Low men in yellow coats by Stephen King

‘I know why you didn’t bet on Patterson-Johansson,’ Bobby said. ‘It’s because you don’t know who’ll win.’

‘I think Patterson will this time,’ Ted said, ‘because this time he’s prepared for Johansson. I might flutter two dollars on Floyd Patterson, but five hundred? To bet five hundred you must either know or be crazy.’

‘The Albini-Haywood fight is fixed, isn’t it?’

Ted nodded. ‘I knew when you read that Kleindienst was involved, and I guessed that Albini was supposed to win.’

‘You’ve made other bets on boxing matches where Mr Kleindienst was a manager.’

Ted said nothing for a moment, only looked out the window. On the radio, someone hit a comebacker to Whitey Ford. Ford fielded the ball and threw to Moose Skowron at first. Now there were two down in the top of the eighth. At last Ted said, ‘It could have been Haywood.

It wasn’t likely, but it could have been. Then . . . did you see the old man back there? The one in the shoeshine chair?’

‘Sure, you patted him on the cheeks.’

‘That’s Arthur Girardi. Files lets him hang around because he used to be connected. That’s what Files thinks — used to be. Now he’s just some old fellow who comes in to get his shoes shined at ten and then forgets and comes in to get them shined again at three. Files thinks he’s just an old fellow who don’t know from nothing, as they say. Girardi lets him think whatever he wants to think. If Files said the moon was green cheese, Girardi wouldn’t say boo. Old Gee, he comes in for the air conditioning. And he’s still connected.’

‘Connected to Jimmy Gee.’

‘To all sorts of guys.’

‘Mr Files didn’t know the fight was fixed?’

‘No, not for sure. I thought he would.’

‘But old Gee knew. And he knew which one’s supposed to take the dive.’

‘Yes. That was my luck. Hurricane Haywood goes down in the eighth round. Then, next year when the odds are better, the Hurricane gets his payday.’

‘Would you have bet if Mr Girardi hadn’t been there?’

‘No,’ Ted replied immediately.

‘Then what would you have done for money? When you go away?’

Ted looked depressed at those words — When you go away. He made as if to put an arm around Bobby’s shoulders, then stopped himself.

‘There’s always someone who knows something,’ he said.

They were on Asher Avenue now, still in Bridgeport but only a mile or so from the Harwich town line. Knowing what would happen, Bobby reached for Ted’s big, nicotine-stained hand.

Ted swivelled his knees toward the door, taking his hands with them. ‘Better not.’

Bobby didn’t need to ask why. People put up signs that said WET PAINT DO NOT TOUCH

because if you put your hand on something newly painted, the stuff would get on your skin.

You could wash it off, or it would wear off by itself in time, but for awhile it would be there.

‘Where will you go?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I feel bad,’ Bobby said. He could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. ‘If something happens to you, it’s my fault. I saw things, the things you told me to look out for, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you to go. So I told myself you were crazy — not about everything, just about the low men you thought were chasing you — and I didn’t say anything. You gave me a job and I muffed it.’

Ted’s arm rose again. He lowered it and settled for giving Bobby a quick pat on the leg instead. At Yankee Stadium Tony Kubek had just doubled home two runs. The crowd was going wild.

‘But I knew,’ Ted said mildly.

Bobby stared at him. ‘What? I don’t get you.’

‘I felt them getting closer. That’s why my trances have grown so frequent. Yet I lied to myself, just as you did. For the same reasons, too. Do you think I want to leave you now, Bobby? When your mother is so confused and unhappy? In all honesty I don’t care so much for her sake, we don’t get along, from the first second we laid eyes on each other we didn’t get along, but she is your mother, and — ‘