by J. D. Weston
Harvey didn’t reply.
“He torched it? John Cooper? Are you sure?”
“It was either him or you, and your men were busy elsewhere.”
“Why would he do that?” asked Dixon. “Why would he torch the old man’s place?
“To get at my friend,” said Harvey. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t be concerned with why he did it. I’d be concerned with the ramifications.”
“Explain,” said Dixon. He pushed off the rail, planted his hands into his sheepskin jacket and pulled out a fresh cigar.
“Don’t do that near me,” said Harvey. “It stinks.”
Dixon cut the end of his cigar, flicked open his Zippo lighter, and lit it.
“Like I said,” said Dixon. “Explain.”
“When I walked into your makeshift gym this morning, you were watching your fighter beat another boy to death.”
“So?”
“So I happen to know that John Cooper is also preparing for a fight. It’s not difficult to see that your boy is up against his boy, and judging by the mess your boy Mackie made, it’s a fight to the death.”
“So you’re observant. Tell me about the ramifications.”
“I haven’t seen a prize fight like that for a long time. They stopped years ago,” said Harvey.
“We reintroduced them,” said Dixon. His smile spoke volumes about how much money the man had made.
“Bigger stakes,” said Harvey. “Bigger stakes means bigger risks. I’m guessing that this isn’t the first fight.”
“There’s been a few,” replied Dixon.
“And if it’s anything like how it used to be, John Cooper has been trying to get to your boy, and you’ve been trying to get John Cooper’s boy. Hence why I found your men in his flat last night.”
“Just get to the point,” said Dixon, urging Harvey forward with his thoughts. Revealing the thought process piece by piece was Harvey’s intentional way of seeing who Del Dixon really was. And with each word Harvey spoke, the man beside him grew tense and agitated.
“What would you do if your boy Mackie said he was out? If he said he wasn’t going to fight for you?”
Dixon shrugged.
“You wouldn’t just send him back to his old life to carry on as normal, would you?” said Harvey.
“Probably not, no,” said Dixon.
“So what do you think Cooper would do if his boy told him he wasn’t going to fight for him anymore?”
“The same as me, I guess.”
“And what do you think John Cooper would do if, whilst he was taking care of the boy, he accidentally took care of Old Man McGee, who incidentally trains some of the best prize fighters in London, and who incidentally works for some of the biggest faces in the city?”
“How do you know about the old man? Who are you?”
“Who I am doesn’t matter. But I’ve been around a long while, and the old man was the best trainer around even when I was a boy.”
The slow realisation of Harvey’s words took its place on Dixon’s face. His cigar hand fell to his side and his eyes grew huge behind his thick glasses. He regained his composure and leaned on the rail beside Harvey again, but on the other side, so his cigar smoke was carried away by the wind.
“You think Cooper is trying to point the finger at me?”
“Like I said,” said Harvey. “It’s you that needs my help.”
“And how, pray tell, do you plan on doing that? If what you just said is true, my photo will be pinned to every dartboard in every pub in London.”
“How long have you got until the fight?” asked Harvey.
Dixon checked the heavy and expensive watch beneath the fur of his sheepskin cuff.
“Sixteen hours,” he replied.
“Well,” said Harvey, pushing off the rail and beginning the slow walk back the way they came, “I can’t help you fight every face in town, but give me the day with Mackie, and I can make sure you beat John Cooper.”
“What’s in it for you?” asked Dixon. “What’s your prize in this master-plan of yours?”
Harvey felt the familiar pang of retribution in his chest. He smiled and let it warm his veins.
“John Cooper,” said Harvey. “John Cooper is my prize.”
13
Killer Instinct
Breakfast consisted of eggs and bacon served up on a paper plate with a plastic knife and fork. It was wasn’t the athlete’s diet that Tyler had been hoping for, but having spent so much energy putting Jerry down, he devoured the food.
“Is he ready?” asked John, as if Tyler wasn’t there.
Jerry nodded.
