker shook his head stubbornly.</p> - -<p>"Boy, you sure are singin' a different song, all of a sudden. I dunno -what the hell happened to you, but you don't even sound like yourself!"</p> - -<p>"Okay! Okay! Wait and see when they klobber you with it tonight, Tank, -my boy! Wait and see when it hits you square between the eyes."</p> - -<p>The Tanker leaped up from the bench, jerking his fists in the air -uncontrollably.</p> - -<p>"I'll murder him!"</p> - -<p>"No you won't. Listen, I been fighting against fixes and fixers all my -life, Tanker. I never believed, and I never wanted to believe, that -they had it sewed away, that the big operators had us tucked away into -their pockets. Now I'm convinced! They sold me their dirty bill of -goods. I'm sewed in with the rest of them."</p> - -<p>The Tanker shook his fist under Charlie Jingle's face. Oil had -drained from his system up into his face and head, lubricating his -head-mechanisms as protection from strain, as his head-parts were being -overworked. His "skin" looked blotchy.</p> - -<p>"Charlie! After this is over, I want quits with you! You hear me? I -want quits!"</p> - -<p>"Suits me fine," said Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"I'll bet—" began Tanker Bell, "—I'll bet you ain't even gonna bet on -me! Are you?"</p> - -<p>"Sure! I'm gonna bet a thousand on you in the open market. Then what -I'm gonna do is let Hannigan bet five thousand for me on the sly on the -Champ. That way, at least I'll come out with somethin'."</p> - -<p>"Even Belok's better than you! At least he's got guts enough to fix -fights. You ain't even got guts enough to fight one!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle walked to the door.</p> - -<p>"You better rest up," he said, and swung the door open.</p> - -<p>"Don't worry about me," said the Tanker. "I can take care of myself!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle looked at him a moment, a cloud of inexpressible -something in his eyes.</p> - -<p>"See you later," he said quietly, and shut the door.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Charlie Jingle strode, shoulder to shoulder with Tanker Bell, down the -long cluttered corridor of Golum Auditorium toward the roped ring. -There swelled, to either side of them, the surging roar of the crowd, -and it seemed to Charlie that the sound lifted the bitterness of his -expression from his face and floated it forcibly toward the rafters -overhead, for all to see, and to know that Charlie Jingle had given up -the good fight, Charlie Jingle was tired, had been had, was through, -inside and out. The fix was in. There was no way to stop it. That was -the way the bugle blew.</p> - -<p>They climbed into the ropes and the roar of the crowd boomed and grew, -electric with the mood and feel of battle. Swiftly Charlie disrobed the -Tank, sat him on a stool, and looked over at the Champion's corner. -Iron-Man Pugg was already seated. On his face, as on Tanker's, there -was the brooding look of combat, of dead-sure certainty that he, and -he alone would win. And Charlie felt a jolt of sick depression in his -stomach, because he knew it was true.</p> - -<p>The robot-referee came into the ring, and the crowd immediately hushed. -A dime-sized microphone on an almost invisible wire dropped down -from the batteries of overhead lights (this was more in the line of -tradition than need, since the robot-referee had a built-in mike of -his own), and the referee held up his hands for complete silence. The -crowd shushed itself to a murmer, and the referee went through his -introductory piece. After each fighter had received the crowd's roar of -approbation, the referee signalled for them to come to the center.</p> - -<p>They went back to their corners. Charlie shook the robe from the -Tanker's back as a hum of excitement charged through the crowd. The -buzzer sounded and the fighters rose, ready. Charlie stepped through -the ropes, slapped Tanker on his back.</p> - -<p>"Do your best, Tank."</p> - -<p>The Tanker looked at him, face grim and solitary, shut away from -Charlie.</p> - -<p>"My best ain't enough, Charlie. I'll do more than my best."</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle was about to say something else when the bell banged -away. He scooped the stool out of the ring and watched the Tanker -shuffle into center to meet the Champion.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Thirty rounds of fighting is tough work. Even for machines. Thirty -rounds of fighting, at five minutes per round, is one hundred and fifty -minutes, two and a half hours, of solid, shattering labor. A machine -overheats the way a man does under constant stress. It's joints expand, -its lubricant thins, things begin to stick, friction wears parts. -While a fight-machine's body works against time, its opponent pounds -it, jars it, jolts it. Wires loosen. Gears slip. Tubes shatter. The -machine slows, becomes gawky. Its timing is a split second off. Its -flexibility, its speed, are worn down.</p> - -<p>When its pattern-analysis system becomes damaged, it cannot decipher -the feints, the systems and combinations of its opponents' strategy. -An eye is shattered, and the Trainer replaces it, since he carries a -spare pair. The same one is smashed again, and he cannot replace it, -because the Commission only allows a single replacement during a -fight. Its "skin" is split and the colored oil flows, the life-blood of -the machine. The Trainer is allowed one vulcanizing skin repair job per -bout. If it happens again, the fighter must go on, fighting against the -time when the loss of oil will endanger his operating efficiency.</p> - -<p>Sometimes the machines strike each other with such deadly impact, they -dent the inner frame-work of the body, putting strains on a section -of wiring or electrical tubing. Then the damaged machine must fight -defensively to protect its weakened section. The offender will work out -elaborate punch-patterns to trick the defender into somehow thinking -he understands the aim of each pattern of punches and where the final -concentration will be. And suddenly, with uncanny craftiness, the -offender switches its attack to an unexpected area.</p> - -<p>This is the function of the pattern-analysis system in each fighter. -To map, plan, digest the opponent's habits of fighting, then compute -them, set up a given system of punches itself which will clutter the -opponent's memory banks, and then radically change the mode of attack -and system of fighting. The process is mathematically complex. It is -the process of the human brain operating at high speed.</p> - -<p>The first fifteen rounds of fighting are generally devoted toward -"faking" patterns. Each fighter labors to out-fox the other. In a -sense, the first fifteen rounds of fighting are preliminary. They give -the fight fans an opportunity to warm up to what is coming. Then it -begins. The lightning-fast pace shifts, becomes slower. The fighters -seem to be gliding through water. Then one unleashes an attack, sets an -impossibly fast pace. The game has started....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Charlie Jingle gripped the edge of the ring hard, digging his hands -into the canvas, straining and twisting in tortured anguish with every -slashing blow that struck the Tanker. He watched the two fighters -weave, jerk, dart—bodies and arms flashing blurs, smashing blows one -to the other in sequences that were too complex for the eye to follow -in detail. He groaned, cursed, hoped, bellowed, roared and screamed -along with two thousand nine hundred and seventy four other human -beings in the arena.</p> - -<p>The round was the twenty-sixth. This was the stretch. The final, -ineradicable stretch. The bell banged away and the fighters parted -under the glare of the lights, dancing away from each other to their -corners. Charlie shot the stool into the ring and went through the -ropes. Tanker dropped like a chunk of hot lead onto the stool.</p> - -<p>"How do you feel, boy? How do you feel?" prompted Charlie, pumping the -cooling-fluid into Tanker's insides.</p> - -<p>"Hot," rasped the Tanker. "Hot as hell."</p> - -<p>"Want me to throw in the towel?" asked Charlie, working fast, working -the pump up and down quickly.</p> - -<p>"No, goddamit. Wrap it around your eyes if you can't take it."</p> - -<p>Charlie worked the body, stimulating the free flow of oil through the -system.</p> - -<p>"How'm I doin'?" asked the Tanker grudgingly.</p> - -<p>"Well at least you're still in there."</p> - -<p>"By God, Charlie! Fighting Machines ain't supposed to be too emotional, -but if anybody gets me sorer than you do so help me, I'll murder him!"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle worked the body fast, checked the heated joints for too -much strain.</p> - -<p>"Favor the right. The elbow's gettin' creaky. And save the fight for -the Champ. You'll need it."</p> - -<p>The buzzer sounded, Charlie shoved his tools through the ropes onto the -edge of the deck, climbed out, and holding onto the edge of the stool, -he said, "Watch his Three-Six combo. He's gonna angle for your jaw -pretty soon."</p> - -<p>Tanker turned, looking down at him.</p> - -<p>"You don't trust me at all, do you?"</p> - -<p>The bell banged and quickly Tanker was on his feet, moving in his -curious, side-long motion.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By the end of the twenty-seventh, Tanker came back to his corner lame. -The Champ had dented his forehead.</p> - -<p>"How is it?" asked Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"Fine," said Tanker thickly. "It's fine." There was a slur to his -voice, which tipped off what was beginning to happen. Tanker's -co-ordination system had been damaged.</p> - -<p>"He's crackin' down, now. He's got all his power behind them punches. -You can see it when he pivots."</p> - -<p>"Yeah? Well <i>I</i> kin feel it when he punches," said the Tanker.</p> - -<p>Charlie pumped him up with cooling fluid, worked his body. In the -pit of his stomach was a sickness, a feeling of helplessness because -Tanker's trouble was not where he could reach it, now. Now it was -inside.</p> - -<p>"He's gonna knock your head off, this one, Tank. You got a dent in it."</p> - -<p>"I know I got a goddam dent. You don't hafta tell me."</p> - -<p>Charlie put his gear out of the ropes.</p> - -<p>"I told you it was a fix. Don't blame me for nothin'."</p> - -<p>"Yeah. You wash your hands of it. Just like that guy in the -whuddayacall...."</p> - -<p>"Bible," said Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"Yeah," said Tanker. The bell sounded and he sprang to his feet.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At the end of the twenty-eighth, Tanker was dragging his feet, hanging -on by a thread of will, except of course that there was no will -in a fighting machine except the mechanistic desire to be a great -fighting-machine.