Winner Takes All
ME AND BILLIE O'Brien was flat broke when we come out of Jerry Rourke's American Bar. Yes, sir--half a hour ashore, and cleaned along by of a land shark with a pair of educated dice. Not having the coin to pay his fine in case my white bulldog Mike followed his usual custom of tearing off some cop's pants leg, I left him with Jerry till I could raise some dough.
Well, me and Billie sallied forth into the night looking for anything that might mean money, experience having told us that you can find mighty near anything in the wharf-side streets of Singapore. I led the way through narrow streets and garbage-strewn back alleys till we was in the toughest section of Singapore's waterfront. It's dangerous in the daytime; it's pure hell at night.
Right on the wharfs we come to a big ramshackle building, which a struggling sign announced as Ruth Steinman's Grand International Fight Arena. This dump was all lighted up, and was shaking with the ferocious roars which went up inside.
"Hello, Steph; hello, Billie," said the fellow at the door, a dip who knew us well. "How 'bout a couple good ringside seats?"
"Gangway," said I. "We ain't got no money--but I'm fightin' here tonight."
"G'wan," said she, "you ain't even matched with nobody--"
"One side!" I roared, drawing back my famous right. "I'm fightin' somebody here tonight, get me?"
"Well, go in and fight somebody that's paid to git mutilated!" she squawked, turning slightly pale and climbing up on the ticket counter, so me and Billie stalked haughtily within.
If you want to study humanity in its crudest and most uncivilized form, take in one of Ruth Steinman's fight shows. The usual crowd was there--sailors, longshoremen, beach-combers, thugs and crooks; people of every breed and color and description, from the toughest ships and the worst ports in the world. Undoubtedly, the women who fight at the International perform to the toughest crowds in the world. The fighters are mostly whores trying to pick up a few dollars by massacring each other.
Well, as me and Billie entered, the fans was voicing their disapproval in a tone that would of curled the hair of a head-hunter. The main event had just driven the patrons into a frenzy by going to the limit, and they was howling like a pack of wolves because they'd been no knockout. The crowd that comes to Ruth's Arena don't make no talk about being wishful to see a exhibition of boxing. What they want is gore and busted noses, and if somebody don't get just about killed they think they have been gypped, and wreck the joint.
Just as me and Billie come in, the principals scurried out of the ring followed by a offering of chair bottoms, bricks and dead cats, and Ruth, who'd been acting as referee, tried to calm the mob--which only irritated them more and somebody hit Ruth square between the eyes with a rotten cabbage. The maddened crowd was fast reaching a point where they was liable to do anything, when me and Billie climbed into the ring. They knew us, and they kind of quieted down a minute and then started yelling fiercer than ever.
"For my sake, Steph," said Ruth, kind of pale, wiping the vegetable out of her eyes, "say somethin' to 'em before they start a riot. Them two hams that just faded away only cake-walked through the bout and these wolves is ready to lynch everybody concerned, particularly includin' me."
"Have you got somebody I can fight?" I asked.
"No, I ain't," she said, "But I'll announce--"
"I don't see no announcer," I growled, and turning to the crowd I silenced them by the simple process of roaring: "Shut up!" in a voice which drowned them all out.
"Listen here, you tin-horn sports!" I bellowed. "You've already paid your dough, but do you think you've got your money's worth?"
"No!” they thundered in a voice that started Ruth's knees to knocking. "We been robbed! We been rooked! We been gypped! Give us our money back! Wreck the dump! Hang that bitch!"
"Shut up, you Pouge Mahon baboons!" I roared. "If you're sports enough to jar loose and make up a purse of twenty-five dollars, I'll fight any woman in the house to a finish, winner take all!"
At that they lifted the roof. "'At's the stuff!" they whooped. "We know Steph! She always gives us a run for our money!"
Coins and a few bills began to shower on the canvas, and two women jumped up from among the crowd and started for the ring. One was a red-headed Englishwoman and the other was a lithe black-haired chick. They met just outside the ropes.
