Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 23, No. 12, December 1978

The Dream of Hopeless White by William Bankier

Danny wanted only one thing — a chance to fight the champ...

Knowing it was the miserable dream happening again did not make it any less humiliating for Danny White. He had climbed into the ring and his seconds were tugging the arms of his satin robe backward off his shoulders. The arena was silent.

It was when the robe came away and he was seen to be dressed in pajamas that the crowd began to laugh. Then Danny was alone in his corner and the bell rang. His opponent was upon him before he could turn, raining blows on his shoulders and the back of his head. Danny covered up, peering past bent arms in striped flannel, and saw the referee joining in the attack, aiming punches at his ribs’ and kidneys.

It was so unfair he began to weep. Tears spattered the leather gloves as he pressed them to his face and he sank to his knees on the canvas. And now the people in the arena began their slow, echoing chant. “Hope-less White... Hope-less White...”

Danny arrived late at the breakfast table, having been called twice. He looked imposing in his dark-blue security-guard uniform. Barbara was feeding cereal into Janice, who was waving a fist from her highchair perch. Danny was carrying yesterday’s newspaper. He set it down and picked up the kettle.

“I can make you eggs in a minute,” Barbara said.

“I only want coffee.” He spooned brown powder into a mug and drowned it with water well off the boil, then sat down sideways at the end of the table and shook out the tabloid. He stared at the picture of a handsome black man in boxing gear holding his arms above his head. A shorter man with a pale face and a grey crewcut stood beside him. The heading announced, HANNEFORD HARPER LEAVES LONDON TODAY.

Barbara White glanced at her husband. “No wonder you dream, reading that stuff before you go to sleep.”

“I have to keep up with things.”

Barbara let a moment go by while she used the spoon to clear the baby’s chin. “We should all try to do that,” she said.

“What’s that mean?”

“Stuck at home,” she said with forced serenity. “Things happen and I don’t even know.”

Danny wondered how she had heard. “I wish I knew what you’re talking about.”

“I just wondered if there’s anything new in car rentals.”

Danny managed to assume a tone of injured innocence. “Monika and I had one drink. It was all aboveboard — Trevor was with us.”

“And if Trevor’s wife hadn’t mentioned it I still wouldn’t know.”

The heavyweight champion looked carefree in his photograph. But then he always did. Was Hanneford Harper besieged by trouble like ordinary people? “If this arrangement is bothering you,” Danny said, “you can always make another one.”

“You’d like that.” Barbara was carefully calm. “Me and the wee one back in Glasgow and you by yourself in London.”

“You had lots of friends there. They’d be glad to see you.”

“Yes. Young mothers with infants are greatly in demand.”

The doorbell buzzed. Danny glanced at his watch and called, “It’s open.” Trevor Malloy and his wife Carla entered the kitchen through the narrow hallway from the side door.

“Let’s move it, Battler,” Malloy said. “Traffic is bad this morning. Fog on the motorway.”

Danny stood up. He drank half of his mug of tepid coffee without tasting it. “Hello, Carla my love,” he said. “Anything to report this morning?”

She passed him off with a menacing smile and marched to the highchair. “Hello, baby. How is baby?”

Danny showed the newspaper to Trevor. “Look who’s passing through Heathrow today. Harper.”

“I saw it on the news.”

“Maybe I’ll get to meet him.”

“If you’re good, I’ll get you his autograph on a bar mat. Come on.”

The men went out and Carla said, “I don’t envy you, love.”

“I told him what you told me. He says I can leave any time I want.”

“Do it. For a while, anyway.”

Trevor Malloy drove the car through heavy traffic toward the airport. Beside him, Danny White sat erect, his arms folded across his chest. “Did you see Harper’s fight against the German?”

“No. Carla wanted to watch something on the other channel.”

“It was a lousy fight anyway.”

“I heard.”

Danny frowned. “It burns me to see him fighting these pushovers.” “You still want a taste.”

“I’ve always wanted a taste.”

“It’s your own fault you never got it. When you came out of the amateurs, you were the best in Britain. Everybody said you were better than Bugner at the same stage.”

“I’m better than Bugner the best day he ever had.”