</p> - -<p>"He'll nail you this one," said Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>"Thass what you think," challenged Tanker.</p> - -<p>"That's what I know. The fans are already going to the windows to -collect their bets."</p> - -<p>"Yeah? They got another guess com—Why ain't you collectin'?"</p> - -<p>"I gotta stick it out, you know that!"</p> - -<p>"You mean to say you really bet on Iron Man?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," said Charlie Jingle, pulling a ticket out of his shirt pocket. -"See?"</p> - -<p>Tanker bent close, scrutinizing the ticket. He looked up into Charlie's -face, his own blotchy with color.</p> - -<p>"Five thousand dollars you bet on that bum?"</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle laughed.</p> - -<p>"He don't look like no bum from where I am."</p> - -<p>The buzzer sounded, drowning out the string of curses the Tanker loosed -at him. Charlie calmly shoved his equipment out of the ring.</p> - -<p>"Make it look good right to the end, you hear?"</p> - -<p>The bell banged. Tanker Bell got up slowly, moving in a clumsy waddling -gait toward the Champion, arms hanging like stiffened lead weights by -his sides, head bulled forward, shoulders hunched. He did not spring, -did not dance. He shuffled forward, shoulders rocking from side to side.</p> - -<p>Iron-Man Pugg saw the stance of the beaten fighting-machine. He knew -the dead-locked expression in the face, knew the shuffling, springless -walk that indicated that the opponent was cold, was dead on his feet, -jammed away inside, locked and frozen. But there was always the -suspicion of trickery in him when he saw it.</p> - -<p>He danced in lightly, speared the Tanker's head with a long series of -jabs, chopped away at his mid-section, and then, as if he himself were -absolutely cocksure, lowered his guard just a fraction of an inch out -of the Tanker's reach. Nothing happened. The Tanker moved toward him, -dead on his feet, arms limp. The Champion had to blast him back with a -murderous right to prevent a head-on, chest-on collision. The Tanker -staggered back, wobbled, his knees threatened to unflex and buckle, -then the built-in instinct to go on picked him up, and he straightened.</p> - -<p>Iron Man could hear, behind and around him, the swelling roar of the -crowd. He knew it was for him. He had won. A hard, good fight. He had -won. It remained now for him to put the trimmings on the package. -Artfully he flirted in and around the Tanker, jabbing him lightly, -ripping powerful right-hand shots to his head, toying with him. The -crowd was roaring for blood. They wanted the finish. The Champion moved -forward, wound up. He started his famous knockout sequence of punches, -landing the first and second carefully, playing to his audience so that -they could see what was happening and appreciate from the beginning -what was about to happen. The Champion was enjoying himself. He worked -with flash and flourish, and the crowd began to love it.</p> - -<p>Then Tanker Bell came alive. The Champion was first to see the -expression of his face, and a split-second before it happened, he -knew he had been tricked. He would forever remember that expression. -It was almost human. It was an expression of hatred. Of murderous, -long-controlled rage, diabolical and lethal.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" width="439" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Tanker Bell ripped a blow to his jaw so well-set, so precise, so -accurate, that when the Champion's head snapped back, the cable at the -back of his neck broke. The Champion fell over on his back, striking -the deck like fallen thunder. The Champion was not only 'out'—he was -'dead'.</p> - -<p>There was a great, still silence in the arena as Tanker Bell strode -back to his corner. It was as if the air, and sound, and people had -been frozen. The Referee came to his senses first, stood over Iron-Man, -and counted, with long strokes of the arm. At the last stroke, chaos -broke loose. Fans and officials swarmed into the ring. The spectators -roared. But Tanker Bell had eyes for one single human being in that -arena. Charlie Jingle.</p> - -<p>When he turned, Tanker saw Charlie Jingle doubled over the ropes, -laughing.</p> - -<p>A reporter pulled Tanker to the middle of the ring before he could get -to Charlie. While they quizzed him and prodded him, Charlie Jingle -remained doubled over the ropes in a violent fit of hysteria.</p> - -<p>Finally they drew Charlie Jingle into the circle at ring-center. Had he -had any doubts that Tanker would win?</p> - -<p>"Never!"</p> - -<p>Did he know that Tanker was faking toward the last? Certainly, came the -laughing reply.</p> - -<p>How much money had he bet on his fighter?</p> - -<p>Ten thousand dollars, came the uproarious reply, and Tanker Bell -bellowed, "He's a liar! He never bet a thing!"</p> - -<p>The Press was astonished.</p> - -<p>The Officials perked up their suspicious noses.</p> - -<p>What did Tanker Bell mean?</p> - -<p>"Ask him!" accused the glaring Tanker.</p> - -<p>Did Charlie Jingle have the bet ticket with him? After all, Mister -Jingle—news.</p> - -<p>Charlie Jingle, laughing, with a flourish, produced a ticket from his -shirt pocket.</p> - -<p>Tanker Bell stared at it, goggle-eyed.</p> - -<p>What would Charlie Jingle do with the money from the proceeds?</p> - -<p>"Ruin Pugs, Inc.," said Charlie Jingle. "Me and a California Rabbit are -goin' into business together. Ruinin' Pugs, Inc."</p> - -<p>"Psychology," growled the Tanker. "The bum used his goddam psychology -on me."</p> - -<p>What was Tanker Bell referring to?</p> - -<p>"Leave him alone," said Charlie Jingle, putting his arm around Tanker's -shoulders. "Can't you see he's punch-happy?"</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jingle in the Jungle, by Aldo Giunta - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JINGLE IN THE JUNGLE *** - -***** This file should be named 60024-h.htm or 60024-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/0/2/60024/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Jingle in the Jungle - -Author: Aldo Giunta - -Release Date: July 31, 2019 [EBook #60024] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JINGLE IN THE JUNGLE *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - jingle in the jungle - - BY ALDO GIUNTA - - _When even the Fight Commission is in - on the plot, and everyone knows that the - "fix" is on, when no one will help him, - what can a man do--except help himself?_ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Worlds of If Science Fiction, June 1957. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -Charlie Jingle walked into the long room with the long table and long -Commissioners' faces in it. He went to a chair at the head of the -table, and sat down, a small man in loose, seedy clothing looking -rather lost in a high-backed chair with a regal crest carved in the -wood. - -"You," asked one of the Commissioners, "are Charles Jingle?" - -Charlie nodded his head, a small nod from a small man sitting in a big -man's chair. - -"You are aware of course ..." began the Commissioner, but Charlie -Jingle waved his fingers and cut him off. - -"Sure, sure, let's can the bunko and get down to cases." - -"You have been summoned here ..." began the same Commissioner, and -Charlie Jingle waved his fingers again. - -"But I ain't gonna anyway," said Charlie Jingle. The Commissioners -stirred, cleared their throats, slid their bottoms with unease on their -chairs. - -"You understand," said the Commissioner, "that your license may be -revoked if you insist on being uncooperative?" - -"Sure," said Charlie Jingle. "I understand." - -A bulky man, who had been standing at a window with his back to the -seated members of the Commission while they talked with Charlie, turned -to face them. A man with a heavy, grey face that had no humor in it. -Charlie Jingle watched him slowly cross to the table and recognized him -as Commissioner Jergen, head of the Fight Commission. - -"Jingle," said the man in a dry voice, "I'm going to make an example -of you if you don't come across. I'm going to smear your name from -coast to coast. I'm going to blackball you so hard you won't get a job -anyplace, at anything! Get the message?" - -Charlie Jingle got up from his chair and walked to the door. "This the -way out?" he asked. - -"Hold on!" roared Commissioner Jergen, and Charlie Jingle stopped with -his hand on the knob, looking back with polite inquisitiveness at him. - -"You goddam people think you can pull quick deals on the Public and on -the Fight Commission. I'm here to prove you can't!" - -Charlie Jingle laughed. - -"You're here to make a big noise, and scare all the scrawny citizens -into a confession, Jergen. Don't kid me!" - -"I suppose you've got too many contacts to be frightened?" - -"Contacts? No, I don't have a single damn contact. All I got is my two -hands, and you already told me I ain't gonna be able to make a livin' -with them, so why should I stick around here anymore?" - -Commissioner Jergen pulled a chair forward. - -"Siddown, Charlie. Let's talk like reasonable men," he said. Charlie -Jingle searched his face for a lie or a trick. Finding none, he went -back to the table and sat down. - -The Commissioner waited a moment, and then said earnestly: - -"Listen, Jingle. Seventy years ago this country outlawed -prize-fighting. It was barbarous, they said. Men shouldn't fight men. -Men shouldn't capitalize on other men as if they were animals. Okay. -They changed it. Now we got the Pug-Factories. But we also have the -same thing that went on before. We have the grifters and the shysters -and the fixers operating at full tilt all over the place. There's a few -honest guys in the game. I hear you're one of them. All we want is to -nail the crooks! We want to bust the Fix Syndicate wide open, get me? -Now, if you love the game the way I hear you do--not for the money, but -for the smell and the excitement--why won't you help us bust them wide?" - -Charlie Jingle shook his head. - -"You got it wrong, Jergen. I know about the fixers. But I never -consorted with them. If I did, I could've retired a rich man a long -time ago." - -"Then how about that Saturday night fiasco at the Golum Auditorium? You -call that a straight fight?" - -Charlie Jingle shrugged his shoulders. - -"All I know is I sent my boy in there. He's a Tank, okay. He's up -against the newest fighting machine invented. Okay. He drops him. -I'm as much surprised as you. All the odds read against me. I got a -rebuilt Tank in the ring. But he flattens one of the flashiest pugs -in the business. Sure, I admit, it looks suspicious. Fifteen minutes -after the upset, one of the biggest fixers in the game walks into my -boy's dressing-room ... But don't forget, I'm the best trainer in the -business. I take a