BooksBarbecue
Back Come Again No More Save as PDF
Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover
  3. Title Page
  4. Contents
  5. PART I 
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. PART II 
  19. 13.
  20. 14.
  21. 15.
  22. 16.
  23. 17.
  24. 18.
  25. 19.
  26. 20.
  27. 21.
  28. 22.
  29. 23.
  30. 24.
  31. 25.
  32. 26.
  33. 27.
  34. 28.
  35. 29.
  36. 30.
  37. PART III 
  38. 31.
  39. 32.
  40. 33.
  41. 34.
  42. 35.
  43. 36.
  44. 37.
  45. 38.
  46. 39.
  47. PART IV 
  48. 40.
  49. 41.
  50. 42.
  51. 43.
  52. 44.
  53. 45.
  54. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  55. Touchstone Reading Group Guide

THE PRIZEFIGHTER STOOD IN A CONE OF SMOKY light, punching at shadows. He was a lean man an inch over six feet, with green eyes, a shock of thick black hair, a deep cleft in a square jaw. Sinew, muscle, bone. A hard man. Born hard, raised hard, battered often, boy and man. The nose had been broken and broken again, scar tissue lay thick over both eyes, his knuckles had been broken so often that his hands looked like a bowl full of walnuts. He skipped a little on his toes to test the boards under the ring and bounced off the ropes, learning their give. He threw a flashy combination for the crowd, heard an appreciative ripple from the high rollers at ringside, felt the sheen of sweat on his body, the loose way his shoulders moved, the quick, supple strength in his legs, the deep power in his lungs.

It was 1931, two years into the Great Depression, but the fight game was bigger than ever. It might have been the worst of hard times, one worker in three without a job and no relief in sight, but folks would still pay good money to watch one man beat the hell out of another. Maybe they needed something to take their minds off the foreclosures and the soup lines. Jake McCloskey was not one to wonder why folks would spend good money to watch a prizefight. He was paid to fight, so he fought. This would be a good payday. The crowd was the biggest he had ever seen. There had to be ten thousand paying customers, easy. The arena was packed to the rafters. It stank of sweat and cheap cologne, bootleg beer, bathtub gin, piss from overflowing urinals and smoke, especially smoke. Everyone smoked. The men smoked cigars, the women smoked cigarettes. Even the trainers smoked during bouts. Smoke billowed over the ring.

Wade Wynkoop, the radio announcer, chattered into his mike like an angry squirrel.

Jake McCloskey is quick as a fox in a chicken house, folks. He looks ready to go against the chocolate challenger right here in Denver tonight. That’s Lionel Kane, ladies and gentlemen. You know King Kane, we all know him. Kane can kill a man with a single punch, but Jake McCloskey is too slick and too quick. We are going to see a dilly of a fight tonight, folks, but when it’s done, Rebel Jake will be the winner, that’s the straight dope.…

Wynkoop had an Adam’s apple the size of a baseball. It bobbed up and down over a purple bow tie with white polka dots.

Next to Wynkoop, the sports columnist Ed Floate filled a coffee mug with hooch from a pocket flask and hoisted the mug in a silent toast to McCloskey. His lead was already written.