The Last Card (22 page)

H sat and tried to imagine what he would do if this were a boxing match. What would he do if a 210-pound gorilla was facing him across the ring? How would he deal with it? Would he deal with his opponent head on? Or would he box clever? Dodge, feint, weave? Or would he use his opponent’s strength against him?

At 5.15 that afternoon, as the late afternoon sunshine faded around him, H found himself on the Gascoyne housing estate in Homerton, Hackney. H didn’t know exactly what he was looking for but a chance remark by Nina had given him an idea. It was a crazy, loony idea, but maybe, just maybe, it might work. If H had learnt anything in the ring over the last fifteen years, it was that the most important muscle to flex was the one between his ears. Any 210-pound gorilla could be beaten if you used your boxing brain effectively. Failure to recognise this was why he’d lost to Mancini the first time.

H wandered. Unlike his own small 1960s estate, this one was huge, and ranged from two-storey family homes with neat front gardens to white-painted ten-storey blocks of flats and older red-brick blocks from the 1930s. H estimated that the whole estate must have been spread over almost a square mile.

Gascoyne was one of the new generation of inner-city housing
estates. The greying concrete monoliths that had won awards in the 1960s had long since fallen out of fashion and were being replaced. The lessons – of communal walkways, stairs, lifts, places where nobody took responsibility and were therefore permanently vandalised – had apparently sunk in.

H finally headed for a basketball court that bordered Hartlake Road, one of the main arteries running through the estate. He was attracted by a drawling bass-line beat and the urgent clatter of treble.

The basketball court was bordered by an elevated grass verge. Lounging on the court next to a Hackney ‘handbag’ were a group of kids in their early to late teens. The ‘handbag’ warbled a track by Tupac so badly distorted that it might have been anybody. The teenagers eyed H warily as he approached.

‘Hey, guys, all right?’ H ventured. A skinny white boy – about fifteen, with long, stringy hair that hung in his eyes and dribbled over the collar of a dirty T-shirt – was sucking hard on the smallest roach H had ever seen, clasped in a pair of metal crocodile clips.

‘Wha’ ’appen, sah?’

H did a double-take. The skinny white boy spoke in a broad Jamaican patois! Bemused, H watched him pass the crocodile clips to the black boy sitting next to him.

‘I’m looking for Joseph Adeyshian. Do you know which flat he lives in?’

‘Wha’ you say?’

‘Do any of you guys know Joseph Adeyshian?’

‘Is Babylon you a deal wid?’

This was starting to do H’s head in.

‘No, I’m not a policeman, I’m a friend of his.’ H immediately realised how weak this sounded. The kids must have thought so too - they eyed him suspiciously. The end of the spliff, no bigger than a memory, was passed to one of the white girls. She puckered her lips in a pout as she tried to suck the last of the smoke from it.

‘Who arrrereuandwyhsssshoieouldhetyelleuianthing?’ One of the other black boys was leaning up against the basket now. H looked at him blankly. His puzzled look was clearly expected because the other kids started laughing.

‘He said ‘Who are you and why should he tell you anything?” That was one of the white girls. She had short blonde hair, wore
stonewashed
denim head to toe, and small red pimples covered her pasty, pale face. H turned back to the boy.

‘I’m just a guy who needs a favour from him.’

‘Yoeulkliookedebbieyst!’

H looked blank and again there was much merriment. He was starting to feel irritable. Whatever happened to respect for one’s elders?

‘He said you look like the beast!’ The white girl again translated and H forced himself to laugh with a mirth he didn’t feel.

‘I just told you,’ H snapped ‘I’m not a policeman! Do you know him? Does he live on this estate?’

There was a pause while the youths decided whether they would answer H’s question or not. As they looked him up and down all H could think about was Cyrus and what he might be going through at that exact moment.

‘Wydeaouwianthm?’ H didn’t even bother looking at the boy, he just looked at his improbable translator.

‘’Why do you want him’?’

‘I’m a friend of Nina McGuire’s. I’ve got a job for Ade and she told me that I could buck up with him and a guy called Dunstan on this estate.’

At the mention of Nina and Dunstan the guy and the girl both seemed to relax. The guy actually smiled.

‘OkushioodheaoveminshoondNnaerylr.
AdeleeivsuovvaernVyinHwos
. Nymbatwennynine, sweet.’

‘You should have mentioned Nina earlier. Ade lives over in Vaine House, number twenty-nine.’ The young white girl pointed the way.

‘Cheers.’ H turned to leave.

‘Oiymeiytdaouafvegitteotanwyfiaegs?’ H turned back to see the black boy with the speech impediment looking at him expectantly. He turned to the girl.

‘What?’