“Well, it was your decision.” Malloy changed lanes. “I was only the trainer.”

“It’s the system that’s wrong,” said Danny, taking up his old complaint. “All those years in the amateurs, learning to be a fighter. You turn pro and what do they want? They want you to spend more years hammering a succession of nobodys. Each one of them taking something out of you.” His voice was rising. “Fight anybody, fight in an alley, they’ll pay to see it. But I only wanted one fight. A chance at the champion.”

“A lot of blokes want that chance,” Malloy said.

“I could beat him, Trev. Just me and Hanneford Harper in the right ring at the right time. I could take him. I know I could.”

“You know it, but nobody else knows it.”

“I can dream.”

Traffic was slowing under poor conditions. Trevor looked out gloomily at white fields. “That fog is getting serious.” He whistled tunelessly between his teeth, tapping his wedding ring on the steering wheel. “You buying Monika a drink this evening?”

Danny thought of the pretty girl behind the car-rental counter on the lower concourse. “Do you think it’ll be all right with Carla?”

“Sorry about that.”

“You should be.”

In a secluded corner of the airport lounge, the Heavyweight Champion of the World leaned forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees and his boyish face inches from the window. He was surrounded by his trainers, a dozen hangers-on and an attractive girl in tailored denim and a cute flat cap dead-center on her modified Afro hairdo.

“Would you look at that fog,” Hanneford Harper said. “Man, it came down out of nowhere.”

“Can we go back to the hotel?” the girl asked, expecting to be refused. “Can’t do a damn thing here.”

“You be careful, Mary-Jo,” Harper said, “or I’ll get those reporters to tell my wife on you.”

“I’ll tell her myself. I like that girl.”

“I’m gonna have the airplane make a detour over Montreal and drop you back where I found you.”

A short man with a grey crewcut approached on the trot and balanced himself in front of Harper’s chair. His dapper suit was all knife-edges. “Relax, everybody,” he said. “They say hang around. This is a freak situation and it could clear up any time.”

The group moaned. Harper said, “This is a Freak City. I’m not kidding, Axel. I got a feeling we’re never getting out of here.”

“You spook me when you start up with your premonitions,” Mary-Jo said.

“I’m only saying how I feel.”

Axel Steele pointed to the glass doors and a corridor beyond. “I made arrangements for us to eat before they open the dining room to the public.”

Harper got up in one easy movement. “They got any raw meat, Axel? For Mary-Jo here?”

The retinue laughed as they stirred themselves and moved toward the doors. Axel Steele held a door open for Harper, who stood back to let the girl through ahead of him. Then he followed. Another set of glass doors several feet away made the area into a small anteroom before the rest of the corridor leading to the restaurant. In this space a thin young man was waiting. He was black, nicely dressed in a new raincoat, a pink shirt collar and pale tie showing beneath his chin. He drew a pistol from his coat pocket and aimed it at the champion.

Harper put his hands up automatically the way he had done in childhood games on the back streets of Chicago. “Hey now,” he said.

Axel Steele dropped his arm and the door swung shut, leaving Harper and Mary-Jo alone on the other side with the gunman. “Nobody move,” Steele said.

“You betrayed the people, Harper,” the young man said. “You sold out. You’ve got to go.”

“Wait a minute,” Harper said. “You’ve got it wrong.”

Danny White appeared, moving along the corridor behind the young man’s back. He took in the situation at a glance, advanced quickly, flung open the glass door, and before the man could change his aim Danny lifted the gun with his left hand and drove a right jab to the jaw. It had the sound of a perfectly timed punch. The gunman fell against the wall, unconscious.

Now everybody was talking, crowding into the enclosed space. More guards arrived and took away the would-be assassin. Hanneford Harper got hold of Danny White’s arm. “Hey, you’re beautiful. I like those moves.”

“That’s what we get paid for,” Danny said, face to face with the champion, feeling the effect of his size.

“You don’t get paid enough.” Harper was gleeful as a child. “Hey, Axel, did you see this guy go to work? Wham, bam, it was lights out!”

The public address cut in and a bland voice announced that fog conditions had not improved and that all take-offs were postponed until at least 1600 hours.

