Aldo Giunta

“ Charlie Jingle squinted at him through a cloud of brown-blue smoke. "Can't do it, Harry-mo," he said quietly.
"You serious?"
"Dead serious," said Charlie Jingle.
"You get too serious, that's the way you liable to wind up," said Harry Belok through his teeth. He turned and stomped toward the door and went out. The little man against the wall slid out after him.
Charlie Jingle walked nonchalantly to the door, hooked his foot behind it, and kicked it shut with a loud slam. Mischa Hannigan took a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his brow. ”

“ Commissioner Jergen pulled a chair forward.
"Siddown, Charlie. Let's talk like reasonable men," he said. Charlie Jingle searched his face for a lie or a trick. Finding none, he went back to the table and sat down.
The Commissioner waited a moment, and then said earnestly:
"Listen, Jingle. Seventy years ago this country outlawed prize-fighting. It was barbarous, they said. Men shouldn't fight men. Men shouldn't capitalize on other men as if they were animals. ”

“ Mischa Hannigan crinkled his nose. He began to feel his asthma coming on.
"Are you crazy, Jingle?" roared the apoplectic Commissioner Jergen. "I can't get myself wrapped up in ring politics! I'm a fight commissioner, not a goddam promoter!"
Charlie took a few steps toward the Commissioner, leveling a finger at him in indictment.
"Now you lemme tell you somethin'. You run the fight game, but the only thing you're interested in is your own goddam reputation. The only time you ever get up off your fat keister is when somebody publicly pulls a quick deal that looks phony. ”

“ Then, as a final touch, he ran the tapes he had promised to run, striving to bring the truth to the Tanker.
"How do you feel?" asked Charlie as he watched Tanker Bell sit up, his face twitching.
"Like a damn screwball!" said the Tanker.
"Did you get the message?"
"Yeah. Hammerhead never fought like the way he fought me in his life! Wha'd they do to him?"
"Fixed him," said Charlie Jingle soberly.
"The Contender too?"
"Well you saw the tapes. They're all stuck away in that memory bank of yours. Whatta you think?" ”

“ On the day of the fight, Charlie Jingle corralled the Tanker in the workshop and ordered the amazed Tanker to lie down on the work-bench for a "tune up". The Tanker protested.
"You crazy, Charlie? Whuffor? I never felt so good in my life!"
"Don't gimme any arguments, Tank. Stretch out and shuddup."
"But Charlie...."
"Stretch out, for God's sake!"
"What you gonna do?"
"Re-vamp you. I'm gonna run the tapes on the bout with the Contender, and stuff your memory banks with tapes on every fight was ever had with a Pugs, Inc. product. Then I'm gonna run tapes on Hammerhead Johnny. ”

“ The light glittered cold on the smooth worn steel of the tools in Charlie Jingle's hands.
When the first Mechanical Pugilist was made, the Fight Commission made a number of demands. First, through each robot's sight-mechanism, it was established that each machine should be equipped with cameras by which they would record the activity of their opponent in the ring. If a foul was committed which had escaped the judges, the proof would thereby be recorded on the camera-tapes, which could easily be confiscated by the Fight Commission. ”

“ In a moment he opened them and slowly took in the three representatives of the champ, Iron-Man Pugg.
"Lemme get this straight. You want me to sell Tanker for much more than he's worth because you'd be humiliated at having to put one of your products in the same ring with him?"
"Exactly," said Kort Gassel.
"But you're sure your boy'd whip him in the ring?"
"Well obviously we all know the knockout victory he scored over the Contender was an accident."
Charlie Jingle nodded.
"We all know it. But there's one guy in the world who don't. You know who? Tanker Bell himself." ”

“ A machine overheats the way a man does under constant stress. It's joints expand, its lubricant thins, things begin to stick, friction wears parts. While a fight-machine's body works against time, its opponent pounds it, jars it, jolts it. ”

“ If it happens again, the fighter must go on, fighting against the time when the loss of oil will endanger his operating efficiency.
Sometimes the machines strike each other with such deadly impact, they dent the inner frame-work of the body, putting strains on a section of wiring or electrical tubing. Then the damaged machine must fight defensively to protect its weakened section. The offender will work out elaborate punch-patterns to trick the defender into somehow thinking he understands the aim of each pattern of punches and where the final concentration will be. ”

“ Tell me who else is swingin' this deal?"
"Don't you know?"
"Harry Belok?"
Rabbit Markey nodded.
"Jergen?" asked Charlie Jingle with bated breath.
Rabbit Markey nodded his head.
"How they do it? Tinker with the Fighters?"
"You ever see Hammerhead get knocked off his feet?"
"I don't get it—they lemme buy my own way into the news, is that it? I think I'm perfectly legitimate. So does everybody else in the game. What then?"
"Then a story breaks someplace about the way Pugs, Inc. tried not to give you a fight. Everything looks like Pugs, Inc. is scared stiff of you because you can ruin them. ”

“ They were, each and every one, made for the purpose of practicing a deadly, brutal art by which men could sublimate the brutality that nested like a sleeping tiger in their own persons. Provision had even been made for the sight of flowing blood. ”

“ If a machine struck hard enough and exactly enough on the point of its opponent's jaw, it would jar wires and electrical contacts badly enough to stop its operational function—thus the "knockout".
To all intents and purposes the fighting machine was constructed as much along human lines as was possible, even to the point of corruptibility. They all had a desire to be great fighting machines, and to go down in the annals of fight history. ”

