Musclebound (16 page)

‘Dunno what you’re talking about,’ I said.

‘No, listen, be serious,’ he said.

‘Serious?’ I said. ‘If you think I nick things,
you
be serious. You call the cops.’

‘I might.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘No, look, forget it, I just want to talk to you about a red Carlton you might of… er … seen.’

‘Ain’t seen nothing.’

‘Shit,’ he said, ‘I’m in serious bad trouble.’

I could of said, ‘What trouble?’ but I ain’t that stupid. I just kept walking.

‘No, listen,’ he said, ‘I’m so much in the shit. I wouldn’t be talking to you else. Listen. That red Carlton ain’t mine so I don’t care you took it. It ain’t mine. I was just delivering it somewhere for someone.’

He was sweating. I didn’t have to look at him – I could smell him. And so could Lineker. We both know the abdabs when we meet ‘em, and old Droopy-drawers had the abdabs bad. Which cheered me up no end. But it made me leerier too. You never know what a droopy wossock with the abdabs is going to do. ‘Specially if he might have a concealed sawn-off in his anorak. We kept walking.

‘No, wait,’ he said. ‘Me and my mate seen you.’

‘Seen me what?’ I said. ‘In the ring?’

‘No, listen – seen you at that garage on Jamaica Road.’

‘Jamaica who? Never heard of it.’

‘We asked around. Listen, we asked around and they all said it had to be you. You’re known for it.’

‘Said wrong. Now get stuffed, get knotted and get out me way.’

‘And that breaker’s yard …’

‘What yard?’

‘Where you hang out. They said all sorts of dodgy gear goes in there and don’t come out.’

‘That was you, then,’ I said. ‘Nearly lost your fuckin’ hand, din’t you?’

‘No, wait. I was only looking.’

‘Look somewhere else,’ I said. ‘I ain’t seen your Carlton and I
ain’t seen you. Next time me or my dogs catch you in my yard you’ll lose your arms, your legs and your droopy dick. Now piss off while you still got something to piss with.’

But he didn’t. I tell you, this is the screwiest time of my life. A year ago if I told a droopy dick to piss off he pissed off double quick. A week ago there wasn’t no one to say piss off to. Now, I’m telling more blokes to piss off than you can shake a stick at, and they don’t, none of ‘em, take a blind bit of notice. I ain’t never been this popular before. Maybe that’s what being rich is all about.

‘No, wait,’ he said. ‘Listen, I can’t believe you’re so fucking hard-hearted. My mate and me, we’re in so much trouble – we’re going to be killed. Listen, we’ll be killed if we don’t come up with that Carlton.’

‘Well go and look for it then,’ I said. ‘But don’t look for it round me. I ain’t fuckin’ got it and if you look for it in my yard again you’ll be dead for sure.’

I shouldn’t of said that. Saying that made me feel cold. It made my back kick in and my teeth ache. ‘Cos we was almost at the yard when I said it and a few steps further on you could almost see the spot where Wozzisname popped his clogs.

‘I’ll look,’ Droopy-drawers said, ‘and you better pray God I find it, ‘cos if I don’t find it soon,
and
what’s in it … no, seriously. Listen to me … if I don’t, the last thing I’ll say to the heavies who do for me … yeah, the last words out of my mouth will be your name.’

‘What’s
your
name?’ I said. ‘So’s I can watch the obituaries.’

‘Look, who’re you kidding? I ain’t tellin’ you my name.’

That brought us slap up against the yard gate and Ramses came to say hello at a hundred miles an hour. Which put Droopy-drawers somewhere in between the rock and the hard place, ‘cos even if Ramses and Lineker didn’t know the name his mum gave him they knew him by another – I.N. Truder.

So when I told him to piss off again, he went. And I was ever so glad ‘cos he was getting right on my hump about that sodding
red Carlton. Who did he think he was – not believing me like that? Calling me a liar. He had no right to call me a liar even if I wasn’t exactly telling the truth. He didn’t know me, so he had no right to call me names.

On top of that, I could see Keif monging about under the street lamp on the other side of the road and I didn’t want him hearing what Droopy-drawers had to say.

I pretended not to see Keif while I unlocked the gate.

‘Whotcha doin’, gorgeous?’ he said. ‘Thought I told you to rest. ‘Stead you’re out breakin’ hearts and walking your dog.’

‘Gawd!’ I said, acting all startled. ‘You spying on me?’

‘Keeping an eye on my patient,’ he said. ‘Hey, girl, your sister indoors or what?’

‘Why? What you want with her?’

‘Why? You jealous?’

‘
What you want with her
?’ I wasn’t playing no more.

