The Last Card (16 page)

The following day, in Nick’s Gym, Cube was railing obliquely against the violence of the ‘hood. And while the Cube railed, boxers from all over London pounded, banged and skipped their way to physical fitness, to a state of readiness, to the brink of inflicting yet more violence.

While the volume bludgeoned the senses and the lyrics
bludgeoned
the sensibilities, H lay on his back, doing sit-ups. The sweat rolled off him as he grimaced. H stuck to a routine that he had used for years. Perhaps he didn’t work at it with the vigour of five or six years before, but the routine remained the same. Three sets of thirty sit-ups. The third set was always the killer.

‘… Eighteen …’ H hissed through clenched teeth, allowing his torso to drop slowly down, never easing the tension, telling himself that not boxing was no reason not to keep in shape. ‘… Nineteen …’ H hissed like a knackered steam kettle. Slowly he allowed his torso to descend back towards the mat. Because he liked the training almost as much as the boxing. He struggled to hoist himself back up. ‘… Twenty!..’

The hiss now reeked of desperation and H still had ten sit-ups to go. His abdominal muscles screamed for mercy. He was in better shape than the vast majority of men his age. He could still pull the young birds if he put his mind to it. Again H raised his torso, the sweat dribbling in rivulets down his face, into his T-shirt. ‘…
Twenty-one
…’
He couldn’t maintain the tension and gently lay down on the mat. He closed his eyes and panted with the strain of it. There was no way he could stop there, he would have to finish, but
heneeded-thisbreather
. He needed this breather. He … needed … this … breather.

H closed his eyes, forced his breathing to be as slow and as deep as he could make it, and relaxed. If there was one thing he’d learnt over the years it was how to recover. H looked up through his closed eyelids. He could see red. A moment later the red became burgundy. He opened his eyes, to see Nick looking down at him.

‘How you feeling?’ Nick growled at him.

‘I didn’t know you cared.’ H made his answer as terse and
sarcastic
as the question had been.

‘I don’t. I’ve got news for you. You’ve got a fight coming up. In six weeks.’ H showed little interest.

‘Yeah? Who is it?’

‘Henry Mancini.’ There was a long pause. ‘De Bugle Boy!
Remember
him?’ Another pause. ‘What dya you think?’

‘Don’t mess me about, Nick. I’m tired.’ H wasn’t that tired. A shot of adrenaline had squirted through his veins at the mention of the Bugle Boy’s name.

‘I’m telling you, it’s Mancini. He’s got a shot at de world title coming up and he wants a warm up. He was supposed to be
foighting
a ranker, Mark Hodges, but Hodges got himself shot in some street foight or something. De match was going to be televised and de contracts are all signed. Mancini needs a replacement fast.’

H felt his stomach perform a triple flick-flack. He sat up, resting on his elbows.

‘You’re serious?!’

‘Yes, I’m fuckin’ serious!’ All thoughts of retirement from the ring were, for the moment, forgotten. H was no longer tired.

‘So now I’m fighting..!’

‘I jumped straight in for you. We can sell it as a re-match from your amateur days and wid de TV money involved, we’re looking at a pretty decent pay-day.’

‘But … I haven’t had a decent fight in over three years.’

‘Who cares?! Your last foight with Mancini was a classic. You’ve got six weeks.’

‘Six weeks! Six weeks! I’ll never be ready in …’

‘Don’t worry about it. Mancini’s people aren’t looking for a fight, dey’re looking for a show. I told ’em I’d make sure you could go three, four rounds with deir boy …’

‘What does that mean?!’

‘It means you don’t need six months to prepare. You just turn up on de day and do de best you can …’

‘The best I can?!’ H couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing; Nick laughed scornfully.

‘Dis isn’t a foight, H, you can’t win. It’s a pay-day to entertain a few million mugs on television. I t’ought you’d be pleased!’

‘I’m in there to make Mancini look good and I’m supposed to be pleased?’

Nick’s irritation turned to anger. ‘What are you fuckin’ beefing about, it’s an easy fuckin’ pay-day!’ The gym quietened as some of the other boxers listened in to the latest unfolding drama.

‘Come on, Nick, it’s Mancini.’ H rose to his feet, hands on hips and looked down at the pugnacious Irish man.

