Stone Fist

by J. D. Weston

  “And why can’t you come in on Saturday? You either want my help or you don’t.”

  “I, erm, I said I’d help a friend.”

  “A friend?”

  “Yeah. He’s only in town for a few days and I said I’d-”

  “Saturday night, Tyler. The old man won't wait any longer. What’s more important to you?”

  “Training, of course it is.”

  “So be there. I’m sure your friend has other friends to call on.”

  Lloyd finished with a cold, hard stare, which Tyler knew was him searching for sincerity.

  “I'll be there,” said Tyler. “Double session.”

  Lloyd turned away and pulled the collar of his jacket close to his neck as he walked.

  “Hey, Lloyd,” called Tyler. He’d been standing in the rain for more than ten minutes but had only just begun to feel the cold as the damp seeped through to his skin.

  Lloyd turned but only a shadow beneath his hood looked back.

  “Thanks, yeah?” said Tyler. “Thanks for your help.”

  Lloyd nodded once and slipped around the corner.

  The entrance to the flats was still broken, but the front door was locked. Tyler let himself in, avoiding the noisy parts of the floor, just as he had for the past ten years since he’d been coming home late.

  He switched the kettle on and grabbed his favourite mug from the cupboard. It was white with the words ‘Education is important but boxing is importanter’ in bold black letters. His mum had seen it in a cheap store and bought it for him back when she was able to go to the shops alone. He spooned in two spoonfuls of cocoa. It was a luxury he allowed himself after training, and although he hadn’t trained that night, he felt he needed something to help him sleep.

  A whining in his ear, relentless and monotone, sang through his head and he felt the familiar restless toe-tapping that came when he was anxious. While the kettle boiled, he removed his wet clothes, stripping to his shorts in the kitchen, and hung them over the radiator beneath the window. It was as he did so that he saw them. Two men sitting in a car outside the flat. The glow of a cigarette occasionally lit the dashboard in a weak orange light.

  Tyler flicked the light switch and stepped back to the window.

  “Maybe Harvey could help,” he whispered to himself.

  He dug his mobile phone from his bag and hit the on button. The little screen glowed in a green light. He held it beneath the window so he could watch the two men. He used the light to see his hand, where he’d written Harvey’s number. But instead of the neat little numbers, he found a blue ink smudge across his skin. Only two of the digits even resembled numbers.

  Tyler sank to his haunches with his back against the fridge and let his head fall down. There was no way he could find him now.

  A car door closed outside. Tyler peeked through the window, but all he saw was the empty car with no orange glow of a cigarette lighting the dashboard.

  “Did he say he’d do it, John?” asked Mick, as he poured himself and John a drink from behind the bar.

  John was still sitting in his chair with the fire burning low, a bed of hot embers pulsing with rage beside him. He waited for Mick to hand him a drink, took a sip, puckered his lips then set the glass down on the table.

  “Of course he did,” replied John. “You leave the boy to me. What I want you and Jack to do is give the opposition a disadvantage.”

  “You mean you want us to take his boy out?” asked Mick. “What was his name?”

  “Mackie,” said John. The name was at the forefront of his thoughts.

  “That’s it,” said Mick. “Do you want us to take care of him?”

  “No, no. Dixon already played that card. He’ll be expecting a retaliation. No, that’s not the way. You see, while you two were out for a stroll in the rain, I did a bit of thinking. Brandy’s good for that, Mick, thinking. There’s nothing quite like being warmed by an open fire and sipping at a nice brandy to keep the creative juices flowing.”

  “You’ve had some ideas then?” said Mick. He rubbed his hands together and turned one of the chairs opposite John to face the fire, then laid his jacket across the back to dry it out.

  “Tyler Thomson,” said John. “That’s our boy. I haven’t seen anyone that big for a long time, and if he can fight like I’ve been told he can fight, then we’re rock solid, Mick. Rock solid.”

  “I hear good things, John. The old man wouldn’t be wasting his time training a nobody.”