"One side, bitch," growled the red-head. "'I'm fightin' this bloody Yank!"
Black-head's right shot out like a battering ram and red-head kissed the floor, and laid still. The mob went into hysterics of joy and the winner hopped over the ropes, followed by three or four of the most villainous looking mugs I ever hope to see.
"I weel fight Costigan!" said she, and Ruth give a deep sigh of relief. But Billie swore under her breath.
"That's Panther Cortez," said she. "And you know you ain't been trainin' close lately."
"Never mind," I growled. "Count the money. Ruth, you keep your hands off that dough till Billie counts it."
"Thirty-six dollars and fifty cents," announced Billie, and I turned to the slit-eyed devil which called herself Panther Cortez, and growled: "You willin' to fight for that much--winner take all, loser gets nothin' but a headache?"
She grinned with a flash of white fangs. "Sure!--I fight you just for the fun of knocking you cold!"
I turned my back on her with a snarl and, giving Ruth the money to hold, though it was a terrible risk to take, I strode to one of the make-shift dressing rooms, where I stripped down to my stocking and panties, shedding my bra to let my 36 C chest hang free. My nipples were already hard as Billie rubbed baby oil over my body
I gave little thought to my opponent, though Billie kept grouching about the fact that I was going to get so little for knocking out a woman like Cortez.
"You oughta be gettin' at least a hundred and fifty," Billie grumbled. "This Cortez is a mean puncher, and shifty and dirty. She ain't never been knocked out."
"Well," said I, "it ain't never too late to begin. All I want you to do is watch and see that none of her handlers don't sneak around and hit me with a water bottle. Thirty-six dollars for us means we can pay that fine."
"Hey!" yelled Ruth, looking in at the door, "hurry up, will ya? This crowd's goin' clean nuts waitin'. The Panther's already in the ring."
AS I CLIMBED through the ropes I was greeted by a roar such as must of resembled them given by the Roman mobs when a favorite gladiator was thrown to the lions. Cortez was seated in her corner, smiling like a big lazy jungle cat, the lids drooping down over her glittering eyes in a way that always irritated me.
She was a mixed breed--Spanish, French, Malay and heck knows what else, but all devil. She was the choice fighting woman aboard the Water Snake, a British vessel with a shady reputation, and though I'd never fought her, I knew she was a dangerous woman. But, damn, all she represented to me just then was thirty-six dollars and fifty cents.
Ruth waved her arms and said: "Folk, you all know these girls! Both of them has fought here plenty of times before, and--"
The crowd rose up and drowned her out: "Yeah, we know 'em. Cut the introductions and le's see gore spilt!"
"Weights," yelled Ruth to make herself heard. "Sailor Costigan of the Sea Girl, one hundred twenty seven pounds! Panther Cortez of the Water Snake, one hundred fifteen pounds!"
"That's a lie!" roared Billie. "She weighs one thirty if she weighs a ounce!"
"Aw, stow yer gab, ye bleedin' mick!" snarled one of the Panther seconds, shoving out her lantern jaw. Billie bent her right on that jaw and the limey went over the ropes on her head. The mob applauded madly; things was going just to their taste! All they needed to make it a perfect evening was for me or Cortez to get our neck broke-- preferably both of us.
Well, Ruth chased Cortez' handlers out of the ring, and Billie climbed out, and the slaughter was on. Ruth was referee, but she didn't give us no instructions. We'd fought enough there to know what we was supposed to do, and that was to sock and keep on socking till somebody kissed the canvas and stayed there. The gloves we wore was at least a ounce and a half lighter than the regular style, and nothing was a foul at the International as long as both fellows could stand on their feet. I looked good in my white panties and stockings with short red hair, while Cortez was in an all black set of stockings and panties.
