Stone Fist

by J. D. Weston

  “I’m beat,” she said.

  “You did well,” said Harvey, opening the door and stretching his back and neck.

  Melody followed suit as Harvey pulled their bags from the rear seat. A clatter of paws on the tarmac stopped him, and he turned to find his old dog, Boon, tearing across the little car park with his ears flat against his head. Boon slammed into Melody with excitement, ran a few rings around her then settled for her to stroke and dote on him. Then he was off again. He bounced around the car, saw Harvey, then came to a sudden stop. He sat straight like a soldier on parade, looking up at his old master with his tail banging against the ground, as he waited for Harvey’s acknowledgement.

  Harvey stared him in the eyes and waited a few seconds. The dog was bursting to be welcomed, his front legs twitching with restraint.

  “Good boy,” said Harvey.

  The dog remained still but his tail beat harder.

  “Come,” said Harvey, and the dog erupted into a frenzy of running rings and nosing Harvey’s hand for affection.

  “Be careful. He’s a trained killer,” said a familiar voice. “You’d better watch out.”

  Harvey straightened and found Reg standing beside Melody on the other side of the car with a smile on his face from ear to ear.

  “The dog, I mean,” continued Reg. Then he put his arms around Melody and gave her a hug.

  Harvey shooed Boon away, grabbed the last bag from the car, and then slammed the door. Reg had walked around the car and Harvey offered him his hand to shake, but Reg pulled him in for a hug, which raised a smile on Melody’s face.

  “Good to see you, Harvey,” said Reg, giving him a last squeeze before letting go.

  “Likewise, Reg,” said Harvey. “Is Jess inside?”

  “She’s just had to pop to the office. She’ll be back in a few minutes. What do you think of the new van?”

  “The camper?” said Melody. “Is that yours?”

  “Just got it,” replied Reg. “Fully kitted out with beds, a cooker and all the technology I could fit inside.”

  “So it’s a mobile criminal investigation unit?” said Melody. “I thought you’d left all that behind?”

  “Ah, well, you can take the nerd out of the crime, Melody, but you can’t take the crime out of the nerd. Come on, let’s get you guys inside. How was the drive? You must be shattered.”

  “It wasn’t too bad,” said Melody. “But I am glad it’s over.”

  Reg’s flat was on the first floor of a small but expensive-looking block of two-story-high private flats. Well-maintained lawns encircled the building with two pathways that cut through the grass and a new iron fence that ran the perimeter of the complex.

  “This is nice,” said Melody, as Reg held the front door open for them to pass through.

  “Thanks. We thought we deserved an upgrade when I got the new job.”

  After stepping inside, Reg poured Melody a glass of wine, then handed Harvey a bottle of water.

  “So how about a tour?” asked Melody.

  “A tour? Well, what you see is what you get really. You’re standing in the kitchen-diner. The lounge is behind you and your bedroom is through the door at the end. Our bedroom is over here. Both of them are en-suite and there’s a small washroom in the hallway.”

  “It’s great, Reg,” said Harvey. “Thanks for putting us up.”

  “No, thank you for coming to our wedding. Without you, I’d have exactly one guest on my side, and he’s got bad breath and too much hair,” said Reg, looking at Boon who sat by Harvey’s feet staring up at him.

  “And how has Boon been? Are you guys still happy with him?” asked Melody.

  “He’s great. Jess adores him. She wouldn’t let you take him if you tried.”

  “I think he’s happier here with you, Reg,” said Harvey. He put his hand on the dog’s head and ran his fingers along his snout. “I couldn’t give him the time he deserves.”

  “So how’s the new job going?” asked Melody. She sat down in one of the comfy leather armchairs and rested her wine glass on her knee.

  “It’s good,” said Reg. “I haven’t been shot at, blown up or kidnapped, and I haven’t had to break any laws or risk imprisonment of any kind.”