Mary-Jo swore. “That’s over five hours to kill.”

“Don’t say kill, baby,” Harper said. “I told you I’ve got a feeling about this place.”

The fighter’s manager gnawed at his lower lip. Then he said, “Hell with this. I’m calling the Starways Motel down the road. They know me. I’ll get us a few rooms, we can relax, have some drinks.”

“Now you’re talking,” Mary-Jo said.

“And my friend Sudden Death is the guest of honor. O.K.?” Harper beamed at Danny. “Can you come over?”

“I can get off during the afternoon. Yeah, I’ll come over.”

“Good.” Then Harper said, “Hey, I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Danny. Danny White.”

Axel Steele looked up. “The name rings a bell,” he said thoughtfully. “Did you ever do any fighting?”

“I used to box a little.”

“You’re a fighter,” Harper said. “That explains the jab.”

Around midday, Danny walked by the bar in the main passenger lounge. Trevor Malloy, in his red waiter’s jacket, was unloading dirty glasses from a tray. He saw his friend approaching and said, “I thought you’d be up in the supervisor’s office getting your medal.”

“You heard?” Danny’s euphoria was rising.

“Everybody’s talking about it. You must have moved fast.”

“I was lucky.”

“I think you were a bloody fool. They don’t pay you to be a cowboy. You’re supposed to collar pickpockets.”

“They’re having a party at the Starways this afternoon. Harper asked me over.”

“Drinking with the champ. That can’t be bad.”

“Not just drinking with him.”

“Sorry?”

“Something else is going to happen.”

Malloy was scanning the sparsely populated lounge for orders. “Give us a call when you get back to earth,” he said.

Danny White found a telephone kiosk and dialed his home number. Barbara answered. She told him she’d been at the shops with Carla and had something to ask him. Would he mind if she disappeared for a while?

“Disappear where?”

“Devon. Carla’s mother is going into hospital and she’s going home for a couple of weeks. She says Janice and I can come along.”

“If it’s what you want, go ahead.”

“Thanks very much. Typical.”

“I can’t beg you to stay.”

“Why not? You could have said, ‘Please don’t go, Barbara. I’ll be lonely without you and Janice.’ ” After a long silence on the line, Barbara said, “Hello?”

“Have you been listening to the radio?”

“No, I just got back.”

“I expect you’ll hear my name on the news.”

Barbara was alarmed. “What happened?”

Danny told her about the encounter, saving Harper’s life, and about the afternoon party he had been invited to attend. “I was in the right place at the right time.”

The party was moderately off the ground when Danny arrived at the motel in mid-afternoon. Hanneford Harper was sitting with Mary-Jo and Axel Steele, listening to the manager, his eyes half closed. But he spotted Danny the moment he entered the suite and rose to meet him. “Hey, here’s my main man. Come on in, Danny. What are you drinking?”

“Just a beer, thanks.”

“Mary-Jo, get Danny a beer.” Harper put an arm around Danny’s shoulders. One black, the other blond, the two heavyweights were nearly of a size. “I can’t think of anything else. That cat had me dead. How can I pay you back?”

Danny said, “I’ll think of something.” He looked Harper in the eyes and they both laughed.

Axel Steele was watching Danny with a sour expression on his face. “I know something about you, kid. But I can’t remember it.”

“I told you, I used to box.”

“But I know all the pros. How come your name rings a bell but I can’t put a record with it?”

“I fought mostly as an amateur.”

“Hey, Axel,” Harper said, “cut out the quiz.”

“Can’t I settle my mind? There’s something about this guy.”

The party continued with everybody becoming nicely drunk except Danny, who nursed his original beer. He talked with Mary-Jo and learned she was a Canadian who had met the champ in a Montreal show bar where she was a dancer. She was several drinks ahead of him, and warned Danny that Axel Steele hated him for hitting it off so fast with Harper.

“All I did was help the man, and he’s grateful to me,” Danny said.

“It’s more than that. The way Hanneford looks at you. His arm around you all the time. You’re some kind of charm that’s walked into his life, and Steele can’t get that down his throat.”