‘He wants to know if you’ve got any fags?’

H rapped loudly on the door of number twenty-nine and took a step back. He could hear the television blaring from the other side so
he knew someone was in. Nobody came; he knocked again. He heard what sounded like the unlocking of the national bank; three chains, two bolts and a dead-lock.

Standing before H was a lean, sinewy, young black man,
twentyish
, a little bit taller than H. His skin was dark, his head was almost shaved and he stared at H through bright, clear eyes. The young man stood topless, wearing just a pair of huge Evisu jeans, hanging on his hips below a pair of star-spangled Tommy Hilfiger pants. Round his neck he wore a thick, gold rope chain, with a gold ‘Lion of Judah’ hanging in the middle of his hairless chest.

‘Ade?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘I’m a friend of Nina McGuire’s. Can I come in?’

A woman’s voice shouted from inside the flat. ‘Who dat, Ade?!’ The noise from the television suddenly stopped.

‘You’re a friend of Nina’s? How is she?’

‘She’s good. We’ve been running around together a little bit.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Ade suddenly smiled, showing pearly white teeth. ‘What you say your name is?’

‘Hilary James. H. Can I come in? I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.’

‘Yeah, man, come in.’ Ade stood aside to let him into the flat. H walked through a dark hallway into a bright and airy living room. He had to blink twice to make sure this wasn’t some kind of meretricious fantasy. Firstly, the room was hot. The central heating must have been blowing on maximum strength to keep the air as hot as it was, thick and heavy, like a blanket. And the furniture looked as though someone had spent half a million pounds at a Dalston street market and then installed the purchases in Ade’s flat. Ghetto fabulous! The room gloried in the gaudy, the exuberant, the ostentatiously
expensive
. And at the centre of it, taking pride of place, was a television unit that Steven Spielberg himself would have been proud of. H guessed it must have run to at least £5,000. The 52-inch flat-screen model hung from a wall, surrounded by woofers and tweeters and speakers and bouncers and H didn’t know what else. The floor was littered with clothes, magazines and other debris and H had to pick his way to an armchair.

Sprawled full-length on the sofa, in her bra and knickers, was the
woman who had shouted earlier. She looked to be about the same age as Ade and, apart from her darker skin, had the same long, sinewy look. She reminded H of a young Grace Jones. Hard as nails, but very sexy. H nodded to her. She ignored him and turned back to the television, re-starting the DVD they had been watching. With the speakers now blaring, Ade picked-up a half smoked spliff from an ashtray on the floor and sucked it back to life.

‘I hear you and your friend Dunstan,’ said H, ‘have got problems with a man called Alan Akers. Is that true?’ H had to raise his voice to talk over the sound effects of Keanu Reeves fighting about
two-hundred
Agent Smiths. Ade studied H’s face with keen eyes.

‘I don’t have any problems with White Alan.’ Ade was guarded, wary, as H had known he would be.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’ve got problems with him too. I’ve got big
problems
with him. I thought maybe we could help each other.’

Ade again thought before he spoke. Despite the wariness H could see that he might like Ade.

‘How do I know you’re on a level?’ The young man turned to the woman lying next to him. ‘Turn it down a bit willya, Jan.’

‘I’m watching it.’

‘I know you are, babe, but turn it down a bit, we’re trying to talk, d’you know what I mean.’

‘Why don’t you go in the other room?’ Ade didn’t say any more, he just leant across the woman’s body picked up the remote control and switched the television off.

‘Oi, Ade!’ The woman gave him a murderous look. He returned it with a smile.

‘Please, babe. This is business. D’you mind going into the other room? Watching it in there?’ Ade leant towards her and kissed her softly on the mouth, completely disarming her. H had to smile. She rose without a whimper and, picking up an empty mug, padded
gracefully
from the room.

‘So how do I know you’re on a level?’ Ade was harder, more serious now. He took another hit from the spliff and passed it to H. H shook his head. He told the story of his kidnapped son and the fight that he was being forced to fix. He ended by asking Ade a
question
.

‘Not that Nina’s chatting your business, but reading between the
lines a bit, I reckon the Akers brothers are trying to hang on and control something when maybe … their time is over?’

Ade snorted loudly. ‘Their time is well over, you get me!’

‘So maybe there is a way we can help each other. I’ll be completely open with you, I know you’re safe. I need Alan … out of the way.’

Ade nodded slowly. ‘I can see that. But how d’you think me and you could help each other?’

‘Well. I can deliver him to you. On a plate. No strings.’

H waited, nervous before this youth, this baby. Ade looked back at him, thinking. When the youth next spoke, H didn’t have a clue where he was coming from.

‘What do you know about globalisation?