chunk of worn out fighting machine and make it over -into something that buys me bread and coffee. So maybe I create a -freak. How do I know? Maybe I twisted a wire wrong, and my Tank's the -toughest thing punching." - -"You're trying to tell me that fight was on the level, is that it?" - -"So far as I'm concerned, it's level. So far as you're concerned...." -Charlie Jingle shrugged. - -"How is it you happened to have your boy handy when the other fighter -couldn't go on?" asked the Commissioner. - -"I got my stable a block away from the arena. When I heard about Kid -Congo getting smashed up in an auto accident, I called the arena. -Before the fight, I had twelve cents in my pocket, a dime of which -I used to call the arena. They told me 'Sure, bring him down quick, -Charlie'. So there I was...." - -"So they put your Tank in against the Contender. Just like that?" - -Jingle snapped his fingers. - -"Like that." - -"And Harry Belok had nothing to do with the upset?" - -"Ask Harry Belok." - -"Why did he come to see you when the fight was over?" - -Charlie Jingle laughed. - -"He come to pay me off...." - -The Commissioner looked at a sheet of paper on the table in front of -him. - -"Nineteen thousand seven hundred and thirty two dollars worth of -pay-off?" - -Charlie Jingle nodded. - -"And thirteen cents. You got the thirteen cents down?" - -"I've got the thirteen cents down. But how come he pays off so much -money to somebody's completely broke, Charlie-boy?" - -"Easy," said Charlie Jingle. "The Tank's end of the purse is four -hundred bucks, win or lose. Before the fight, I bet the Tank's end -against Harry, at house odds. You figure it up, and see if it don't -figure out to the penny." - -Charlie watched one of the Commissioners scribble quick numbers on a -piece of blank paper. In a moment the man looked up, and handed the -sheet across to Commissioner Jergen. Jergen looked at it quickly and -grunted. - -"Okay?" asked Charlie Jingle. - -"Okay," growled Jergen. - -"When we fight the Champ, I'll send a couple tickets around free. See -ya'...." Charlie Jingle went out. - - * * * * * - -Charlie Jingle came out of the underground tubes and walked down -a block of chipped brick and colored plastic buildings, past -picket fences and an empty street. He looked at the street, the -pavement--dark, quiet, uncluttered by garbage, devoid of kids. On the -roofs of the buildings was a jungle of neatly bent, squarely twisted, -staunchly mounted aerials. The kids were under them, behind the picket -fences, watching five-foot-square screens that flashed stories and news -and the life histories of ring heroes like himself. A nice, clean-cut, -handsome actor would act the part of Charlie Jingle, his fights, loves -and disappointments, all ending up in one glorious, stirring message. -Charlie Jingle made it. From rags to riches in a single swipe.... So -can _you_. - -He stopped in front of Hannigan's Gym, looked up and down the street, -and cautiously spat into the gutter. Then he went past the swinging -doors into the building's interior. - -Inside the door, he breathed deep the stale smell of oil and leather -that permeated the atmosphere. Opening his eyes, he looked into the -flat, grinning face of Emil McPhay. McPhay had been chalking schedules -on a blackboard when he spotted the rapt expression of Charlie Jingle's -face. - -"As I live and panhandle!" exclaimed McPhay, his eyes rolling in their -fat sockets. - -"Anybody to see me, Emil?" - -"Well you know as well as me somebody is, Charlie. The lovin' -picture-makin' people 're here. Got a whole staff wit 'em." He leaned -close, rolling his eyes shyly. "You gonna give 'em the story of yer -bloody life, Charlie?" - -Charlie strode toward his shop at the back of the gym. - -"Not unless they make me lead man. And _you_ the leading lady!" - -He went past a row of smoked-glass doors to the last one with C. -JINGLE, TRAINER printed on it, opened it, and went in. As Emil McPhay -had said, the room was mobbed with smoking, suntanned Californians. An -elegant-looking man rushed forward and jerked his hand up and down. - -"Glad ... so glad.... Pictures.... Hope.... Contract.... Of course. -Your boy.... Mister Jingle.... Famous...." - -Nobody had called Charlie Jingle mister for ten years. In one night, -he'd graduated from flop to mister. He rubbed his fingers together, -feeling the sweat on them. His eyes took in the walls painted their -flat, drying green, the racks of tools on them, the pictures of -great fighting machines all over them, the electrical diagrams, the -Reflex-Analyses Patterns mapped out next to each one. Then he lowered -his eyes to take in the grinning, smooth-faced men around him, doing -nervous things with their faces and hands. He looked at the man in -front of him, his mouth flapping open and closed, contorting this way -and that, and suddenly Charlie shut his eyes tight, drew in a blast of -air, screwed his mouth open, and yelled "Shaddap!" good and loud. - -There was stunned silence. Charlie looked around at them, at their -poised, waiting faces. - -"Scram!" he yelled, and jerked his finger to the door. - -Slowly, the suntanned Californians drifted out of the room, watching -him closely lest he maul them or loose another violation of the success -story at them. One man broke the spell. - -"Of course, Mister Jingle, one's life history is certainly something -to be treasured. Not to be treated lightly. But I assure you we--my -company, that is--we will make certain that we adhere to the facts, in -our fashion. There will be no unnec--" - -Charlie Jingle grabbed the man's jacket-front with his left hand, his -trouser-seat with the other, and, taking advantage of the man's total -unpreparedness, threw him bodily out of the room, in the same motion -kicking the door shut so hard, the glass cracked and a piece jumped out -of the upper left hand corner. - -Then Charlie Jingle stormed into his shop, where Tanker Bell awaited -him. - - * * * * * - -When Tanker saw Charlie come into the room fuming mad, he shut off the -reflex-machine and turned to watch him. Charlie Jingle paced back and -forth in the room, in the small space between work-bench and wall. -Suddenly he stopped, spun savagely to face Tanker. "Well? What the hell -you lookin' at?" - -Tanker Bell grinned. "You, Charlie. I like to watch you when you're -mad." - -"You do, eh?" - -Tanker watched the rage build up to a good healthy flush on Charlie's -skin. - -"Jeez," Tanker jibed, "you look as red as those beets they sell over in -the Old-Methods Market." - -"Listen you! Just because you dropped that flashy character last night. -Don't let it go to your head! You get me sore, by God, I'll have you -piled up in the yard along with yesterday's rusty pugs!" - -Tanker laughed. - -Charlie Jingle glared at the Tanker a moment, drew a deep breath, -snorted it out, and paced twice. Then he faced the Tanker again. - -"Sorry, kid. They got me goin' today. First the fight commission. Then -these soap-peddlers from Hollywood. Sorry I blew off." - -"How'd it go with the Commission?" - -"Okay, okay. Jergen knows about me. He's just hungry for a bust, you -know? Wants to nail the Fixers." - -The Tanker took a step toward Charlie. - -"The Champ call?" he asked, voice trembling. Charlie shook his head in -the negative. - -"Why don't you sucker him, Charlie? Force his hand!" - -"You want a bout with the Champ?" - -"Sure! Don't you?" - -Charlie sat down on the work-bench and pulled the Tanker down next to -him. - -"Listen, Tank. Last night was a freak, you understand? Something -happened last night, I don't know what. But you ain't the boy to fight -the Champ--My God, boy, you're older than me!" - -Tanker Bell looked at Charlie, his face puckering like a child's. - -"No, now wait. Lemme make it clear, Tank," said Charlie Jingle softly. -"You'n me been together fourteen years. We've fought in some pretty -ancient Tank-towns. We've fought young and old alike, and you know as -well as me that it was always an even toss whether or not you would get -knocked cold. We're mediocrities, Kid. When I bought you, you'd already -seen your best days. Am I right?" Tanker Bell nodded, his head down on -his chest. - -"Look, Tanker, I ain't tryin' to hurt you. I just don't wanna see you -get killed!" - -"Well who said anything about gettin' killed, for God's sake!" bawled -the Tanker. - -"Look at it this way. You've been knocked to pieces a dozen times, and -I've gone to work and put you back together a dozen times. I've twisted -your wires, re-shaped your reflex plan, doubled your flexibility and -your punch-power, co-ordinated and re-co-ordinated you and re-analyzed -your nervous-pattern until I've exhausted every possible combination. -You're a fighting machine, and a good one, kid. But machines grow old. -They get outdated, like me. I'm a Mechanical Engineer. Okay! There's -lots of new stuff I don't know that these college kids know. What -happens to them? They go to work for Pugilists Inc., inventing new -machines with new systems. They got systems that I never dreamed of. Do -you know that?" - -"Well what's that got to do with me fightin' the Champ, for God's sake?" - -"Everything! They put machines in the ring now that are worth Five -Hundred Thousand dollars! They're almost indestructible!" - -"How come that punk I fought last night wasn't so indestructible, then? -How come about that, Charlie?" - -"I dunno, I dunno. Somethin' musta gone wrong. Maybe he shorted out." - -"Or _maybe_ for once you hit the _right_ combination, how about that, -Charlie? Maybe I'm real ripe, now, after all these years of tankin' -around!" - -"But Tanker! Use your head! The Champ's brand new, spankin' young. He's -the newest-styled fighting machine in existence. What chance you think -we stand against that?" - -"Listen. I fought that bum last night with ease, you know that? There I -was, just glidin' around him, punchin' him at will--" - -"Maybe it was an accident! Maybe somethin' went wrong with his system -last night...." - -"And maybe I dropped him on the square, too...." - -"OKAY!" shouted Charlie Jingle in desperation. "Maybe you did. And -maybe, if you go in against the Champ, maybe he'll kill you! Maybe -he'll smash you so hard I won't be able to put you together again. You -wanna take that chance? Or you wanna settle down nice and quiet in some -Pug factory, supervisin' young fighters?" - -"Naw!" yelled the Tanker. "I wanna take that chance! I want you to get -me a fight with the Champ!" - -"Are you dumb, or what? Don't you know they never come back?" - -"All I know is this," began the Tanker. "Fourteen years we bin -together. Fourteen years you stuck it out and starved it out, workin' -with scraps from a junk-heap, with stumble-bums like me who've seen -their day. There was times when you went hungry because the junk-heap -needed oil, or wiring, or a pattern-analysis, or parts. Now you got -something! Now you can be on top! You know damn well you don't want -any part of that Hollywood fiasco. You got a crack at _big_ money. You -gonna let it go by-the-by because you're afraid a pile of wires might -get killed? Naw! We fight, and that's the way it stacks!" - -"You mean it, don't you, Tanker?" - -The Tanker said nothing. - -Charlie Jingle slowly rose, tired in his bones, tired in his joints. -"Okay. I'll arrange it. But don't blame me if--" - -"I won't," said Tanker Bell tightly, and Charlie went out. In the hall, -the Hollywood people were still waiting for him. Charlie shouldered -past them with a half-spring to his step. - - * * * * * - -He sat in the waiting-room of the offices of Pugilists, Inc., on a -plush powder-blue lounge chair chewing gum languidly. From time to time -he shot a glance at the secretary sitting inside a totally enclosed -desk, operating a Mento-Writer Machine, the electrical contact-buttons -fixed to her temples. He watched in sleepy fascination as, every so -often, she leaned over and pushed the button marked _corrector_, and -there would follow an electrical hiss as the tape on the machine slid -back, eliminating wrongly-formed thoughts. - -Charlie knew that somewhere in the room there was machinery observing -him, measuring his pulse, emotional balance, probable intelligence, -habits, and massing and digesting the general information so that -Pugilists, Inc., would know what kind of man they were dealing with, -and what approach would be best. - -Somewhere in this building another machine was probably purring, -feeding information from memory-banks, relating all known facts and -incidents regarding Charlie Jingle, his birth, environment, social -and political connections, moral status, business ethics, and bank -account.... Not that Charlie Jingle was so important to them, this he -knew. But Pugilists, Inc., kept records and histories of every and any -individual having even the remotest connection with the fight game. - -As Charlie Jingle sat there a smile twitched across his face. Let them -figure _that_ out, he thought, and then sank into a reverie. Over in -the other part of the room, across the prairie of rug, the secretary -Mento wrote efficiently, the machine going ZZZ CLK SSHHHH CLK CLK ZZZZ, -hypnotic in it's well-oiled quietness. - -"Jingle?" - -Charlie Jingle looked across the room to the secretary. "What?" he -asked. - -"Would you go in please, Mister Jingle?" - -Charlie followed the direction of the girl's gesture to a panel in -the wall. He got up and started to cross suspiciously toward it. As -he slowed down, nearing it, he looked back at her, and she smiled and -encouraged him on sympathetically toward the doorless wall. Just as -Charlie thought _It'd be funny if I break my nose on that goddam -wall_ ... the panel swung in quietly. - -Charlie walked through it into a room. In it there was another veldt of -rug, at the far end of which was a bar, a lounge chair, a tremendous -sofa, and a low, knee-high table. The walls were decorated with modern -paintings in a colorful, tasteful, executive way. Standing near the -knee-high table were three men, one distinguished looking, the other -two looking as if they'd stepped out of a Young Collegiate Magazine ad. - -The elegant one crossed to Charlie, his face a big, pleasant, -well-groomed smile, hand extended. - -"Allow me, Mister Jingle. I'm Kort Gassel. These two gentlemen are -Jerome Rupp and Eugene White. Would you like a drink, Mister Jingle?" - -Charlie Jingle shook their hands and sat down, crossing his legs -comfortably. - -"You got gin, Mister ahhh--" - -"Gassel," said Kort Gassel, and crossed the three feet to the bar. -"Soda?" he asked. - -"Straight," said Charlie Jingle, and watched the other two sit down -slowly as Gassel came back with his drink. - -"That's quite a drink. I know few men who enjoy straight gin, Mister -Jingle. It always comes as a surprise when I--" - -"You gonna give us the fight, Mister Gassel?" interrupted Charlie. - -"The fight? You mean with Iron-Man Pugg?" - -"That's right, with Iron-Man Pugg." - -"Well Mister Jingle. Since you put the matter so straightforwardly. -Pugilists Incorporated only owns a small block of stock in Iron-Man -Pugg, as you know. Mister Rupp and Mister White here represent the -other interests involved. As you must know, Pugilists Incorporated is a -large-scale business, designed to function on a large-scale basis. Now, -we, the stockholders in Iron-Man Pugg, have thought this thing out. -We've come to the conclusion that it would rather--well, embarrass the -Company to agree to such a match as you propose." - -"So you won't fight?" - -"No, no, Mister Jingle, don't jump to hasty conclusions. I'm trying -to explain something to you. It's not simply a matter of matching -your--ah--boy against ours. But we _are_ concerned with the overall -effect of such a bout. Frankly, our reputation as a manufacturing -concern is more important to us than the outcome of any single bout--" - -"Whadda you say you get to the point?" - -"Certainly. Tanker Bell, as we understand it, has a fighting history -of forty-seven years. Now, I'm afraid we'd be made a laughing-stock if -Tanker Bell were set into motion against one of our products." - -"Especially if he won, is that it?" - -"Particularly then. But we rest secure in the fact that that outcome is -highly improbable, not to state impossible." - -Charlie Jingle sipped his gin, looking from one face to the other. - -"So?" he asked, anticipating what was about to come. - -"Suppose, Mister Jingle, you were offered a price for Tanker Bell, -price far in excess of his actual worth. A price big enough to even -make it possible for you to perhaps buy a second-rate fighter in good -second-class condition." - -Charlie Jingle closed his eyes and tapped his foot with horny, -grease-monkey fingers. In a moment he opened them and slowly took in -the three representatives of the champ, Iron-Man Pugg. - -"Lemme get this straight. You want me to sell Tanker for much more than -he's worth because you'd be humiliated at having to put one of your -products in the same ring with him?" - -"Exactly," said Kort Gassel. - -"But you're sure your boy'd whip him in the ring?" - -"Well obviously we all know the knockout victory he scored over the -Contender was an accident." - -Charlie Jingle nodded. - -"_We_ all know it. But there's one guy in the world who don't. You know -who? Tanker Bell himself." - -Kort Gassel laughed. - -"A robot, Mister Jingle? Surely you must be--" - -Charlie Jingle shook his head. - -"Can't do it, boys. I gotta consider the Tanker. You see, Mister -Gassel, Tanker thinks he could take your boy. And not only does he -wanna take him, but he won't take no for an answer!" - -"Listen, Jingle, is this some kind of joke? What are you holding out -for? A price? When I said I'd make it worth your--" - -Charlie Jingle shook his head, stubbornly and firmly. - -"No price, Gassel. Just an agreement-contract." - -"Listen, you fool, don't you realize what's at stake here? We're big -business! We can't afford to play around with lucky independents like -you!" - -"Can't take any chances, huh?" - -"Exactly that! Can't, and won't!" - -"Wanna bet?" - -"If you try to--" - -Charlie Jingle got up from his seat. - -"Gassel ... I've been in this racket so long I've got oil in my veins -instead of blood, and a Reflex-Pattern Analysis for a brain. I know -every angle there is to know. If I want a fight, I'll get one. So -don't go try putting your big business pressure on me. I'm too old for -college-boy antics." - -Kort Gassel stared at him for a long, hostile moment. Then his face -broke into a smile. - -"My friend, do you know what you're bucking? These are the offices of -Pugilists Incorporated you're in. Don't you realize what that means?" - -"Sure," said Charlie Jingle. "It means that if Tanker Bell whips -Iron-Man Pugg, Charlie Jingle will one day have as big a factory and as -many orders for Fighting-Machines as Pug, Inc...." - -Charlie Jingle crossed the desert of rug toward the exit-panel. - -"See you at Ring-side, Kids." And he went out. - - * * * * * - -Mischa Hannigan, owner and proprietor of Hannigan's Jungle, watched -from his tiered office as Hammerhead Johnny put Tanker Bell through his -paces in the ring. His eyes travelled from the laboring fighters in the -ring to the crowd of spectators standing and sitting around, watching -the Tank work. He was smooth and fast, without a kink, stabbing light -quick jabs and those murderous body-rights that had stopped the -Contender, breaking, the press had said after the fight, the metal -rib-cage inside the Contender's body. Mischa Hannigan was happy. - -After fifteen years of obscurity, his gym was fast-becoming popular -again. He had begun to charge admissions again to fans and promoters -who were eager to see the Tank at work. Once again during the afternoon -workouts there was the hum and roar of spectators, the slap-slur of -springing feet on the canvas followed by the booming of fists echoing -from rib-cage and jaw-bone structure. There was the smell of money in -his gym now, along with the smells of leather and oil. - -The door behind him opened and Hannigan turned to Charlie Jingle. - -"'Lo, Charlie." - -"'Lo, Mish.... How's he look?" - -"Terrific! If I didn't know him for twenty years, I'd swear he was -brand, spankin' new!" - -Charlie Jingle grunted quietly and walked to the plate-glass window. He -looked down at them there in the white-roped square, watched the Tanker -attack with a quick-reflex attack, block a flurry of counter-blows, -weave under a right-hand smash to the head, and rock Hammerhead -Johnny to the ropes with a combination of shoulder-straight jabs to -the stomach and a cross-hand right to the chest. A hum of approval and -amazement went up from the spectators. - -"Charlie!" shrieked Mischa Hannigan. "Charlie, did you see that? And -that Hammerhead Johnny is supposed to be the most stable Pug in the -business. They say he's got magnets in his feet, can't nobody break the -contact of--" - -"Calm down, calm down, it's only practice." - -"Practice he calls it! If Hammerhead could bust up the Tank, don't you -think he would?" - -"Hammerhead's an old junkpot, Mich, and you know it!" - -"Old he may be, Charlie, but junkpot he's not. Crafty as a damn -president of Pugs, Inc., he is, and everybody in the business knows it. -He ranks with the best sparrin' partners in the world, he does." - -In the ring below something happened that drew a roar of uncontrollable -excitement from the crowd. It was over in a flash and nobody saw quite -how it happened. Hammerhead Johnny's body described a rigid, dark arc -in the air, hovered suspended a second in a completely horizontal -position, and then crashed with a hollow boom to the deck. The -Hammerhead did not move. - -"BEGREE!" howled the delighted Mischa Hannigan. "BEGREE, he's