  “Sounds dull,” said Harvey, sitting on the armchair opposite Melody. Boon followed and sat beside him so that Harvey could continue stroking his head.

  “I’m head of the research department, so I have a few other people in my team and they’re all great. Quiet. No fuss. Plus the pay is a lot better and I haven't had to sign the official secrets act. I should have done it years ago.”

  “No,” said Melody, “you’d have missed all the fun we had, and besides, you wouldn’t have met Jess.”

  At the mention of her name, the front door opened and Jess walked in. She didn’t bother to close the door. Instead, she ran to Melody and gave her a big hug. Then she approached Harvey and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Wow, two hugs in twenty minutes,” said Melody. “That must be a record for Harvey.”

  “It’s great to see you two,” said Jess, her public school, middle-class accent shining through. “I bet Boon was pleased to see you both.”

  Boon’s head flinched at his name, but he made no effort to move away from Harvey.

  “Did you get it?” asked Reg. He raised his eyebrows at Jess, who was pouring herself a glass of wine. She stepped across the room and topped up Melody’s glass.

  “I did,” she said, and pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She handed it to Reg.

  “So, Harvey,” Reg began, “Melody messaged me a few hours ago with an idea.”

  Harvey stopped stroking Boon and sat upright in the chair, causing the dog to nuzzle his hand for more attention.

  “Jess has been to the office and done some digging around, and well, we thought you might like this.”

  Reg handed Harvey the folded piece of paper and stepped back.

  “What is it?” asked Harvey as he unfolded it.

  But he soon saw for himself.

  “Is this Julios?” asked Harvey in disbelief.

  “Only his family know his whereabouts,” said Jess. “I had to pull some strings, but, well, we thought you’d like to visit.”

  “Good, Tyler. Get yourself washed up,” said the old man as he shook the pads from his hands. “You listened and you’ve got good energy. Keep that up.”

  Lloyd leaned over the ropes and untied Tyler’s gloves, then began to unravel the wrap. Tyler’s right hand was unwrapped first. He loved the tingling sensation as his skin breathed the air after being constrained for so long.

  “Your posture is improving. Can you feel it in your back?” asked Lloyd.

  It was only once Lloyd had mentioned it that Tyler realised his lower back wasn’t aching as much as it had in the past. He rubbed his hand across his back as Lloyd unwrapped his left hand.

  “I told you. You need to listen to him. Your feet were faster too,” said Lloyd.

  “I didn’t notice that,” replied Tyler.

  “That’s because you were paying attention. But I saw it well enough.”

  Lloyd pulled the last of the wrap free then held the ropes open for Tyler to slip through.

  “Thanks, Lloyd,” said Tyler, as he dropped to the floor.

  He picked up his bag and scanned the room for the old man. But he was nowhere to be seen. So Tyler walked past the three punch bags and into the changing room. The old man slammed the door on an old washing machine full of towels, span the dial and hit the power button.

  “I just wanted to say thanks,” said Tyler. “For staying and helping me. I appreciate the extra time.”

  “We all need a leg up every now and then,” the old man replied without looking at Tyler.

  He carried on cleaning the little changing room while he spoke. “You did good. I mean it. But you need to be consistent. You’ve got a punch like a mule and when you’re focused, you’re a good boxer. But you need to curb those emotions. T
hey’re your weakness. Show your opponent that and you’ll spend more time on your back than those hookers on the street.”

  “I’m not emotional,” said Tyler. But he heard his tone turn defensive.

  The old man cast him a sideways glance, then continued to wash the shower down with water and squeegee the tiled wall.

  “I’ll work on it,” said Tyler.

  “Good. You do that.”

  “So when do you think I’ll be ready?” asked Tyler.

  “Ready for what?”

  “To fight. When do you think I can get in the ring?”

  “You were in the ring tonight, son. Or was you concentrating so hard you missed it?” The old man smiled to himself.

