"Then how about that Saturday night fiasco at the Golum Auditorium? You call that a straight fight?"
Charlie Jingle shrugged his shoulders.
"All I know is I sent my boy in there. He's a Tank, okay. He's up against the newest fighting machine invented. Okay. He drops him. I'm as much surprised as you. All the odds read against me. I got a rebuilt Tank in the ring. But he flattens one of the flashiest pugs in the business. Sure, I admit, it looks suspicious. Fifteen minutes after the upset, one of the biggest fixers in the game walks into my boy's dressing-room ... But don't forget, I'm the best trainer in the business. I take a chunk of worn out fighting machine and make it over into something that buys me bread and coffee. So maybe I create a freak. How do I know? Maybe I twisted a wire wrong, and my Tank's the toughest thing punching."
"You're trying to tell me that fight was on the level, is that it?"
"So far as I'm concerned, it's level. So far as you're concerned...." Charlie Jingle shrugged.
"How is it you happened to have your boy handy when the other fighter couldn't go on?" asked the Commissioner.
"I got my stable a block away from the arena. When I heard about Kid Congo getting smashed up in an auto accident, I called the arena. Before the fight, I had twelve cents in my pocket, a dime of which I used to call the arena. They told me 'Sure, bring him down quick, Charlie'. So there I was...."
"So they put your Tank in against the Contender. Just like that?"
Jingle snapped his fingers.
"Like that."