Somebody found music on the radio and a couple began to dance. Axel Steele snapped an order to have the volume lowered. Then he narrowed his eyes at Danny. “The pieces just fell into place — Danny White.”

“Axel,” Harper said, “you sound like a man with a toothache.”

“Danny White. Won everything there was in the amateurs. They said when you turned pro there was going to be a New White Hope.”

Harper was pleased. “Is that true, Danny? Were you that good?”

“Wait,” Steele said. “He turned pro and they put him in against that tough South American. Not ranked, but very strong. And he cleaned your clock. Took you apart for six rounds until your corner stopped it. You never fought again.”

“Is he right, Danny?” Harper asked.

“Sure he’s right. I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“After only one pro fight?”

“It was big news here.” Danny had learned to face the humiliation at the time, but he’d been out of sight for almost three years. He felt the familiar sting around the eyes but he pressed on. “They had fun with my name. The reporters stopped referring to me as The New White Hope and started calling me Hopeless White.”

Hanneford Harper turned his back on his manager and stood close to Danny. “Why did you quit?” he asked.

“No guts,” Steele said. “As soon as he got in with the men, no guts.”

“Shut up, Axel. He must have had a reason.”

“There was a reason,” Danny said. “Nobody has ever understood it.”

“Try me.”

Danny glanced at the hostile face of Axel Steele, at Mary-Jo as she sipped her drink, then back to Hanneford Harper s honest eyes watching him intensely. “I was twenty-two years old,” he said. “I was at my peak. I could box and hit, I had the instinct, and I wasn’t damaged.”

Harper said wistfully, “I know what you mean.”

“Then that first pro fight. The guy was a mixer, and he had nothing to lose. But I could have beaten him.”

Axel said, “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because to beat him I’d have had to open up to him, leave part of myself with him. It sounds crazy but I didn’t want him. I didn’t care about him.”

Harper was nodding. “He’s right. That’s what you have to do.”

“After the South American, there would have been another, and then another. Years of wearing myself down on all those guys wouldn’t have made me a better fighter. It would have used me up. So I made up my mind right then — if I couldn’t fight the champion, the hell with it.”

“Craziest thing I ever heard,” Axel Steele said.

There was a puzzled silence. Danny White said, “But I’ve always dreamed of having my chance.”

Harper’s laugh startled everybody. “Man, I knew you had something on your mind. I read you as soon as you walked in here.”

Danny smiled at him. “How about it, Champ? Do I get my fight?”

“That’s nonsense,” Axel said. “You aren’t even rated. Anyway, we’re matched with Alvarez in June and then we’re going to Japan.”

Danny said, “I mean right now. Today.”

The dancer nearest the radio bent down and switched it off. Everybody looked at Steele except Harper, whose grin kept widening. “How about this guy,” he said. “Isn’t he beautiful? He’s promoting himself a fight with Hanneford Harper!”

“There’s no way you’re going to mix with this guy,” Steele said. “Maybe sustain a cut that postpones the June fight. Forget it.”

Harper’s exuberant grin turned into a ghost of a smile. He said, “We won’t forget it unless I decide to forget it.” He looked hard at Axel Steele, who lowered his eyes. “Danny White saved my life this morning. I owe him something. Right, Danny?”

“That’s right, Champ,” Danny said. “You owe me.”

Trevor Malloy came in response to Danny’s phone call. He arrived out of breath at the small gymnasium the Starways Motel had installed to go with their sauna. Mats had been arranged on the floor and both heavyweights were outfitted in boxing gear. “Thanks for coming over, Trev,” Danny said. He did not have much voice.

“To see Danny White against Hanneford Harper,” Malloy said, “I’d crawl stark naked in the dead of winter on my hands and knees across a field of broken glass.”

Harper and Axel Steele crossed the mats. Harper said, “Any objection if Axel acts as referee? We gotta have somebody.”

“I don’t mind.”

“White, if you damage my fighter so he can’t keep our June date,” Steele said, “I’ll slap a suit on you in court.”

“I’m not going to damage him,” Danny said. “I’m going to knock him out.”

Harper’s massive grin flashed like a searchlight. “Listen to old Danny. He’s not afraid of anybody!”

