cwilleford.cockfighter-第11部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


any　cocks　that　season。　All　I　had　in　my　wallet　was　eighteen　dollars；　plus　some　loose　change　in　my　pockets。　I　owned　a　thirty…dollar　guitar；　a　gaff　case；　a　few　clothes　in　a　battered　suitcase；　and　a　lease　on　a　farm。
　　Of　course；　the　contents　of　my　gaff　case　were　worth　a　few　hundred　dollars；　but　I　needed　everything　I　had　to　fight　cocks。　I　sat　down　on　the　edge　of　my　bed；　and　opened　my　gaff　case　to　search　for　the　last　letter　Doc　Riordan　had　sent　me。　I　opened　the　letter；　but　before　reading　it　again；　I　made　a　quick　inventory　of　the　gaff　case　to　see　if　there　was　anything　I　could　do　without。　There　wasn't。　I　needed　every　item。
　　There　were　sixteen　sets　of　gaffs；　ranging　from　the　short　one…and…one…quarter…inch　heels　I　preferred；　up　to　a　pair　of　three…inch　Texas　Twisters。　I　even　had　a　set　of　slashers　a　Puerto　Rican　breeder　had　given　me　one　afternoon　in　San　Juan。　With　slashers；　the　bird　is　armed　on　one　leg　only。　I　don't　believe　in　fighting　slashers　for　one　simple　reason。　When　you　fight　slashers；　the　element　of　chance　is　too　great；　and　the　best　cock　doesn't　always　win。　With　a　wicked　sharp　blade　on　a　cock's　left　leg；　the　poorest　cock　can　sometimes　get　in　a　lucky　hit。　Pointed　gaffs；　round　from　socket　to　point；　are　legitimate。　Once　a　cock's　natural　spur　points　have　been　sawed　off；　the　hand…forged　heels　fitted　over　the　half…inch　stumps　are　a　clean　substitute　for　his　God…given　spurs；　and　they　make　for　humane　fighting。　Two　cocks　meeting　anywhere　in　their　natural　state　will　fight　to　the　death　or　until　one　of　them　runs　away。　Steel　spurs　merely　speed　up　the　killing　process；　and　a　cock　doesn't　have　to　punish　himself　unnecessarily　by　bruising　his　natural　spurs。
　　Of　course；　I　had　fought　slashers　when　I　was　a　soldier　in　the　Philippines　because　I　had　to；　and　I　knew　how　to　fight　them。　But　I　had　never　considered　them　altogether　fair　because　of　that　slight　element　of　chance。　Cockfighting　is　the　only　sport　that　can't　be　fixed；　perhaps　the　only　fair　contest　left　in　America。　A　cock　wouldn't　throw　a　fight　and　couldn't　if　he　knew　how。
　　Every　pair　of　my　sixteen　sets　of　heels　was　worth　from　twenty　to　thirty…five　dollars；　and　I　needed　them　all。　The　correct　length　of　heels　is　a　mon　argument；　but　what　really　determines　the　right　length　for　any　given　cock　is　the　way　it　fights。　And　even　though　I　favor　short　heels；　like　they　use　in　the　North；　or　〃short…heel　country〃　as　the　North　is　called；　I　would　never　handicap　a　cock　by　arming　him　with　the　wrong　spurs　out　of　vain；　personal　preference。　It　is　a　crime　not　to　arm　a　cock　with　the　spurs　which　will　allow　him　to　fight　his　very　best。
　　In　addition　to　my　heel　sets　I　had　a　spur　saw；　with　a　dozen　extra　blades；　moleskin　heeling　tape；　blade　polishers；　gaff　pointers；　a　set　of　artificial　stubs　for　heeling　slip…leg　cocks；　two　pairs　of　dubbing　shears；　one　curved　and　the　other　straight；　and　two　new　heeling　outfits；　each　containing　pads；　tie　strings　and　leather　crosspieces。　There　was　also　a　brand　new　roll　of　Irish　flax；　waxed　tie　string；　some　assorted　salves　and　a　few　gland　stimulant　capsules。　To　anybody　except　a　cocker；　this　collection　of　expensive　equipment　was　worthless　junk。　If　I　pawned　the　entire　contents　of　my　case；　a　pawnbroker　wouldn't　give　me　more　than　forty　dollars　for　the　lot。
　　For　a　few　thoughtful　moments　I　clicked　the　dubbing　shears　in　my　hand；　and　then　picked　up　Doc's　letter。　I'd　been　carrying　It　around　in　my　case　for　more　than　three　months。