  “You know what I mean. I want to fight. Maybe if I had a target to train for-”

  “You’ll go up against some other dam fool when I say you’re ready. Until then, you’re just a very big rock that needs a hell of a lot of polishing.”

  “But how do you know I’m not ready?” asked Tyler.

  The old man stood straight, switched off the water and tossed the squeegee into a bucket. He pulled a towel from the slatted wooden bench and dried his hands, then leaned on the washing machine.

  He eyed Tyler and sucked at his teeth as if he was choosing his words carefully.

  “How many boys out there tonight, son?” the old man asked.

  Tyler glanced into the gym but saw only Lloyd pushing around the broom.

  “No-one,” he replied.

  “No-one,” repeated the old man. “And what time is it?”

  Tyler looked up at the cheap plastic clock on the wall that showed only the twelve, three, six and nine, but had a picture of Frank Bruno’s face on it.

  “Eleven thirty,” said Tyler.

  “So do you think I stay here late at night to train you for free for my health? Is that what you think?”

  “No, I-”

  “I’m giving you years of experience because I believe in you, Tyler. Someone like you could go far. You have the power. You have the dedication. But you need to calm those emotions down. They’re your crux. When you show me you can stay in control, I’ll think about putting you in the ring with someone other than me or Lloyd.”

  “Right,” said Tyler.

  “Don’t be disheartened, son. Your time will come. But most importantly, don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t, I-”

  “If you want to fight in a ring, if you want to have a few hundred people all watch you get your nose smashed flat and your eyes blackened, then be my guest. Join some other gym with some other trainer. But if you want to go places, son, you stick with me. You work hard and you damn well listen.”

  “I will,” said Tyler.

  “Who were those two men?” asked the old man.

  The positive feedback from the old man and Lloyd had overshadowed the two men who had sat on the bench in the gym earlier that evening.

  Tyler shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  But the old man had an air of disbelief. Tyler could see it in the way he threw a shower gel bottle into the little cupboard above the sink, then slammed the door.

  “Honest,” said Tyler. “I haven’t seen them before.”

  The old man dropped a full black bag outside the changing room, rinsed his hands and dried them on one of the fresh towels he’d piled on the towel rack. He leaned on the door frame.

  “If you train with me, you fight with me. Nobody else,” said the old man, supporting his statement with a shake of his head. “I’m not spending my evenings training you for some other toe-rag to get you beaten to a pulp. I’m too long in the tooth for all that. Been there. Seen that. Bought the t-shirt.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Tyler. “Why would I fight for anyone else?”

  “Those two men,” said the old man, “they’re trouble. I can smell it a mile away. If they approach you, I want to know. You can talk to me or Lloyd. And don’t think that because I’m old, I don’t know people. There isn’t one person in this game that I’ve never heard of. There isn’t anyone worth their salt who don’t know me. I can tell you this, son. There’s some nasty pieces of work out there who prey on kids like you. You come to me, I’ll help. But if you go against me, Tyler, you’ll make an enemy you wish you hadn’t. And trust me, in this game, an enemy is the last thing you need.”

  “Understood. And thanks again for trusting me. For putting your faith in me.”

  “Just don’t let me down, son,” said the old man. “Now scat. I thought you had a sick mum to look after?”

  Tyler pushed off the wall and edged around the old man. “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

  “Yep. Same time. Same place,” said the old man. “Oh, and son?”

  Tyler turned in the doorway, his eyebrows raised in anticipation of more words of wisdom from the old man.

  “The next time you see an old man cleaning up after a load of young kids, emptying bins and washing towels, do yourself a favour and get stuck in.” He offered Tyler a friendly smile. “Go on. Get out of here. We’ve all got homes to go to.”

  5

  Blind Side

  A breath of fresh air licked at John Cooper's feet as Jack entered the family side of the pub and held the door open. A stranger walked in. He was cautious and checked either side of him before committing to the room. Mick followed, nodded at John and led the stranger towards the fireplace, while Jack closed and guarded the door.

  John remained seated but offered his hand to the young man.

