Musclebound (22 page)

The front rows were beginning to chant, ‘Yellow, yellow,’ at Keif.

Pete picked it up. He started to act like he was frustrated too. He lunged at Keif, missed, lunged, missed. Then he stood in the middle of the ring shaking his head like an old bull.

‘Yellow,’ he shouted. ‘I smell yellow. Wha’do I smell?’

‘YELLER,’ the crowd howled back. ‘
Carve
‘im, Pete!’

Poor old Keif looked banjaxed, so I knew that this was the set-up. Keif was probably only doing what they’d told him to do backstage. He was just there to prick-tease the crowd, get them really angry with the coward, and then take his punishment. Over and over again.

Poor Keifee-baby. You could see he didn’t know what to do, and it made him look small.

But next time Pete charged he almost caught Keif by swinging his arm out so wide that Keif had to spin away into the ropes. And this time Keif turned the spin into a funny little boogie step and hip hula.

‘Float like a butterfly, sting like a
bee,’
he called. ‘You got arms like an ape, but you can’t catch me.’ Which made some of the crowd laugh. They was still chanting, ‘Yeller, yeller,’ but they was laughing too.

Which
really
made Pete mad. Because, for sure, it wasn’t part of the set-up for Keif to be the comic. Comics is in a class of their own. Comics can break all the rules and get away with it. You can’t punish a comic without turning the crowd against you.

And the last thing Pete wanted was for the crowd to turn against him. He had to stop Keif from making ’em laugh again.

So I moved down to the fifth row fast. Things were going to hot up and I wanted to be in the strike zone.

Pete charged in for real. He caught Keif dodging away. He caught him, one-armed, round the waist, and flipped him. Keif landed on his back like a beetle.

The crowd went into overdrive.

Pete dropped on Keif, belly first. Keif scrambled.

Whoomp, went Pete’s belly on the canvas. Keif rolled and got up.

‘Ha-ha-ha,’ went the crowd.

Pete got up slowly, like his knees ached. Keif boogied round him. And that’s where he made his mistake. He was clowning
and he didn’t think he had to watch Pete real careful. Pete was old and fat and his knees ached, right?

Not right enough. Pete bent over to catch his breath. He held his belly like he was hurt. He clasped his hands. He waited till Keif skipped close. He straightened, brought his clasped hands up to Keif’s throat and grabbed him in a strangle. All in one quick twitch.

Pete’s thumbs dug in under Keif’s chin forcing his head back. Keif’s hands jerked up to Pete’s wrists. Wrong again, Keifee-baby.

Pete belly-barged Keif all the way across the ring to the ropes and kept pushing till the ropes bulged out. Then he freed one hand, and toppled him over the top rope.

He let go of Keif’s throat as Keif went over backwards, and then grabbed his feet to stop him falling into the front row.

Next he snatched the second rope down and hooked it up round Keif’s feet. He left Keif dangling from his knees, upside down. Keif’s heels were forced back against his thighs by the second rope, and there was nothing he could do but hang there like a bat. The crowd howled.

I got up and strode forward. Heads turned. Someone said, ‘Oi, ain’t that old Bucket Nut?’

‘Less of the old,’ I shouted back.

I was on my way. I was nearly there when I got pushed aside by a little whirlwind in a pink frock. A woman with a bright-red handbag shoved past.

‘Keif,’ she said. ‘You come down from there, boy.’

‘Aagh?’ said Keif.

‘You get down from there right now,’ she said. ‘This no place for you.’

‘Ha-ha-ha,’ went the crowd.

‘Sit down, Mum,’ said Keif.

‘Why you let them say you coming from Trinidad and Tobago?’ she said. ‘You know you born in the Elephant and Castle.’

‘Sit
down
, Mum!’

‘Ha-ha-HA,’ went the crowd.

‘Yeah,’ said Pete, leaning over the ropes, ‘SIT DOWN, MUMMY.’

‘HA-HA-HA,’ went the crowd.

‘Don’t you talk to me like that,’ Keif’s mum said.

‘Yeah,’ I yelled up at Pete. ‘Don’t you talk to Keif’s mum like that.’

‘I sit down when I
want
to sit down,’ she said.

‘Shit,’ said Pete. ‘Eva! What you fuckin’ doin’ here?’

‘
Language
, boy!’ said Keif’s mum.

‘Don’t worry, missus,’ I said. I could see the bouncers closing in.

I hauled myself up on the ropes.

‘That’s Bucket Nut!’ said the people in front. ‘Where you been, Bucket Nut?’

‘Maternity leave,’ some joker said.

‘Ha-ha-ha.’

‘Fuck off out of here,’ Pete said.

He tried to knock me off the edge of the stage, but I scurried sideways like a crab till I got behind the corner post.

