He reeled out into the street like a drunk, unable to put one foot in front of the other. He found a park bench, sat down and put his head between his knees, trying to shake that giddy feeling. The numbers swam in his mind. All those fights, a dozen years in the ring. All those paydays, even if Moe Spitzer siphoned off more than his share. All of it gone, down to a single dollar. The thieving little bitch. If Thelma Pearl had come sashaying down the street at that moment, he would have put a whupping on her she would never forget.

Despair turned to black rage. He punched the wooden bench so hard he shattered two of the slats. A well-to-do gentleman in a business suit paused to deliver a lecture. “That’s city property you’re destroying there,” he said. “I should have you arrested.”

As he got to his feet, Jake wore a crazed smile. He grabbed the man’s shirt and collar with his left hand and punched with his right fist, three, four, five quick blows. He relaxed his grip and let the man slide to the sidewalk, out cold. There were a few other people on the street, but as Jake glared around, they lowered their gaze and hurried away. He aimed a kick at the businessman’s ribs and walked the rest of the way home in a seething fury, fists balled at his sides, hoping someone else would give him an excuse to start throwing punches. Back in the little house he had shared with Thelma, he put three holes in the walls before he reached the kitchen sink, where he washed the blood off his knuckles.

He called Bucky and told him what had happened.

“Why the hell didn’t you ask me before you opened a bank account with that dame?”

“Well, I never thought.”

“No, by God. You never did think. You stopped thinkin the first time you saw her, now she’s cleaned you out neater than a skeeter’s peter. What the hell are you goin to live on until your next fight?”

“I thought maybe you could spot me another double sawbuck.”

“Spot you, hell. I ought to let you starve, you damned dumb hillbilly.”

“That’s what Thelma Pearl called me, when I got blood on her dress. A damned dumb hillbilly.”

“Maybe she had a point. How can you be so fuckin stupid?”

“I got no idea, Bucky. All I know, I need to get more fights.”

“You’re too busted up right now. Got to wait a month, anyhow. I’ll talk to Moe, see what we can find. He wanted to hold you out, maybe get a title shot before you screw up and lose.”

“I can’t wait around for no title shot. I got to fight now.”

“Like I said, I’ll talk to Moe. You still got the De Soto, aint you? And the motorcycle?”