“He got through me twice,” he replied.
“Good,” said John. “So he’s ready for the last part of his training then, is he?”
“The last part?” asked Tyler. He had envisaged a rest day before the fight. The other trainers all gave him rest days. But John ignored the question.
“He’s ready,” said Jerry. His eyes met Tyler’s as he looked up from his plate of greasy bacon, but then looked away as if he was ashamed of admitting his defeat to John.
“What’s the next part of the training?” asked Tyler. “I put Jerry down, twice now. I should be resting.”
John span to face him.
“You should be doing what the bleeding hell I tell you to do. When I say eat, you eat. When I say stand, you stand. And when I tell you to fight, you damn well fight. Do you understand me, son?”
The words hit Tyler hard. Putting Jerry down hadn’t bought him any favours. There was no new display of respect. He pushed off the bench, stood and dropped the empty paper plate to the floor. John’s face twisted. One of his eyes squinted and one side of his teeth showed. They were straight and clean, but yellowed with age.
“I didn’t tell you to stand,” said John.
Tyler didn’t reply.
John poked his index finger into Tyler’s chest.
“Did you hear me, boy? I didn’t tell you to stand.”
Being a full twelve inches above John, and well over twice as broad, Tyler felt the urge to flatten him.
‘Control it.’
He stepped back half a pace, away from the offending finger, but didn’t sit back down.
“What’s the next part of the training?” he asked.
“Jerry,” said John, “I think you’ve done it, my old mate. I think you’ve turned this soft piece of mushy turd into a man. Did you see that? Did you see the way he tried to defy me?” Closing the gap between himself and Tyler, John looked directly up at the huge boy. “I like the new Tyler. He’s got balls,” he said. Then his hand shot out and grabbed Tyler’s crutch, squeezing hard, doubling Tyler over and sucking the breath from him.
“Now you listen to me, sunshine. Until the fight is over, you’re mine. Do you understand me?” He increased the pressure.
Tyler nodded, but John’s hand tightened even more.
“I said, do you understand me, Tyler?”
“Yes. Yes. I understand,” said Tyler, and let out a long breath as he fought to control the pain. As he did, the pain seemed to ease. His anger hovered at the forefront of his mind, but clarity began to emerge through the fog. He saw images of what John’s face would look like when he squeezed the life from him. He would wait for the right time.
‘Channel your emotions.’
John released his grip on Tyler’s groin.
“Good,” he said. “Now sit down. I haven’t finished with you yet.”
Tyler dropped to the bench. It was the right thing to do. The time to destroy John Cooper wasn’t yet, not until his mother was safe. Until then, he’d play the game. He’d fight, and if it took every last piece of him to win, he’d make sure he did.
“The last part of the training,” began John, as he put his hands into his jacket pockets and paced back and forth, “will be a test of your resolve. It’ll make or break you. But remember, if you break, your poor old mum breaks too.”
The mention of his mum sent a pul
se of rage through Tyler. The pulsing behind his eyes was a familiar sensation now, as was the warm release of adrenaline into his blood, which heightened the feeling in his fingers. He watched as John pulled his phone from his pocket, hit the redial button, and put the phone to his ear.
“Mick? Bring the boy. It’s time to see if our Tyler has what it takes.”
The sound of car doors slamming outside initiated a wave of activity. Jerry had been tending to Tyler’s wounds. He washed the blood from his torn eyebrow, applied heat packs to his bruised ribs and cleaned the blood from Tyler’s nose, making him ready for another fight.
John sat and watched. Jerry was a good ally to have. The man was as tough as they come and had been around fighters all his life. He’d originally been a pikey that had taken the East London prize fighting scene by storm. John had recognised his talent, but the man couldn’t be trusted. He could be called upon to help with training, but he’d run off with whatever you left laying around unless the job was worth more than whatever he could take. Once a pikey, always a pikey.