‘Too slow,’ I yelled. ‘What you been doing, Pete? Eating dumplings, getting wrinkly?’

‘You going to fight Bucket Nut?’ someone yelled up. ‘You going to fight her, Pete?’

‘He ain’t going to fight me,’ I called back, swinging out of Pete’s reach behind the post. ‘He’s too old. He’s too fat.’

Out the corner of me eye I could see one of the bouncers helping Keif untangle himself. The other bouncer was creeping up on me. There was too much to watch and I was watching it all. You can keep your crack, cocaine and heroin. Adrenalin’s my drug of choice. It’s the best rush in the bleeding world. Bar none.

The ref came trotting over. ‘Bloody hell, Eva Wylie!’ he said. ‘You can’t come in the ring, Eva. I can’t allow you in my ring.’

‘Tell her,’ said Pete. ‘Just fuck off, you silly bitch, you ain’t wanted here.’

‘You going to carve her, Pete?’ yelled one of Pete’s fans.

The bouncer crouched, ready. I faked left. The bouncer sprang. Pete stuck his arm out. I faked left and swung right, out of reach. I ran along the edge of the staging, hanging on to the top rope for support.

‘He’ll never fight me,’ I yelled to the fan. ‘He ain’t even got the goolies to chuck me out.’

‘Oooh, Pete,’ went the fan. ‘Show her.
Carve
her, Pete!’

Pete sent off a wild haymaker. I swung back taking the rope with me. Pete stumbled forward.

Behind him I saw Keif climbing back in the ring.

‘Bit more reach, Pete,’ I said. ‘You ain’t really trying.’

The spring of the rope boinged me back towards him.

‘Try again, Pete,’ I called. ‘Arms too short? You know what they say – short arms, short dick.’ I was talking up. Everyone could hear.

‘Oooh,’ went the front rows.

Pete hauled the top rope towards him. I jumped down off the stage.

Keif lolloped across the ring and gave Pete a mighty shove in the back. Pete fell into the rope. The rope sagged. Keif picked up Pete’s ankles and tipped him out of the ring.

‘Aaahgh,’ went the front row, leaping up and scattering – except for one fat bloke who wasn’t quick enough.

Phlump, went Pete as he landed on the fat bloke’s lap.

‘Ow,’ went the fat bloke, ‘get
off
!’

Quick as lightning, I leapt back on the stage. I somersaulted over the top rope.

I was in the ring.

I was back, under the lights, in front of the crowd.

It was
mine
.

I took a lap of honour.

‘Bucket Nut!’ yelled the crowd.

‘OK, OK,’ said the ref, ‘joke over. You’ll have to go, Eva, we got a fight on here.’

‘Not without
me,’
I said. I took another lap.

Everyone with two legs was standing up. Everyone with a mouth was shouting.

‘You all right?’ I said to Keif. But I didn’t care.

‘It ain’t exactly Queensberry Rules,’ Keif said.

‘No rules,’ I said. I could hardly hear him. He was hardly there. I was watching Pete lumber over to the MC’s table.

‘Please, Eva,’ said the ref, ‘be sensible.’

The MC stood up. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said into his microphone. ‘As you can see, there’s been a ring invasion. If you’ll all calm down for a minute, while we deal with the intruder, the fight between Pete Carver and, er, Mohammed, er, Wily will resume without delay.’

I ran over to the MC’s side of the ring.

‘There’s been an invasion all right,’ I yelled. ‘But I ain’t no intruder. I’m the London Lassassin. How you gonner “deal” with me? Eh? Eh?’

He covered the mike with his hand. ‘Bloody hell, Eva. Get down. You’re barred, you know that. Get the hell out of here.’

‘Make me,’ I yelled, at him, at Pete, at everyone. ‘Come up here and make me.’

‘Go on, Pete,’ yelled the fans, ‘
make
her.’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Pete,’ said the MC with his hand shielding the mike. ‘They think this is a bloody stunt.’

‘Well it ain’t,’ Pete said. ‘Get Mr Deeds in here. He’ll sort her out.’

‘Go on,’ I yelled. ‘Run to Daddy Deeds.’

‘Yellow,’ called Keif. ‘I smell yellow. What do I smell? I smell a yeller feller.’

‘
Yeller,’
screamed the crowd.

‘You’ll live to regret this,’ the MC said.

But Pete was already climbing into the ring.

I danced back, taking Keif with me. Pete climbed through the ropes.

I took the centre of the ring. I unzipped my combat jacket.

‘Hoo-eee,’ went the crowd, ‘take ‘em off, Bucket Nut. Dum-dum-dee-dum, dum,
dum!’

‘Dirty buggers,’ I said. I flung the combat jacket at the ref.