The fighters went to their corners and the watchers took up places around the gymnasium walls. Malloy knelt beside Danny’s chair. “Box him in the early round,” he began. “Keep him off with the left...”

“Trev, old buddy,” Danny interrupted, “you don’t have to tell me what to do. I’ve been getting ready for this day all my life.”

“But that’s Harper. He’s the champion.”

“And I can beat him. I knew it when I quit three years ago and I know it now. The right ring at the right time.”

Malloy was almost able to believe it. “O.K., Danny, I’m with you. Go get him.”

Steele stood at the center of the rectangle of mats. “All right,” he said, “let’s get this farce over with. Three-minute rounds. Gabe will time it and sound the gong. Everything else is up to me. And when I say this fight is over, damn it, it’s over.”

Somebody struck a metal tray with an empty bottle. There was silence in the crowded room except for the whisper of the boxers’ shoes on the mats. Danny went on the attack immediately. His boxing skill was apparent and he put it to good use, feinting and jabbing, scoring frequently with sharp punches to his opponent’s head and body. Harper acknowledged the better shots with a grin. Danny remained deadly serious. The round ended with Danny White ahead on points had anybody been scoring.

Malloy was exuberant, towelling his fighter, giving him a drink. “Hey, you look great. Keep it up.”

“I can beat him, Trev. I know it.”

In Harper’s corner, Axel Steele leaned in and said, “Don’t you carry him. Hear me? The longer you carry him, the more chances he’ll cut you.”

“I’m not carrying him,” Harper said calmly. “He’s a boxer. He knows what he’s doing.”

“You’re a boxer too. Turn it on and finish him. Fast.”

Harper glanced at his trainer. “Should I do that?”

The trainer, a man in his sixties, looked almost sad. “The boy wants to fight the champ,” he said. “You ain’t being fair to him unless you show him what it is.”

The makeshift gong sounded and the fighters moved out to face each other. It was a different Hanneford Harper now. He was coiled more tightly and his punches began to appear in combinations so fast that Danny could not block them all. His head snapped back and blood appeared on his upper lip. Danny fought back but his jabs seemed half speed now that Harper was doing his best.

Halfway through the round, Harper landed a heavy right to the stomach. Danny’s guard slipped and a lightning-fast combination — left, left, right, left — poured in on his unprotected head, the last punch dropping him to his knees.

There was a roar from the watchers as Danny got up fast, too fast, and moved in with a furious counterattack, most of which was absorbed by Harper’s arms and gloves. The champion’s blows continued to land and Danny’s left eye began to close.

With half a minute left, Harper crossed a perfectly timed right that stretched Danny White on his back. He rolled over and got to his feet at the count of eight.

Axel Steele screamed at Malloy over the roar of the spectators. “You got a towel there? Throw it in!”

Malloy had the towel raised, but Danny forced his way past Steele and ran at Harper, who found it easy to put in a right and a left that stopped his man rigid and dropped him again to one knee.

Axel Steele raised his arms as the gong sounded. “That’s all. The fight is over. If it ever started.”

As the Harper camp cheered, Hanneford helped Malloy guide Danny back to his chair. “Why are we stopping?” Danny said.

“It’s over, Danny. You gotta forget about it,” Harper said.

“I can do better than that. I’m better than you saw...”

“It’s in your mind, man, you have to realize that.” Harper’s voice was almost shy. “I don’t want to put you down, Danny, but you were easy. You’re rusty after your lay-off but even so, I can tell. On your best day you couldn’t hurt me.”

Danny felt anger and humiliation and a frightening sense of impotence.

“I wanted to do you a favor,” Harper said. “Some favor.”

Axel Steele had removed his shiny necktie and now he was putting it back on, adjusting the knot fastidiously. “Leave him,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

Trevor Malloy was attending to Danny’s bruised face as the crowd moved slowly out of the gymnasium, chattering with excitement. Mary-Jo was under Harper’s arm. She cast an uncertain glance back at Danny, then turned away. Axel Steele came back with some money in his hand. “Here, go and get drunk.”

“Stuff your money,” Malloy said.

“You were a disgrace to boxing,” Steele said, “and you’re still a disgrace. You never paid your dues. Now you try to cash in on a fluke friendship with the champ. You freeload a fight to feed your own pride.”