  “No, Mick. No, he wouldn’t. But, you see, the old man can’t give the boy the training he needs. What that boy needs, the thing that will take him to the top, is up here in the grey matter, Mick.” John tapped at his temple with his index finger. “He doesn’t have the killer instinct. Not yet anyway. But if he gets through this fight, he’ll be a changed man.”

  “If he gets through this fight, he’ll be a killer, John. A thing like that can really affect somebody, mentally, I mean.”

  “You mean when he comes through this fight, and he will. Nothing hardens someone up better than a few sleepless nights of restless remorse. If he comes out the other side unscathed, he’ll be unstoppable, and he’ll be someone we’ll want on our side. He’ll be going places and he’ll have yours truly to thank for his success.”

  “So you haven't told him it’s a fight to the death?” asked Mick. “He thinks it’s just a normal boxing match?”

  “Of course I haven't,” said John. “He doesn’t even know it’s bare-knuckle, but he won't back out now. Besides, the bloke was in bits already. I don't know which one of you hit him or how hard you did it, but you scared the hell out of the kid.”

  “It was Jack. He always gets carried away,” said Mick.

  “Well, young Jack wants to control it. He’s not as tough as he thinks he is. Did you see that muppet walk in here earlier? All the poor bloke wanted was to get out of the rain and Jack starts mouthing off and giving him stick trying to impress me. Giving someone a hard time isn’t going to impress me, especially when that someone happens to shut him down. Now, if Jack decided to stick one on him, that would impress me. Anyway, pissing people off is one sure-fire way to bring attention to the place. He’s got to learn how to treat people. Mark my words, Mick, when young Tyler gets through this and handles the ensuing nightmares, he’s going to be a monster, and that monster will remember the beating that Jack gave him way back when. I’d like to be there for that one.”

  “Do you want me to have a word with him?” asked Mick. “You know, calm him down a bit?”

  John reached for his drink, shifted in his seat, and shook his head.

  “No, Mick. In matters such as these, I prefer to let nature take its course.”

  “So how are we going to get at Dixon’s boy?”

  “Ah, we digressed,” said John. He felt a smile warm the muscles on his face. “Like I said, Mick, it’s all in the mind. Find out who he is. Where he’s from. He must have family. He must have a weak point. Find it and bring it to me. We’ve got two days until the fight so I want something to work with by tomorrow night at the latest. We’re going to break that boy from the inside out and there won’t be a thing Dixon can do to stop us until it’s too late.”

  “What about the old man?” asked Mick.

  John’s left eye twitched at the question. It was an annoyance, a potential thorn in his side.

  “Take care of it, Mick.”

  9

  They Seek Him There

  “Oh my god, Harvey, where have you been?” said Melody.

  She looked up at him, concerned and with a glass of wine in her hand, then quietened when she saw the look on his face.

  The waiter pulled his chair for him, but Harvey issued him a look that told the man he didn’t require assistance to sit down. He seated himself and collected a menu from the centre of the table. Melody took it from him with her spare hand.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  “Can I get you
a drink, sir?” asked the waiter.

  “Water’s fine,” replied Harvey, and he glanced around the room, where tables of twos and fours hosted couples and foursomes. The new couples laughed and were lost in their own little worlds. The seasoned couples sat in near silence. The foursomes each battled with two streams of conversation, fighting to be heard above the other.

  There were no lone diners and no groups of men that rang alarm bells, but still, Harvey positioned his chair with its back to the wall to maintain a full view of the room. It was an old habit he’d never be able to break.

  “We didn’t think you’d come,” said Jess. “But Melody said you wouldn’t miss it.”

  The waiter delivered his water to the table, then cracked the lid and offered Harvey a slice of lemon. He refused the lemon and poured his own water.

  “Don’t you ever drink?” Jess asked.

  “I never have done. I got this far without it. It would be a shame to start now.”

  “Harvey has never had alcohol and never worn anything apart from a white t-shirt,” said Reg, offering Harvey a smile to let him know he was only joking.