‘Eva?’ said Keif.

‘Out me way,’ I said.

‘You asked for it,’ said Pete. ‘Now you’re gonner get it.’

He came in fast and low. He got those long arms round my waist and heaved me up off the canvas. He was going for the quick throw out of the ring – the quick spectacular throw.

I could tell by the way he was changing his grip, he wanted to get me above his head. He wanted to do the helicopter.

‘Over here,’ yelled some wag in the crowd. ‘Chuck her to me. I’ll catch her.’

I let Pete swing me sideways. But that’s all.

I flipped one knee up and clumped him on the ear.

I twisted, heaved the other leg up. I locked my ankles round his neck.

He still had me by the waist. I let myself hang by the waist and ankles. I twisted sideways and bit his knee.

‘Shit!’ – he said.

I chomped harder, and that was as far as the helicopter got.

He went for the pile-driver instead. He wanted to crash me down head first.

I hung on. I wrapped my arms round his legs and hung on by ankles, teeth and arms. If I was going down, he was coming too.

‘Oi ref,’ yelled the front rows. ‘She’s biting. Cheat, dirty cheat.’

Pete’s sweat smelled of old shoes. The hair on his legs pricked my arms. His knee tasted like old burger meat.

I ain’t never fought a man before. It’s different. Believe.

I ain’t never fought anyone who didn’t shave her legs.

Biting a hairy knee
ain’t
something you want to try regular.

‘Ooooh,’ went the crowd.

‘Take it easy,’ said the ref. I didn’t know who he was talking to ‘cos I could only see his shoes.

‘Ow!’ went Pete.

‘Yum,’ I went.

Keifs red boots danced past.

Pete jolted me up and down. I thought he was going to shake my teeth out and leave ’em like tent pegs in his knee.

I couldn’t see what Keif was up to – but suddenly Pete staggered and started tipping over backwards.

He let go of me just before he hit the canvas. I let go too. I took my weight on my hands and went into a forward roll away from him.

When I got up it looked like Keif was sitting on Pete’s head.

‘Two against one,’ someone called from the stalls. ‘It ain’t fair.’

‘Way to
go
, Keifee-baby,’ I yelled.

But Pete flung his legs up, clamped his knees round Keif’s ears and hauled Keif over on to the deck.

They was both arse up. I bit Pete’s bum.

‘
Fuck!’
went Pete.

‘Oi!’ went the ref.

‘Dirty cheat!’ went the crowd.

Pete rolled on to his back to save his bum. I jumped and landed, both knees first, on his belly.

‘Ooff!’ he went.

He hit out. I dodged sideways. His fist hit me on the right shoulder and knocked me over backwards.

‘Yeah, Pete,’ yelled the crowd. ‘Give her some.’

If he’d hit my face he’d of knocked my head off. It ain’t like being hit by a woman – when someone Pete’s size hits you, you stay hit.

He knocked me over backwards.

‘Carve her, Pete,’ went Pete’s fans.

Keif took a flying leap and landed where I’d just been.

‘Wooof!’ went Pete. He sat up, locked one arm round Keif’s neck and forced him down so his ear was grinding into the canvas. He caught one of Keif’s flailing arms and twisted it hard.

Keif tried to roll with the twist, but Pete got to his knees, then his feet, twisting hard.

‘Bastard,’ he said, when he wasn’t panting. ‘Bastards.’

I got up a bit slow, holding my shoulder.

‘Wotcha going to do now, Bucket Nut?’ someone yelled. ‘Had enough?’

‘I had enough of
you,’
I yelled back, rubbing my shoulder.

Pete was stood over Keif. Keif was pounding on the canvas with his free hand. Pete looked like he was trying to wrench Keif’s arm out of its socket. He stepped on Keif’s face.

I lowered me left shoulder and charged him in the small of the back. Wham! I jarred into him. He tripped over Keif, staggered a couple of yards and sprawled into the ropes just above the MC’s table.

‘Give me the mike!’ he yelled. He snatched the mike out of the MC’s hands.

‘
Rumble,’
he bawled into it. ‘Rumble, rumble, rumble!’

‘Yeah, rumble,’ screamed the crowd.

‘Oi, hold it,’ said the ref. ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

‘Fuck off,’ said Pete. ‘We don’t need you any more – if we ever did.’ He threw the microphone back at the MC and spun round to face me.

‘You’re dead,’ he said, pointing his fat finger at me. ‘You’re a dead bitch.’

‘Dead,’ shouted the front rows. ‘Dead bitch.’

I bit Pete’s finger. Well, that’s what a bitch is supposed to do, ain’t it? If he wants me to behave like a lady he should stop treating me like a bitch. Besides, it’s rude to point.