"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.