Chapter 3 emergency department close call

Even if you're not an expert on boxing, you know about that crazy night in the ring between "Old Crown" and "Billy the Kid" Bolo.Boxing fans are still talking about the fight that put Waikiup, Colorado, on the boxing map.Chances are, you didn't know that one race was almost impossible to hold, though. You must remember how the city of Waikirpe got the chance to host that game in the first place.The chamber's delegates, led by millionaire rancher Sam Pugh, strutted into the patron's New York office.They slammed down a seating chart for the soon-to-be-built Waikiup Nature Canyon Theater—capable of seating 75,000—and brought a package of $200,000 in cash as a security deposit.They flew home with a contract that the television, radio and film industry believed would be the first million-dollar gate west of Chicago in boxing history.

Moreover, this game is indeed ready to go, and no amount of sports investment can be overstated.Both boxers are equally rough, tough, and indestructible.The two are both right-handed, and there will be no so-called accidental changes on the field, unless something involving the sudden death department of the Criminal Investigation Bureau occurs.From the end of the match when someone knocked out the opponent in the first round, to both of them entering the hospital for treatment, anything is possible. Old Crown trains at Wickiup Country Club and Billy the Kid trains at Pew Ranch.There were still many days before the race, and all the hotels, hotels, trailer camps and tent camps within a radius of 300 miles put up "full" signs.From Key West to Puget Sound, Wickiup became the El Dorado golden home for boxing fans, sportswriters, gamblers and hustlers who could rake in a small fortune.

Invited by old Sam Pugh, Ellery also came to Waikirpe to watch the game.Sam Pugh owed him a favor, but that's another story. The fight was scheduled for 8:00 p.m. CST to accommodate Eastern boxing fans' 10:00 p.m. TV slots.An hour and a half before start time, Ellery heard about the accident. He was killing time in the Comanche Bar at the Red Gate Hotel, waiting for a car from his hosts to take him to the scene, but a hotel bellboy brought him a message. "Mr. Quinn? Mr. Pugh wants you to go to Suite 101 right away. It's urgent." When Ellery knocked, the rancher himself opened the door for him.The master's face was purple and green, as if mold had grown on it. "Come in, boy!"

Ellery found in the house the general manager of the state boxing association, nine representatives of the citizens of Waikirpe, and Billy the Kid's little bald manager, Duke Cogan.Du Qi was crying, and the rest of the gentlemen also looked like they were about to cry. "What happened?" Ellery asked. "Billy the Kid's been kidnapped," roared Sam Pugh. "He was robbed," cried Cogan. "At three o'clock I gave him a steak medium-rare at Mr. Pew's ranch, and told him to lie down and take a nap. I told Mr. Agent Chico Krause made the last rule check, and as I was leaving—”

"Four masked men with guns took Billy the Kid," the rancher said. "We've been talking to them on the phone and they want a hundred thousand dollars in ransom." "Or don't have a fight," growled the Boxing Association official. "Damn the Eastern gangsters!" "We're all screwed," moaned one of the local elite. "The local merchants put together a $250,000 bond, not to mention legal action—" "I think I get the point, gentlemen," said Ellery, "but there's less than ninety minutes to play, so no time to pick and choose. I suppose you're going to pay?"

"We guys managed to scrape together enough money," said the old rancher, jerking his chin at a bulging briefcase on the table, "and, Ellery, we already told them it was you who sent it. You going?" "You know I will, Sam," said Ellery. "Maybe I can find out about them by the way—" "No, that's going to screw things up!" screamed Billy the Kid's manager, "Get my kid back, as long as he can get in the ring!" "And it's impossible. They don't show their dirty faces," said Sam Pugh gruffly. "They also named a neutral party who agreed to act on their behalf."

"It's a close call, isn't it, Sam? Who's he?" "Do you know journalist Sam Jackman?" "Leading West Coast sportswriters? Only the big names. If Jackman and I work together, maybe—" "Jackman has been forced to make a pledge of silence," said the boxing executive, "and in the forty years I've known him, hell, he's never broken a contract. Don't be a detective. Mr. Quinn. As long as Billy Bolo gets back in time." "Okay," Ellery sighed, "Sam, what am I going to do?" "Before seven o'clock," said the rancher, "you'll have Darcem Jackman's room at the West Hotel—room 442. Jackman will somehow inform the kidnappers that you've arrived with the ransom, and so Billy Bolo will be let go. They promised that if we kept our promises, Billy the Kid would walk into this room at seven fifteen, unharmed and in perfect shape."