　　
　　Dear　Frank；
　　
　　I　haven't　written　you　for　some　time；　but　I　wanted　you　to　know　your　investment　is　as　good　as　gold。　Don't　be　surprised　if　you　get　a　stock　split　one　of　these　days　soon　and　double　your　eight　hundred　dollars。　Next　time　you　get　to　Jax；　drop　in　and　see　me　and　I'll　give　you　the　details。
　　
　　Very　truly　yours；
　　Doc　Riordon
　　
　　To　anyone　who　didn't　know　Doc　Riordan；　this　letter　would　have　sounded　encouraging　indeed。　But　the　letter　was　more　than　three　months　old　and；　unfortunately；　I　knew　Doc　too　well。　I　liked　the　man　for　what　he　was　and　respected　him　for　what　he　was　trying　to　be。　But　unlike　me；　Doc　lived　with　a　big　dream　that　was　practically　unattainable。　All　I　wanted　to　be　was　the　best　cockfighter　who　ever　lived。　Doc；　who　had　already　reached　his　late　fifties；　wanted　to　be　a　big…time　capitalist　and　financier。
　　He　wasn't　a　real　doctor；　I　knew　that　much。　He　was　a　pharmacist；　and　a　good　one；　and　somewhere　along　the　years　he　had　added　Doc　to　his　name。　I　had　met　him　several　years　before　at　various　Florida　cockpits；　and　I　had　bought　conditioning　powder　and　ergot　capsules　from　him　when　he　still　had　his　mail…order　business。　Conditioning　powder　can　be　made　up　by　any　pharmacist　who　is　given　the　formula；　but　Doc　was　dependable；　well　liked　by　cockers；　and　he　had　also　invented　a　salve　that　was　a　quick　healer　for　battered　cocks。　However；　there　are　a　lot　of　businessmen　who　advertise　the　same　types　of　items　in　the　cocker　journals。　There　wasn't　enough　big　money　in　cocker　medical　supplies　for　Doc；　and　he　dropped　out　of　the　field。　However；　he　would　stifi　supply　a　few　friends　like　myself　when　we　wrote　to　him。
　　Some　four　years　before；　Doc　had　caught　me　in　an　amiable　mood　and　with　more　than　five　thousand　dollars　in　my　pockets。　I　had　put　eight　hundred　dollars　into　his　pany…The　Dixie　Pharmaceutical　pany…and　I　had　never　received　a　dividend。　I　had　had　several　glowing　letters　from　him；　but　not　a　cent　in　cash。　In　fact；　I　didn't　even　have　any　stock　certificates　to　show　for　my　investment。　It　was　one　of　those　word…of…mouth　deals　so　many　of　us　enter　into　in　the　South。　A　handshake　is　enough；　and　I　knew　my　money　would　be　returned　on　demand。　。　。　providing　Doc　had　it。　But　whether　he　had　it　or　not　was　something　else　altogether。
　　It　was　five　o'clock　and　I　decided　to　wait　and　see　him　in　the　morning。　Feeling　as　low　as　I　did；　I　didn't　want　to　return　to　my　room　with　a　turndown　that　evening。
　　I　left　my　room；　walked　down　the　street　to　a　café　and　ate　two　hamburgers　and　drank　two　glasses　of　milk。　When　I　returned　to　my　room；　I　nipped　at　the　gin　and　read　my　new　Southern　Cockfighter　magazine。　The　magazine　had　been　published　and　mailed　out　before　the　Belle　Glade　derby；　but　there　was　a　short　item　about　the　Homestead　pitting；　and　my　name　was　mentioned　in　Red　Carey's　column；　〃On　the　Gaff。〃
　　
　　Looks　like　bad　luck　is　still　dogging　Silent　Frank　Mansfield。　His　sad　showing　at　Homestead　makes　us　wonder　if　his　keeping　methods　are　off　the　beam。　Another　season　like　his　last　three；　and　we　doubt　if　he'll　still　be　on　the　S。C。　T。　rolls。
　　
　　The　item　should　have　irritated　me；　but　it　didn't。　A　columnist　has　to　put　something　in　his　column；　and　I　was　fair　game。　There　was　nothing　wrong　with　my　conditioning　methods。　They　had　paid　off　too　many　times　in　the　past。　My　problem　was　to　get　the　right　cocks；　and　when　I　got　Icky　from　Mr。　Middleton；　I　would　be　off　to　a　good　season。　I　finished　the　rest　of　the　gin　and　went　to　bed。