N
ina had parked her car outside a pub on the Old Kent Road. She was nervous, butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t seen Hilary for the last three days, since he’d left that night to see Beverley. She was worried. She hadn’t called him, she knew he needed time to deal with what was going on with Cyrus. She gave him the time but that didn’t mean she liked doing it. Three days. And he still hadn’t called.

And then there was the fact that he’d left her car keys with Alan. Why would he leave her keys with Alan?

Nina liked to be in control. As things stood she didn’t know what to think, or what to do. As the days had passed Nina had come to realise something: that H meant more to her than a way of dealing with Alan. She had begun to fantasise about the two of them running away and starting again as mister and misses nobodies. They could go to Birmingham or Manchester or Liverpool. Nina had spent a long time knocking around, singing in pubs, bars and clubs but she had to face facts and the fact was that the longest engagement she had ever had was her stint at Roxy’s - because of Alan. Maybe now was the time to move on.

Hilary … well, there was something solid about Hilary that she liked. Yes, he was a macho schmuck in his own way and, yes, he had his problems. But he had a streak of decency in him which she admired. All her previous boyfriends, especially White Alan, had treated her like an appendage. H was different. Now that Nina thought about it, maybe she had been treated like that because she hadn’t demanded to be treated any other way. But what Nina loved
about H was that she didn’t need to demand to be treated as anything. And there was another thing. Their sex life wasn’t bad either …

As Nina locked the car she took one last look at herself, at her reflection in the car window. She wore a full-length black, sheepskin coat. Under the coat she wore her favourite Nicole Farhi blouse, grey, some black, tailored, Comme Des Garçons pants that finished just above her ankles, and a pair of casual, black, slip-on flat shoes. Prada. To finish off her look she put on a pair of Alain Mikli sunglasses. The overall effect was smart, stylish, bohemian. Not that she was making a special effort or anything.

Nina walked the twenty or so metres past the pub and stepped gracefully into the run-down building next door – the ‘Old Kent Road Boys’ Club’. As Nina entered the gym, her senses were immediately assailed. Some kind of American rap music pounded out, making her ears throb. The sound mingled with the slap, slap, slapping of the skipping on the wooden floor; the thud, thud, thudding of leather gloves on the heavy leather bags; and the pitter-patter-pitter-
patter-pitter
-patter-pitter-patter of leather gloves on the speed bag; and all of this combined with the grunts and ‘oomphs’ and groans of bodies working, pushing, hitting; all in all a cacophony of noise.

The corrosive stench of dried and musty sweat; sweat from bodies that were sweating; sweat from bodies that had been
sweating
for days but hadn’t been washed; sweat from kit that the bodies were wearing that stank with old sweat; sweat from boxing gloves that had been worn by thousands of sweating hands over the years; sweat from old, discarded jock straps that littered the dark corners of the gym; every kind of sweat that you could possibly imagine seemed to exist in this gym and Nina could smell all of it. And this corrosive, acrid sweat smell was lightly flavoured with the stench of battered, worked-over, rubbed raw, leather.

And then the sight of at least twenty young men, most of them in a state of semi-undress, bursting with health and athleticism, glowing with activity. It wasn’t quite worth the assault on her nose and ears, but it wasn’t far off.

Nina stood at the entrance to the gym and looked around. She was almost certain Hilary would be here today, the day before his big
fight, and she wanted to see him. She was desperate to see him. As she looked around, Nina could sense she was causing a stir, but she didn’t mind. She knew why she was there.

And then she saw him. Hilary was skipping in a corner of the gym. Two white men, one old, one young, were standing watching him. Hilary wore a sleeveless grey T-shirt with some shiny, black shorts. Nina realised this was the first time she had ever seen him in his boxing kit. He didn’t have any pictures of himself boxing in his flat; she was seeing this side of him for the first time. She looked at the sweat flying from his head and running down his face, arms and chest; she watched as his legs, lean and powerful, danced up and down, up and down, up and down. She had to admit it … he looked pretty good.

While Nina admired the view Hilary saw something of the stir she was causing in the mirror in front of him and followed the direction of countless looks. His eyes caught and held hers. She smiled at him, uncertain, sheepish. He looked away. For a while he continued to skip. And then suddenly, to the surprise of the two white men
watching
him, he threw his rope to the floor and headed for the changing room. He called to one of the white men as he left.

‘Remember, Nick, I want the money in cash. Straight after the fight …’

‘You never moind dat,’ the older man shouted after him, ‘you just make sure you get some sleep! I’m sending a car over to pick you up at foive tomorra. Sharp!’ But Hilary had already left the gym.