  Melody sidled up beside Harvey and worked herself under his arm.

  “But he sure knows how to wear those white t-shirts, Reg,” she said, and winked at Jess, running a playful hand down Harvey’s chest.

  “Well, I hope you brought a suit or something for the wedding,” said Reg.

  Harvey looked at Melody for a response.

  “He’s got a suit. He scrubs up well,” said Melody.

  “So, Harvey, how did it go? Did you find your friend?”

  “My friend?” said Harvey, a little too brash.

  “She means Julios,” said Melody.

  “Yeah, I found Julios. It was a little anticlimactic, but at least I know where he is. Thanks for arranging that. I hope you didn’t have to break any rules,” he said with a smile.

  “It was nothing,” replied Jess.

  “So are you guys all set for the big day?” asked Harvey. “I feel I missed all the conversation.”

  “That’s okay,” said Reg. “We know how much he meant to you, Harvey.”

  Harvey offered Reg a curt nod.

  “And yeah, we’re all set,” Reg continued. “In two days’ time, we’ll be Mr and Mrs Tenant.”

  “What about the honeymoon?” asked Harvey. “Have you made big plans?”

  Reg and Jess looked at each other and the table fell silent.

  “Well, we kind of spent everything we had on the flat, the wedding and the van.”

  “I’ve offered them our house for a few weeks,” said Melody. “We’ll stay here and they can enjoy the beach and the fields.”

  It wasn’t often Melody drew a line in the sand with Harvey, but he knew her tone when she had.

  “Okay,” he said, realising that their little pocket of paradise in southern France would be more memorable than a wet weekend in Clapham. “You’ll love it. The mornings are crisp and the sea’s cold, but I’ve never experienced peace like it.”

  “We can’t wait. It feels like I haven't had a holiday for years sometimes,” said Jess. “It can’t be healthy, going to work in the dark and coming home in the dark, only to wake up a few hours later to do it all over. A few weeks by the sea is exactly what we need.”

  “Excuse me,” said Harvey. “I’ll just find the washroom.”

  The conversation faded as he made his way between the tables, past the reception and into the toilets, where he splashed cool water onto his face. He leaned on the basin and stared at his reflection, pondering the small talk. He loved Reg and Jess but somehow never managed to fit into any of their conversations. He thought of the two men on the table of four, probably discussing business or sport, while their wives chatted about plans for children. He let out a long exhale then dried his hands and face using a rolled-up towel from a neat pile on the marble surface.

  From the washroom door, he looked out across the restaurant. In the far corner, Jess, Reg and Melody were all discussing wedding plans, a subject on which he could offer no real input. To Harvey’s right was the reception, a small counter with a cash register up top and small TV below showing a London news program. A reporter was standing beneath an umbrella in the rain as firefighters behind her rallied to put out a huge fire. The scene was lit by the flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles while the fire cast an orange haze over the surrounding cars and buildings.

  The receptionist saw Harvey staring at the TV, and with an apologetic smile, she moved to switch it off.

  “Wait,” said Harvey. “Where is this?”

  “Poplar,” said the girl. “It’s been burning for a while. I think it’s the arches.”

  “Can you turn the volume up?” asked Harvey as ambulances arrived on the scene.

  “Sorry, sir, I’m not really allowed to have it on.”

  He glanced back at the table where Melody, Reg and Jess were still absorbed in conversation.

  “Can you do me a favour?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Do you have a pen and paper?”

  On the paper the receptionist slid across the counter, Harvey wrote the words ‘I’m sorry.’ He placed his phone in the centre of the paper and folded it into a parcel, then slid it towards the girl.

  “Can you wait five minutes, and then deliver this to the table in the corner?”

  “Mum, you need to get up,” said Tyler, nudging his sleeping mother’s shoulder. “Come on. Wake up, Mum.”

  Tyler flicked the lights on as she stirred and pulled the covers over her face.