　　
　　
　　As　far　back　as　320　B。C。　an　old　poet　named　Chanakya　wrote　that　a　man　can　learn　four　things　from　a　cock：　To　fight；　to　get　up　early；　to　eat　with　his　family；　and　to　protect　his　spouse　when　she　gets　into　trouble。　I　had　learned　how　to　fight　and　how　to　get　up　early；　but　I　had　never　gotten　along　too　well　with　my　family　and　I　didn't　have　any　spouse　to　protect。　Fighting　was　all　very　well；　but　getting　up　early　was　not　the　most　desirable　habit　to　have　when　living　in　a　big　city　like　Jacksonville。
　　The　next　morning　I　was　up；　dressed　and　shaved；　and　sitting　in　the　lobby　by　five　thirty。　I　bought　a　morning　Times…Union；　glanced　at　the　headlines　and　then　went　out　for　breakfast　because　the　hotel　coffee　shop　didn't　open　until　seven　thirty。　I　lingered　as　long　as　I　could　over　coffee；　but　it　was　still　only　six　thirty　when　I　returned　to　the　hotel。　I　was　too　impatient　just　to　sit　around；　and　I　soon　left　the　dreary　lobby　and　walked　the　early　morning　streets。　The　wind　off　the　river　was　chilly　and　it　felt　good　to　be　stirring　about。　A　sickly　sun　rode　the　pale　morning　sky；　but　after　an　hour　passed　it　began　to　get　warm　and　promised　to　be　a　good　day。
　　Promptly　at　eight　I　entered　the　Latham　building　to　see　if　Doc　Riordan　had　arrived　at　his　office。　The　Latham　building　was　an　ancient　red…brick　structure　of　seven　stories　built　in　the　early　1900s。　Nothing　had　been　done　to　it　since。　The　entrance　lobby　was　narrow；　grimy　and　filled　with　trash　blown　in　from　the　street。　There　was　a　crude；　hand…lettered　sign　on　the　elevator　stating　that　it　was　out　of　order。　Doc's　pany　was　on　the　sixth　floor。
　　The　stairwell　up　was　unlighted　and　without　windows。　I　climbed　the　six　flights　only　to　discover　that　his　office　was　closed。　The　office　was　two　doors　away　from　the　far　end　of　the　hallway；　and　the　frosted　glass　top　half　of　the　door　had　gold　letters　painted　on　it　four　inches　high：
　　
　　THE　DIXIE　PHARMACEUTICAL　CO。
　　Dr。　Onyx　P。　Riordan
　　PRESIDENT　AND　GENERAL　MANGR。
　　
　　I　tried　the　door　and　found　it　locked。　Rather　than　descend　the　stairs　and　then　climb　up　again　I　leaned　against　the　wall　and　smoked　cigarettes　until　Doc　showed　up。
　　The　wait　was　less　than　twenty　minutes　and　I　heard　Doc　huffing　up　the　stairs　long　before　I　could　see　him。　He　entered　the　hail；　red…faced；　carrying　a　large　cardboard　container　of　coffee。　The　container　was　too　hot　for　him　to　hold　fortably；　and　as　he　recovered　his　breath；　he　kept　shifting　it　from　one　hand　to　the　other　as　he　fumbled　with　his　key　in　the　door　lock。
　　〃e　on　in；　Frank；〃　Doc　said；　as　he　opened　the　door。　〃Soon　as　I　set　this　coffee　on　the　desk　I'll　shake　hands。〃
　　I　followed　Doc　into　the　tiny　office；　and　we　shook　hands。　Doc　wiped　his　perspiring　bald　head　and　brow　with　a　hankerchief　and　cursed　angrily　for　two　full　minutes　before　he　sat　down　behind　his　desk。
　　〃I've　told　the　superintendent　before　and　I'm　going　to　tell　him　one　more　time；〃　Doc　said　as　he　ran　down；　〃and　if　he　don't　get　that　damned　elevator　fixed；　I'm　moving　out！　That's　a　fact；　Frank；　a　fact！〃
　　I　sat　down　in　a　straight…backed　chair　in　front　of　Doc's　desk；　and　surveyed　his　ratty　little　office。　A　single　dirty　window　afforded　a　close…up　of　the　side　of　a　red…brick　movie　theater　less　than　three　feet　away；　and　the　proximity　of　the　building　didn't　allow　much　light　into　the　room。　Doc　probably　had　to　burn　his　desk　and　ceiling　lights　even　at　midday。　Doc's　desk　was　a　great；　wooden；　s