knocked -him cold!" He began to dance around the room in a jig that shook his -frame with every jolt and pirouette. Charlie Jingle laughed. - -"I'll be dammed! The Tank's really got it! He really has got it!" - -"Oh, we're rich, we're rich, we're rich!" chanted the hysterical -Hannigan, dancing his macabre dance of the human puff-ball. There was -a knock at the door and Hannigan, still chanting, danced to the door -and opened it. The relaxed puffy flesh drew tight, his back stiffened. -Charlie Jingle peered around his girth to see who stood there. - -Harry Belok, in a black Homburg and a blue pin-stripe suit, stepped -smiling into the room, twirling an ebony cane. He doffed his hat, -bowing slightly. Behind him a small man slid in next to the wall, his -whole body screwed up tightly into his neck. Hannigan, with a pale, -sickly smile, shut the door. - -"If it ain't Harry Belok! Hello, Harry." - -Harry Belok, smiling, looked straight at Charlie Jingle. "Whadayasay, -Hannigan! How's things, Charlie? Long time no see, hah?" - -Charlie Jingle, with a tightness in his throat, mirrored the sick -expression of Mischa Hannigan. He smiled a smile so forced his flesh -stretched like a rubber mask out of control. - -"Hello, Harry. What can I do for you?" - -"'S this way, Charlie-mo. I just seen your boy work out. I just seen -him club the Hammerhead to the deck with the weirdest combination I -ever seen. It's somethin' new, he's got. Somethin' original! Know what -I mean?" Harry Belok stopped pacing, stopped twirling, to look at -Charlie Jingle. Charlie Jingle waited. - -"Well--I hear around the grapevine that Pugs, Inc., don't relish -the thought of givin' your boy a crack at Iron-Man. Is that true, -Charlie-mo?" - -Charlie Jingle shrugged. - -"It don't mean a thing, Harry. You know that as well as anybody." - -"Yeah, Charlie-mo. But you know as well as anybody that the Fight -Commission has got a rules book as thick as this room. If Pugs, Inc., -really wants to, they'll find some kinda statute that disqualifies your -boy for the championship. Now, you don't want _that_ to happen, do you?" - -Charlie Jingle began to feel the heat flushing up behind his eyeballs. -"What's the pitch, Harry?" - -"I think maybe what you ought to do, Charlie-mo, is lemme buy a chunk -out of your boy. Then I guarantee you get the match." - -"What makes you think I don't get the match anyway, Harry?" - -Harry Belok turned, pointing his stick through the glass to the gym. - -"Look down there. You see any reporters there? You see any cameras -shootin'?" - -Charlie Jingle did not move, keeping his eyes unblinking on Belok. - -"Okay. There's no reporters. No press build-up. Pugs, Inc., has put the -freeze on. So? What's the point?" - -"The point," said Harry Belok, tapping Charlie Jingle's chest with the -white-tipped stick, "the point, is that you don't get no match from -Iron-Man unless you play ball with me!" - -Charlie Jingle squinted at him through a cloud of brown-blue smoke. -"Can't do it, Harry-mo," he said quietly. - -"You serious?" - -"Dead serious," said Charlie Jingle. - -"You get too serious, that's the way you liable to wind up," said Harry -Belok through his teeth. He turned and stomped toward the door and went -out. The little man against the wall slid out after him. - -Charlie Jingle walked nonchalantly to the door, hooked his foot behind -it, and kicked it shut with a loud slam. Mischa Hannigan took a -handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his brow. - -"You've gone crazy, Charlie. You've gone stark ravin' mad!" - -Charlie Jingle whirled. - -"All these years, Mish, I starved and sweated in tank-joints. All these -years I broke my back, and nobody lifted a finger except a choice one -or two. Now I've got a crack at somethin' good and everybody wants in. -Well I don't want them in! I want them to stay clear, and lemme go my -own way! Is that crazy?" - -"But Charlie," moaned Mischa Hannigan. "You can't go laughin' at the -Fixer like that! Don't you have enough worries without gettin' killed?" - -Charlie Jingle looked at him a blank moment and then laughed. He -turned, looking toward the ring below. The Tanker was on the Gym -floor, looking up. He waved. Charlie turned to Hannigan. - -"Can you get me the Jawbreaker to spar with Tanker, Mish?" - -Hannigan sank slowly into his leather chair behind the beat-up, rusting -metal desk. He rubbed a patch of rust with his thumb. - -"Sure. Sure I can get the Jawbreaker. Can you get the match?" - -"You just watch my dust," said Charlie, and went out. - -Mischa Hannigan crinkled his nose. He began to feel his asthma coming -on. - - * * * * * - -"Are you crazy, Jingle?" roared the apoplectic Commissioner Jergen. "I -can't get myself wrapped up in ring politics! I'm a fight commissioner, -not a goddam promoter!" - -Charlie took a few steps toward the Commissioner, leveling a finger at -him in indictment. - -"Now you lemme tell you somethin'. You run the fight game, but the only -thing you're interested in is your own goddam reputation. The only time -you ever get up off your fat keister is when somebody publicly pulls a -quick deal that looks phony. Then you roar up from the saddle and start -screaming 'foul'--_only_ because it makes you look bad if you don't!" - -"I can have you cited for contempt--" - -"I don't give one damn in hell what you can have me cited for! I -thought you were one square guy. But all you are is a bloody politician -like all the others! You're here to make sure the fight racket gets a -fair-deal. Well I'm getting the old freeze-away, and you still sit on -your keister and don't do a damned thing!" - -"You damn midget!" croaked the Commissioner, and Charlie Jingle -whirled, fists cocked, his face working up a nice purple color. "What'd -you call me, Fatso?" - -"I called you a damn midget, and if you don't like it, I dare you take -a poke at me!" said the Commissioner, and coming around his desk he -thrust his jaw out toward Charlie Jingle's cocked fists. - -Jingle drew his fist back and stopped. Slowly he dropped the cocked -hand by his side. - -"Oh, no! Oh, no you don't! You'd just love me to do it, wouldn't you? -A half-hour later I'd lose my license for conduct unbecoming a fight -trainer." - -The Commissioner straightened up slowly, glaring out from under thick -grey eyebrows at Charlie Jingle's face. - -"You think I'd pull _that_?" - -"Goddam right you'd pull it! For all I know, you may even be working -for Pugs, Inc." - -Fight Commissioner Jergen rocked back on his heels as if he had just -taken a blow between the eyes. He sank slowly into his chair, staring -in stillborn amazement at Charlie Jingle. - -"Wait a minute, Charlie. You mean to say--Listen, boy, what's happening -to you? You know better than to say something like that to me!" - -Charlie Jingle suddenly felt a hollowness in his stomach. - -"I'm sorry, Jergen. I don't know what's the matter with me. This -thing's got me sore. They got me goin', and there's nothin' I can do -about it. I called the press. I told them that Pugs, Inc. and Tanker -Bell had come to an agreement. I even quoted a fight date. I look in -the papers the next day. Nothing! They got me sewed up tight. I come -here as a last resort.... I'm sorry I shot off my mouth!" - -Charlie Jingle turned and started out. - -"Now wait a minute, Charlie...." Charlie Jingle turned. "You see, I -know all about these kinds of deals in the game. Have known about them -for years. But they keep me shut out because I can't prove anything. -If you go to court as a witness, Pugs, Inc. will have fifteen other -witnesses. They'll even have a taped recording of your conversation -with them, which they juggle and splice to fit their purposes. You'll -hear things coming off a tape which you damn well know you didn't say -or mean. But you'll have to admit it's your voice; you were there, the -other guys in the room were there--and they got you nailed. See what I -mean? They're big business. They got it sewed." - -"You mean there's nothing to do?" - -"I mean there are ways. All you've got to do is sneak yourself into the -public eye. Once that happens, the public asks questions. What happened -to Tanker Bell? Why isn't he fighting the Champ? Know what I mean?" - -"Don't you think they're askin' questions now?" - -"Sure. But they ain't doin' it en masse. See?" - -"Yeah," said Charlie Jingle softly. "Yeah. What I gotta do is hit Pugs, -Inc. where they ain't got control of the situation. Where they don't -have their stooges workin' to keep things quiet." - -"Now you've got it," said the Commissioner, grinning. - -"Okay. See you around," said Charlie, and started out. - -"Take care," warned the Commissioner. But by that time Charlie Jingle -was on his way. - - * * * * * - -At one o'clock of that afternoon, Charlie Jingle boarded a -coast-to-coast rocket. Fifty-five minutes later, at ten fifty-five -A.M. West Coast Time, Charlie Jingle set foot on the pavement of Los -Angeles' Municipal Rocket-Port, hopped a cab, and got out on the lot of -Galaxy Films. His business there took him two hours and twelve minutes, -by which time he hopped another cab, was born back to the Rocket-Port, -and bought a return ticket on the eastbound Rocket, scheduled for -takeoff at five P.M. - -Charlie found a few hours on his hands. He chose to divert himself -at the Jet-Car Races in Culver City. He dropped forty dollars on -the first two races, and had just bought another ticket when, as he -walked away from the betting window, he saw a familiar profile marking -possibilities on a racing sheet with a well-chewed pencil. He nudged up -to Rabbit Markey, and in a half-whisper, asked: - -"Got anything hot today, Jack?" - -Rabbit Markey looked up with an annoyed frown, blinked, and when -Charlie Jingle's face registered, laughed. - -"'Lo, Charlie? How's things out on the Coast?" - -"Things," said Charlie, shaking his hand, "are lousy. But they'll get -better real fast. How about you, Rabbit? Out of the fights for good?" - -Rabbit Markey sighed slow and long, nodding his head. - -"I dumped my whole stable, Charlie, and when I come out here, I figured -Jet-Car racing was a clean way to make a buck. So I bought me a Jet -outfit. But it's the same tie-up as the fights was." - -"I can imagine," said Charlie Jingle. - -"No you can't, neither. For instance, you know who Jet-Cars -Incorporated happens to be an affiliate of?" - -"Wait! Don't tell me. Lemme guess." Charlie shut his eyes. "Pugs, Inc.?" - -"Bingo," said Rabbit Markey dispiritedly. "You know who makes the -drivers for the Jet-Cars?" - -"Wait! Don't tell me!... Pugs, Inc.?" - -"Bingo," said Rabbit Markey sadly, and Charlie laughed. - -"That's the way the bugle blows, eh, Rabbit?" - -"You know who's got the Commissioner of Jet-Car Races bought out?" went -on Rabbit Markey. - -"Wait! Don't tell--How do you know that, Rabbit?" - -"Whatsa difference. I know. For sure! I