The Last Card (11 page)

I
t was late as H, Boo, Sharon, Sammy, Shampa and Blackie spilled out of the G-spot and into the cool of the night. The Kings Road was quiet, hardly any traffic. Despite the nightmare of H’s day, his night had been a good one. In fact, the night had been good for all the West End gamblers. For once they were all winners and the competitive element that usually that existed between them was absent. ‘Good-byes’ and general sentiments of good will were sincerely meant. Sammy headed for his mini cab and the drive back to East London, while Sharon and Boo walked off towards into the West End. H, Blackie and Shampa headed towards H’s Mercedes, parked on the corner of Flood Street.

In the afterglow of success H’s mood was surprisingly sombre. In truth, he’d had a very good night, far better than he could have expected given the events of the day. Perhaps he’d had a good night because of his day. H had arrived in the session late and immediately begun taking chances that he wouldn’t normally take. Some of the gambles he’d taken had verged on the reckless. Had he been playing strictly professional gamblers no doubt he would have been made to pay. However playing with three fish at the table meant that there was a constant flow of money. The fish had entered inro the spirit of H’s game, allowing their egos to rule their heads, but they couldn’t hope to compete with his level of play. The overall effect of H’s presence at the table was to make money for all the West End professionals.

Had the mood been less euphoric, H probably would have
registered
the significance of the metallic blue, BMW Z3 Roadster sitting opposite Flood Street, or recognised the beautiful woman inside. But he didn’t. It was H’s first big mistake of the night.

‘How much?’ Blackie asked with a grin. Not only had there been no trouble in the game so Blackie’s night was easy, but Ghadaffi was so pleased at the level of tax the table had taken that he’d said he would use Blackie and Shampa again while his usual Houseman was away.

‘About eighteen hundred,’ H replied.

Blackie slapped him on the back. ‘Seen, man, seen! Is a good night! Why you face favour a donkey, it look so long?!’

H gave a grim smile. ‘Blackie, let me ask you something: tonight was a good night … but what about tomorrow? I mean, don’t you ever think you’re getting too old for this?’

Blackie could see where this was going and gestured to Shampa.

‘Wait in de car fo’ me, no baby.’ He kissed her, and watched her walk back past the club to Blackie’s huge, old Volvo.

‘Of course we too old, man! But das not de point!’ They walked on, arriving at H’s car and leaning up against it. ‘You know me, H, we know each odder a long time. Me is a man dat like to work; I been a driver, I work construction, I do lickle factory work; an’ I serve my time as a guest of ’er majaesty.’ Blackie paused, looking closely at H. ‘But ’ear now: dis las’ time inside people is tarkin’ ’bout ’ow England change up now under dis Tony Blair. De people fling out de set a Tory dawgs and t’ieves and dey tarkin’ ’bout how England is a meritocracy. Well kiss me foot, dey may be right! I’m not a clever man so I don’ know. But what I know is dat for you and me, as black people in dis country, maybe we is part of a, of a los’ generation.’ Blackie looked away as though he felt guilty about what he was saying or he wasn’t sure if he was talking out of turn. He corrected himself. ‘Whedder is Tony Blair or Gordon Brown … de Labour Party cian’t do nutten for me, at least. I too old, I too black an’ I too nasty! But gamblin’ is somet’in’ I love. I might still get to be rich one day, you knowa mean?’

H just listened. He didn’t agree with everything the older man was saying but he recognised that Blackie was speaking from the heart and paying the man respect meant listening and thinking about what he had to say.

Looking back, H would wonder how he had failed to notice the shadowy figures hiding by the side of his car.

‘Everyone wants to be rich,’ H said ‘but there has to be more to life than that.’

Blackie just laughed. ‘I live de life an’ I ’ave my dreams; what more you want outta life?’

H thought about that for a moment. ‘Beverley’s moved out. She’s taken Cyrus with her.’

‘Lawd, God, me sorry to ’ear dat, sah! Me really sorry.’ Blackie patted H on the back with concern.