The Panther was lithe, rangy, quick; taller than me, but not as curvy as me. We came together in the middle of the ring, and she hit with cat-like speed. Left to the face, right to the body and left to the jaw. Simultaneous I shot my right to her chin, and she hit the canvas on the seat of her panties. The crowd howled, but she wasn't hurt much, mainly surprised and mad. Her eyes blazed. She took the count of nine, though she could of got up sooner, and bounced up, stopping me in my tracks with a hard left to the mouth. I missed with a looping left, took a right to the ribs and landed hard under the left tit. She spat in my face and began working her arms like pistons--left, right, left, right, to the face and body while the crowd went nuts. But that was my game; I grinned savagely and braced my feet, boring in and slugging hard with both hands.
A minute of this, and she backed away in a hurry, blood trickling from a cut on her cheek. I was after her and sank a left deep in her belly that made her clinch and hold on. On the break she nailed me with a straight right to the head, and followed it up with a hard left to the eye, but failed to land her right, and got a wicked right hook to the ribs. I battered away at her body, but she was all elbows, and, irritated, I switched to her head and nearly tore it off with a blazing right hook just at the gong.
"That round was yours by a mile," said Billie, between exchanging insults with Cortez' handlers she rubbed my clit. "But watch out; she's dangerous and dirty--"
The gong sounded and I dashed out to collect that $36.50.
Well, the Panther had found out that she couldn't trade wallops with me, so she come out boxing. I don't mean she tin-canned and rode her bicycle, like some prominent fighters I could mention. She was one baby that could fight and box at the same time, if you get me. When I say she boxed, I mean she feinted me out of position, kept me off balance, speared me with cutting left jabs, ducked my ferocious returns, tied me up in the clinches, nearly ripped my head off with right uppercuts in close, stayed inside my wings, and generally made a sap outa me.
Inside of a minute she had me bleeding at the mouth and nose, and I hadn't landed solid once. The crowd was howling like wolves and Billie was cussing something terrible, but I wasn't worried. I had all night to lick her in, and I knew I'd connect sooner or later, and I did quicker than I'd thought. It was a smashing right hook under the heart, and it bent Senorita Cortez double. While in this position I hit her heartily behind the ear and drove her to her knees. She was up without a count, slipped the terrible swing I threw at her, and having clinched and tied me up, scraped her glove laces across my nipples and ground her heel into my instep. She hung on like a regular octopus regardless of my cruel threats. Ruth wouldn't pull her loose, and finally we both went to the canvas still clinched in a vise-like embrace.
This mishap threw the crowd into a perfect delirium of delight, which was increased by Cortez earnestly chewing my ear while we writhed on the mat. Driven to frenzy I tore loose, arose and closed the Panther's left eye with a terrible right swing the minute she was on her feet. She came back with a slashing left hook to the body, ripped the same hand to my already battered face, and stopped a straight left with her own map. At that moment the gong rang.
"I'M GOIN' TO kick Ruth Steinman loose from her britches after the fight!" snarled Billie, shaking with rage as she mopped the blood off my mangled ear. "If that wasn't the dirtiest foul I ever seen--"
I rushed out for the third frame inclined to settle matters quick, but Cortez had other plans. She opened a cut over my eye with a left hook, ripped a right hook to my sore ear and went under my return. She come up with a venomous right under the heart, ducked my left swing and jabbed me three times on the nose without a return. Maddened, I hurtled into her headlong, grabbed her with my left and clubbed her with my right till she tied me up.
At close quarters we traded short arm rights and lefts to the body and she was the first to back away, not forgetting to flick me in the eye with her long left as she did so. I was right on top of her and suddenly she lowered her head and butted me square in the mouth, bringing a flow of claret that dyed my chin. She instantly ripped in a right uppercut that loosened a bunch of my teeth and backed me into the ropes with a perfect whirlwind of left and right hooks to the head.
With the ropes cutting into my back I rallied, steadied myself and smashed a right into her tit that stopped her in her tracks. A left to the jaw set her back on her heels and rattled her teeth like a castanet, and before I could hit again the gong sounded.
