"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?"
Tanker nodded, his head jerking up and down uncontrollably.
"Fixed him too. But I don't get the picture yet. Do you, Charlie?"
"Sure, I get it. The night I called the Arena to match you against the Contender because Kid Congo got squashed in that accident, they had a fix workin' between them. Kid Congo was supposed to upset the Contender, see? But they must've both been fixed a little to fool the Judges. So there's this accident, see? This throws the whole plan into a panic—Congo's out, it's too late to un-fix the Contender. If the Auditorium puts in a fighter who's strictly legitimate, everybody will know it was a fixed. I call. They figured I had a Tank, maybe you'd look pretty bad in there, and nobody would know the difference. Okay, what happens? You nail the Contender, because, after all, you ain't that bad—does it figure?"
"Boy! Does it!" said the Tanker, his head jerking. "Why can't you go to the authorities, Charlie?"