‘I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, the way we were going.’ H paused as he thought about what he was saying. ‘What I need is a regular life, Blackie. A regular job, regular hours.’

‘’Ear what; I spen’ a large parta my life looking for a regular life, you know! You t’ink I come from Jamaica lookin’ dis kinda work? No, sah! When I come to dis country life was hhharsh and hhhhard! Dey didn’t want us when we come ’ere fe look work. Calling you a ‘black bastard’ an’ all dis shit. ‘Go ’ome you black bastard!’ You know ’ow many times I did hear dat? Under de circumstances one ’as to mek choices and mek you own way in life. In de bes’ way you cian. When water run down a hill an’ you block it off, de water still haffu run. I don’ know how I start in dis business, I cian’ remember, but for me now, gambling … allows de juices to flow, seen? It brings … light. And what is a life widout light?’

H kept his silence. He looked at Blackie’s battered teeth, the scar on his forehead and his generally battered, gnarled appearance. Blackie’s words were simple, unembellished and to the point. But H knew there was a wealth of experience beneath them that he wasn’t talking about and he didn’t need to. Blackie continued. ‘Relax you’-self, man. Y’ave a good win. Enjoy it becau’ dis is as good as it gets. Go ’ome, sah. Ketch some sleep.’

H pulled him into a tight embrace. He suddenly felt emotional but he didn’t know why.

‘G’night, man, sleep well, yeah? And thanks.’ H watched Blackie walk quickly away, back on to the King’s Road and his own car. Suddenly somebody shortish and heavyset stepped towards him. It was a man wearing a long, padded coat, with half his hair in a caine row style, the other half loose. H turned away and bent to open the front door of his own car. At that moment the Z3 Roadster from across the street suddenly roared to life. Its engine kicked in and its
headlights
sprang on, full beam. As H looked over, the roadster swung round in an arc and pulled up alongside him. The driver, a beautiful woman,
lowered the window. It took H about a second to recognise her. It was the woman that he’d seen in Alan Akers’ office. She was alone.

‘Remember me?’ She said it with a smile as though the one time they had met wasn’t when his life was threatened and his ear
mutilated
.

He looked down at her coldly. ‘How could I forget?’

‘Where are you going?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘Just interested.’

‘Home.’

‘A man like you shouldn’t have to go home alone.’

H bent down and looked in the car. This was weird. Why was this woman who he’d met once, under less than perfect circumstances, coming on to him?

‘Why not? I like the company.’

‘So would two be a crowd?’

Jesus Christ! This woman was pushy. She was fit though.

‘Depends on the context.’

‘Me. You. My car. My place.’ There it was. On a plate. A punany platter.

‘How do you know I don’t have someone waiting for me at home?’ H was smiling now, despite himself.

‘Do you?’

‘No.’

‘So what are we talking about?’ She looked up at him and she too was smiling, her eyes large and open.

‘What are you doing out here, anyway?’

‘I’m feeling lonely.’ She said it in a sad and campy voiceadding to the effect by leaning over and opening the passenger door. H thought about it, he did. But no, she was working too hard, there had to be a catch somewhere. H had done his gambling for the night.

‘Maybe another time.’ he turned back to his Mercedes. And it was then that H paid the price for the second of the mistakes he’d made that night. Two men rushed him from behind his car. One of them grabbed H from behind, pinning his arms behind his back. The other stood in front of him and proceeded to drop a lick on H that he hadn’t taken in a long, long time. He lost consciousness.

I
t had been a long, long time since Nina had played the role of nurse. Being the eldest of three children with a mother who was always working meant that she had often had to babysit her younger sisters. And when she and Alan had first started going together he had often seemed happiest when she had taken him in her arms, held him tight and gently rubbed his back. Maternal instincts that she had always been aware of came out at odd moments.