  “What’s your name, son?” he asked mid-shake.

  “Blake,” the big man replied.

  “Is it just Blake? Or do you have a last name like the rest of us?”

  “Green,” came the reply.

  “Blake Green?” said John, sitting back in his seat and crossing his legs. “Well, Blake Green, why don’t you take a seat? Can I get you a drink?”

  Blake shook his head.

  “Mick, get him a drink, will you? He looks like he needs loosening up.”

  “I don’t drink,” said Blake.

  Mick raised his eyebrow at John who nodded once.

  “Just water, Mick.”

  “I don’t want a water either.”

  Mick walked behind the bar and poured two brandies for John and himself, and pulled a bottle of sparkling water from the fridge for Blake.

  “Tell me, Blake,” said John. “What does a man your size have to eat every day to stay that big?”

  “Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” said Blake. His tone cut straight through the niceties that John had laid out. “Tell me why I’m here. I don’t know you, or your two mates, so tell me what the bleeding hell is going on and I might be able to help you.”

  “I bet it’s eggs,” said John. “Eggs and chicken. Am I right?”

  “What are you talking about?” said Blake. “Eggs and chicken?”

  “And rice. I forgot rice. They all eat rice apparently.”

  “Who do? Who eats rice, chicken and eggs?”

  “You do,” said John. “All fighters your size eat rice, chicken and eggs. Do you enjoy fighting, Blake?”

  “Listen, mate. Who are you? And why am I here?”

  “Mick tells me you’re a bailiff. Is that right?” asked John, ignoring Blake's question but enjoying his growing impatience. “You’re a debt collector. Is that right?”

  “So what if I am?”

  “I bet a man like you collects quite a few debts, don’t you? I imagine when some low life scumbag opens his front door and sees you on his doorstep, he must drop his lunch. What do you reckon, Mick?”

  “I reckon you’re right, John,” said Mick. “I reckon they hand over everything they own when they see this fellow standing on their doorstep, especially in that lovely leather jacket.”

  “I don’t know who you are, and honestly, I don't care. I need to go,” said Blake.

  “Do many of them put up a fight, Blake?” asked John. “You know, the offending parties, as i
t were.”

  “Some. It’s mostly the women that give me the most grief because they know a bloke won’t hit them back.”

  “Ah, most blokes wouldn’t. But some men would, and they do, Blakey,” said John. “What type are you?”

  “What? What do you mean what type am I?” said Blake. “I wouldn’t hit a woman ever.”

  “What if someone paid you?” asked John.

  “No, mate. The answer is still no. It’s not right.”

  “Do you think that some women deserve to be hit by a man, Blake?”

  Blake paused. It was the answer John was looking for.

  “I take it by the pause that yes, you do think some women deserve to be hit by a man.”

  Blake began to protest, but John held his hand out to quieten him. Controlling the conversation was key to getting the answers he wanted without asking the question that Blake didn’t want to hear.

  “It’s okay. I agree. I’ve met a few in my time that could have done with being dragged into an alley and taught a lesson. You see, Blake, some women, as you rightly said, prey on men because they know they won't hit them back. It’s cowardly, that’s what that is. But you know what? Sometimes, just one or two need to be taught a lesson. It’s a form of bullying, you know?” said John. “Did you know that a third of all domestic abuse victims in Britain are male?”

  “This is a joke,” said Blake. “You have about three seconds to explain what’s going on before I walk out.”

  John took his drink from Mick and watched as the water was placed on the table in front of Blake. He checked his watch to make sure the three seconds were up.

  “So?” said John.

  “So what?”

  “The three seconds are up and I haven’t explained what’s going on,” said John. He slipped his tumbler onto the table and sat back, interlacing his fingers and letting his chin rest on his knuckles. “Have you always been so emotional, Blake?”

  “I don’t need this,” said Blake. He pushed himself out of the chair. “I don’t play games, mate. I don’t have time for them.”