happened to find out. Just like -the old Fights Racket, eh, Charlie?" - -"Yeah," said Charlie Jingle nervously. "Except that nobody's got Jergen -bought out." - -"Hunh?" exclaimed Rabbit Markey. - -"What I said--nobody's got--" - -"I heard ya, Charlie. I heard ya the first time. You mean you never -heard about Jergen?" - -"Heard? Heard what?" - -"Boyo boyo boy! Buddy, you are in the middle of the neatest fix in -history. You mean to say you don't know what's happening?" - -"Fix? What kinda fix, Rabbit?... Are you kidding? I can't even get my -boy a fight, and you're talking fix!" - -"Aw Boyy! Awww Boyyyy are you a dummy! Lissen! Whatta you doin' out -here onna Coast?" - -"Doin'? I'm tryin' to set it up so I can get Tanker a fight, that's -what I'm doin'!" - -"You worked out a deal with some film company, huh?" - -"That's right. Why?" - -Rabbit Markey shot a glance to the right of him and one to the left, -hunched his shoulders, pulled his trousers up, took Charlie by the -lapel, and drew him close to a post. The buzzer sounded outside to -announce that the race was within one minute of starting time. - -"Charlie, you're about to be had. Now you're playin' it the way you was -supposed to in the beginning. You was supposed to play ball with the -Hollywood boys to begin with. Now you done it. Now the fix is in!" - -"How the the hell can there be a goddam FIX?" screeched Charlie -Jingle. "Tanker's level. Are you kiddin'?" - -"Sure! Tanker's level! But how about the Contender? How about -Hammerhead Johnny? How about Steamroller Jones?" - -"You're crazy!" shouted Charlie Jingle. "It can't be! How the hell -would _you_ know?" - -"You wanna know how I know? My daughter Marie--you remember her, she -was a kid when you seen her--she's a secretary to Mike Bretz, the East -Coast Assistant Vice of Pugs, Inc.... She's got the whole map out, -from the word go. Pugs, Inc. is puttin' things in your way so that -everybody thinks you got a real thing in the Tank. They're helpin' you -get a build-up, you see, as if they wanted to freeze you out. When you -finally break through the freeze-out one way or the other, they're -gonna have one hellofa drawing-card! Get it now, Charlie?" - -Charlie Jingle walked away from Rabbit Markey, went some twenty paces, -kicked a dent in a refuse-chute, and walked back. - -"I don't believe it!" whispered Charlie Jingle hoarsely. "I don't -believe it!" - -The bugle blew outside. Rabbit Markey looked at Charlie, looked at his -ticket, and started toward the race-track. - -Charlie Jingle caught his arm. - -"Wait a minute, Rabbit." - -Rabbit Markey shook his head. - -"I already said enough to float me in blood, Charlie. Now lemme go and -watch the bloody no-good fixed races." - -"No, Rabbit. Tell me more. Tell me who else is swingin' this deal?" - -"Don't you know?" - -"Harry Belok?" - -Rabbit Markey nodded. - -"Jergen?" asked Charlie Jingle with bated breath. - -Rabbit Markey nodded his head. - -"How they do it? Tinker with the Fighters?" - -"You ever see Hammerhead get knocked off his feet?" - -"I don't get it--they lemme buy my own way into the news, is that it? -I think I'm perfectly legitimate. So does everybody else in the game. -What then?" - -"Then a story breaks someplace about the way Pugs, Inc. tried not to -give you a fight. Everything looks like Pugs, Inc. is scared stiff of -you because you can ruin them. Big build-up. Even Jergen goes to bat, -confesses he tried to help you get the fight. Everybody's sore as hell -at Pugs, Inc. They force a fight, Tanker goes in--and gets slaughtered. -See?" - -Charlie Jingle felt his guts deflate in a rush. - -"Yeah," he said, dead-toned. "I see." - -"What you gonna do?" - -"I dunno. I got it set up with Galaxy Films to be waitin' in New York -Rocket-Port with cameras. Couple of friends of mine are gonna fake a -shootin' with me when I get there. Guess I've got no choice. I'll have -to go through with it now." - -"Okay now," said Rabbit Markey. "Now lemme go and get ulcers over the -cars." He gave Charlie his hand and they shook slowly. - -"Take care, kid--and thanks." - -"Nahhh! Forget it! Forget you even saw me here! But don't forget what -I told you. Harry Belok's got friends in LA, too. I got racing-ulcers, -but I don't mind bein' alive with them. You get me?" - -Charlie Jingle nodded again, and Rabbit Markey walked out into the roar -of the Jet-Races. Charlie Jingle looked down at the ticket in his hand, -ripped it in two, and let the pieces flutter to the floor. - -Outside, he hailed a cab. - -To board the Eastbound Rocket would have been to play into the very -hands of his enemies. And he needed time to think--to figure his way -out of the fix that had been planned for him. Perhaps by avoiding the -Rocket trip, he would avoid the pre-planned shooting, the filming of -which was also pre-set, and so avoid the press, and whatever consequent -notoriety would follow the whole affair at the Rocket-Port. - -So he hired a car and started to drive East. - - * * * * * - -There arose a great hue and cry at the disappearance of Charles Jingle, -who had been a registered, scheduled passenger on the Eastbound Rocket. -What had happened to him? What mystery cloaked his disappearance? -Galaxy Films made it known that Charles Jingle suspected an attempt on -his life. Why? asked a conscientious columnist. Who might have reason -enough to threaten the life of a Robot-Trainer? Mischa Hannigan, -innocently and in a moment of anger at what he thought must be vengeful -murder, stated that attempts had been made to intimidate Charles Jingle -into selling out Tanker Bell. Who had done so? Mischa Hannigan would -not say, though hinting darkly that a "well-known fixer" was at the -bottom of it. - -The Press probed deeper into the mystery. What about Charles Jingle's -property, Tanker Bell? Was it so valuable that the proprietor should -be murdered for not parting with it? If it was, why had there been no -offer of a match from the Champion? - -It was then that some bright reporter conceived the idea of questioning -the Fight Commission as to its views on the shamefully clandestine -affair. What had it to say? Nothing, was the reply. The bright reporter -launched an attack on the Commission. The fight public wanted to know -what the Fight Commission thought its function was, if not to expose -underground tactics in the game? - -Commissioner Jergen addressed the citizenry via television. He admitted -that Charles Jingle had been to see him. He admitted he was unable to -move due to a lack of tangible evidence. He would not name the parties -accused by Charles Jingle because there was no real evidence at this -date. He would further investigate the situation, using every resource -at his command. - -When Charlie Jingle arrived in New York two days later the lid was off -the town. Everyone was fuming at what had been perpetrated against -him. Everyone understood why he had come into town unobtrusively. - -What Charlie Jingle had sought to avoid had happened anyway. The play -was in motion. There was no stopping it. - -He watched the day-to-day developments in a state of paralyzed horror. -It was a nightmare in which he was the principal, and yet, the -bystander, the spectator. He had no choice but to follow. Rabbit Markey -had shown him the truth, so that all things now had a double meaning, a -reality and an unreality, another dimension, another depth. - -When the press came to question him, Charlie fought the only way -he knew. He denounced Pugs, Inc. as cheats, liars, and fixers. He -denounced Commissioner Jergen, Harry Belok, the press, the Hollywood -people, the prize-fight game, and the public in an attempt to break the -whole business wide open. - -But everyone understood. - -"Mister Jingle is justified in his bitterness," said a reporter. - -"Of course Charlie's sore. He's got a right to be sore!" said -Commissioner Jergen. - -"A horrible injustice. We were concerned over our reputation," said -Kort Gassel of Pugs, Inc. - -"The guy deserves a break!" said the fight public. - -And Hollywood said, "We don't understand what prompted this unwarranted -attack." - -So there it was. Charlie Jingle spoke the truth, but nobody believed -him. Tanker Bell was granted a match. The fix was in. - -As a last resort, Charlie Jingle refused to let the Tanker fight. An -uproar went up from the public. It was a matter of ethics. Tanker Bell -was now their champion. He was the embodiment of everyman against the -Organization, against injustice. Tanker Bell _must_ fight! - -It was then that Charlie Jingle understood. This was not simply a -fight. This was part of a long-range plan to bring the public man -to heel. This was part of a scheme to break the mass-individual -spirit, because if Everyman stood with Tanker Bell as the champion -of independant justice, and Tanker Bell were beaten--so would the -public-independent spirit be. - -But Charlie Jingle had his hands tied. - - * * * * * - -On the day of the fight, Charlie Jingle corralled the Tanker in the -workshop and ordered the amazed Tanker to lie down on the work-bench -for a "tune up". The Tanker protested. - -"You crazy, Charlie? Whuffor? I never felt so good in my life!" - -"Don't gimme any arguments, Tank. Stretch out and shuddup." - -"But Charlie...." - -"Stretch out, for God's sake!" - -"What you gonna do?" - -"Re-vamp you. I'm gonna run the tapes on the bout with the Contender, -and stuff your memory banks with tapes on every fight was ever had with -a Pugs, Inc. product. Then I'm gonna run tapes on Hammerhead Johnny. -I'm gonna key up your reflex-pattern to the point where you'll be -operating so fast your joints are liable to break down in the ring." - -Tanker stared at him, open-mouthed. "What for? Will you please tell me -that? _What for?