Tonight provided one of those moments. The man Gavin had called Hilary was slumped in the passenger seat of her car. Nina had reclined the seat and his head lolled on the head rest. She dabbed at the egg-sized lump on his forehead with a small sponge that was really for washing dishes but which Nina kept in the car to wipe the windscreen. She’d dampened it with a bottle of Evian and used this to stem the blood. Hilary seemed to be regaining consciousness and was making low moaning noises. Nina continued to squat outside the car, working on Hilary gently, with care.

For some reason, as she wiped away the blood that had run down his cheek and under his chin, Nina noticed Hilary’s lips. They were full, thick lips; the upper one a dark brown while the lower one was a more reddish colour. Funny that, she had a lot of black friends but it had never occurred to her to look closely, really closely at their lips. They were so unlike her own. Hers were longer, thinner. There seemed to be a pale line, a pale shade of brown around Hilary’s mouth that highlighted it, made it seem like a caricature, a stylised version of what a pair of lips should look like. She’d never noticed
that about anyone before. They seemed pillowy and soft, like a comfortable bed …

Hilary suddenly came round, opening his eyes and trying to sit up. Nina backed away, still squatting outside the car. She could see his eyes focusing on where he was, trying to remember how he had arrived in the passenger seat of her car. He looked at her, blankly at first and then recognition seemed to dawn. He raised a hand to his head, touching the lump where he’d been struck. He immediately yanked his hand away, wincing with pain.

‘What happened?’

‘Some old friends of yours, apparently. One of them was a mister … Stammer?’ This seemed to be especially bad news and Hilary groaned, loudly this time. ‘They left you this.’ Nina picked a black, leather wallet up from the pavement by her feet. She handed it to Hilary. He again looked blank.

‘A wallet?’

‘It’s yours.’

‘Shit!’ Hilary’s memory seemed to be clearing now. ‘You let them take my money?!’

‘What could I do?’

‘All of it? Over six grand?’

‘There were two of them! What was I supposed to do?!’ Nina stared back as Hilary glowered at her, trying to intimidate and make her feel guilty.

‘Where are we?’

‘You don’t know where you are?’

Hilary looked around him, still dazed.

‘I’ve got no idea. Is this your car?’

‘This is my car and I don’t think you should go home alone tonight. You’re not well.’

‘I am well. What makes you think I’m not well?’ He looked at her with the same look of confusion that people have when they’ve suddenly been roused from a deep sleep. Nina had to smile.

‘Because you’re outside a club called the G-spot. You were in there for at least six hours.’

Hilary looked blankly out at the front of the club.

‘Come on, I’m taking you home.’

‘What about my car? If I leave it here it’ll get towed.’

‘Good. They can tow it straight to the scrap yard. Save you some money.’ With that she made sure Hilary was secure in the car, strapping his seat belt on. She slammed the door, walked round to the driver’s side and climbed in. She started the engine.

‘Don’t you need to know where I live?’

‘Why?’

‘You’re taking me home!’

‘Not your home; mine.’

Nina was a good driver. Given the little traffic at this time, it took her barely ten minutes to race down the New King’s Road, make a right on Beaufort Street, cross the Fulham Road, Old Brompton Road, through Earl’s Court, on to Holland Road, hit the roundabout, make a right, then a left down Portland Road until she hit Pottery Lane. Way down near the bottom was Nina’s small mews house. Home.

Nina climbed out, went round the car, opened the door for her passenger and helped him out. Hilary was still groggy and as he climbed out he suddenly pitched forwards.

‘Here, lean on me.’

‘Lean on you? Can you handle it?’

‘I can handle you.’

‘Oh yeah? What makes you so sure?’

‘Confidence. I was born with it.’

‘That kind of confidence can get you in trouble.’

‘Are you going to keep talking or do you want to come in?’ She took one of his arms and, with Hilary offering no resistance, draped it heavily round her shoulders. Struggling to prop the big man up, Nina staggered with him straight into a large, modern kitchen. Nina flicked on the lights as she slumped Hilary down at a wooden kitchen table. Next to the refrigerator was a side cupboard where Nina kept her overflow of spirits. She pulled out a bottle of brandy. She lifted two glass tumblers from a cupboard above the sink and poured two generous helpings. She carried them both over to Hilary who by now, was looking around him.