  “Come on, Mum. Wake up,” he said with a little more urgency.

  “What time is it?” she mumbled, just as there was a gentle knock on the front door.

  “Mum, I’ll explain later. But you need to wake up.” He pulled the covers from her face then began to pull clothes from the cupboard and stuff them into a bag. Shielding her eyes from the light, his mum sat up and swung her legs out of the bed.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Put your slippers on, Mum. There’s no time to explain.”

  Another knock, louder than the first.

  “Who’s that at the door?” his mum asked.

  “Mum, please,” said Tyler. He could feel the frustration sending his heart rate skyward.

  “Okay, okay. No need to rush me,” she said, as she pushed herself to a standing position. Tyler helped to steady her, a little harder than usual.

  “Easy, Tyler. I’m not as young as I used to be,” she said. “Now, where are my slippers?”

  Three hard knocks on the front door.

  “Who is that at this time of night?”

  Tyler finished stuffing his mother’s medication into the bag, then dropped it on the bed and took hold of her shoulders.

  “Mum, I need you to listen to me. There’s some bad men out there that want to hurt us.”

  “But why?”

  “There’s no time to explain, Mum. I need you to follow me. We’re going out onto the fire escape and I’ll find us somewhere safe,” said Tyler, although he couldn’t think where. His mind raced with the words of John Cooper. “Your slippers are there by your feet. I have your pills and some clothes. Let's get out of here and we can talk about it when we’re safe. Okay?”

  “Oh,” she said. It was the start of a panic attack. Tyler had witnessed many of her panic attacks begin with that word.

  “No time to worry, Mum,” he reassured her. “Let’s go. It’ll be like an adventure, okay?”

  Tyler took his mother’s hand and led her from the bedroom just as the front door began to pound.

  “Quick, Mum, in here,” said Tyler, leading his mum into the rear bedroom, which was too small for anything other than storing boxes, but the window opened onto the iron fire escape, which led to the ground floor alleyway that ran behind the buildings.

  “Out there?” she said. “I can’t go out there like this.”

  “Mum, please,” said Tyler. “Please jus
t do as I ask.”

  He forced the window open, which required a particular knack he’d learned as a child when he’d sneak out late at night to meet his friends.

  The pounding on the door stopped, allowing for a moment of peace.

  “Come on, Mum,” he whispered, and held his hand out to help her through the gap.

  She sat on the window ledge and swung her legs over until the brisk, cold wind lifted the edge of her dressing gown.

  “Oh, Tyler, it’s freezing,” she said.

  “I know, Mum. But not for long, I promise,” he said, as the front door boomed with the shoulder of a man trying to get inside.

  Tyler climbed through after his mum and leaned inside to grab the bag, just as he heard the front door explode open and a man stumble inside, followed immediately by two rough angry voices.

  “Go down,” whispered Tyler to his mum, as he pulled on the window to close it behind them. The men wouldn’t know how to open it, which would give Tyler a head start.

  Heavy footsteps on the lounge floor approached the tiny room. Just as the shape of the first man became silhouetted in the doorway, the window gave and slid shut with a click.

  With the hard rain hitting his face, Tyler stepped back as the man pressed against the window, struggling to see through the frosted, reinforced glass. The face appeared to smile as Tyler moved to the top of the stairs. He glanced down at his mum who was carefully placing her slippered feet on the slippery iron stairs and clinging to the wet, slick handrail. Tyler looked back. The face moved away from the glass, but Tyler’s hope lasted a fraction of a second before a piece of furniture was hurled at the window. The reinforced mesh held the glass together, but it fractured; it wouldn’t take long to break through.

  Tyler edged down the stairs.

  “That’s it, Mum,” he said. “You’re doing great. Are you okay?”

  His mother didn’t answer.

  Another crash of the furniture smashing through the window. This time, tiny pieces of glass rained down onto the iron platform and to the ground below. A hole had been made in the mesh, and the man began to hammer with something, trying to smash through to outside.