“Get lost, Steele.”

“Hopeless White.” The manager laughed. “Man, did they ever give you the right name.”

As Steele walked away Trevor Malloy said, “Forget it, Danny. He’s why you got out of boxing.”

The manager was back, tossing the money so the bills fluttered around the two men, landing on them and on the floor. “Go on, take the money — you earned it! You gave me a story I can tell for the rest of my life!”

Barbara White was surprised to see her husband back so early. Then she saw his battered face. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Stay there. I have to go out again.”

She had half risen from the kitchen table. Now she sank back again over her knitting, her open magazine, and her cup of tea. “You’ve been fighting. Are you drunk?”

“I’m very sober.” Danny headed for the bedroom.

“Where’s Trevor? Carla called before. He didn’t come home.”

“Trev is out getting loaded,” Danny called. He was opening the drawer in his bedside table, finding the automatic pistol, slipping it into his coat pocket. “He came into some money.”

When he came back into the kitchen, Barbara said, “I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”

“I have to go out again. Trev let me have the car. There’s something I have to do.”

“Can’t it be done tomorrow?”

“No. A plane is leaving. I have to see a man.”

“Let me do something about that bruise on your face.”

“The bruise will get better by itself.” Danny put a hand on Barbara’s arm. He felt the muscular movement as she kept on knitting, needles clicking, something getting done. “It’s the least of my worries.”

He bent to kiss her cheek through a curtain of hair and when he went to the door and turned she was looking at him, the needles at rest. “Listen, that trip to Devon with Carla. You and Janice. That’s a good idea. I’ll miss you like hell, but go anyway.”

She heard the door slam behind him, followed by the mechanical roar of Trevor’s old banger starting up and driving away, and then Barbara was left with the most loving words he had ever spoken to her. I’ll miss you like hell, but go anyway.

This time it looked as if the champion and his party were finally going to get on an airplane. Fog conditions had improved slowly and at last their flight had been called. They were moving toward the departure area when Hanneford Harper said, “Hey, here comes Danny!”

Danny approached across the concourse at a near run. He ignored Harper, calling to the manager, “Steele! I want to talk to you!”

Axel Steele grinned. “Hello, Hopeless. You look like you walked into a truck.”

“Stand still,” Danny said. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Wrong. I gotta tell the boys at Sports Illustrated all about Hopeless White and his second professional fight.”

Danny took his hand from his pocket, showing them the gun. Hanneford Harper stepped between Danny and Axel Steele, his hands raised, his voice firm. “Danny, don’t make a stupid—”

The gun fired once and Harper fell. There was shouting and running. Harper’s trainer took the gun effortlessly from where it was hanging in Danny’s hand.

Axel Steele was livid. “He shot the champ! He’s a crazy person!” he screamed.

Harper’s head was resting on Mary-Jo’s knees. His eyes were wide open. “Danny, where are you? I can’t see you.”

Danny crouched beside him. “Here I am.”

“I knew I’d never get out of this place. Didn’t I tell you, Mary-Jo?”

“Shut up. We’re taking you home.”

“No. I’m not going anywhere now.” Harper turned toward Danny, not seeing him. “Axel is right. You are crazy.”

“I wasn’t trying to hit you. I was after him.”

“I know. And I was trying to do what you did this morning. We’re a couple of heroes.”

“Shut up,” Mary-Jo scolded gently. “Save your strength.”

“Hey, look at me,” he said. “I’m retiring undefeated.” He closed his eyes.

The airport security police took Danny White into custody as the airplane took off for New York without Hanneford Harper and his entourage. Danny was kept in an inside office while they waited for somebody from Scotland Yard to come and start the official investigation. The guard watching him was a friend and he tried to make conversation. But Danny was beyond communication. He was, in fact, reliving in his mind the first round, in which he had done quite well. And it was not happening in a motel gymnasium. It was taking place at Wembley Stadium on a summer night with 60,000 people loudly and solidly behind him. He knew it was only a dream, but it was the one he wanted and it was more than most men ever achieved.

Danny White was smiling as they drove him to London in the car with the flashing lights.