Lew and George moved to opposite corners of the ring. Al Stevens wrapped his knuckles in bandages, rubbing his fists together and waiting for the fight to start.
“You’re a big man, Krook,” Lew said, “but Al Stevens could dwarf a giant. No one could take more than a few blows.”
“What do I do?” George considered breaking his cover and running for an exit.
“The trick is to keep moving and keep him angry. Stevens is a mountain, but he’s slow. As long as you dodge his blows, you have the advantage.”
The announcer entered the ring to introduce Big Jim. As the crowd of rich, connected New Yorkers cheered and clapped, Big Jim move to his reserved seat and began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen! We welcome our new contender, arrived freshly from the Woodrat. George Krook!”
The crowd cheered George, but not very much.
“In the other corner, we see last night’s winner—Al Stevens!”
Much more cheering.
“Begin the bout!”
Al Stevens lunged toward his opponent. George felt a surge of adrenaline, and he dodged Al’s first attack. This did not make Al Stevens happy.
The crowd screamed Stevens’s name as the two men circled each other. Big Jim sat in silence. George looked out into the crowd, but Lew was nowhere to be found.
Lew’s strategy seemed to work. Every time Al got close, George would duck and weave, then land a few punches in the bigger man’s torso. Al was so big and so slow that it was easy to move around or under him. The more that George connected, the slower Al got.
Al was angry and huffing. He used the full force of his body to lunge at George. George moved out of the way, but Al’s momentum was such that the big man hit the ground, face-first.
Quickly, George locked Al’s hands behind his back and started delivering sharp punches to the back of his head. A few of these and Al would lose consciousness. Al could not move, but he yelled strange curses as he lay trapped under George.
The audience was visibly shocked by the reversal of fortunes. A sharp voice pierced the screams of the crowd. “Stop!” It was the voice of Big Jim Dickinson.
The crowd quieted. George took his weight off Al’s body. He offered his hand to help Al stand up, but Al wasn’t the type of fighter to accept anyone’s help.
Big Jim spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is with utmost sadness that I declare a draw for tonight. Unfortunately, political matters demand my immediate attention. Please leave. And Al, return to your quarters.”
Al gathered himself up and glared at George, who silently prepared for the larger man’s retaliation.
Big Jim stood up with a great deal of effort and faced his audience. “I submit we postpone this event for two days from now. All bettings for tonight are mooted; please see my bookie to place your new bets. Good night!”
The confused audience slowly left the room. Al Stevens sulked and left as well. Soon the only people in the large, empty auditorium were George, Big Jim, and Big Jim’s body man.
“You earned your five minutes with me, young man,” Big Jim said. “Tell me what you want.”
George wrapped some rags around his bloodied fists. “Where did Lew go?”
“Lew Mayflower? I am sorry to say, he is no longer welcome in this club.”
“As you can guess, Krook, I run a business that requires secrecy and loyalty from all my transactors. Lew was asking questions, something about one of his employees.”
Oakley, George thought.
“Forget Mayflower, boy. You work for me now. I’m told you moved here from the other side of the Atlantic. What brings a Brit like you to the Bowery?”
George lied to maintain cover. “I was charged with a murder. Beat a man to death with my fists for talking to my wife. I fled the country and arrived here. Now I need work.”
“I appreciate a man who is … flexible with the law. Are you willing to continue your fight with Al Stevens, two nights from now?”
“Sir,” George began to explain, “I barely survived this one bout.”
“Don’t worry, boy. I say your chances of winning are … very likely.”
“How would you know that?”
“Just trust me,” Big Jim said. “I canceled your first fight prematurely for a reason, after all. Oh, it looks like five minutes have passed. Good night, Mr. Krook. See you soon.”
With his body man holding up his large frame, Big Jim escorted George from the house. George walked home that night, his mind buzzing with fresh journalism.
George arrived at the Times office the next day, a freshly written article in his hands. When he got to Van Thomas’s office, however, he received a rude shock. Before anything was said, Van handed him the morning’s newspaper.
“Read.” Van said. Then he turned to his work.
George scanned the article. UNDERGROUND FIGHT RING HAS SECRET TAMMANY CONNECTIONS, it read. Then George ran the byline: BY HOLLY QUINE.
“How did Holly find this?” George asked.
“By following you, Mr. Choogart,” Holly said, appearing from around the corner of Van’s office.
“You did what?”
“Like I said, I’m a professional journalist,” Holly replied. “This means I possess certain skills, such as following and evading detection.”
“I told you to give me a day to tell you what I know,” George said.
“A good story never waits. And besides, you are posing undercover, correct? Putting your name on this byline would only expose you. It would not take a man with Big Jim’s resources much time to connect George Choogart to George Krook.”
Though angry at being scooped, George realized Holly was right.
“George, it won’t take long until Big Jim starts looking for me,” Holly said. “And I mentioned an anonymous source in the article. Big Jim will be searching for a leak among his own people.”
“I can’t hide now,” George said. “I don’t think this fight ring is the whole story.”
“How is that?”
George was about to explain how his friend, Lew Mayflower, had disappeared during the fight. How he had questioned Big Jim about the Oakley brothers’ disappearance just before that. Then he caught himself. Holly was already in trouble with Big Jim, and that knowledge could harm her.
“The story is mine, Holly,” George said.
“Don’t insult me, Mr. Choogart,” Holly snapped. “Underneath your tall, muscular physique, you abhor violence, don’t you? You’d better hurry, before Big Jim finds out you prefer writing to fighting.”
Van suddenly spoke up. “This conversation is ruining my day. Just as you, George, have ruined most of my week. I no longer have the words to adequately express how close you are to being fired.”
“Give me two more days, Mr. Thomas.”
“What do you think, Ms. Quine?” The editor turned to Holly.
“If he needs the extra time, give it to him. I have my own sources. We will talk again soon, Mr. Choogart.”
George knew now for certain: if he didn’t have a story by the following night, he was finished in this city.