"She didn't come out here… for the fight," the big man explained. "She doesn't want me to fight… anyway…"

There was a long silence. Jay was digesting information, and he did understand, perfectly, how he had fallen into the trap.

Arnie went on, explaining further, "My trainer's kind of old-fashioned, you know… and whenever I go into training… I've got to live almost like a monk… for maybe two months before every fight. Hell… about the only thing left is a hand-job… every now and then!"

"If your wife were around… you couldn't have had her anyway… is that it?"

"Yeah… for all practical purposes!"

Jay nodded, still thinking. "Now," he said, "we've got to pin something down. You keep saying, 'they'… and you haven't told me who 'they' are!"

There was a moment's hesitation on Arnie's part, before he said, morosely, "That's just it… I don't know who the hell it is! If I did," he went on ominously, "maybe I could do something about it!" His big hands clenched and unclenched, with his emotion.

"Is that where I come in, then…? You want me to find out who's putting the pressure on you?"

"Yeah… that's right… that's why I came to see you, because I've only had some goons… with guns… come around… with their threats… and…"

"… And, the pictures…?"

"Yeah…"

"Let's start there, then… tell me about this gal you balled… everything you can remember about her… where you met her… where you went… what you did… and especially, the place you went… to climb into bed with her!"

Arnie Pearson was game. He told Jay Ballard everything he could remember about that night.

It had been jubilant and hectic in Arnie's dressing room, right after the fight. Frantic fans had crowded into his dressing room to congratulate him, and it had taken a long time to clear the room, so he could get his rub-down and get dressed.