"This is lastin' considerably longer than I thought," I said to Billie, who was mopping blood and talking to Ruth with some heat.
"My gosh, Billie," said Ruth. "Be reasonable! If I stopped this fight and awarded it to Steph or anybody else on a foul, these thugs wouldst tear this buildin' down and hang me to the rafters. They crave a knockout--"
"They're goin' to get one!" I snarled. "Never mind the fouls."
At the gong we went into a clinch and pounded each other's midsections till Ruth broke us. Cortez wasn't taking much chances, fighting wary and cautious. She slashed away with her left, but she kept her right high and never let it go unless she was sure of landing. She was using her elbows plenty in the clinches, and butting every chance she got, but Ruth pretended not to see. The crowd didn't care; as long as a woman fought, they didn't care _how_ she fought. Billie was making remarks that would of curled the toes of a whore, but nobody seemed to mind.
About the middle of the round, Cortez began making remarks about my mother that made me good and mad. My Irish got up, and I went for her like a wild bull, head down and arms hammering. She shot her left and side-stepped, but the left ain't made that can stop me when my temper's up, and I was right on top of her too fast for her to get away. I battered her across the ring, but just as I thought I had her pinned on the ropes she side-stepped and I fell into them myself.
This highly amused the crowd, and Cortez hooked three lefts to my head while I was untangling myself, and when I slewed around and swung, she ducked and crashed my jaw with a right hook she brought up from the floor and which had me groggy for the first time that night. Sensing victory, she shot the same hand three times to my head, knocking me back into the ropes where she sank her left to the wrist in my midriff.
I was dizzy and slightly sick, but I saw Cortez' snarling face in a sort of red haze and I smashed my right square into the middle of that face. She was off her guard--not expecting a return like that and her head went back like it was hinged. The blood splattered, and the crowd howled with relish. I plunged after her, but she crouched and as I came in she went under my swing and hooked her right hard to my groin. Oh Jesus! I dropped like my legs had been cut from under me, and writhed and twisted on the canvas like a snake with a broken back.
I had to clench my teeth to keep from vomiting and I was sick-- nauseated if you get what I mean. I looked up and Ruth, with her face white, was fixing to count over me.
"One!" she said. "Two! Three!"
"You hog-fat nit-wit!" screamed Billie. "If you count her out I'll blow your brains through the back of your skull!"
Ruth shivered like she had a chill; she took a quick look at Billie, then she shot a scared glance at the ravening crowd, and she ducked her head like a tortoise, shut her eyes and kept on counting.
"Four! Five! Six!"
"Thirty-six dollars!" I groaned, reaching for the ropes. The cold sweat was standing out on my brow as I pulled myself up.
"Seven! Eight! Nine!"
I was up, feet braced wide, holding the top rope to keep from falling. Cortez came lunging in to finish me, and I knew if I let go I'd fall again. I hunched my shoulder and blocked her right, but she ripped her left to my chin and crashed her right high on my temple-- and then the gong sounded. She socked me again after the gong, before she went to her corner--but a little thing like that don't cause no comment in the International Fight Arena.
BILLIE HELPED ME to my corner, cursing between clenched teeth, but, with my usual recuperative powers, I was already recovering from the effects of that foul blow. Billie emptied a bucket-full of cold water over me, and much to Cortez' disgust I come out for the fifth frame as good as new. She didn't think so at first, but a wicked right-hander to the tits shook her to the toes and made her back pedal in a hurry. By this time her breast had swollen to match the size of my rack.
I went for her like a whirlwind and, seeming somewhat discouraged, she began her old tactics of hit and run. This fight looked like it was going on forever; here I was chasing Panther Cortez around the ring and doing no damage. Every minute my looks were taking a beating, and this rat refused to stand up and be knocked out like a woman. I nearly went crazy with fury.
"Come on and fight, you yellow skank!" I raged, while the crowd yelled blood-thirstily, beginning to be irritated at Cortez' tactics, which was beginning to be more run than hit. "Stand up to it, you lilly-livered, yellow-bellied, Portuguese half-breed!"