The doors opened and Jack fell through, stumbling to the floor. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and looked around the place with wonder as Mick closed the doors behind him. Mick then bent down and grabbed hold of Jack’s jacket collar. The room sang with the echoes of shouts, Jack’s voice rising an octave at a time, until Mick hoisted him up and onto the canvas floor of the makeshift ring. Jack rolled beneath the lowest rope, not with the keen desire to fight, as some men would, but just to get away from Mick, who had left his mark on Jack’s face while persuading him to climb into the boot of his BMW.
“What’s all this then?” said Jack.
He looked for a way out of the ring, but each side was covered by Mick, Jerry and John. The fourth side wasn’t covered, but even if he managed to climb out of the ring, he’d have to get past all three of them to reach the doors.
“There’s no use in running, Jack,” said John.
“But what have I done?” Jack replied. He was gripped by fear, exactly where John wanted him. “I did what you said, and they fell for it. Honest. Everyone’s talking about how Dixon’s boys torched the gym. We’re in the clear.”
“Maybe so, Jack,” said John. “But what’s next? Where do you go from here?”
“I don’t understand, John. You said it was all okay. I did what you asked.”
John waited a few seconds, enjoying the panicked reactions of Jack as he sought to distance himself from Mick and Jerry, who had closed in and stood by the ropes watching him with as much satisfaction as John. Mick’s gratification stemmed from his loyalty to John and nothing more. Jerry’s grin, which seemed to broaden with every passing moment, stemmed from his lust for violence and his passion for watching people suffer.
John glanced behind him to where Tyler sat on the bench with a towel around his shoulders staring up at Jack. John could almost see the cogs falling into place.
“Even if tonight goes without a hitch, Jack, even when it’s all over and Dixon is broken and destitute, I’m still left with you, aren’t I?”
“I’ve always been loyal, John.”
“You’ve always been a liability, Jack, is what you’ve always been. What am I supposed to do? Set you free? What would you do? You’re like a dog, Jack. One that’s bitten too many people and is too long in the tooth to set free. You wouldn’t survive, mate. You couldn’t get a job. Who’d have you?”
“John, don’t do this.”
“It’s too late, Jack. I thought long and hard about this. About what to do with you.”
“John, I’d do anything. You know I would.”
John continued, ignoring Jack’s pleas, much to Jerry's visible delight.
“I know you’re loyal, Jack. I know you wouldn’t go running to some other firm, even if you could find one that would take you on.”
“No, John, I wouldn’t do that. That would be betraying you.”
“So, Jack, I wondered, how can Jack show me one last time just how loyal he really is? What can he do to demonstrate how sorry he is for the monumental cock-up that could destroy me and everything I’ve worked for?”
“Just tell me, John.”
“And that’s when it hit me,” said John. “It was a revelation. This moment of clarity. The answer to the problem of what to do with a man whose stupidity has defied all odds, but whose loyalty has beholden him to me.”
John kept his eyes on Jack but called out behind him.
“Tyler,” he said, “this is the last part of your training, son. Get in the ring.”
“You want me to fight him?” said Tyler. He was standing beside the ring, confused at what was being asked of him.
John pulled his phone from his pocket again and held it in front of him as if he were revealing a jack of hearts from a deck and asking him to memorize the card.
“At the end of this phone, Tyler, is your poor old mum. Right now, she’s locked inside a room. The painkillers will be wearing off and her bucket will be full of a foulness that I just can’t even begin to imagine.”
“You told me you’d take care of her.”
“I told you I’d give her a painkiller if you got Jerry down. And you did. Now I’m telling you I’ll give her more if you finish off our loyal friend.”
“What do you mean finish?” asked Jack. But John ignored him.
“Get in the ring, Tyler,” said John.
“I can’t do that,” said Tyler. “That’s-”
“Then your poor old mum suffers. I’ll be sure to call the girls and have them pass the message on, shall I?” said John. “I’ll make sure your mum knows that while she fights the pain that courses through her fragile little body, her son here, who has the chance to put a stop to it all, refuses to. Because it’s what?”