‘Easy, babe,’ he said. ‘I don’t want nothing with her. I want something with you. Without her.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘What?’

‘Got a problem,’ he said. ‘You the expert. Advice is what I need. Don’t look at me like that, I ain’t going to bite or what.’

My mouth must of dropped open. Never, since the dawn of time, has a cocky bugger like Keif ever asked my advice. Cocky buggers like Keif tell you. They don’t never ask.

‘You gonna let me in or what?’

So I let him in and I calmed the dogs down. We went to the Static and, just to prove that I can use my own kitchen if I must, I put the kettle on.

Keif said, ‘Now lie down. Gotta ease that lumbar thing. No charge this time. Voodoo digits for free. Once-in-a-lifetime offer.’

So I lay down, ‘cos last time helped so much. You wouldn’t think a cocky bugger like him would actually be good at anything, would you? Cocky buggers, normally, are only good at telling you how good they are.

More likely it was Cousin Carmen’s embrocation. I could feel the heat straight away. It seemed to ooze right through the skin of my back all the way through my spine and settle in my guts on the other side.

‘You relaxed or what?’ Keif said. ‘Do I know how to soften ’em up or don’t I know nuffin’?’

‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘That’s ace embrocation, though.’

‘Embrocation only half of it. Application’s the other half.’

I was so drowsy I only mumbled, ‘Cocky bugger,’ into the bunk cushion.

He said, ‘Got my first fight tomorrow.’

I suddenly felt totally sorrowful, ‘cos maybe I’d had my last fight a year ago and he was crowing about his first one.

He said, ‘I’m fighting Pete Carver.’

‘Lucky old you,’ I said. ‘Give him one from me, and make sure it hurts.’

‘What?’ he said. ‘Speak up. What I want to chat about – I think they’re setting me up. I dunno about this wrestling game. They show you all the moves an’ stuff but they don’t really tell you nothing. And all the hoopla about dressing up as a witch doctor an’ chanting mumbo-jumbo. They sprung that on me.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Mr Deeds tried to make me wear a mask.’

‘What? Hide that pretty face?’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Serious, man, my mum and dad’s coming. My mum’s going to go hyper if I do all that Africa crap. So I tried telling Mr Deeds but he said …’

I rolled over. ‘He said, “It’s just a bit of fun, where’s your sense of humour?’”

‘Right, man. That’s what he say.’

‘And then he said, “He who pays the piper calls the tune. You dance to my tune or you’re out.’”

‘I told him my mum’d kill me if she saw me in a grass skirt with a bone through me nose.’

‘No shit?’ I said. ‘I got to see this.’

‘So Mr Deeds say he’s invested serious cash in my training and if I don’t fight I’ll owe him money. So I go to my parents and say, “Don’t come an’ see me fight.” And my mum say, “What’s the matter, you ‘shamed of us?” Can’t win, man, can’t win.’

I can’t tell you how weird it was to hear this. I thought it was just me. I thought it was just me they wanted to stuff head-first in a box and say, ‘Do this. Don’t do that. Be what we want you to be or you’re out – barred.’ And I was jealous, ‘cos he had someone to fight, and I don’t just mean Pete Carver. And I was jealous ‘cos his mum and dad wanted to go and see him in the ring. My ma never came and saw me. She was ‘shamed of me. She never thought I might be ‘shamed of her.

‘Did you ask Harsh?’ I said.

‘Nah. But he overheard some of it. Like in the locker-room when all the guys were giving me verbals or what. He said something about goats.’

‘What? What did he say?’

‘Oh man, what was it? Something like – “The horse that can walk but allows itself to be dragged like a goat will …” Dunno what he said. Dunno what he mean. Harsh ain’t an oracle, and I ain’t a horse or a goat.’.

That made me jealous too. Harsh was always saying stuff I didn’t understand but I wanted him to say it to me, not Keif. I’d of worn a grass skirt if only Mr Deeds’d let me fight again. Anything. I would. Well, maybe not anything. I wouldn’t wear a mask over me face. You can’t breathe in a mask. You can’t see or hear proper. You can’t be who you are in a mask.

And then I thought maybe Keif couldn’t be Keif in a grass skirt.

So I said, ‘You got to be something.’

‘What d’you mean – I got to be something?’

‘Well, like I was always the Villain. I always wore the black. And it was great. I could be as bad as I wanted.’

‘Oh yeah, man,’ Keif said. ‘I don’t mind being something – I don’t mind being the baddy. Safe. It’s the insult, see.’

‘So why aincha a boxer like your dad? You don’t have to dress up for that.’