“ Who might have reason enough to threaten the life of a Robot-Trainer? Mischa Hannigan, innocently and in a moment of anger at what he thought must be vengeful murder, stated that attempts had been made to intimidate Charles Jingle into selling out Tanker Bell. ”

“ There was times when you went hungry because the junk-heap needed oil, or wiring, or a pattern-analysis, or parts. Now you got something! Now you can be on top! You know damn well you don't want any part of that Hollywood fiasco. You got a crack at big money. You gonna let it go by-the-by because you're afraid a pile of wires might get killed? Naw! We fight, and that's the way it stacks!"
"You mean it, don't you, Tanker?"
The Tanker said nothing.
Charlie Jingle slowly rose, tired in his bones, tired in his joints. "Okay. I'll arrange it. ”

“ When its pattern-analysis system becomes damaged, it cannot decipher the feints, the systems and combinations of its opponents' strategy. An eye is shattered, and the Trainer replaces it, since he carries a spare pair. The same one is smashed again, and he cannot replace it, because the Commission only allows a single replacement during a fight. Its "skin" is split and the colored oil flows, the life-blood of the machine. The Trainer is allowed one vulcanizing skin repair job per bout. ”

“ Forget it! Forget you even saw me here! But don't forget what I told you. Harry Belok's got friends in LA, too. I got racing-ulcers, but I don't mind bein' alive with them. You get me?"
Charlie Jingle nodded again, and Rabbit Markey walked out into the roar of the Jet-Races. Charlie Jingle looked down at the ticket in his hand, ripped it in two, and let the pieces flutter to the floor.
Outside, he hailed a cab.
To board the Eastbound Rocket would have been to play into the very hands of his enemies. And he needed time to think—to figure his way out of the fix that had been planned for him. ”

“ And Hollywood said, "We don't understand what prompted this unwarranted attack."
So there it was. Charlie Jingle spoke the truth, but nobody believed him. Tanker Bell was granted a match. The fix was in.
As a last resort, Charlie Jingle refused to let the Tanker fight. An uproar went up from the public. It was a matter of ethics. Tanker Bell was now their champion. He was the embodiment of everyman against the Organization, against injustice. Tanker Bell must fight! ”

“ A bulky man, who had been standing at a window with his back to the seated members of the Commission while they talked with Charlie, turned to face them. A man with a heavy, grey face that had no humor in it. Charlie Jingle watched him slowly cross to the table and recognized him as Commissioner Jergen, head of the Fight Commission. ”

“ I want quits!"
"Suits me fine," said Charlie Jingle.
"I'll bet—" began Tanker Bell, "—I'll bet you ain't even gonna bet on me! Are you?"
"Sure! I'm gonna bet a thousand on you in the open market. Then what I'm gonna do is let Hannigan bet five thousand for me on the sly on the Champ. That way, at least I'll come out with somethin'."
"Even Belok's better than you! At least he's got guts enough to fix fights. You ain't even got guts enough to fight one!"
Charlie Jingle walked to the door.
"You better rest up," he said, and swung the door open. ”

“ Fighting Machines ain't supposed to be too emotional, but if anybody gets me sorer than you do so help me, I'll murder him!"
Charlie Jingle worked the body fast, checked the heated joints for too much strain.
"Favor the right. The elbow's gettin' creaky. And save the fight for the Champ. You'll need it."
The buzzer sounded, Charlie shoved his tools through the ropes onto the edge of the deck, climbed out, and holding onto the edge of the stool, he said, "Watch his Three-Six combo. He's gonna angle for your jaw pretty soon." ”

“ All you've got to do is sneak yourself into the public eye. Once that happens, the public asks questions. What happened to Tanker Bell? Why isn't he fighting the Champ? Know what I mean?"
"Don't you think they're askin' questions now?"
"Sure. But they ain't doin' it en masse. See?"
"Yeah," said Charlie Jingle softly. "Yeah. What I gotta do is hit Pugs, Inc. where they ain't got control of the situation. Where they don't have their stooges workin' to keep things quiet." ”

“ This is the function of the pattern-analysis system in each fighter. To map, plan, digest the opponent's habits of fighting, then compute them, set up a given system of punches itself which will clutter the opponent's memory banks, and then radically change the mode of attack and system of fighting. The process is mathematically complex. It is the process of the human brain operating at high speed. ”

“ Charlie Jingle was about to say something else when the bell banged away. He scooped the stool out of the ring and watched the Tanker shuffle into center to meet the Champion.
Thirty rounds of fighting is tough work. Even for machines. Thirty rounds of fighting, at five minutes per round, is one hundred and fifty minutes, two and a half hours, of solid, shattering labor. ”

“ But how about the Contender? How about Hammerhead Johnny? How about Steamroller Jones?"
"You're crazy!" shouted Charlie Jingle. "It can't be! How the hell would you know?"
"You wanna know how I know? My daughter Marie—you remember her, she was a kid when you seen her—she's a secretary to Mike Bretz, the East Coast Assistant Vice of Pugs, Inc.... She's got the whole map out, from the word go. Pugs, Inc. is puttin' things in your way so that everybody thinks you got a real thing in the Tank. They're helpin' you get a build-up, you see, as if they wanted to freeze you out. ”

“ Big build-up. Even Jergen goes to bat, confesses he tried to help you get the fight. Everybody's sore as hell at Pugs, Inc. They force a fight, Tanker goes in—and gets slaughtered. See?"
Charlie Jingle felt his guts deflate in a rush. ”

“ We have the grifters and the shysters and the fixers operating at full tilt all over the place. There's a few honest guys in the game. I hear you're one of them. All we want is to nail the crooks! We want to bust the Fix Syndicate wide open, get me? ”