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said, slapping me on the back.

    And so would he, I thought, as I returned to my corner.

    Waller took off my dressing-gown and I turned to get a last look at her.

    She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Knock that smug smile off his face, handsome," she called. "It's time someone did."

    Her escort put his hand on her arm, scowling, but she shook it off impatiently.

    "And good luck ..."

    "Thanks," I said.

    Outraged, Waller got between her and me.

    "Keep your mind on this fight," he said as the bell went.

    The Kid came out fast, his chin tucked down into his left shoulder, a cocky grin on his face. He led with a left that was a foot short, weaved away and tossed over a right. That was short too. I moved around him looking for an opening. I wanted to land one hard jolt that would slow him down. I could see he was a lot faster on his feet than I was.

    He caught me with a left to the face: not a hard punch. I countered with a left and right to the body. His left jumped into my face again, and he tried a right cross, but I ducked under it and socked him in the body. He got in close and began hammering away at my ribs, but I tied him up, and the referee had to pull us apart. I got in a good left jab to his face as we broke, and he didn't like it. He moved away fast, snorting, then came in again, throwing rights and lefts. I smothered everything he handed out, stepped in and nailed him with a block-buster that sent him down on his hands and knees.

    The crowd went mad. A knock-down in the first two minutes of the fight was something they hadn't expected, and they rose to their feet, screaming for me to go in and smash the Kid.

    I had gone to a neutral corner while the referee began his count. I was a little worried. I hadn't meant to hit him that hard. He remained on hands and knees, looking up at the referee's arm, a glazed stare in his eyes. But he got up at the count of seven and immediately started back-pedalling. I went after him, hitting him with rights and lefts, but pulling my punches, not wanting to get him into more trouble, but putting up a show to please the crowd.
    They were pleased all right. Every now and then I landed with an open glove, and the slap it made sounded as if I were killing him.

    He finally got his head clear and began to fight back. He was snarling and scared. I could tell how scared he was by the way he threw punches that were yards short. All he was thinking about now was to keep clear of my right. He had had one dose of it and he didn't want another.

    The round ended with us leaning on each other and slamming at each other's ribs. At close quarters he was good, and he got in a couple of digs that hurt. The bell went and I returned to my corner. While Waller was working over me, I looked in her direction.

    She was staring up at me, not smiling, her eyes angry, her mouth set. I knew what was the matter with her. She hadn't been fooled by those open-glove slaps even if they had fooled the crowd. Waller shoved a sponge of cold water in my face. He was smart enough to see who was distracting my attention, and he moved around so his body blocked her from my sight.

    Brant came up as Waller was drying my face.

    "What are you playing at?" he demanded in a breathless whisper. His face was white and strained. "Why did you hit him like that?"

    "Why not? He's in here for a fight, isn't he?"

    "Petelli says . . ."

    "Oh, the hell with Petelli!"

    The bell went for the second round, and I moved out of my-corner. The Kid came out cautiously, an apprehensive expression on his face. He kept pushing his left out, trying to keep me away, but I had the longer reach. I poked one in his face, stepped in and hooked him high up on the head. He fought back, catching me with a right and left that had a lot of steam in them, and for a few seconds we mixed it, socking each other about the body while the crowd roared its approval. The Kid was the first to break off.

    I caught him with a hook as he moved away