‘Wanted to be a boxer,’ Keif said. ‘Like, when I was a kid, watching old fights on video. My dad had them all. And I wanted to be Sugar Ray Leonard if I didn’t grow too big, or Mohammed Ali if I did grow big. They had
style.’

‘I wanted to be Klondyke Kate. She had style too.’

‘But I got a weak head. I could take any punch to the body. But you blow on my chin and I’m in sleepy time.’

‘Don’t you ever tell Pete Carver that,’ I said. ‘Just never tell any of those sods that or you’ll be going bye-byes twice nightly.’

‘I ain’t foolish, girl. Hey, know what? You cleared my mind.’

‘Eh?’

‘Yeah. I ain’t going to dress up like Big Chief Wogga-wogga. None of that shit. So fuck ‘em. That’s me last word. I’ll be Mohammed Ali – white dressing-gown, red satin, tassels, all the gear. And I’ll dance and rap an’ they won’t know what hit ‘em.’

‘They’ll bar you.’

‘So?’

He didn’t want it like I wanted it. They were giving it to him but he didn’t want it enough to be scared of being barred. And I thought, if they gave it back to me, if they unbarred me, I’d even mind my manners with tossers like Pete and Gruff.

‘They can like it or lump it,’ Keif said. And maybe I’d of said the same before last night, before Wozzisname. But now, now I wanted to be who I was before Wozzisname. Before all the things which made Wozzisname happen. If I’d still been the London Lassassin, they wouldn’t of happened, would they?

They wouldn’t, ‘cos I’d of been in training and I wouldn’t of let my fitness slip, or my relaxed mental attitude. I wouldn’t of caught the flu or let the Enemy fire me. See, your body is your life – when it’s fit and strong it backs you up. But when it’s weak it lets all sorts of bad stuff come creeping in – like flu germs and evil mojo.

I was glad Simone didn’t come round till later. She didn’t get along with Keif, and he didn’t get along with her. Which was queer because everyone likes Simone. It’s me you ain’t supposed to like, and a year ago I used to get paid for it. Everyone hates the Villain. They
love
hating the Villain. That’s what made me so popular. But now I ain’t the Villain. I’m just another bad’n. That’s the curse of Wozzisname again. The minute he laid hands on Simone and I took hold of that hammer the curse came down.

It wasn’t my fault. He made me do it. But I got cursed just the same. And Wozzisname got croaked. That’s two of us who’ll never be ourselves again. And it’s all down to Ma. She tried to use Simone against me. Her own daughters. All for gelt. After I’d been kind enough to pay her poxy rent for her.

She never even asked me. She could of said, ‘Eva, I’m strapped for cash – give us a bit for the rent.’ And I’d of coughed up like a baa-lamb, ‘cos I got family feeling. Well, I might of haggled with her a bit. I might of said, ‘Tell me where to find Simone or you can sodding gag for your rent.’ But she never gave me the chance. She just sent those two boyfriends round with knives and hammers, frightening the life out of Simone and turning me into a bad’n.

But she screwed up, didn’t she? She was probably bladdered when she thought it up. Well she must of been bladdered. She’s always bladdered. So she screwed up and she didn’t get her gelt and now Simone and me are even closer together. If it wasn’t for Simone I’d be a gibbering wreck by now.

But if Simone got along with Keif, she could of been there when Keif was treating me like the expert. I wished she’d seen that. He was even thinking of using my name. He wanted for his mum to sew red letters which said Mohammed Wily on the back of his white robe. Not Wylie, like my name, but said the same. Because it means crafty and he liked that. He said my name gave him the idea.

We was sociable, and I ain’t used to being sociable, but I wished Simone was there to see it. I wished she could of heard how he said, ‘Hey, girl, respect,’ when he went away. See, that’s exactly what he should of said. ‘Cos I
am
the expert and I’m paying his wages. That deserves respect, which I don’t normally get from him. It would of been even better if Simone was there to see.

I was hungry so I hotted up a tin of bacon bits and beans. Then I went out to check the fence. Even the dogs was giving me more respect. I was wearing my new combat jacket and feeling snug as a bug. It wasn’t raining for a change and for a change no one was giving me any hassle. Droopy-drawers didn’t come back. Maybe he found his Carlton. Maybe he didn’t. Nothing to do with me – I didn’t hide it. I never hide them. I always leave ’em for someone to find. I ain’t a thief.

Simone didn’t come till nearly eleven, and when she came she looked thin and tired. Actually she looked more and more like when she was little. She wasn’t so done up. She was wearing jeans and a nice leather coat and she wasn’t so painted. She was showing her frailty.