Matt had clearly heard the beginning of the argument and stepped forward. ‘Dad, why’d you keep …’

But Nick ignored his son, turning on H with a passionate,
heartfelt
scorn. ‘You had it all, H. Talent. Dripping out of you.’ Nick’s
piercing
eyes shone out of his wizened face as he stared up at H. The hurt in his eyes reminded H of his own father. H looked away,
embarrassed
.

‘What happened to it?’ Nick persisted, demanding an answer.

‘It went.’ H mumbled.

‘It went, it went! You let it go!’ The gym had fallen into silence. The music has been turned off and the boxers stood around,
listening-but-not-listening
. ‘You fuckin’ pissed it all away! Well now dere’s twenty t’ousand pound on the fuckin’ table for dis fuckin’ foight; take it or leave it!’

H shifted his stance, still not looking his coach in the eye. He felt the gaze of the other boxers, his coach and Matt; all looking at him, waiting for an answer.

‘I’ll take it.’

‘Damn roight you’ll fuckin’ take it! And be glad to take it, too!’

Nick turned and strode away. The gym slowly came back to life,
the other boxers gradually returning to their preferred brands of torture. H and Matt were left alone to contemplate this dramatic turn of events.

‘I think you should …’ But H turned his back on Matt, heading for the changing room and the showers. He still had nine more
sit-ups
to do, but on this occasion, they’d have to wait.

Back in his street clothes, H wandered slowly down a leafy road in Hanwell, heading towards Alice’s house. It was just after six, the sky was darkening and H knew Cyrus would be home from school. H wanted to see him. He wanted to see Beverley. He wanted to see her and tell her about this latest opportunity. H wasn’t sure what to do and he missed talking things over with her. But he did not want to see Alice. Thinking about her, H felt his tread slow to a crawl.

H turned into Westcott Crescent and could see Alice’s house near the corner. He stopped. The light was on in the living room. Peering in from behind a parked car, H saw Beverley sat on the sofa with her legs tucked to one side. In the armchair across from her he could make out Alice. Cyrus was lying with his head on Beverley’s lap, and the flickering light of the television played across their faces. H couldn’t make out if his son was also watching or if he was asleep. Across London, across the country, the same scene played out many times: the glowing warmth of security, held within the flickering light of a
television
. It felt alien to him. He was on the outside.

H backed away and walked back down the street.

I
t was all to do with green-eyed Brenda. The woman was
destroying
him. Gavin prided himself on being fit, healthy and in top notch-condition. His blond hair might have been a tad thin and his waist not quite as trim as it had been, but Gavin was, he reflected, still a fine figure of a man. He had been an Olympiad, for God’s sake! In the 1980 Lake Placid Winter Games – the fourth man in the English bobsledding team, the man with the most powerful thighs.

But Gavin was worried. Green-eyed Brenda was insatiable. He had come into work today barely able to walk. In the green eyes of Brenda a quickie was something one did when one felt horny. And Gavin was certain nobody could possibly feel more horny than him. The
twenty-three-year-old
Brenda, he had just this evening decided, must be some kind of freak. She had no concept of foreplay. The idea that two people about to have sex might enjoy the time taken to arouse one another, however one chose to do that, had never entered her
beautifully
crafted head. No, what green-eyed Brenda wanted, constantly, was a quickie. She would either lie prostrate before him, or
occasionally
she would thrust her pert little bottom in his direction. She wanted him to do it at a moment’s notice. Nothing more, nothing less.

Gavin had tried to sit the poor girl down and explain to her the workings of the male body as opposed to the female body. Men sometimes needed … stimulation. And the ability of the male organ to climax repeatedly was something that … declined with age. And that was Gavin’s big, big mistake. To mention age. Because after a long, detailed and elaborate explanation of the occasional male need for assistance, green-eyed Brenda, with an innocence that would
have thrilled a pimp, had asked if this whole conversation was because Gavin was old.

Gavin had stopped dead in his tracks. With one, well-aimed
question
she had felled his love for her, a love that had begun three weeks before after a chance meeting in ‘My Old China’, aCantonese
restaurant
and take-away in the centre of Purley.