"And how do you know they will keep their word?" "You can't give Jackman the money if I haven't called that room to tell you that Billy the Kid is back safe and sound." "Then you'll have to leave me a password, Sam—the voice can be imitated. Come, speak in my ear—if gentlemen don't mind?" Ellery tapped on the door of Room 442 in the Western Hotel, and a sturdy man with white hair and eager blue eyes opened the door. "I think you're Quinn. Come in, I'm Sam Jackman." Ellery looked around as the reporter closed the door.A battered portable typewriter and a bottle of Scotch rested on the telephone table.There was no one else in the room.

"I guess I'll have to see your identification first," Ellery said. The white-haired man stared at him first, then grinned and reached into his pockets. "Driver's license, press card—look, my name's on this pocket watch from the National Sports Writers Association." "I believe it." Ellery opened the suitcase and emptied the contents onto the bed.The cash was bundled into bundles of thousands of dollars, and the amount was recorded on the bank wrapping paper—ten thousand, twenty thousand, fifty thousand. "Will you take a moment to count?"

"Hell, no need. I still want to watch the game tonight!" The sports reporter walked to the window. "I heard you would immediately notify the kidnappers—" "I was just notifying." Jackman quickly lowered and raised the curtain several times, "You don't think those lice will leave me a phone number, do you? This is the code they told me-they must send Got a guy watching the window. I guess he'll call them when it's done. Simple as that." "Have you seen any of them in person?" Ellery asked. "Give me a break, Ellery," the reporter laughed. "I promised I wouldn't answer any questions. Come on, we'll just have to wait for Sam Pugh to call. A drink?"

"Another day." Ellery sat down next to Ransom on the bed. "Jackman, what's the modus operandi? How do you hand them the money?" But the white-haired man only poured himself a glass of wine. "The game will be very exciting." He muttered to himself. "You won," Ellery said gloomily, "yes, that's for sure. How sure do you think Bolo is? After all this trouble, his heart must hang higher than Pikes Peak." "Billy the Kid? He was born heartless. And when he gets mad, like now—" "So you think he has a chance to win the old crown?" "As long as those hooligans don't drain him, I'm sure Billy the Kid can make the difference with one blow." "You are an expert, you have the final say. Do you really think he has the ability to bring down the old crown bull?" "Did you see Billy the Kid's last fight?" The sports reporter smiled. "Arty Starr was a tough guy, but Bolo threw three quick right hooks. Starr The last two hit him in the jaw before he could hit the ground. It took his trainers ten minutes to—” The ringing of the phone startled them all. "They must have let Billy the Kid out!" said Ellery. "Go and pick it up." Ellery rushed to the phone. "I'm Quinn. Who's there?" "It's me—it's Sam!" roared Sam Pugh's voice, "Listen, boy—" "Wait. What's the password?" "That's right! The solar plexus." Ellery nodded reassuringly. "Billy the Kid's back, Ellery," said the rancher cheerfully. "He's totally ready to go. Hand over the money and see you in the ring!" The phone clicked and hung up. "Are you ready?" the white-haired man smiled. "Yes." Ellery smiled back, "I can finally show you something." Ellery then flicked the receiver of the phone and hit the man above the left ear cleanly.Before the white-haired man could fall onto the carpet, he flew to the front of the closet and opened the door. "He sure enough locked you in the closet," Ellery said cheerfully to the bound and gagged man inside. "I'll untie you, Mr. Jackman, and then we'll deal with the liar!" Ellery stuffed the money back into the box while the real Sam Jackman stood guarding the passed out man. "Did he come out suddenly?" The reporter asked as if nothing had happened. "Certainly not," Ellery said. "He sure as hell didn't kill him because the gang did let Billy the Kid go after the guy gave the signal. So I knew he was with them. They told you to get in touch." You must have said we were strangers when it was going to be me, right? I knew it. The operative got a bad idea when he heard that. He tied you up, and if I took him for you, Pay the ransom, and he'll betray the gang and run away with the money." "But how do you know he's not me?" the sports reporter asked. "He said Billy the Kid gave Starr three right hooks in the Bolo vs. Starr fight. If you're really the most respected sportswriter on the West Coast, the best boxing expert in the country, and How can you not know that there is no right hook in a right-handed boxer? For a right-handed boxer, the equivalent of a left hook should be called a right cross." "Well, what a fool," growled the sports reporter.The unconscious gang member moved and the reporter grabbed his pistol. "But there's this ransom money, Quinn. I don't know what to do with it. Anyway, the rest of the crew did keep their word and get Billy the Kid back. Should I keep my word and give them the money, or That this fellow's rebellion absolves me of this obligation?" "Well, that's a good moral question." Ellery glanced at his watch and frowned. "We've got to hurry up or we'll miss the game! Let me tell you, Syme." "what?" "Let's leave this matter of our duty—or should we say these extraneous things?—to a more authoritative department." Ellery grinned and picked up the scarred microphone. "The front desk? Please send two A reliable police officer for escort duty. Also, please get me to the nearest FBI office right now—quick!"