“It’s immoral,” said Tyler.
“Did you hear that, Mick?” said John. “Immoral. Shall I tell you what Jack here did to deserve it?”
“John, I fixed all that,” said Jack from inside the ring.
“Shut it, Jack,” said John. He returned his attention to Tyler. “How close was you to the old man?”
“Old Man McGee?” asked Tyler. “Not close, but I respect him. What do you mean, was? What’s happened?”
John let a smile creep onto his otherwise emotionless face.
“It’s quite a story,” said John. “And, if you can see past the emotion, it’s actually pretty funny. See, Mick told Jack here to make sure the old man didn’t get involved in tonight’s fight. We didn’t want to mess up your training, and after all, at that point, you were doing us a favour.”
“Right…” It was clear that Tyler knew where the story was going but let John carry on.
“But instead of having a word in his earhole, polite like, he managed to upset the big fella, the old man’s sidekick and able-bodied bodyguard.”
“Lloyd?” asked Tyler.
“That’s right. You’re catching on,” said John. “Well, Jack being Jack, the hard man he is, didn’t let nature run its course. He didn’t let sleeping dogs lie. No, Tyler. He offed them. Both of them.”
Tyler looked up at Jack, who saw the rage in Tyler’s eyes.
“He didn’t just kill them, Tyler. He burned them alive,” said John. “I don’t think the old boy deserved that at all. He was, after all, a pillar of our society. But Jack thought he knew better.”
“I didn’t mean to-”
“So you see, Tyler,” said John, overpowering Jack’s whining pleas, “Jack needs a way of making amends. You need the training.” He stopped and closed the distance between himself and the boy, placing his hand on Tyler’s massive shoulder. “And your poor old mum needs her medication.”
“What makes you think you can teach me anything Del’s trainer hasn’t been able to?” asked Mackie. He bounced from foot to foot and shook his limbs, then threw a combination into the air as Harvey eased himself through the ropes. “Nobody even knows you.”
“And that's the way it’s going to stay,
” replied Harvey.
He slid his padded leather motorbike jacket from his shoulders and hung it over one of the corners. Mackie eyed his physique and seemed to grow in confidence. While Mackie bounced around, Harvey took three paces forward and stood in front of him, two arms’ length away with his hands on his hips.
“Come at me,” said Harvey.
As expected, Mackie led with his weak hand into a straight jab, followed by a hook with his right. Harvey ducked out of the jab and before the boy had regained his guard, Harvey’s hand had shot up and grabbed his throat.
Mackie’s eyes widened with fright. He tried to prise open Harvey’s hands but Harvey was too strong. He threw three wild punches to Harvey’s gut, all weak and using more oxygen than he had left in his lungs, leaving him in a panicked state. Harvey shoved Mackie backwards and he stumbled, falling to the canvas.
“What are you doing, you lunatic? You could have killed me,” said Mackie, his voice high and his confidence levelled.
“My point exactly,” replied Harvey.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Harvey,” said Dixon from his place beside the ropes.
Harvey didn’t reply.
“Well, don't just sit there, Mackie. Get up and hit him,” said Dixon in a cloud of cigar smoke.
Mackie scrambled to his feet. He shook off the defeat with a dance of his feet and show of speed with the same combination he’d used a few minutes before.
“Stop dancing and come at me again,” said Harvey.
“What do you mean, stop dancing?” said Mackie. “I’m keeping agile.”
Mackie stepped forwards and offered the exact same combination of punches he’d just thrown. Harvey ducked down, slammed his fist into the boy’s gut, then stood through his defence and took hold of his neck again. But this time, he used his momentum and lifted Mackie while kicking his legs away, then slammed him down onto the canvas and held him by his throat.
Mackie rolled away the second Harvey released him, then stood and let the flush of embarrassment drain from his face before beginning his bouncing again.
“Stop dancing and come at me,” said Harvey, with his hands on his hips.