Now, Gavin sat at the bar in Roxy’s and pondered the many paths of true love, contrasting them with the imponderables of the quickie. Opposite him Nina sat and talked. Something about a trip to Brighton with Hilary James. All he’d gathered of any substance was that things were going according to plan and that she was making moves to encourage him to take on Alan. When she’d begun talking about how they’d driven to the beach and talked about men and women and where she’d grown up and … his mind had drifted.

Gavin’s legs ached. The previous seven nights with Brenda, plus the quickies he’d encountered during the seven days that went with those seven nights, were wearing him out. That was the truth. He was now walking with a slightly ambling gait that made him resemble an ageing John Wayne. He raised himself from the stool at the bar, and looked around him, stretching his aching legs. Nina stopped her chatter in mid-flow, looking up at Gavin with surprise.

‘Stretching,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘Carry on.’ But when Nina resumed her chatter, Gavin’s attention wandered around the club. It was just after nine – still early in the evening. Tonight, there would be less women punters, more gay men and transvestites. It would be a slightly younger crowd, the atmosphere harder and more conventionally clubby. As Gavin looked around, flexing his knees and legs, he saw Hilary framed in the doorway. H caught his eye and came over. As Nina rose to greet him, Gavin was surprised to see her blushing.

‘Look what the wind blew in.’ She said it casually, but Gavin could hear the sudden tension in her voice.

‘How are you?’ Hilary addressed the question to Nina, but as he said it he swung round to face Gavin. Gavin nodded to him without a word, his expression blank.

It was Nina who responded.

‘A lot better for seeing you. So …’ She leant towards him, taking
his arm and half turning away. As she did so she winked, ever so subtly, at Gavin. Gavin was unable to catch the whispered exchange but when Nina turned to him a moment later, he gathered from the look on her face that she wasn’t pleased.

‘Gavin,’ she said, ‘Hilary wants to see Alan.’

Slightly bow-legged, Gavin stood on the landing outside Alan’s office and knocked gently. A muffled ‘come in!’ reverberated. Gavin glanced behind him. H was straightening the jacket of his crumpled suit. Gavin opened the door, standing aside to allow him to pass.

‘Hilary! The very man!’ Gavin noted that Alan seemed to be in a good mood. He was sitting behind his desk, closely examining his teeth in a small mirror. In his free hand he held a plastic flossing fork. His face turned from side to side as he grimaced into his reflection like the head on top of a totem pole. If Gavin played his cards right he thought he might be able to leave work early tonight and perhaps have some kind of conversation with green-eyed Brenda. She was a waitress in the Chinese restaurant and finished work at 2.30 a.m. She was usually home by three. Maybe he could be there before her. Catch her before she jumped on the computer. Which was another thing that was beginning to annoy him about her. She surfed the
internet
for hours at a time, day or night. He had no idea what she was looking for or what she was –

‘You’re asking me to throw the fight?!’ At the far end of the office Gavin was jolted back to the matter in hand by the tone in the H’s voice.

‘I’m happy to waive the matter of the fifteen thousand pounds you owe me, I’m not greedy. We’re all friends here after all.’ Gavin held his breath as he waited for the Hilary’s response. He eased forward on the balls of his feet, ready.

‘What?! I’m not throwing the fight! I don’t care who …!’

‘I’m not asking you, I’m fookin’ telling you! You are going to throw that fight an’ you’re goin’ t’ throw it in the first fookin’ round! I ’ad money riding on Hodges and with ’im out the picture it’s now riding on you! A lot of it!’

H was staring at Alan, clearly struggling with his emotions. Gavin sidled closer, letting Hilary know that if he made a move, he would be on him.

‘You think you’re something special’ White Alan continued. ‘Well, you’re not. You’re an ant. I piss on people like you. You’re going down in the first round.’ Hilary said nothing. But his eyes remained firmly on Alan.

Hilary had long gone when Gavin left Alan’s office. He eased his underpants away from his crotch as he walked slowly to the stairs. So it was true. Alan was definitely looking for a big score, a big pay-day. Alan hadn’t said so but Gavin thought maybe he was looking for the big pay-day. One that would see him retire. What about the
business
? No. Gavin was not going to allow it to end like this.

At the bottom of the stairs Gavin hobbled along the short corridor and into the club. It was busy now and the bar area was crowded. Gavin sat on a stool and turned to the stage, where Nina was singing the final lines of ‘I Will Survive’.