Nina stepped outside to wait. The butterflies were still there, more so now. She hovered on the street, near the entrance of the club. She didn’t have to wait too long before Hilary sauntered out wearing his navy tracksuit and carrying his kit bag. She walked up to him and kissed him on the cheek. It felt awkward.

‘Hi. How are you?’ This was ridiculous. Nina felt like a schoolgirl.

‘Long time, no see.’

‘I was going to say the same thing.’

‘I’ve got a fight coming up. Things on my mind. Like my missing son.’

Right. She had the picture now. And as long as she had the picture the butterflies would begin to fly away. To be replaced by anger.

‘And I’ve been trying to find out where Alan’s hiding him!’ she hissed at him. ‘Doesn’t that mean something, dick-brain?!’

‘And?’

Nina was taken aback - Hilary had replied with a blankness that he surely didn’t feel. ‘No news yet. Alan’s keeping everything very tight at the club.’ She looked away, jamming her hands into the pockets of her coat and hunching her shoulders. ‘What have I done wrong?’

‘Nothing. I just told you; I’ve got things on my mind.’

Oh, please! Why did men do that? She could feel the two small, vertical lines spring to her forehead, just above her eyebrows.

‘So kiss me.’

Hilary hesitated, but he bent towards her and tried to give her a quick kiss. That moment’s hesitation killed Nina. When Hilary tried to break off she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him towards her. She kissed him with passion, biting his lip, but he jerked away.

‘Oww!’ He rubbed his bottom lip. There was blood and he
glowered
at her. She ignored it.

‘As soon as this is all over, Hilary, why don’t we just go away? As soon as the fight is done, with Cyrus safe and back with his mother, why don’t you and me take off somewhere?’ She meant what she said but she didn’t say it as though she meant it. She knew Hilary wouldn’t agree to go away with her. Whatever she had done to him, he had changed. They were on opposite sides of a fence now and that’s why she’d bitten him. If she was a man she would have punched him in the face. ‘We could just forget about White Alan!’

‘You told Akers about Cyrus, didn’t you?’

‘No! It wasn’t me!’ And she wasn’t lying. Nina knew that the only way White Alan would have known about Cyrus was through Gavin and it was her that had told Gavin. She felt bad enough about that without admitting this to Hilary. Maybe later. But at least for now she could say with complete confidence that she hadn’t told Alan. Despite this, Hilary looked at her with accusing eyes.

‘Look at me, Hilary; it wasn’t me. You have to believe me.’ Silence. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’ve been to see your man, Ade.’

‘Ade?’

‘Between us we’ve cooked up a little ‘treat’ for White Alan. It’s all about globalisation, apparently.’

For once, Nina was stumped for words. She took off the sunglasses.

‘What?’

‘I need one thing; for you to make sure that Alan is alone on the night after the fight.’

‘You’re going to do it! You’re going to kill White..!’

‘Shhh!’ Hilary grabbed Nina’s arm and dragged her away from the entrance to the club. He hissed in her ear. ‘What the hell is wrong with you?!’

Nina was in shock. Events were moving way too fast for her. Hilary was squeezing her arm, tight now.

‘Oww! I can arrange it! I’ll arrange with Gavin …’

‘Are you sure? I don’t want that gorilla turning up out of the blue!’

‘I’m sure! He’s in the same boat as me; he wants Alan … got rid of.’

‘Gavin! I thought he was White Alan’s main man?’

‘He was. But people change, don’t they?!’ She glared at Hilary. He let go of her arm. She rubbed it and continued, ‘He can see what’s going on better than anyone.’

‘So what does he get out of it?’

‘The top job. Alan’s empire.’

‘What about the money?’

‘Let me deal with that. I can handle him.’ H looked at her sternly.

‘Are you ready for this?’

‘So you’re really going to do it?’

‘With Ade’s help.’

‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Believe it. But can I trust you?’

Nina moved into his arms like a cat curling up by the fire. She kissed him softly and sweetly on the mouth. ‘What do you think, Hilary?’

‘Just make sure you’re waiting for me at your place with a
toothbrush
and a spare pair of knickers. We fly out that night.’

Nina couldn’t believe this. ‘Where?!’

‘Don’t worry about it. But … about Cyrus …’

‘I know. I’ll keep trying.’

‘As soon as you have anything! You’ll ring me?’

‘Of course.’

Hilary now backed away. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Hilary! Good luck for tomorrow night!’ She smiled encouragingly. ‘Don’t you want …’

‘Not this close to the fight!’ And he was gone, disappearing back into the gym.

‘… A ride home?’ Nina finished her sentence to herself, the smile lingering on her face like a memory. The butterflies were back again but she knew the lines on her forehead had gone.

Who was it that said women couldn’t have it all?