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.