‘Nice place you’ve got here.’ He took a sip of his brandy, and his eyes rested on the huge, silver Alessi toaster that sat on the counter by the cooker.

‘I was just about to buy one of those.’

‘If you hurry there’s a sale on at Harrods.’ She watched while he
turned to look at her, not sure how to respond.

‘Are you taking the piss?’

‘Me?’ Nina widened her eyes and added a splash of innocence to her tone. ‘Why would I do that?’ H continued to stare and she held his look. Finally he turned away. This was going to be easier than she had thought.

Hilary continued sipping his brandy, taking it in slowly, letting it do its work. Nina cradled her glass in both hands, not drinking, just watching this large, well-built man, sitting at her kitchen table. Even in the way he sat, he had a grace, an ease about him. Here was a man who seemed comfortable with his body. Not just because it looked good but he seemed comfortable with the way it worked. She stared at his face. Baby face. He looked as though he had only recently started to shave. But she could tell by his eyes that H had lived. His eyes were constantly moving, they were a deep … H glanced over at her.

‘What?’

‘Better?’

Hilary gingerly felt the bump on his head.

‘A bit.’

‘You’ve got some rough friends.’

‘So have you!’ He pointed to the plaster that covered his
mutilated
ear. ‘Remember?’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ She took her first sip of the brandy. There was another pause. Hilary was looking at her, his eyes taking their time, taking her in, as they lingered on her face. Nina held his look but for the first time she became aware that she was nervous. There was suddenly a tension between them. It was H that broke it.

‘To what … do I owe the rescue?’

‘You’re too good looking to leave lying in the gutter.’ She said it straight, keeping her eyes on his. She wanted to see how he would react.

‘You think you’re hot stuff, don’t you?’

‘I know I’m hot stuff.’

‘A regular angel of mercy.’

‘Only when I want to be.’

There was another silence.

‘What now?’ Nina could hear the edge to his voice.

‘My name’s Nina. And you are?’

‘I thought you and the albino knew all about me?’

‘If I knew I wouldn’t ask.’

‘H.’

‘Is that H with an ‘A’ or does H stand for something less
fashionable
?’

‘Hilary Chester Zechariah James.’

‘Impressive. I like a name that trips easily off the tongue.’ She said it with a smile.

‘Have you got a boyfriend?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can tell that you’re a woman that needs some
discipline
.’

Nina dropped the smile her face ‘And if I didn’t have a boyfriend would you be the man to discipline me?’

‘Only if you ask me nicely.’ Now it was H’s turn to smile. He finished his brandy with a gulp and looked down at his watch. Nina glanced at the clock on the wall above the door. 4.27am.

‘It’s late … are you going to give me a ride back to my car?’

‘You’re not going anywhere in your condition …’

‘What?’

‘I insist. Have another drink.’ Without giving him time to continue his protest she left the room. She took a duvet, a sheet and two pillows from a closet and carried them through to the spare bedroom. Hilary called to her from the kitchen below.

‘Okay. But the sofa’ll be fine!’

Nina didn’t even bother to glance back. Yeah, right. How was she going to make him feel beholden to her if she allowed him to sleep on the sofa? She began making up the double bed. The room was sparsely furnished with Habitat chic. She stripped the existing sheet off the bed and threw it into a corner. She then spread the clean sheet in its place and was busily smoothing it out when Hilary appeared standing in the doorway. He was sipping his brandy, watching her lean over the bed, no doubt admiring the view. She could tell he was feeling better.

‘So are you going to ask me?’

‘Ask you what?’

‘If I’m going to discipline you?’

Nina glanced round at him ‘You better make that brandy your last. You’re getting far too frisky.’

The way he was watching her was beginning to make her feel uneasy again.

‘I said the sofa’ll be fine.’

‘Nonsense …’ Before Nina could finish making her point Hilary had stepped over to her and grabbed her arm. He jerked her up and spun her round to face him.

