Green said, “Ellis, please,” and turned his attention to me. “One of the reasons the bond is going to fail is that the public is less than pleased with the service we’ve been giving them. We were shorthanded during the war, and some of the men we hired to remedy that turned out to be rotten apples and made us look bad. Also, we’re top-heavy with rookies since the war ended, and a lot of good men have retired. Two station houses need to be rebuilt and we need to offer higher starting salaries to attract better men. All this takes money, and the voters aren’t going to give it to us in November.”
I was beginning to get the picture. Malloy said, “It was your idea, counselor. You tell him.”
Loew said, “I’m laying dollars to doughnuts we can pass the proposal in the ’47 Special. But we need to drum up enthusiasm for the Department to do it. We need to build up morale within the Department, and we need to impress the voters with the quality of our men. Wholesome white boxers are a big draw, Bleichert. You know that.”
I looked at Blanchard. “You and me, huh?”
Blanchard winked. “Fire and Ice. Tell him the rest of it, Ellis.”
Loew winced at his first name, then continued. “A ten-round bout three weeks from now at the Academy gym. Braven Dyer is a close personal friend of mine, and he’ll be building it up in his column. Tickets will go for two dollars apiece, with half allotted for policemen and their families, half for civilians. The gate goes to the police charity program. From there we build up an interdivisional boxing team. All good wholesome white boys. The team members get one duty day off a week to teach underprivileged kids the art of self-defense. Publicity all the way, straight to the ’47 Special Election.”
All eyes were on me now. I held my breath, waiting for the offer of the Warrants spot. When no one said a word, I glanced sidelong at Blanchard. His upper body looked brutally powerful, but his stomach had gone to flab and I was younger, taller and probably a whole lot faster. Before I could give myself reasons to back down, I said, “I’m in.”
The brass gave my decision a round of applause; Ellis Loew smiled, exposing teeth that looked like they belonged on a baby shark. “The date is October 29, a week before the election,” he said. “And both of you will have unlimited use of the Academy gym for training. Ten rounds is a lot to ask of men as inactive as you two have been, but anything else would look sissy. Don’t you agree?”
Blanchard snorted, “Or communistic”; Loew shot him a shark-tooth grimace. I said, “Yes, sir,” and Inspector Malloy raised a camera, chirping, “Watch the birdy, son.”
I stood up and smiled without parting my lips; a flashbulb popped. I saw stars and got a back pounding, and when the camaraderie stopped and my vision cleared, Ellis Loew was standing in front of me, saying, “I’m betting on great things from you. And if I don’t miss my bet, I expect we’ll be colleagues soon.”
I thought, You’re a subtle bastard, but said, “Yes, sir.” Loew gave me a limp handshake and walked away. I rubbed the last of the stars out of my eyes and saw that the room was empty.
I took the elevator down to street level, thinking of tasty ways to regain the weight I had lost. Blanchard probably weighed 200, and if I came in at my safe old 175 against him he would wear me down every time he managed to get inside. I was trying to decide between the Pantry and Little Joe’s when I hit the parking lot and saw my adversary in the flesh–talking to a woman blowing smoke rings up at a picture postcard sky.
I went over. Blanchard was leaning against an unmarked cruiser, gesturing at the woman, still intent on her rings, putting them out three and four at a time. She was in profile as I approached, head tilted up, back arched, one hand on the cruiser’s door for support. Auburn hair in a pageboy cut brushed her shoulders and long, thin neck; the fit of her Eisenhower jacket and wool skirt told me she was thin all over.