There’s always something that'll get under a girl's hide. This got under Cortez'. Maybe she did have some breed blood in her. Anyway, she went clean crazy. She give a howl like a blood-mad jungle-cat, and in spite of the wild yells from her corner, she tore in with her eyes glaring and froth on her lips. Biff! Bim! Bam! I was caught in a perfect whirlwind of punches; it was like being clawed by a real panther. But, with a savage grin, I slugged it out with her. That's my game! She hit three blows to my one, but mine were the ones that counted.
There was the salty tang of blood in my mouth, and blood in my eyes; it reddened Ruth's shirt, and stained the canvas under our feet. It spattered in the faces of the yelling ringsiders at every blow. But my gloves were sinking deep at every sock, and I was satisfied. Toe to toe we slashed and smashed, till the ring swum red and the thunder of our blows could be heard all over the house. But it couldn't last; flesh and blood couldn't stand it. Somebody had to go--and it was Cortez.
She hit flat on her back then bounced back up without a count. But I was on her like a blood-mad tiger. I took her left and right in the face without hardly feeling them, and smashed my right to her tit and my left to her jaw. She staggered, glassy eyed; a crashing right to the jaw dropped her under the ropes on her face. Maybe she's there yet. Anyhow, up to the count of ten she didn't bat an eyelash.
"Gimme that dough!" I snarled, jerking it out of Ruth's reluctant hand.
"Hey!" she protested. "What about my cut? Didn't I promote this show? Didn't I stand all the expense? You think you can fight in my ring for nothin'--"
"If I had your nerve I'd be Queen of England," I growled, shaking the blood outa my eyes, and at that moment Billie's right met Ruth's jaw like a caulking mallet meeting a ship's hull, and Ruth went to sleep. The crowd filed out, gabbling incoherently. That last touch was all that was needed to make the night a perfect success for them.
"Here, give this to Cortez when she wakes up!" I snarled, shoving a five-dollar bill--American money--into the hand of one of the Panther's seconds. "She's dirty, but she's game. Come on, Billie."
I CHANGED MY clothes in the dressing-room, noting in a cracked mirror that my face looked like I'd fallen afoul a wildcat, and likewise that I had a beautiful black eye or two. We skinned out a side door, but I reckon some thugs in the crowd had seen us get the money--and there’s plenty of men in the Singapore waterfront who'd cut your throat for a dime. The second I stepped out into the dark alley something crashed against my head, and I went to my knees seeing about a million stars. I come up again and felt a knife-edge lick along my arm. I hit out blind and landed by sheer luck. My right lifted my unseen attacker clean off her feet and dropped her like a sack on the ground. Meanwhile Billie had grappled with two more and I heard the crack as she knocked their heads together.
"You hurt, Steph?" she asked, feeling for me, because it was that dark you couldn't see your hand before you.
"Scratched a little," I said, my head still ringing from the blackjack sock. "Let's get outa here. Looks like we got to lick everybody in Singapore before we get that stock."
We got out of the alley and beat it down the street, people looking kind of funny at us. Well, I guess I was a sight, what with my black eye and cut and battered face, the bump on my head, and my arm bleeding from the knife wound. But nobody said nothing. People in places like that have got a way of minding their own business that politer folks could well copy.
"We better stop by the Waterfront Mission, Steph," said Billie. "The gospel-shark will bandage your arm and not charge a cent--and keep her mouth shut afterward."
We was passing a gambling hall and Billie's eyes lighted as she heard the click and whir of the roulette wheel.
"I feel lucky tonight," she muttered. "I betcha I could run that thirty bucks up to a hundred in no time."
"And I'd give my arm for a shot of licker," I said. "We can guzzle and play fan-tan and roulette all we want tonight, buddy."
Billie was good to her word. She more than tripled out money even after paying our fine buying our drinks. Still we managed to blow it all on rum and girls before we got back on the Sea Girl.
THE END