‘Hey! Careful, hard man!’ They stood there, face to face, neither saying anything. Then Hilary slowly let go of her arm. She turned away and continued smoothing out the bottom sheet. With his eyes following her every move she picked up the pillows, plumped them and dropped them at the head of the bed. From having been in some kind of control earlier, Nina suddenly felt vulnerable, clumsily aware of every move she made. She finished off by sweeping the duvet into place. She turned to him.

‘There you go. All done.’

He didn’t answer. A hint of a smile played on his lips. Nina was suddenly feeling a little breathless. She headed for the door. He may well be drinking his last brandy but she wasn’t. She was going to fix herself another one right now.

Standing in the doorway, he made no move to let her through. As she squeezed past her breasts brushed against his chest. He was looking down at her. She stopped, the two of them chest-to-chest in the narrow doorway. Nina looked up at his lips. Hilary bent down to kiss her. He put his hand on the back of her head, grabbing a bunch of her long, brown hair and roughly pulled her head towards his. Their mouths met in an awkward clash, their teeth bumping. But their lips fought for purchase and sorted themselves into a position that fitted. Hilary’s tongue darted into her mouth, probing, exploring. Nina’s was more reserved, only coming out in small flicks, testing, tasting …

As suddenly as Hilary had kissed her, he suddenly pulled her head away. She really was breathless now. She glowered up at him while he smiled down. And then she slapped him across the face, hard.

‘Do you know who you’re dealing with?’

‘Do you care who you’re dealing with?’

Nina went to slap him again but H caught her wrist this time and held it tight.

‘I think you’re just about ready for bed.’ She slowly eased his hand off her wrist, turned and stalked away, downstairs. She could feel his eyes boring into her back. Damn! That hadn’t gone to plan!

Morning. Early. Nine. Virgin Radio blared and Hilary ground his teeth as he slowly munched through a bowl of cornflakes. The noise was infuriating. Nina wasn’t quite sure why, but it was. The man looked to be in a world of his own, like a cow chewing grass. When you watched a cow chewing grass could you possibly know what it was thinking? And that’s what this man looked like sitting at her kitchen table spooning huge mounds of cornflakes, dripping the milk, slowly chewing. Big, dumb and slow.

Nina watched him surreptitiously from the sink. After last night she had to regain the upper hand. Games of sexual chemistry were games that she was used to playing and used to winning. Then once she had him … on to phase two.

She was making herself a latte but as she waited for the milk to heat up she slyly watched Hilary out of the corner of her eye. She had brushed her hair and was wearing a skimpy, sheer, negligee – mauve – that was just long enough to cover her arse. Over this she wore a light cotton dressing gown that she had artfully left open from the waist down and she was deliberately exposing mucho thigh. Her legs were her best feature. They were long, slender and smooth and Hilary, if he bothered to look, would be able to see them from the top of one creamy thigh all the way down to her bare feet.

But all this big, dumb ox could do was chew cornflakes and look dazed.

‘Are you sure you don’t want eggs or bacon?’ She worked hard at keeping the irritation from her voice. Here she was asking if she could feed his fat mouth more food he could barely bring himself to look at her. This was too much.

‘I said do you want..!’

‘Shhhhh!’ He pointed to the radio! He was listening to it! Could you believe this ox?! Not enough that she had to listen to his bovine
munchings but now she wasn’t allowed to speak in her own kitchen. She whipped her dressing gown round her and turned back to her latte. She poured the milk into the coffee and padded with as much aggression as she could muster to the kitchen table. She sat
opposite
him. She was aware that those two, small, vertical lines had reappeared in her forehead. Just to further annoy her. She looked over at Hilary. He was looking at her, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were far away. He was listening to the radio. Nina tuned herself in.

‘… number one contender for the WBC’s World
super-middleweight
title, has finally been given his chance. After months of
negotiations
, a date is to be announced when he’ll take on the American champion, Robert Howard.’