_" - -"After I've fed you the tapes on the Contender and Hammerhead, you'll -know, if those goddam memory-computers of yours ain't so rusty they can -still work." - -"You tryin' to teach me somethin' I don't know?" - -"That's right." - -"Why can't you just tell me?" - -"If you figure it out yourself, you won't like it any more than if I -told you; but you'll know it the hard way." - -"What a hellofa way to teach me somethin'! Jazzin' me up! My -co-ordination is perfect, analysis-system is workin' like a voodoo -charm, and you wanna jazz me up! It's like committin' suicide!" - -Something in the Tanker's face changed, quickly and suddenly, as if a -diamond-bright idea exploded inside his steel-plated head. - -"Charlie?" - -Charlie Jingle looked up from his assortment of tools. "What?" - -"Is this a fix?" - -Charlie Jingle looked at him, the flush of anger brightening his eyes. -"Is that a joke, Tanker?" - -"No, Charlie. A question." - -"Stretch out," said Charlie Jingle gruffly. - -"Answer me first, Charlie. Is it?" - -"Whatta you think?" - -"I dunno," said the Tanker, stretching out slowly. - -"You really wanna win that fight, kid?" asked Charlie Jingle, sad and -tender. - -"You know I do!" - -"Trust me then, hah?" - -The Tanker laughed, stretching out on the bench. - -The light glittered cold on the smooth worn steel of the tools in -Charlie Jingle's hands. - - * * * * * - -When the first Mechanical Pugilist was made, the Fight Commission made -a number of demands. First, through each robot's sight-mechanism, it -was established that each machine should be equipped with cameras by -which they would record the activity of their opponent in the ring. -If a foul was committed which had escaped the judges, the proof -would thereby be recorded on the camera-tapes, which could easily be -confiscated by the Fight Commission. - -Secondly, there was a co-ordination system in each machine which could -not be slackened without a noticeable difference in the conduct of -the fighter, thus acting as a safeguard against the Trainer-Owner's -voluntarily slowing their fighters down for illegal purposes. However, -there were ways to slow a pug down. There were circuit-shorting -devices, reflex-sabotaging devices, analysis-pattern disturbances, -muscle-flexibility tensions--all of which cut down the fighter's -efficiency to some degree. The trick, of course, was to do so without -exposure, since all fighters were examined moments before they entered -the ring, and were subject to further investigation if the Judges -deemed a fight suspiciously under expectation-level. - -The machines then were constructed, so that, in essence, they were -totally 'honest', and every part in them was recorded in a master -plan, filed with the Fight Commission, so that nothing could be added, -and certainly, nothing be subtracted from them, since their balance -depended completely on very essential parts. - -They were also constructed so that they had their weakness-points in -exactly the same places men had theirs. If a machine struck hard enough -and exactly enough on the point of its opponent's jaw, it would jar -wires and electrical contacts badly enough to stop its operational -function--thus the "knockout". - -To all intents and purposes the fighting machine was constructed -as much along human lines as was possible, even to the point of -corruptibility. They all had a desire to be great fighting machines, -and to go down in the annals of fight history. They were, each and -every one, made for the purpose of practicing a deadly, brutal art by -which men could sublimate the brutality that nested like a sleeping -tiger in their own persons. Provision had even been made for the sight -of flowing blood. The tough rubber skin that made the robots appear -human contained the red oil that lubricated the steel "innards", and if -the rubber skin split the more the bloodthirsty members of the audience -were satisfied. - -What Charlie Jingle did, when he operated on the Tanker, was what -might be called, in human terms, "over-conditioning" him. He tightened -and sped his reflexes, shortened the length of his wires so that -electrical responses had shorter distances to travel, sped up his -Analysis-Pattern, hyper-toned his muscle-flexibility, and generally -made him a nervous wreck. - -Then, as a final touch, he ran the tapes he had promised to run, -striving to bring the truth to the Tanker. - - * * * * * - -"How do you feel?" asked Charlie as he watched Tanker Bell sit up, his -face twitching. - -"Like a damn screwball!" said the Tanker. - -"Did you get the message?" - -"Yeah. Hammerhead never fought like the way he fought me in his life! -Wha'd they do to him?" - -"Fixed him," said Charlie Jingle soberly. - -"The Contender too?" - -"Well you saw the tapes. They're all stuck away in that memory bank of -yours. Whatta you think?" - -Tanker nodded, his head jerking up and down uncontrollably. - -"Fixed him too. But I don't get the picture yet. Do you, Charlie?" - -"Sure, I get it. The night I called the Arena to match you against -the Contender because Kid Congo got squashed in that accident, they -had a fix workin' between them. Kid Congo was supposed to upset the -Contender, see? But they must've both been fixed a little to fool the -Judges. So there's this accident, see? This throws the whole plan into -a panic--Congo's out, it's too late to un-fix the Contender. If the -Auditorium puts in a fighter who's strictly legitimate, everybody will -know it was a fixed. I call. They figured I had a Tank, maybe you'd -look pretty bad in there, and nobody would know the difference. Okay, -what happens? You nail the Contender, because, after all, you ain't -that bad--does it figure?" - -"Boy! Does it!" said the Tanker, his head jerking. "Why can't you go to -the authorities, Charlie?" - -"Because this fix is piled a mile high, Tanker, in all directions." - -"Whadda you mean?" - -"I mean I can't go to the Commission." - -"What we gonna do? Just get belted around?" - -"We got no choice," said Charlie Jingle with a shrug. - -"The hell we ain't! If you think I'm gonna go into a ring and get -mauled, you're off your rocker!" - -"We can't call the bout off," said Charlie Jingle dejectedly. - -"Well who said anything about callin' it off?" shouted Tanker. - -"I did the best I could! I tuned you up. I timed you. I jazzed you up -good--" - -"But you _still_ don't think we can beat that Iron-Man Pugg!" - -"That's right." - -"So whattam I supposed to do when I go inter the ring tonight? Throw -down my hands and give it up?" - -"You do what I did. Do your best." - -"Alla while knowin' I don't stand a chance?" - -"If I did it, you can do it." - -"You know what you don't have, Charlie? You don't have faith!" - -Charlie Jingle snorted in disgust. - -"Who hatched you? Some preacher?" - -"No, no, that's the truth, and you know it!" - -"The truth," roared Charlie Jingle in a white rage, "The truth is that -everything's a lie! The truth is that everything's fixed from the word -go, from the bottom up and the top down. That's the goddam truth for -you!" - -Tanker shook his head stubbornly. - -"Boy, you sure are singin' a different song, all of a sudden. I dunno -what the hell happened to you, but you don't even sound like yourself!" - -"Okay! Okay! Wait and see when they klobber you with it tonight, Tank, -my boy! Wait and see when it hits you square between the eyes." - -The Tanker leaped up from the bench, jerking his fists in the air -uncontrollably. - -"I'll murder him!" - -"No you won't. Listen, I been fighting against fixes and fixers all my -life, Tanker. I never believed, and I never wanted to believe, that -they had it sewed away, that the big operators had us tucked away into -their pockets. Now I'm convinced! They sold me their dirty bill of -goods. I'm sewed in with the rest of them." - -The Tanker shook his fist under Charlie Jingle's face. Oil had -drained from his system up into his face and head, lubricating his -head-mechanisms as protection from strain, as his head-parts were being -overworked. His "skin" looked blotchy. - -"Charlie! After this is over, I want quits with you! You hear me? I -want quits!" - -"Suits me fine," said Charlie Jingle. - -"I'll bet--" began Tanker Bell, "--I'll bet you ain't even gonna bet on -me! Are you?" - -"Sure! I'm gonna bet a thousand on you in the open market. Then what -I'm gonna do is let Hannigan bet five thousand for me on the sly on the -Champ. That way, at least I'll come out with somethin'." - -"Even Belok's better than you! At least he's got guts enough to fix -fights. You ain't even got guts enough to fight one!" - -Charlie Jingle walked to the door. - -"You better rest up," he said, and swung the door open. - -"Don't worry about me," said the Tanker. "I can take care of myself!" - -Charlie Jingle looked at him a moment, a cloud of inexpressible -something in his eyes. - -"See you later," he said quietly, and shut the door. - - * * * * * - -Charlie Jingle strode, shoulder to shoulder with Tanker Bell, down the -long cluttered corridor of Golum Auditorium toward the roped ring. -There swelled, to either side of them, the surging roar of the crowd, -and it seemed to Charlie that the sound lifted the bitterness of his -expression from his face and floated it forcibly toward the rafters -overhead, for all to see, and to know that Charlie Jingle had given up -the good fight, Charlie Jingle was tired, had been had, was through, -inside and out. The fix was in. There was no way to stop it. That was -the way the bugle blew. - -They climbed into the ropes and the roar of the crowd boomed and grew, -electric with the mood and feel of battle. Swiftly Charlie disrobed the -Tank, sat him on a stool, and looked over at the Champion's corner. -Iron-Man Pugg was already seated. On his face, as on Tanker's, there -was the brooding look of combat, of dead-sure certainty that he, and -he alone would win. And Charlie felt a jolt of sick depression in his -stomach, because he knew it was true. - -The robot-referee came into the ring, and the crowd immediately hushed. -A dime-sized microphone on an almost invisible wire dropped down -from the batteries of overhead lights (this was more in the line of -tradition than need, since the robot-referee had a built-in mike of -his own), and the referee held up his hands for complete silence. The -crowd shushed itself to a murmer, and the referee went through his -introductory piece. After each fighter had received the crowd's roar of -approbation, the referee signalled for them to come to the center. - -They went back to their corners. Charlie shook the robe from the -Tanker's back as a hum of excitement charged through the crowd. The -buzzer sounded and the fighters rose, ready. Charlie stepped through -the ropes, slapped Tanker on his back. - -"Do your best, Tank." - -The Tanker looked at him, face grim and solitary, shut away from -Charlie. - -"My best ain't enough, Charlie. I'll do more than my best." - -Charlie Jingle was about to say something else when the bell banged -away. He scooped the stool out of the ring and watched the Tanker -shuffle into center to meet the Champion. - - * * * * * - -Thirty rounds of fighting is tough work. Even for machines. Thirty -rounds of fighting, at five minutes per round, is one hundred and fifty -minutes, two and a half hours, of solid, shattering labor. A machine -overheats the way a man does under constant stress. It's joints expand, -its lubricant thins, things begin to stick, friction wears parts. -While a fight-machine's body works against time, its opponent pounds -it, jars it, jolts it. Wires loosen. Gears slip. Tubes shatter. The -machine slows, becomes gawky. Its timing is a split second off. Its -flexibility, its speed, are worn down. - -When its pattern-analysis system becomes damaged, it cannot decipher -the feints, the systems and combinations of its opponents' strategy. -An eye is shattered, and the Trainer replaces it, since he carries a -spare pair. The same one is smashed again, and he cannot replace it, -because