Moments later she finished her song to enthusiastic applause. She bowed, and when she joined Gavin at the bar he rose and graciously offered her his seat. Gavin could have done with the stool, but he’d made this gesture to Nina for a reason and it certainly wasn’t chivalry.

‘What are you drinking?’ he began.

‘Tanqueray and tonic. Thanks.’

Gavin turned to order her drink.

‘How’s it going with lover-boy?’

‘Didn’t I tell you how it was going earlier?’

Now that Gavin thought about it, she had. Something about Brighton beach?

‘Well I’ve got some good news. Hilary has a big fight coming up, as a replacement for one of Alan’s boxers, Hodges. The interweaving of life’s rich and varied tapestries never ceases to amaze me.’

Nina gave him a blank look. She clearly had no idea what he was talking about.

Gavin elaborated. ‘Alan had a large money bet on Hodges on the
understanding that Hodges would take a dive against Mancini. Now that Hilary has replaced him, Alan’s put an even bigger bet on Mancini and is leaning on Hilary to take the very, same dive, but this time in the first round. Trouble is, Hilary doesn’t want to.’

‘So? How can he make him?’

‘Alan wants you to meet him, accidentally-on-purpose, and use your charms to make sure that he takes that dive’

‘Great. That’s classy.’

‘Can you handle it?’ There was a pause. And then for the first time in a long time, Gavin saw Nina smile. It was tight, but it was a smile.

‘This is what they call irony, isn’t it?’

‘No, this is what they call serendipity.’ Gavin looked smug.

‘Alan doesn’t know that I’ve already met Hilary, does he?’

At that moment a short, burly black man pushed himself
conspicuously
and without ceremony between Gavin and Nina. He signalled a barman. ‘Yeah, gimme a rum and black.’

Gavin eyed the man with distaste. He had half of his hair in some kind of tight, plaited style that kept it close to the scalp, while the other half grew loose and wild. He was wearing a full-length quilted coat with ‘New Jersey’ emblazoned on the front and back.

‘Do you mind?’

‘Do I mind what?’ The man looked back at Gavin with something that made Gavin’s pulse quicken. Was it insolence?

‘I’m having a conversation here. There’s no need to push.’

The black held Gavin’s gaze for a moment then turned slowly to look at Nina. As slow as you like he turned back to Gavin looking him up and down.

‘Do I look like I’m stopping your conversation?’

Gavin stood up and squared himself as he now faced him. ‘If you have a problem with me perhaps we should take it outside and discuss it.’

‘Yeah, man, let’s step.’ The stranger opened his coat and a small movement with his hand in front of his trousers revealed a bulge. It was a move guaranteed to catch Gavin’s attention. Silence.

‘Rum and black.’ The barman looked at the guy, who was staring at Gavin who was staring back at him. ‘Er … that’s £3.40.’ It was Nina that broke the spell.

‘Your drink. It’s ready.’ One beat. Two beats. The black man
turned to Nina, gave her a nod, paid for his drink and then moved away back into the heart of the club.

‘What the hell was that?!’ Gavin said, breathlessly. ‘And what the hell is he doing in here?’

‘I don’t know, but he didn’t seem to like the look of you.’ Gavin snapped round from looking after the disappearing stranger to looking at Nina.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?!’

‘Easy, tiger, he’s nothing to do with me!’

‘Well what is to do with you is how to get the other nigger to do what we want.’ Gavin saw Nina flinch at the word ‘nigger’ but he didn’t give a damn. ‘We now have leverage.’

‘What do you mean?’ Puzzled.

‘If he didn’t want to take the dive before, he now has a personal reason to do what we want, doesn’t he?’

‘I don’t need more leverage,’ Nina snapped. ‘I know exactly what makes Hilary tick. He’d do anything for his little boy, Cyrus.’

‘He’s got a little boy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, good. I hope you’re right. For both our sakes.’ Nina turned away and sipped from her drink. Gavin turned back to the body of the club looking for the insolent black who needed teaching a lesson. He couldn’t see him. He glanced at Nina’s back with a rising contempt. He had a sudden thought; maybe his problem with green-eyed Brenda was that, on some deep, fundamental level … he just didn’t like women.