the Commission only allows a single replacement during a -fight. Its "skin" is split and the colored oil flows, the life-blood of -the machine. The Trainer is allowed one vulcanizing skin repair job per -bout. If it happens again, the fighter must go on, fighting against the -time when the loss of oil will endanger his operating efficiency. - -Sometimes the machines strike each other with such deadly impact, they -dent the inner frame-work of the body, putting strains on a section -of wiring or electrical tubing. Then the damaged machine must fight -defensively to protect its weakened section. The offender will work out -elaborate punch-patterns to trick the defender into somehow thinking -he understands the aim of each pattern of punches and where the final -concentration will be. And suddenly, with uncanny craftiness, the -offender switches its attack to an unexpected area. - -This is the function of the pattern-analysis system in each fighter. -To map, plan, digest the opponent's habits of fighting, then compute -them, set up a given system of punches itself which will clutter the -opponent's memory banks, and then radically change the mode of attack -and system of fighting. The process is mathematically complex. It is -the process of the human brain operating at high speed. - -The first fifteen rounds of fighting are generally devoted toward -"faking" patterns. Each fighter labors to out-fox the other. In a -sense, the first fifteen rounds of fighting are preliminary. They give -the fight fans an opportunity to warm up to what is coming. Then it -begins. The lightning-fast pace shifts, becomes slower. The fighters -seem to be gliding through water. Then one unleashes an attack, sets an -impossibly fast pace. The game has started.... - - * * * * * - -Charlie Jingle gripped the edge of the ring hard, digging his hands -into the canvas, straining and twisting in tortured anguish with every -slashing blow that struck the Tanker. He watched the two fighters -weave, jerk, dart--bodies and arms flashing blurs, smashing blows one -to the other in sequences that were too complex for the eye to follow -in detail. He groaned, cursed, hoped, bellowed, roared and screamed -along with two thousand nine hundred and seventy four other human -beings in the arena. - -The round was the twenty-sixth. This was the stretch. The final, -ineradicable stretch. The bell banged away and the fighters parted -under the glare of the lights, dancing away from each other to their -corners. Charlie shot the stool into the ring and went through the -ropes. Tanker dropped like a chunk of hot lead onto the stool. - -"How do you feel, boy? How do you feel?" prompted Charlie, pumping the -cooling-fluid into Tanker's insides. - -"Hot," rasped the Tanker. "Hot as hell." - -"Want me to throw in the towel?" asked Charlie, working fast, working -the pump up and down quickly. - -"No, goddamit. Wrap it around your eyes if you can't take it." - -Charlie worked the body, stimulating the free flow of oil through the -system. - -"How'm I doin'?" asked the Tanker grudgingly. - -"Well at least you're still in there." - -"By God, Charlie! Fighting Machines ain't supposed to be too emotional, -but if anybody gets me sorer than you do so help me, I'll murder him!" - -Charlie Jingle worked the body fast, checked the heated joints for too -much strain. - -"Favor the right. The elbow's gettin' creaky. And save the fight for -the Champ. You'll need it." - -The buzzer sounded, Charlie shoved his tools through the ropes onto the -edge of the deck, climbed out, and holding onto the edge of the stool, -he said, "Watch his Three-Six combo. He's gonna angle for your jaw -pretty soon." - -Tanker turned, looking down at him. - -"You don't trust me at all, do you?" - -The bell banged and quickly Tanker was on his feet, moving in his -curious, side-long motion. - - * * * * * - -By the end of the twenty-seventh, Tanker came back to his corner lame. -The Champ had dented his forehead. - -"How is it?" asked Charlie Jingle. - -"Fine," said Tanker thickly. "It's fine." There was a slur to his -voice, which tipped off what was beginning to happen. Tanker's -co-ordination system had been damaged. - -"He's crackin' down, now. He's got all his power behind them punches. -You can see it when he pivots." - -"Yeah? Well _I_ kin feel it when he punches," said the Tanker. - -Charlie pumped him up with cooling fluid, worked his body. In the -pit of his stomach was a sickness, a feeling of helplessness because -Tanker's trouble was not where he could reach it, now. Now it was -inside. - -"He's gonna knock your head off, this one, Tank. You got a dent in it." - -"I know I got a goddam dent. You don't hafta tell me." - -Charlie put his gear out of the ropes. - -"I told you it was a fix. Don't blame me for nothin'." - -"Yeah. You wash your hands of it. Just like that guy in the -whuddayacall...." - -"Bible," said Charlie Jingle. - -"Yeah," said Tanker. The bell sounded and he sprang to his feet. - - * * * * * - -At the end of the twenty-eighth, Tanker was dragging his feet, hanging -on by a thread of will, except of course that there was no will -in a fighting machine except the mechanistic desire to be a great -fighting-machine. - -"He'll nail you this one," said Charlie Jingle. - -"Thass what you think," challenged Tanker. - -"That's what I know. The fans are already going to the windows to -collect their bets." - -"Yeah? They got another guess com--Why ain't you collectin'?" - -"I gotta stick it out, you know that!" - -"You mean to say you really bet on Iron Man?" - -"Sure," said Charlie Jingle, pulling a ticket out of his shirt pocket. -"See?" - -Tanker bent close, scrutinizing the ticket. He looked up into Charlie's -face, his own blotchy with color. - -"Five thousand dollars you bet on that bum?" - -Charlie Jingle laughed. - -"He don't look like no bum from where I am." - -The buzzer sounded, drowning out the string of curses the Tanker loosed -at him. Charlie calmly shoved his equipment out of the ring. - -"Make it look good right to the end, you hear?" - -The bell banged. Tanker Bell got up slowly, moving in a clumsy waddling -gait toward the Champion, arms hanging like stiffened lead weights by -his sides, head bulled forward, shoulders hunched. He did not spring, -did not dance. He shuffled forward, shoulders rocking from side to side. - -Iron-Man Pugg saw the stance of the beaten fighting-machine. He knew -the dead-locked expression in the face, knew the shuffling, springless -walk that indicated that the opponent was cold, was dead on his feet, -jammed away inside, locked and frozen. But there was always the -suspicion of trickery in him when he saw it. - -He danced in lightly, speared the Tanker's head with a long series of -jabs, chopped away at his mid-section, and then, as if he himself were -absolutely cocksure, lowered his guard just a fraction of an inch out -of the Tanker's reach. Nothing happened. The Tanker moved toward him, -dead on his feet, arms limp. The Champion had to blast him back with a -murderous right to prevent a head-on, chest-on collision. The Tanker -staggered back, wobbled, his knees threatened to unflex and buckle, -then the built-in instinct to go on picked him up, and he straightened. - -Iron Man could hear, behind and around him, the swelling roar of the -crowd. He knew it was for him. He had won. A hard, good fight. He had -won. It remained now for him to put the trimmings on the package. -Artfully he flirted in and around the Tanker, jabbing him lightly, -ripping powerful right-hand shots to his head, toying with him. The -crowd was roaring for blood. They wanted the finish. The Champion moved -forward, wound up. He started his famous knockout sequence of punches, -landing the first and second carefully, playing to his audience so that -they could see what was happening and appreciate from the beginning -what was about to happen. The Champion was enjoying himself. He worked -with flash and flourish, and the crowd began to love it. - -Then Tanker Bell came alive. The Champion was first to see the -expression of his face, and a split-second before it happened, he -knew he had been tricked. He would forever remember that expression. -It was almost human. It was an expression of hatred. Of murderous, -long-controlled rage, diabolical and lethal. - -Tanker Bell ripped a blow to his jaw so well-set, so precise, so -accurate, that when the Champion's head snapped back, the cable at the -back of his neck broke. The Champion fell over on his back, striking -the deck like fallen thunder. The Champion was not only 'out'--he was -'dead'. - -There was a great, still silence in the arena as Tanker Bell strode -back to his corner. It was as if the air, and sound, and people had -been frozen. The Referee came to his senses first, stood over Iron-Man, -and counted, with long strokes of the arm. At the last stroke, chaos -broke loose. Fans and officials swarmed into the ring. The spectators -roared. But Tanker Bell had eyes for one single human being in that -arena. Charlie Jingle. - -When he turned, Tanker saw Charlie Jingle doubled over the ropes, -laughing. - -A reporter pulled Tanker to the middle of the ring before he could get -to Charlie. While they quizzed him and prodded him, Charlie Jingle -remained doubled over the ropes in a violent fit of hysteria. - -Finally they drew Charlie Jingle into the circle at ring-center. Had he -had any doubts that Tanker would win? - -"Never!" - -Did he know that Tanker was faking toward the last? Certainly, came the -laughing reply. - -How much money had he bet on his fighter? - -Ten thousand dollars, came the uproarious reply, and Tanker Bell -bellowed, "He's a liar! He never bet a thing!" - -The Press was astonished. - -The Officials perked up their suspicious noses. - -What did Tanker Bell mean? - -"Ask him!" accused the glaring Tanker. - -Did Charlie Jingle have the bet ticket with him? After all, Mister -Jingle--news. - -Charlie Jingle, laughing, with a flourish, produced a ticket from his -shirt pocket. - -Tanker Bell stared at it, goggle-eyed. - -What would Charlie Jingle do with the money from the proceeds? - -"Ruin Pugs, Inc.," said Charlie Jingle. "Me and a California Rabbit are -goin' into business together. Ruinin' Pugs, Inc." - -"Psychology," growled the Tanker. "The bum used his goddam psychology -on me." - -What was Tanker Bell referring to? - -"Leave him alone," said Charlie Jingle, putting his arm around Tanker's -shoulders. "Can't you see he's punch-happy?" - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Jingle in the Jungle, by Aldo Giunta - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JINGLE IN THE JUNGLE *** - -***** This file should be named 60024.txt or 60024.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/0/2/60024/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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